Kitty Takes a Holiday kn-3 Read online

  "Two arms, two legs," he said finally, wearily. Then he smoothed back my sweaty and tangled hair, the way I'd been brushing his. "Opposable thumbs."

  I giggled, bowing my face to his shoulder. He was back.

  "How do you feel?" I asked. He kept his arms around me, like he was still clinging for safety, and I snuggled into his embrace. Wolves touched for comfort. We both needed it.

  After a long moment he said, "Strange. Broken. But coming back together. Like I can feel the pieces closing up." I tilted my head, trying to look at him. I saw his jaw, the slope of cheek, half an eye. "But I remember… it felt good. It felt free. Didn't it?" His face shifted into a wince. "I wasn't expecting that."

  "Yeah," I said, and kissed his closest body part, his shoulder. Then I propped myself on my elbow, touched his face, and turned it to me, making him look at me. I held his gaze. "You're doing just fine, Ben. You believe me?" You're going to live. You're not going to make Cormac shoot you.

  He nodded, and I kissed his forehead. I was trying to make him feel safe, to make him feel wanted, so he wouldn't leave.

  "You're doing just fine," I repeated softly.

  "That's because I have a determined teacher," he said, giving me a thin smile.

  I kissed his lips. They were right there. It seemed so natural. His smile fell—then he kissed me back. And again, long enough this time that I lost my breath. Then we both froze for a moment.

  My skin flushed, my whole body growing warm—it knew what it wanted to do, anyway. I stole a glance down Ben's torso—and yes, his body knew what it wanted to do, too.

  Ben's hazel-colored eyes—green, mud, gold, all mixed together—flickered, trying to hold my gaze again. I looked away, human enough to be chagrined.

  I said, "I should have mentioned, the lycanthropy thing, it sort of throws gasoline on the libido. You know—whoosh, fire, out of control."

  He kept staring at me, until I couldn't keep looking away.

  He said, with an unreadable curl on his lips, "I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm lying here naked with a beautiful woman, who is also naked."

  Blink. Double blink. My heart may have even stopped for a moment. "Did you just call me beautiful?"

  He touched my cheek, my neck, sending an elec­tric rush along my skin, then buried his hand in my hair. "Yeah."

  That was it. I was gone.

  I moved, sliding one leg over his stomach, slipping on top of him until I straddled him. I kept close, my chest against his, my breath on his cheek. His arms held me tight, hands sliding down my back, clenching, and we kissed, deeply, tasting each other, sharing our heat. We touched, nuzzled; I moved my lips along his jaw, to his ear. My eyes were closed, my mind gone. Mostly gone.

  "I hadn't planned on this, honest," I murmured.

  He said, his voice thick with sarcasm, "Gee, thanks."

  "That's not what I meant," I said, smiling. "I feel like I'm taking advantage of you."

  He made what sounded to my ears like a groan of con­tentment. "You just want me to like being a werewolf. That's what this is about."

  I pulled away, just for a moment. "You don't have to like it. You just have to survive it."

  His gaze focused, met mine. "All right."

  I kissed him, and kissed, shivering to try to get closer to him—we already lay skin to skin along the length of our bodies. One of his hands clasped the back of my neck, the other worked its way to my backside, locking me close to him. His touch burned in the cold winter air.

  He managed one more bit of commentary, his voice low and rough, "Kitty, just so you know, you can take advantage of me anytime you want."

  So I did.

  He lay curled in my arms, and I reveled in the scent of him—sweaty, warm, musky. All my mornings alone I had woken anxious and discontented. Now, here with him—I had a pack again, and all felt right with the world.

  It was the lycanthropy, I told myself. I never would have slept with Ben if it hadn't been for the lycanthropy. Not that I regretted it.

  But still.

  The sun was almost above the trees. However much I wanted to stay here all day, we had to go back. Back to the world.

  Ben was the one who said, "I guess we ought to get back before Cormac comes looking for us."

  The bounty hunter would do it, too. Track us down. I wasn't entirely confident what he would do when he found us. I dug out the clothes I'd stashed and split them between us. We dressed, helped each other to our feet, and set off for the cabin.

  In my pack back in Denver, the alpha male, Carl, had made sleeping around a habit. If lycanthropy was to the libido what gasoline was to fire, Carl took full advantage of it. Shape-shifting was foreplay to him, and as head of the pack he had his own harem. At his call, every one of us would roll over on our backs, showing him our bellies like good submissive wolves. My Wolf had loved it: the atten­tion, the affection, the sex. The abuse—verbal and occa­sionally otherwise—that he heaped along with the attention hardly mattered. At least until I couldn't take it anymore. Carl was still in Denver. That was why I couldn't go back.

  I didn't want to be like that. If I had to be the alpha of our little pack of two, I didn't want to be that kind of alpha. I didn't want to screw around just because I could.

  Or had it happened because I liked him? I did like him. But would I have ever slept with him, if we hadn't been naked in the woods and smelling like wolves? Would it have ever even been an issue?

  Had that been Ben holding me tightly and kissing me eagerly, or his wolf?

  Did it even matter?

  These things were so much clearer to the Wolf side: You like him? He's naked? He's interested? Then go for it! Only the human side was worried about people's feel­ings getting hurt.

  He walked a couple steps behind me—that submissive wolf thing again. His head was bent, and he looked tired, with shadows under his eyes. But he didn't seem angry, frightened, tense, or any of the other things I might have expected to see in a newly minted werewolf. He caught me watching him, and I smiled, trying to be encouraging. He smiled back.

  "What are you going to tell Cormac?"

  "Don't shoot?" He winced and shook his head. "You were right, I was wrong? I don't know. I'm confused. I don't want to die. I never did. You know that, right?"

  I slowed my steps until we were walking side by side. A couple of barefooted nature freaks out for a morning stroll in the dead of winter. I wasn't cold; I could still feel his arms around me. "You were pretty determined there for a while."

  "I was scared," he said. After a moment, he added, "Does it get easier? Less confusing? Less like there's an extra voice in your head telling you what to do?"

  I had to shake my head. "No. It just gets confusing in different ways."

  Then, almost suddenly, the trees thinned and the clearing in front of the cabin opened before us. The sun was shining full on the porch. Cormac stood there, leaning on the rail­ing. A rifle was propped next to him. Ready and waiting.

  I stopped; Ben stopped next to me. My instinct said to run, but Cormac had already seen us. He didn't move, he just looked out at us, waiting for us to do something.

  Cormac had had plenty of chances to shoot me dead and hadn't yet. I didn't think he'd start now. I hoped he wouldn't start now. I walked toward the front door like nothing was wrong. Ben followed, slowly, falling behind. Cormac watched him, not me.

  "Morning," I said, waving a little as I came within ear­shot. I tried to sound cheerful, but it came out wary.

  "Well?"

  Climbing the stairs, I crossed my arms and continued my campaign of strained brightness. "Well, it's a nice day. Lots of sun. Everything's fine."

  By then Ben reached the porch stairs. Cormac's glare was challenging, but he wouldn't know that. Ben hesitated—I could almost see him start to wilt, growing defensive.

  "Ben?" I said. He shifted his gaze to me, and the con­frontation was broken.

  "You okay?" Cormac said to him.

  After a
moment he said, "Yeah. Just fine." He sounded resigned rather than convinced.

  "No more talk about shooting you, then."

  "No."

  I didn't know what Cormac expected. Maybe he'd spent all night working himself up to kill his cousin in cold blood, and now it seemed like he didn't quite believe that Ben had opted out. His expression was neutral, unreadable, as usual.

  "What happened?" he said.

  Ben bowed his head, hiding a smile. "It's hard to explain."

  "You look like you had a pretty good time," Cormac said.

  "Maybe I did." Ben stared at him. He actually did look pretty good, considering: tired, but relaxed. Not freaked out, like Cormac might have expected. Ben looked better than he had in days, since Cormac brought him here.

  For my part, my face felt like I was blushing fire-engine-red. Yup, human Kitty was back. Wolf never blushed.

  Cormac stared, like he could see through Ben, study him with x-ray vision. Cormac was the kind of guy who didn't like being out of control, who didn't like not know­ing everything. Ben had traveled somewhere he couldn't go. He wanted to know what had happened to his cousin over the last twelve hours—that was all. But Ben couldn't tell him. He couldn't explain it—I couldn't explain it. That reality was part of the Wolf, inhuman and unspeakable.

  Ben slumped under the pressure of his gaze. Shoulders hunched, he went into the cabin and slammed the door. Leaving Cormac and me on the porch.

  I wanted to tell Cormac to leave Ben alone. He couldn't possibly understand, no matter how much he stared at Ben. Before I could think of a way to say this to him with­out him getting pissed off at me, he spoke.

  "You were right about him changing his mind. I really wasn't sure he would. But you knew."

  Actually, I'd hoped. I let Cormac think otherwise. "I've been through it myself. I knew he'd feel differently."

  "You knew he'd like being a werewolf."

  "That's not a good way to describe it."

  "What happened out there?"

  Surely he'd figured it out. Or his imagination had. I didn't know why he wanted me to spell it out for him. "That's not any of your business."

  I turned to go inside.

  "Kitty—" He grabbed my wrist.

  I froze before I hit him. It was only instinct, my pulling back with fingers bent like outstretched claws. He saw it; we stood like that in a tableau. So many unasked ques­tions played in his gaze.

  He brought Ben here so I could help him, keep him alive. Not shack up with him. None of us had expected that. And now Cormac actually looked hurt, some pain-filled anguish touching his features. If Cormac had wanted things to happen differently between us, why couldn't he just come out and say it? He'd had his chance. I'd given him plenty of chances. I couldn't go backward.

  "Cormac, I'm sorry." I brushed myself out of his grasp and went into the house.

  My usual routine after a full moon: I came home, took a shower, and crawled into bed for a couple hours of more comfortable sleep. Then I woke up and had some coffee. No breakfast because I wasn't hungry. Wolf usually had had plenty to eat during the night.

  Ben had already started the coffee. The scent filled the house, and I had to admit it smelled wonderful. Soothing, like I could curl up on the sofa and forget about the guys in my house. I didn't want to leave them alone long enough to take a shower. Like I still thought Cormac might draw a bead on Ben with that rifle. Easy to forget that Cormac was the one who'd brought Ben here because he didn 't want to shoot him.

  I was too wired to sleep. I'd already spent the extra time napping back in the woods with Ben. That man had screwed up my entire schedule. Though if I thought about it, what I really wanted to do was crawl back into bed with him —

  I went to the kitchen and poured myself a cup of cof­fee. Ben, sitting at the table with his own cup, didn't say anything. Whatever he said, I was sure it would make me snap at him. I didn't want to do that. I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

  Cormac joined us a minute later, after I heard the door to the Jeep open and close. He didn't have the rifle with him, so I assumed he put it away. Good. He sat across from Ben. I leaned back against the counter.

  Here we were, back in the kitchen, glaring at tabletops and not saying anything.

  I couldn't stand long silences. That probably came from working in radio. "So, kids. Any questions? We all squared away?"

  "I don't know that I'd go that far," Ben said, chuckling softly. He shrugged his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "What do I do now? If I'm really going to live with this, what do I do?"

  I said, "You're a lawyer. Go back and… lawyer. What would you be doing if this hadn't happened?"

  "It's not that simple," he said. "It can't possibly be that simple."

  He was right, of course.

  "You take it one day at a time, Ben. Some days are eas­ier than others. But you just have to work through it."

  He scowled. "Don't talk to me like I'm one of the los­ers on your show."

  That stung like a kick in the gut. My callers weren't losers—they were my audience. My fans. I wanted to defend them. But yeah, they had problems. A guy like Ben? He didn't have problems. He was a tough guy.

  "Then stop acting like a loser," I said.

  "That's rich, coming from someone who ran off to the woods with her tail between her legs—"

  I took a step toward him, teeth bared in a silent growl, my hands clenched into fists. He flinched back in a sud­den panic, jerking the chair off its front legs. We stared at each other for a moment—I dared him to take me. I dared him to say what he was thinking.

  He looked down. Then he pulled his hands through his hair and leaned his elbows on the table. "What the hell's happening to me?" he muttered.

  I turned away. I knew what was happening to him, but how did I explain it all? A whole new set of body language and emotions—I'd been living with them for years now. I took them for granted.

  "Right, you two are even freaking me out," Cormac said, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. He stood. "I'm taking a walk."

  "Cormac." Ben reached across the table, stopping him for a moment. The tableau held until Ben took a breath and said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for saddling you with this."

  The hunter looked away, and his face tensed, pursing into an expression I couldn't read. Some emotion was there, that he was trying desperately to hide.

  "No," he said. "I'm the one who got you into this mess. I'm sorry."

  As he had so many times before during the past week, he walked out the door. Taking a walk. It was how he coped with the long, awkward silences.

  Ben's arm still lay draped across the table, and he sighed, almost bowing his head to its surface. "I knew he was going to do that. I knew he was going to blame himself."

  I went to Ben—slowly this time, nonthreateningly. He glanced sideways at me, warily, but didn't flinch. I touched his shoulder, held my hand there. Didn't say anything for once, but I smiled when he leaned into the touch.

  Miracle of miracles, Ben listened to me. He went back to work. Borrowed my phone to check his voice mail, used my computer and Internet connection to check his e-mail, replied to a couple of panicked messages from clients. He had his own practice, small enough for one person to run but enough to make a living, fully in keeping with his inde­pendent character. Evidently, he'd decided that if he was going to live, he'd better get back to work. Werewolves still had to pay the rent. The human half did, anyway.

  We had venison for dinner again. That stuff never got old. Though I was beginning to think I should invest in a grill, so we didn't have to keep sticking them under the broiler. Cormac ate leaning up against the counter, Ben and I sat at the table. The meal felt almost normal. Nobody was staring at anybody, nobody asked to get shot, and Cormac had put his guns away.

  We talked about my evil stalker.

  "How long's this been going on?" Ben asked.

  "About ten days. The first one happened right before you got here,
" I said. "Okay, so whoever has it in for me knows what I am. Why didn't something happen last night? Why didn't they go after the wolf half?"

  "They're scared," Ben said. "You're strongest at the full moon. They're not going to want to confront that."

  Cormac said, "He's right. Full moon's the worst night to go after a werewolf. You wait until the morning after. Get 'em while they're sleeping it off." He smiled.

  Even Ben shook his head at that one. "You just got a whole hell of a lot creepier."

  "Me? I haven't changed a bit." He gave Ben a hard look.

  I wasn't going to let that topic go any further than it already had. "They didn't come after me this morning. They were scared enough to stay inside last night, but didn't know to come looking for me this morning."

  "They don't know what they're doing." Ben looked to Cormac for confirmation.

  The hunter tapped the flat of his steak knife thoughtfully against his opposite hand. "If they'd wanted to kill you all it would take was a sniper sitting up on the road. Deputy Rosco could do it. They're just trying to scare you into leaving."

  "So who is 'they'? Or he, or she, or it?" I said.

  Ben continued the brainstorming. "Someone who doesn't want to kill you and doesn't know what they're doing."

  "Amateurs," Cormac said. "Amateurs practicing some kind of fucked up blood magic. This is going to turn around and bite somebody on the ass."

  "Hello?" I raised a hand. "I'm feeling pretty ass-bitten right here."

  "But you're still here. Whatever spell it is your fan club thinks they're casting isn't working. You can't work the kind of magic that calls for hanging skinned dogs up in trees without paying some price. They've either got to give up soon, or escalate. I'd hate to see where that could go."

  "You have any contacts who might know something about this?" Ben asked.

  "I might. I'll make a call." He retrieved his cell phone from his duffel bag and went outside.

  All I wanted was for the torture of small animals out­side my house to stop, the book to be finished, and Ben to be okay.