Kitty and the Silver Bullet Read online

  By this time, I’d heard a dozen versions of this shtick. Fortunately, vampires only ever talked about taking over the world.

  When they stopped talking about it, I’d start to worry.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I want you to know the truth.”

  “Well, thank you for the public service announcement. I’m cutting you off now, you’ve had a little too much ego tonight. Next call—ooh, I think I might have a debate for us here. Hello, Jake? You’re on the air. What do you have for me?”

  “Um, Kitty? Oh, wow. I mean—hi.”

  “Hi. So you have a response to our esteemed vampire caller.”

  “Oh, do I ever. That guy is so full of”—he paused amusingly to censor himself—“crap. I mean, I really want to know where I can get in on some of this vampire world domination action. ’Cause I’m a vampire and I’m stuck working the night shift at a Speedy Mart. I’m not the top of any food chain.”

  “You’re not part of a Family?”

  Jake chuckled. “If it weren’t for your show I wouldn’t even know about Families.”

  This was the part of my show that freaked me out a little. There were people out there for whom I was their only source of information, who used me as a lifeline. It felt like a burden. I had to sound encouraging to someone who’d been dealt a truly shitty hand: working the night shift at Speedy Mart for all eternity.

  I said, “I know this is personal, but I take it that you were made a vampire under violent circumstances, against your will.”

  “Got that right. And if destiny had anything to do with it, I’d sure like to know why.”

  “I wish I had an answer for you, Jake. You got one of the bad cards. But since you and I both know there’s no destiny involved, you have a choice on what to do about it.”

  “I really just wanted to tell the other side of the story. My side. That guy wasn’t speaking for all vampires. Thanks for listening.”

  “That’s what I’m here for. I’m going to move on to the next call now, okay? Good luck to you, Jake.”

  And so it goes.

  I heard from men, women, vampires, humans, human servants of vampires, people who were funny, sad, lost, and angry. The problems ranged from silly to terrifying. I heard stories of people trapped in lives they hadn’t expected, couldn’t escape from. A lot of the time I didn’t know what to tell them. I was totally inadequate to dispense advice—I could barely take care of myself. Early on, though, I’d learned that a lot of times people just needed to vent, and they needed someone to listen. People were desperate for conversation, and many of them didn’t have anyone to talk to.

  Talking about it made a thing—a problem, a weakness, a fear, a hope—more solid, and easier to confront. Easier to control.

  I would do well to remember that in my own life.

  “I’ve got time for one more call. Becky, you’re on the air.”

  “Hi, Kitty,” said a woman who sounded like she was on edge. “This isn’t about vampires. I hope that’s all right. It’s important, I think.”

  At the end of the show, it didn’t much matter. “What’s the problem?” I didn’t doubt that she had a problem. I recognized that tone. The screener had put in “domestic abuse” as the topic.

  “I’m a werewolf, I’m part of a pack, and I’m worried. There’s a new wolf. She’s really young, really vulnerable, and the alpha male—he’s taking advantage of her. But it’s worse than that because he’s beating up on her. This goes way beyond the dominance and submissive crap. The thing is, she won’t leave. I’ve tried to talk her into going away, but she refuses. She won’t leave him. I don’t know what to do. How can I make her see that she doesn’t have to put up with this? That she shouldn’t? She won’t stand up for herself.”

  The story sounded way too familiar. My first three years of being a werewolf, I’d been on the bottom rung, completely submissive to an alpha who was borderline abusive. But the pack meant protection, and I didn’t want to leave. A time came when I had to choose between the pack and my own life—my show, my goals, my future. And I picked me. I’d never looked back.

  Despite my experience, I didn’t know what to tell her.

  I said, “You should be given some credit for wanting to help. But sometimes that isn’t enough. As hard as this sounds, there isn’t much you can do if this person isn’t willing to take that step for herself. I’m sorry.”

  “But—” she said, and sighed. “I know. I know you’re right. I just thought there might be a trick to it.”

  “You can be a friend to her, Becky. Keep talking to her. And maybe you could lead by example. Maybe you should both leave town.” I wasn’t all that hot on the pack structure. My bias showed.

  “That’s hard to do,” she said. “I’m safe here. But I can stand up for myself. She can’t.”

  “Then all you can do is look out for her the best you can. Good luck to you, Becky.”

  You can’t save everyone. I’d learned that.

  I lightened my tone to wrap up. “All right, my friends, we’re about out of time. How quickly it goes when we’re having fun. I’ll be counting the hours ’til next week. In the meantime, a bit of shameless self-promotion: don’t forget that my book, Underneath the Skin—that’s right, my book, written by me, all about stuff I want to talk about—will be on sale in a few weeks. Like you weren’t getting enough of me already. Stay safe out there. This is Kitty Norville, voice of the night.”

  Cue credits, with wolf howl—my own wolf howl, recorded especially for the show.

  I was exhausted. Sometimes doing a show left me so buzzed that I couldn’t sleep until morning. Not tonight. I couldn’t wait to get home and crash. I felt like I’d been awake for days.

  After chatting with the producer and finishing some paperwork, I headed outside. In his car, idling by the curb, Ben was waiting to pick me up. I hopped in on the passenger side, leaned over for a quick kiss, and smiled. Now this was a lovely way to end the night.

  “How did it go?” Ben asked on the drive home. We were renting a place in Pueblo, a hundred miles or so south of Denver.

  I pulled the elastic off my ponytail, shaking out my hair and scratching my head. I wanted a shower. “Great. It was a good night. But it really wore me out.”

  “You okay?”

  I was always worn-out, lately. A condition of success was what I told myself. “Yeah,” I said with a sigh and closed my eyes. I could feel Ben in the seat next to me, a comforting presence.

  Ben and I never decided to be involved in a relationship. We’d fallen into the role of committed lovers by accident. Which was to say, both of us being werewolves, our wolf sides had bonded immediately and formed a pack. Our pack of two, I called it. A mated pair. This made it sound like our wolf sides and our human sides were two different beings, separate, distinct. But our human sides hadn’t resisted the impulse. It had been easy, falling into each other’s lives like this. Ben and I had been friends before he’d become a werewolf. Given time and opportunity, maybe we’d have become something more. I’d never know, now. Most of the time, I could ignore that niggling worm of doubt that hinted that this wasn’t right. That this had somehow happened against my will. Ben was a good man, and I was lucky to have him in my life. We looked out for each other. But sometimes our relationship seemed a little bit like being in limbo. We were just along for the ride.

  I slept like a rock and woke up nauseous. I’d been working too hard, I told myself. I hadn’t had enough to eat the day before, but I couldn’t bring myself to eat anything for breakfast. This morning, this day, was the day of the full moon. We had to drive, get out of town to someplace where we could Change in safety. Our safety, and everyone else’s.

  “You okay? You’re looking a little green around the gills,” Ben said as we packed the car. Usually on full moon days, I was the one asking him if he was okay. He was still a new wolf, still learning to control himself. I studied him; he seemed a little pale, a little tense. He had thi
s habit of distracting himself from his troubles by worrying over me.

  “Just a little off,” I said. “Not ready for tonight for some reason.”

  He gave a grim smile. He was starting to understand.

  Our territory was in the foothills of southern Colorado. Three hours of driving brought us to a remote national forest area. No camping allowed out here, no stray hikers to worry about. We’d be isolated.

  We arrived and sat in the car.

  “You’re still looking off,” Ben said again.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t—” He paused, pursing his lips, clearly uncomfortable. “You don’t smell right.”

  I stared at him. “I don’t smell right?”

  “I don’t know, I can’t explain it. You just smell off. Never mind.”

  Great. Now I smelled off. I grumbled, “I’m just tired.”

  “Even now?”

  Now, full moon night, was when the other halves of our beings had their time. The wolves got to run, and they tore to the surface with all the power of the wild creatures they were. It felt like getting drunk, like being high, and however much we said we hated it, we couldn’t wait to run out there and Change. The Change drew us.

  I felt sluggish.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  We left the car and hiked into wilderness.

  Ben was getting good at controlling his wolf. This was his fifth full moon. He could make it from the car to the woods without losing it and sprouting claws. Almost, he could hide any sign that he was about to shift. But I could tell: his heart rate was too fast, and he was sweating.

  We had a den, a sheltered place to keep us out of sight, warm and safe. We stripped and stashed our clothes: shirts, jeans, and shoes. The moon was rising, bright enough to cast shadows through the woods.

  Ben looked out into those trees, his breath fogging a little in the cool air. I moved around him, touched his arm, slid my hand across his shoulders. He was pale in the moonlight. His skin was hot; he shivered under my touch. He turned and bent his head to me, kissed my ear, my neck, nuzzling. I pressed myself against him. Naked in the woods, bathed in moonlight, every nerve charged with feeling—this was Wolf’s time. I began to see him through Wolf’s eyes, fierce and full of life.

  He breathed by my ear, “You first this time. I want to watch you.”

  I smelled him: skin and sweat, pheromones, desire, need. “You’ll be okay?”

  “I think so.”

  I’d always waited, making sure Ben was okay while he shifted. Comforted him. He probably didn’t need supervising—it was for my own peace of mind. Our wolves called to each other—they wanted to shift together. Could he keep it together while watching me?

  Maybe he just wanted to see if he could keep it together.

  “Okay,” I said softly. I kissed him; he kissed back hungrily, but I pulled away—teasing. I couldn’t help it. It was her, the Wolf, daring him to chase her. She felt his need and stoked the fire.

  I backed away, step by slow step. I was so hot, had so much energy tied up in a knot in my gut I could have screamed. It scratched at my skin, fighting to get out. All I had to do was breathe out, let go, and it would tear out of me. I held Ben’s gaze. He crouched, his hands clenched into fists, his breathing coming too fast. But his gaze was steady.

  All at once I released it, bent my head, doubled over, and as the veil slipped my vision blackened.

  Shakes out her fur, and every hair is charged, sparking. Coils her muscles, ready to run—she trots in place, a spring and a jump, raises her head, and meets the gaze of the one she travels with, the pale figure watching her with wide eyes.

  Here is her mate—still on two legs. She gives a little whine, a short bark, calling to him.

  “God, look at you. You’re amazing.”

  She trots forward, nudges him. He reaches for her, rubbing the not-paws along her coat. The stroking is both odd and pleasurable. She squirms away, whines again—now, it’s time, come now—

  And so he does, doubling over, groaning, and the sound changes, becomes less wrong and more right, until it is a howl, and she joins in, filling the woods with their song. He gasps a little, still not used to his legs and fur and voice. Still a pup, but stronger every time. All her hopes and desire and power go out to him—they rule these woods together. She greets him, licks him, nips him, lets him do the same to her, they writhe around each other, a tangle of fur and muscled bodies.

  Then he launches into the forest. It’s a surprise—he leads the chase this time. She has to scramble to keep up. They hunt, nose to the ground, following the zigzag patterns of their prey.

  He’s the one who finds the deer, a small one but large enough to feast on, upwind so it hasn’t sensed them. Together they pause. Can they do it? They’ve never hunted anything so large together. He is eager, he’s tasted blood, has hunted it, and the lust of it fills him because before anything else they are hunters. He makes a frustrated whine, because she hesitates. He wants to leap at it, tear into its haunches, bring it down. Together they can, one at its haunches, one at its throat. She knows this, can see the image in her mind. His limbs are trembling, he wants so badly to chase it down.

  But she holds back.

  Then it’s gone. Raising its head, twitching its ears, it senses something that makes it run, leaping around trees and bushes. Too much work to chase it down now.

  He shakes himself, scratches the dirt in frustration, pins his ears at her. She snaps at him and trots away, in search of some easier creature that she can catch with little effort.

  In a moment he follows, because they’re pack, and they hunt together. Rabbit instead of deer, but blood is blood in the end.

  chapter 2

  I didn’t feel good.

  I never felt great after a full moon night, but that not feeling good was like a hangover after a party. You suffered and didn’t complain, because you’d had your fun and this was the price. Rather, the Wolf had her fun and left me to deal with the consequences.

  But right now, I really didn’t feel good. I felt sick, which was weird, because I hadn’t been sick since becoming a werewolf. The same thing that made me a werewolf made me immune. Indestructible, almost. I curled up on my side, holding my stomach, which churned with cramps. No, it wasn’t my stomach, it was lower than that. Deeper. Like menstrual cramps, but I’d never had them this bad. My insides felt like they were grinding themselves up.

  “What’s wrong?” Ben shifted behind me, where he’d been nestled asleep. He propped himself on an elbow and kissed my shoulder.

  I must have let out a groan or something. “I don’t feel good.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. Cramps or something.”

  “They always this bad?”

  “Ben, we’ve been living together for five months, you should know the answer to that.” He glared, unamused. I shook my head. “No, never.”

  “What else could it be?” He was sitting up now, his hand on my arm, frowning worriedly at me.

  “I don’t know.” That came out with a definite whine.

  “Should you go to a hospital or something?”

  “I never have to go to the hospital.”

  “Kitty, what if this is serious? You’ve been tired and sick for weeks.”

  “It’s just cramps. What else could it be?”

  “I have no idea what it could be—cancer? You accidentally swallowed a butcher knife last night? I don’t know.”

  “Werewolves don’t get cancer.”

  “Kitty.” He bowed his head. “Never mind, do what you think is best.”

  “You think I should go to a doctor.”

  “Can you even sit up right now?”

  I didn’t want to think about sitting up, I hurt that much. Which meant maybe he was right.

  “I don’t have health insurance. Werewolves don’t need health insurance.” I reached for his hand; he took it, held it. He g
ave me that exasperated look he always did when I was being stubborn.

  “One checkup won’t break the bank.”

  “But what if something’s really wrong?”

  “You said it yourself—werewolves don’t get sick.”

  “Then I don’t have to go to the doctor.”

  We glared. He looked away first—deferring to the more experienced. A submissive wolf. He dug my clothes out of the hole we’d stashed them in and threw them at me.

  “Let’s get moving, then see how you feel.”

  “Ben?”

  “Hm?”

  I held his arm, pulled on it, drew him close. Kissed him, and was happy when he smiled. “Let’s go.”

  Back at home, I returned my mother’s weekly Sunday phone call. Every Sunday she called, like clockwork. She’d known I was out for the full moon, but she’d left a message anyway. “Call back when you can, let me know everything’s okay.” She tried to be supportive in her own way. She’d convinced herself that my being a werewolf was like joining a club that did some vaguely dangerous and thrilling activity, like rock climbing.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hi, Kitty. How was your weekend?”

  Oh, I turned into a wolf, killed something, woke up naked in the middle of the woods, went home, and brushed my teeth a half-dozen times to get the taste of blood out of my mouth. “It was okay. I haven’t been feeling too great, I think something’s stressing me out.”

  “Any idea what?”

  “Maybe it’s the book coming out. I’m worried how it’s going to do.”

  “It’ll be fine—I’ve read it, it’s a really good book. People will love it.”

  “You’re my mother, you’re supposed to say that.”

  “Of course I am,” she said happily.