Kitty Rocks the House Page 8

  He never, ever had. In fact, he’d been one of the true friends, an anchor I could count on. He’d helped me more times than I could count. He was my first and strongest proof positive that being a vampire did not make someone a villain.

  “No, of course not. You’re right, I shouldn’t be going behind your back and I shouldn’t be worried about you.”

  “I don’t know about the second of those,” he said with a wry smile. “Trust me, if I need help, I’ll call.”

  “You really should check your messages occasionally, you know. The Mistress of Buenos Aires is going to be showing up in a week. We need to plan.”

  “Yes, I know.” He sat back and gazed around the dining room. I watched him take stock of each face, each mundane story unfolding before him. As he usually did in public crowds, he seemed amused, satisfied. He’d said it before: he liked people and being around them. It kept him human. Made it hard to see the five-hundred-year-old vampire in him.

  He glanced toward the table where Darren and Becky were sitting. Darren laughed at something, she curled a short lock of hair around her finger. They may have been werewolves but those mating signals were all human. “Who’s the new kid?” Rick asked.

  “That’s Darren. A lone wolf who wants to join the pack.”

  “How is that working out?”

  “This is one of those times I wish this alpha gig came with an instruction manual. So far, so good.” I made an expansive shrug, as if to take in the universe. “We’ll find out for sure on the full moon.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Yeah, no doubt. But you—you’re sure you’re okay?”

  “Never been better,” he said.

  I needed a moment to consider what a statement like that might really mean for a vampire.

  * * *

  THE FULL moon pulled at me. The sun was setting, the moon would rise soon, and Ben and I needed to be in the hills west of the city, with the rest of our pack, letting our wolves loose. But I couldn’t, not yet. This happened every month, a battle in my mind, in the core of my being. Part of me could already taste the blood on my tongue. I needed to hunt, because nothing felt so good, so real, so right. My four legs and furred body would burst through this weak human skin. The feeling burned through me, stronger than the anticipation of sex. It must have been what addiction felt like.

  Each of us stewed in our own roiling emotions, listening more and more to the wolves in our bellies, increasingly unable not to listen. We locked up the condo and headed to the car. Soon, soon, I whispered to my Wolf, begging her to stay calm. Just for another hour, just a little while longer.

  Then my phone rang.

  I flinched, and Ben jumped as if a gun had fired. His lips curled from his teeth. “Can’t you shut that off?”

  Caller ID said Cheryl. I probably shouldn’t even have looked, but I couldn’t ignore my sister. “Yeah?” I answered the call, wishing I didn’t sound so brusque. I stood by Ben’s car, clutching the phone to my ear, staring at nothing. Ben paced nearby, jangling the keys in his hand.

  “Kitty, hi, it’s me.”

  Why did people still say that, in this age of caller ID, when we knew who was calling before they said anything? “Hey, Cheryl.” My foot started tapping. Cheryl didn’t call me that often. We lived just across town from each other, but usually relayed messages through Mom, who called each of us every Sunday like clockwork. My sister only called directly when she wanted something, or if something was wrong. She didn’t sound like something was wrong.

  “So, how is everything?” she asked.

  How is everything. I could give her a blithe answer, vague and cheerful, but a growl lodged in my throat. I had to swallow in order to continue.

  “Fine. Busy, actually. I’ve had a lot on my plate this week.” Ben stopped pacing and stared at me, his brows raised, asking, Are you serious? “In fact, I was just on my way out with Ben. Like, right this minute.”

  She made a thoughtful hum. “It’s Saturday night, isn’t it? Nice to know somebody still gets to party on the weekends.” Her tone was cutting.

  “Actually, it’s a full moon tonight,” I said, frowning.

  “Wait, what? What’s that got to do … oh.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “And I really need to get going.”

  “Right, okay, but I just need to talk for a second.”

  “Make it fast.”

  “I want to have a party for Mom, since her birthday’s coming up and to celebrate her last scan coming back clean. But if I’m going to pull it off I really need your help.”

  I groaned. I didn’t mean to, it just came out. It wasn’t that I didn’t think a party was a good idea—every day with Mom healthy was worth a celebration. She’d been diagnosed with breast cancer almost four years ago and beat it. Nothing to worry about. Except medically speaking she wasn’t out of the woods yet. She was in remission, but the cancer could always come back. She hadn’t crossed that five-year mark yet, but for now, she was good.

  So, party, yes. But I just couldn’t take on another project right now.

  “What was that for?” Cheryl shot back, annoyed.

  “I’m sorry, but how much help are we talking about here? I’m kind of overbooked as it is—”

  “Oh yeah, I always forget how busy you are, with all your jetting off to Europe and partying on Saturday night—”

  “I wouldn’t call it partying—”

  “I’ve got two kids here, Jeffy’s starting kindergarten this fall, I never seem to get anything done, and I thought that just for once I could count on you to help out, just a little.”

  The topic of this discussion had turned into something else entirely. This wasn’t about a party at all, was it? In a twilit sky, the silver moon was edging over the horizon. I didn’t have time for this … That was the trouble, wasn’t it?

  I took a breath and did what I could. “Cheryl, are you okay?”

  “I just want to know that when I call you for help you’re going to be there, you know? That’s what family’s supposed to do.”

  “Cheryl, I love you, and everything’s going to be okay. But can we talk about this tomorrow?” I winced. I wasn’t trying to get rid of her. Except that I was. How did I make this not sound so bad?

  Her voice turned flat. “Sure. Of course. Tomorrow. Fine,” she said, taking a deep breath. Like she was trying to keep from crying. Oh God, my big sister was having a nervous breakdown, and I’d triggered it.

  “We’ll do the party,” I assured her. “I’ll help. But I can’t talk about it right now. Okay?”

  “Okay, okay,” she said, and hung up. And that was that. I clutched the phone to my chest.

  Ben watched me. “You heard all that?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Is my sister losing it, or am I?”

  “Either way, it’ll pass.”

  “I really don’t need another thing to worry about.”

  He squeezed my arm. “Let’s get going. We’ll worry about that later.”

  * * *

  THE OTHERS would already be gathered, waiting for us. Not quite checking their watches or time on their cell phones, but watching the full moon rise and wondering where their fearless leaders were. This would take some damage control. I wasn’t worried about most of the pack; we’d been stable for years, and no one was much interested in challenging our authority.

  But this time we had Darren. What would he think, the alphas not taking charge on the one night when being a werewolf really meant something?

  Like I had to impress him or something.

  The farther out of town we got, the better I felt. We were leaving our human selves—our human anxieties—behind. The wilderness in the mountains meant freedom. At least for a night.

  Tonight we were meeting at a little-used dirt service road on National Forest land. We carpooled so we’d only leave a handful of cars parked suspiciously in the middle of the woods at night. Ben turned off the main road; another ten minutes of d
riving brought the first of the other cars into view. I counted them, and sure enough, everyone else was already here, or should have been. He switched off his headlights and parked. We stashed our wedding bands in the glove box.

  The sky above was deep blue, touched by the silver light of a rising moon. It’s time, it’s time.

  Hand in hand, we walked into the woods to meet the others. I could hear a few murmuring voices, and running feet brushing through foliage. A rangy, oversized wolf came at us, ears up and tail out like a rudder, loping along with his mouth open, smiling almost.

  “Wow, Tom, you a wolf or a golden retriever?”

  He put his ears back and veered away from us, snapping at air, enjoying his time. He could never be bothered to wait for the rest of us before shifting.

  A few of the others had shifted as well, and they circled the spot where the rest of us waited, trotting up to Ben and me, brushing along our legs and nuzzling us in greeting, then bumping shoulders with the others. Chaos waiting to burst free.

  “Hey,” Shaun called. “Everything okay?” Leaning against a tree with his arms crossed, babysitting the rabble, he wore a T-shirt, jeans, and went barefoot.

  “Got a late call. It’s okay,” I said.

  “The gang’s antsy.”

  “I expect so.” Wolf kicked out, a stabbing pain under my rib cage. I winced and hugged myself against a sudden chill. It’s time …

  “So where’s the new guy?” Shaun asked. Becky, in a tank top and yoga pants, had come up behind him. She’d been looking back and forth between us and the path behind us, as if expecting someone else to arrive.

  “He’s not here? He didn’t get a ride with you, Becky?” I’d half-expected to see him next to Becky. I looked around, marked every face, taking in the scent of the gathered pack. In the cool night air I was able to sense every little odor; nothing smelled out of place. And that was the problem, because I should have been able to smell Darren’s new, foreign scent. He’d need a couple of full moon nights of running with the rest of us, piling together as wolves and sleeping until morning, before he smelled like pack.

  “I thought he’d be with you guys,” she said.

  “Damn. I should have called him,” I said. “He said he’d be here…”

  “Maybe he decided he didn’t want to be part of the pack after all,” Shaun said.

  Becky worriedly bit her lip. “No, he would have told someone, he wouldn’t have just left.”

  We all looked at her, and instead of wilting she stood up a little taller. I sighed. “We can’t worry about it now.”

  Still frowning, Becky turned away, pulled off her top, dropped it on the ground as she shoved down her pants. Naked, her lithe form was a shadow in the moonlight. She was still walking when she started shifting, back hunching, limbs bending, fur sprouting over skin. As she dropped, she grunted once, and the Change passed over her like water. Rolling his shoulders back Shaun stripped and followed Becky. The world’s focus grew sharp, narrow. Nothing else mattered but the pack and the forest.

  One of the pack came toward me and Ben. Shirtless, he slouched, head bowed, slinking low and submissive. He wanted something and was afraid to ask for it. Now wasn’t the best time. My lip curled, but Ben brushed his arm against mine, calming me.

  Ben said, more calmly than I would have, “What is it, Trey?”

  “I need to talk. About Sam.”

  Sam, Sam, who was Sam … Oh, his girlfriend. Right. I steadied myself. “What’s wrong? Did you talk to her?”

  “Yes. It … it didn’t go well.” Anxious lines marred his face, and not just from the stress of keeping his wolf at bay. He was worried, on the edge of shifting, trying to stay human so he could get out the words.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, the only thing I could think to say. “We should talk. In the morning.” In moments, none of us were going to be able to say much of anything.

  “Yeah. That’s all I want.” He nodded quickly, ducking again. He was afraid we’d be angry with him.

  I brushed my hand over his hair; he leaned into the touch of comfort. “In the morning,” I said. “Go now.”

  He spun and ran, a ripple of dark fur sprouting along his back.

  Next to me, Ben pulled off his shirt, folded it distractedly, and set it on the ground. Then he stood in front of me and tugged up the hem of my T-shirt. Like a little kid, I raised my arms and let him pull it off. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and the cool air brushed deliciously across my skin. Fur strained to burst through in a million pinpricks.

  Ben hugged me, skin to skin, and I could have melted against him. “I love you,” he said.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  He convulsed once in my arms, then dropped to all fours, grunting.

  I stood there, staring into the trees—still resisting, until that growling voice inside me barked, Now.

  Yeah, now.

  * * *

  THE NIGHTTIME forest is freedom. The hunting pack is like a storm, a wind through the trees, constant and unstoppable. A rainbow wash of scents greet her: live wood and dead leaves, air that tastes of distant rain, and prey, large and small, from mice to rabbits to deer and elk. Alive, quivering, filled with meat and blood. Her mouth waters.

  Feeding the pack takes larger prey. Since they hunt together, they can be ambitious. Her mate finds a trail, nips her flank to gain her attention, urging her and the others to follow. But she snaps back. The thread of another scent has caught her attention. Foreign, alien, stabbing through their territory, this draws her far more than her hunger. This is a threat.

  Circling around her, and it, her mate finds it, too. They brush shoulders, bury noses in each other’s fur to reassure themselves of their familiar marks. The rest of the pack mills, uncertain. Their anxiety has spread. This invading scent is alien, but familiar. She knows this wolf, which somehow makes the intrusion worse. This is an invitation refused.

  She tips her nose to the sky and lets loose a thin howl, hoping for response—for explanation.

  The pack waits for a reply to travel through the silvered night, but none comes. So she puts her nose to the ground to follow the scent, and the pack follows her.

  They are wide-ranging, fanned out through the forest, claiming their territory, watching for danger. Prey of every sort crisscrosses their path, and her wolves yip at her, telling her they’re hungry and that food is close. Time enough for that later. She trots on, and the stranger’s scent grows stronger.

  They leave the forest and reach an open meadow, a rolling field of grass tucked between hills, glaring with the brightness of the moon. She hangs back, unwilling to expose the pack without more information. They pace behind her. Her mate nudges her shoulder and looks over the wide space with her.

  Far ahead, there is movement in the grass. The stranger is here. She also smells blood, freshly spilled. A growl sticks deep in her throat when she realizes what has happened. At the far edge of the meadow, a wolf is eating, moving around a carcass, ripping away mouthfuls. But it’s the wrong prey—a scent they have always avoided. Rich prey, so easy to kill, but they have never hunted it, they can’t, not if they want to stay hidden.

  Her hackles rise stiff as boards. She howls again, a long note that falls away. The distant wolf, gray and tawny in the moonlight, pauses and looks up. He sings back, a bright tone that leaves her confused—it’s a greeting, a call to wolves who share territory. Not an invader at all. At least he doesn’t think so.

  But he has hunted without the pack, and hunted badly. She feels a driving need to see him cower.

  She pushes her mate and huffs at her strongest, her enforcer, one of those who leads the hunts. Together, they run, stretching to cross the field of grasses in long strides. Her hope is that this wolf will see them coming and drop to show his belly.

  He does not. Instead, he stands on the carcass he has killed, in victory, in dominance. She pins her ears, lips contracting to bare her teeth at him. When he meets her gaze—a calm, unconsidered challenge, a
rage fills her. She charges. Her mate and her second are with her, as is right. Reaching the challenger first, she crashes into him, jaws open and claws reaching. He rears to meet her—and falls away. Tumbles off the bloody meat he’s been picking at. Her mate and enforcer circle. The challenger sidles away, tail lowered. Not between his legs. Not quite submissive. But he’s dropped his gaze.

  He’s larger, she can’t stand over him, can only show dominance by glaring, curling her lips. Stand between him and his kill, show her anger. He circles, paces. Mostly seems confused. As if he doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong. As if he doesn’t know the rules.

  Her mate and enforcer run at him, nip at him, and together they drive him to join the pack. She follows at a stiff-legged lope, looking back once at the half-eaten carcass. Much meat is left. She’s tempted to make use of it, but they’ve already left too much sign of their passing. The urge to flee this tainted spot overcomes her hunger.

  The pack has scattered. The deer they might have hunted together has been forgotten in favor of easier, smaller prey. They hunt from desperation now, for rabbits or such, for the scant morsels they can find. Not the organized feast they could have had. For the moment, she has lost control. So she runs, and runs, kills what she can, a couple of rodents, swallows them whole. Runs again. A cry stops her. An arcing note, echoing against the night sky, stabs into her mind, and calls her back.

  Her mate meets her halfway. Nips her ear. She yawns at him, rubs herself along his side, fur to fur, and finally feels right.

  The pack gathers in their night’s den. All of them, even the stranger. The others give him wide berth. She snaps at him, drives him off in a run before letting him circle back. Just to show him.

  She is only able to sleep when her mate curls up beside her, resting his snout against her neck.

  Chapter 9

  OFTEN, MORNINGS after a full moon were muddy, full of strange dreams and half-remembered images. A taste of blood lingering in the film over my teeth, with no real memory of how it got there. Only assumptions, and a hope that I hadn’t done something terrible.