Kitty Takes a Holiday kn-3 Page 9

  "You just do," I snapped back at him.

  He started tapping his foot, a rapid, nervous patter.

  So that was breakfast.

  I don't know how I managed it, but I was thinking ahead today. I grabbed a change of clothes. I wanted to set up a den for tonight, a place to wake up in the morning.

  I paused next to Ben, still camped on the kitchen chair, tense as a wire and frowning.

  "I'm going to take a walk. You want to come with me?" I asked softly.

  "Is that an order?" He spat the words. He was already in pain. He was already having to hold it in. I'd forgotten what it was like when it was all new; I'd had four years of prac­tice holding it in, learning to ignore it. Getting used to it.

  I wanted to grab his collar and shake him—growl at him. I grit my teeth and held my temper. "No. I just thought you might like to take a walk. Do you have a change of clothes I could take? Sweatpants and a T-shirt or something."

  He looked at me, eyes narrowed, as he considered this—and then realized what I was really going to do on my walk. He grimaced, like he was holding back a scream, or a sob. I had a sudden urge to hug him, but I didn't. If I even tried to touch him, he might hit the ceiling, he was so tightly wound. That was what I'd have done.

  Then, without a word he pulled out a duffel bag from next to the sofa, rummaged in it for a moment, and found the clothes.

  I was at the front door when Cormac said, "If you're looking for company—"

  "Actually, no offense, but I don't want you to know where I'm going. I don't want to wake up tomorrow morning staring down one of your guns."

  "You think I'd shoot you in your sleep? Either one of you?" he said angrily. Clearly, I'd offended him.

  I wanted to scream. I looked away. "I don't know. I just don't know."

  "If I really wanted to do that, I'd track you. You know I could."

  I left.

  I was torn between wanting to hurry back in case Ben decided to do something rash while I was gone, and taking my time to avoid the situation at the house. I found my usual den and stashed the stuff. Then I sat there for a long time, tucked in the hollow, reveling in the peaceful scent of it. It smelled like me, like fur and warmth, and it felt safe. I wondered what it would feel like with two people in it.

  Then I was ashamed to realize I was looking forward to finding out. I was looking forward to having a friend along for the run tonight.

  God, I'd be lucky if either Ben or Cormac were still friends after tonight. I laced my fingers in my hair and made fists, as if trying to pull the craziness out of my head. Ben was going through hell; I was not going to look on it as a good thing.

  I must have stayed there an hour before I decided to wander back to the house. I dreaded what I'd find when I got there. So help me God if Cormac was cleaning his guns—

  He wasn't. He was in the kitchen reading my copy of Walden.

  I must have stood there staring at him, because he glanced up and said, "What are you looking at?"

  I shrugged. "I guess I'd halfway decided you didn't know how to read."

  Ben, stretched out on the sofa pretending to sleep, snorted a chuckle.

  Ah, the boy retained a sense of humor. Maybe there was hope.

  "How are you doing?" I said to him, gently.

  "Don't patronize me."

  "I'm not—" But what I'd meant and what it sounded like to him could certainly be two different things. I wanted to kick the sofa, knock him out of it. "You're making this way more difficult than it needs to be."

  He sat up suddenly; I thought he was going to lunge at me. I even took a step back.

  He almost shouted. "You know how to make it easy? You want to tell me how to make it easier? 'Cause I'd sure love to hear about it. You keep talking about getting used to it, so if you know any tricks, now would be a great time to share!"

  We glared at each other, eye to eye. My Wolf thought he was going to start a fight right here and wanted to growl. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, to keep her in check. Let the human side deal with this. I just had to tell him to calm down. Had to be patronizing again.

  Cormac interrupted. "Maybe I oughta shoot you both, put you both out of your misery."

  Why did that make me want to laugh? Hysterical, psy­chotic laughter, yes. But still. If it wasn't so serious, it would have been funny.

  I was looking at Ben when I said, "Who says we're miserable?"

  Something sparked. He thought it was funny, too. At least part of him thought part of it was funny. He looked away, but not before I saw the smile flicker on his lips and disappear.

  I pulled the chair from the desk and sat. I was in front of my laptop, not facing him. I'd planned on pretending I was working.

  "Broccoli," I said after a moment. He looked at me. "I think about broccoli. And Bach. I think about things that are as far away from the Wolf as I can. Anything that keeps me human and makes the Wolf go away."

  "Does it actually work?"

  "Usually. Sometimes. You ought to make Cormac give you the book. To distract yourself."

  "Don't tell me that's the only book you have in the house."

  I huffed. "What kind of English major do you take me for?"

  I dug through the box of books and CDs I'd brought and set him up with a copy of Jack London. Which prob­ably wasn't the best choice, but oh well. The philistine had scoffed at Virginia Woolf. Maybe he'd thought I was trying to be funny.

  I managed to write something that afternoon. I wasn't sure how coherent it was. I didn't have the patience to read back over it. Time enough for that tomorrow.

  I wrote for so long that I didn't notice when darkness fell outside.

  "Kitty." The word came out sharp and filled with pain.

  Ben gripped the arm of the sofa; the fabric had started to rip under his hand. His fingers were growing claws. He was staring at his hands like they were alien to him.

  I rushed over and knelt before him. I put my hands on his cheeks and turned his face, made him look away from the scene of horror to look at me instead. His eyes grew wide, filled with shock.

  He said with a kind of rough laugh, "It really hurts."

  "I know, I know." I hushed him, brushing his hair back from his face, which was starting to drip with sweat. "Ben, do you trust me? Please say you trust me."

  He nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. "I trust you."

  "I'll take care of you," I said. "I'm not going to leave you. Okay? You'll be all right. Just get through this and you'll be all right. We're going to go outside now, okay?"

  He slipped forward off the couch to fall into my arms, pressing his face to my shoulder and groaning. For a moment, I worried that he'd try to hold me with those hands turning into claws, but no, he'd pulled his arms in close and had gone almost fetal. Tears slipped from my eyes, stinging my cheeks. I hated this. I hated seeing him e this. "What can I do?" Cormac stood by, hands clenched into fists, watching us with an expression I'd never seen on him before. Helplessness, maybe?

  "Stay out of the way," I said. "Stay inside and lock the door."

  "Cormac—" Ben's voice wasn't his own anymore. His jaw was clenched, his breath coming in gasps, and his words were thick. "Watch, I want you to see. Kitty, he has to watch."

  I helped him stand, putting my arm around his back and hauling up. "Ben, I need you to walk outside with me. Stand up."

  Somehow, he lurched to his feet, leaning hard against me.

  Cormac started toward us. "Let me help—"

  "No!" I said harshly. Growling, even. "He's got claws, he might scratch you. Just get out of the way."

  Cormac stepped aside and opened the door for us.

  Outside, the forest was silver and filled with crisp, deep shadows. Full moon night, bright and beckoning. The cold air sent a charge through my body.

  I could feel Ben's body rippling under my arm, like slimy things moved under the skin. It would have been nausea-inducing, if I hadn't felt this happen to my own body. He was l
ocked up with the pain; I half dragged him off the porch to the clearing in front of the cabin. We weren't going to get any farther than that. I let him drop to the ground, where he curled up on his side. Thick stubble covered his arms.

  I took his moment of immobility to unfasten the button and zipper of his jeans. It took too long; my hands were shaking. But I had to get his clothes off before they tangled him up. That would only add to the pain and confusion. Taking both waistbands—jeans and underwear—at once, I pulled down as far as I could, then grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled up, forcing it over his head.

  "Come on, Ben, help me out here," I muttered. My own Wolf was bucking inside me—It 's time, it's time! —she had a pack now, and we were all supposed to Change together to go running. I locked her away, clamped down on the writhing beast, and ignored it. I had to get Ben through this. His whole body was covered in fuzz—I could almost see the fur growing.

  He groaned again, through grinding teeth and clenched jaw. He was doing his damnedest not to scream. I helped him straighten his arms to get the shirt off.

  Once again, I took his face in my hands. The bones were stretching under my touch.

  "Ben, don't fight it. I know you want to, but you can't stop it, and the more you fight it the worse it is. Look at me!" He'd squeezed his eyes shut, but they snapped open again and his gaze locked on mine. His eyes were amber. "Let it go. You have to let it go."

  "It" was humanity. He had to let go of the body he'd had his whole life. It wasn't easy. It was all he'd ever known. And it was slipping away as sure as the sky turned above us and the full moon rose.

  Finally, the scream that had been growing in him burst loose. The full-lunged note of agony echoed around us and into the sky. When the breath left him, he sounded a whine—a wolf's whine. He broke away from me and fell forward, hugging his belly, chest heaving with every gasp.

  I stayed with him, got up behind him, hugged him from behind, my cheek pressed to his fur-covered back, and held him as tightly as I could so he would know I was here. He had to know he wasn't alone. My best friend T.J. had held me like this, my first time. The fear might have driven me crazy, otherwise.

  He Changed.

  His back arced with a powerful seizure, but I held on. Then his bones slipped, stretched, melted, re-formed. It hap­pened slowly. Maybe it always did, the first time. I couldn't say I really remembered. I remembered the wide sweep of events and emotion from when it happened to me, not the details like this. It seemed to take forever, and I was too fright­ened to cry. What if he didn't come back together again?

  Then the movement stopped, the groaning stopped. I was lying on the ground, my arms around a large, sleek wolf, who was stretched out and gasping for breath, whin­ing with every heave of his chest as if he were dying. But he wasn't, only exhausted. I ran my fingers through his thick, luxurious fur. He was dark gray, flecked with a rust color that ran to cream on his nose and belly. Large ears lay flat against his head, and he had a long, thick snout. He was damp with sweat—human sweat matted into lupine fur.

  I brushed my face along his neck and whispered by his ear, "You're all right, you're going to be fine. Just rest now. Just rest." Meaningless comforts, spoken through tears. He flicked his ears at the sound, shifted his head, looked at me. I swore I saw Ben in those eyes, looking at me as if saying, Are you serious? You call this all right?

  I almost laughed, but the sound choked in my throat and came out as a whimper. He licked my chin—a wolf­ish gesture that said, I won't make trouble, I trust you, I'm in your hands.

  Now, finally, it was time to join him. I could feel Wolf burning along every nerve. I pulled off my T-shirt.

  "Kitty."

  Startled, I looked behind me. Cormac leaned on the porch railing, backlit by the still open front door. He'd watched the whole thing. He saw what Ben was, now.

  I couldn't see him well enough to read his expression, to guess what he was thinking. Not sure I wanted to.

  "Look after him," Cormac said.

  I answered him, my voice rough, thick with tears and fail­ing. "I will. I promise. Now go inside and lock the door."

  He went. Closed the door. Ben's wolf and I were left in shining moonlight. Quickly now, I peeled off my sweat­pants. Let it come quickly, flowing like water, slipping from one form to the other. I kept an eye on Ben—he raised his wolf's head and watched me—until my vision blurred and I had to shut my eyes—

  Opens her eyes to the moonlit world.

  The scent of another fills her first breath. She recognizes him, knows him—she's claimed him as pack, which makes them family, and they'll run together, free this night.

  He lies stretched out, unmoving, and gives a faint whine. He's weak, he's scared. She bows, stretches, yips at him—she has to show him that he's free, that this is good. Still he won't move, so she nips at him, snapping at his hind legs and haunches, telling him to get up, he has to get up. He flinches, then finally lurches to his feet, to get away from her teeth. He looks back at her, ears flat and tail between his legs.

  He's just a pup, brand-new, and she'll have to teach him everything.

  Bumping his flank with her shoulder, she urges him on, gets him to walk. His steps are hesitant—he's never walked on four legs before, he starts slowly. She runs ahead, circles back, bumps him again. As they pace into the woods of her territory, his steps become more sure. He starts to trot, his head low, his tail drooping. She can't contain her joy—she could run circles around him all night. She tries to get him to chase her. She tries to chase him, but he only looks at her in confusion. She has to teach him how to play, bowing and yipping—life isn't all about food and territory.

  She shows him how to run. And how to hunt. She kills a rabbit and shares it with him, shows him the taste of blood. The eating comes naturally. She doesn't have to teach him how to devour the flesh and break the bones with his jaws. He does so eagerly, then licks the blood that has smeared on her muzzle.

  He'll kill the next one, on another night.

  They run, and she shows him the shape of their territory. He tires quickly though—his first night on four legs, she understands. She leads him home, to the place where they can bed down, curl up together, tails tucked close, and bury their noses in each other's fur so they fall asleep with the smell of pack and safety in their minds.

  She hasn't felt so safe in a long, long time. She'll keep her packmate close, to preserve the safety. He is hers, and she'll look after him forever.

  Chapter 9

  The thing was, Ben was part of my pack before this ever happened to him.

  I might have been alone, a werewolf on my own, but I had people I could call. People who would help me if I showed up on their doorstep in the middle of the night. Ben was near the top of that list. Yes, he was my lawyer and I sort of paid him to be there for me. But he'd handled the supernatural craziness in my life without blinking, and as far as I was concerned that went above and beyond the call of duty. He could have dumped me as a client anytime he wanted, and he didn't. I could count on him, and that made him pack.

  I didn't sleep well, waking before dawn. I was nervous—I wanted to make sure I woke up before Ben did. I had to look after him.

  As the sun rose, I watched him. I curled on my side, pil­lowing my head on my bent arm, just a breath away from him—close enough to touch. Even in sleep, his face was lined, tense with worry. He'd had an exhausting night; the evidence of it remained etched in his expression. Shifted back to human, he lay on his back, one arm resting on his stomach, the other crooked up, the hand curled by his shoulder. One of his legs was bent, the foot tucked under the opposite knee.

  His build was average. He didn't work out, but he wasn't soft; it was like he'd been thin as a wire when he was a kid, and was only just now filling out to a normal size. He had a stripe of hair running down his sternum. The hair on his head, still damp with sweat, stuck out, mussed and wild. I held back an urge to brush my fingers through it, smoothing it back. I didn't wa
nt to startle him.

  The bite wounds on his arm and shoulder were com­pletely healed, as if they'd never existed.

  Almost, I dozed back to sleep myself, waiting for him to come around. Then, his slow, steady breathing changed. His lungs filled deep, like a bellows. His eyes flashed open, and his whole body jerked, as if every mus­cle flinched at once.

  He gasped, a cutoff sound of terror, and tried to get up, tried to crawl back as if he could escape whatever it was that had scared him. His limbs gave out, and he didn't go anywhere.

  I lunged over and grabbed his shoulders, pushing him to the ground. I had to lean my whole weight on him—that average build was powerful.

  "Ben! Quiet, you're okay, you're okay, Ben. Please calm down."

  He stilled quickly enough, but I kept hushing him until he lay flat again, his eyes closed, panting for breath. I knelt by him, keeping my hands on his chest, keeping him quiet, and watching his face for any reaction.

  After a moment his breathing slowed. He brought a hand to his face, covered his eyes, then dragged it across his forehead. "I remember," he said in a tired, sticky voice. "I remember the smells. Running. Blood—" His voice strained, cracked.

  "Shh." I lay next to him so I could bring my face close to his, brush his hair back, breathe in his scent, let him smell me, let him know that smell meant safety. "We're safe, Ben. It's okay."

  "Kitty—" He said my name with a gasp of despera­tion, then clung to me, gripping my arm and shoulder, kneading the skin and muscle painfully. I bore it, hugging him back as well as I could. He was so warm in the freez­ing winter air; holding each other warmed us.

  I kissed the hairline by his ear and said, "You're back. Two arms, two legs, human skin. You're back. You feel it?"

  He nodded, which gave me hope because it meant he was listening.

  "Wolf is gone, it's not going to come back for another month. You get to be yourself until then. It's okay, it's okay." I kept repeating it.

  He relaxed. I could feel the tension leave him under my touch. He eased back against the ground instead of hold­ing himself rigid from it. His death grip on me lessened until it was simple holding, and it was okay if he didn't let go. I didn't want him to. I didn't want him to withdraw, lock himself inside himself where I couldn't talk to him.