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"Ben." My voice grated through my clenched jaw. I was Changing; it was coming so fast.
He knew what was happening. He pulled me to him, held me tight, and hissed in my ear. "Keep it together. Deep breaths, Kitty. Hold it in."
My skin was sliding, my bones melting, I thrashed at my clothes, had to get them off, had to get away—
"Hardin, get your people out of here!" Ben shouted. Finally giving in to what was happening, he ripped off my shirt and tugged at my bra.
Wrenching out of Ben's grip, I screamed.
Dizzy, angry. Can't see straight. Chest aches—injured. Not for long, already healing, but the pain lingers. So does the anger.
She kicks at the ropes that trap her, tangle her legs—remnants of the old shape. Hadn't gotten rid of that false skin in time. It's come so quickly, so unexpectedly. But she is in danger. She has to protect herself, and she can run faster on four legs than on two.
An attack, hunters on all sides of her, cornering her—Her other half recognizes the two-legged hunters with their handheld burning deaths. Must defend herself. There—the one whose hand smells hot, burns with the scent of sulfur and oil. He's the one who hurt her.
She lowers her head and growls.
"Oh, my God," the voice behind her says. "Becky, Shaun, stop her!"
Nothing can stop her. Her body is wind, her claws are blades, her voice is thunder.
Now her target smells like fear. Sweat has broken out on his skin. When he takes a step back, she knows she has him. She will rip his flesh and taste his blood. Her lips draw back from fierce teeth and a salivating mouth as she launches herself toward her victim. She runs, her claws scraping onthe pavement. Digs into the ground, leaps, stretching for him, and his scream thrills her blood. Her paws are on him, her rough pads scraping his false skin, and he falls—
A body intercepts her, knocking her away from her prey. She lands on her feet and looks. The attacker crouches, facing her, staring her down. Daring to stare her down. She pants and takes the scent of the intruder—one of her kind, one of her pack. The new female.
And before she can strike at her, to put her in her place, hands—human, naked hands—grab her from behind, pull at her, hold her. She snarls, fights, twists, slashes with claws, with teeth. Two of them hold her back. They are pack. They can't do this, she'll show them, she'll show them who's strongest—
The place is chaos. There is ru
"Kitty! Hold still, just hold still! "
Even as the growl rattles her lungs, a hand on her chest and a voice by her ear make her pause.
"Sh, Kitty. It's okay, you're safe. You're safe."
She stops struggling; the two-legged wolf holds her back.
This is her mate who holds her, who soothes her. Whining softly, she turns to him, licks his hand. He tastes like home.
"Sh," he keeps murmuring. "We're okay. We're going to be okay. "
He radiates calm and she believes him.
Then the whole pack is there. Her little pack, all of them with her, all of them safe. She leans close to her mate, presses her body full against him, panting shallow breaths because she's still nervous. Still waiting for an attack. Have to trust the pack to take care of each other. She trustsher mate with all her being. Letting her muscles relax, letting the anger seep away, she settles into his arms.
"I don't know enough about this," he says, his voice strained. "I don't know if she's going to be okay. "
"She'll be okay, " says the other. "Once she sleeps she'll be fine. Try to get her to sleep. "
So the voice continues, close to her ear, breathing comfort into the fur of her neck. Furless, clawless hands stroke her flanks, a strange and soothing touch.
And because he smells and sounds and feels like home, she settles with him and closes her eyes.
I remembered being shot and started awake.
I lurched up onto an elbow and looked around. I was in a corner of the KNOB lobby, wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket, and curled up on the cold tile floor. Underneath, I was naked.
Ben was standing nearby, talking to Detective Hardin and a couple of other cops. Ozzie was there, too, and some other KNOB staffers. The station manager wore a worried frown and rubbed a hand through his thi
Ben turned around before I could draw breath to speak. Quickly he came over and knelt beside me. I screwed up my face and felt vaguely ashamed. I pulled the blanket tightly around my shoulders.
"What happened?" I said, my voice scratching.
"You got shot," he said.
"I remember that. What about after?"
"You didn't hurt anyone."
I gave a thin laugh. "Thank God for small favors." In truth, this relieved me immensely. I felt lighter.
Idly, he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Bloodstains covered his shirt, complete with handprints and streaks from where I'd grabbed his arms. "How do you feel?"
"Crappy. I didn't want to hurt anyone." The horror of it took a long time to settle over me—Injured and frightened, I'd shifted in the middle of a crowd of people I'd have done it and not thought twice. I'd have just been defending myself. "I can't believe I got shot."
"Tell me about it." He sat beside me and tucked me under his shoulder, wrapping his arm around me. I snuggled in closer. "Hardin sent a couple of cars after Carl. They're cordoning off the neighborhood to look for him."
"They won't find him."
"I know. She took the rest of his guys into custody. She thinks she'll find forensic evidence linking them to the warehouse. She seems to be having a good time with all this."
"She wants to try out her silver-lined jail cell."
"Well, more power to her."
The woman herself came over then, looking tired but smug. I had an impulse to stand—I didn't want to have to look up at her. From wolf eye level no less. But I was too tired, and Ben was too comfortable. Blearily, I stared up at her.
Wary, she studied me, edging toward me like she might toward a wild animal. Which I supposed I was. She'd seen me shift—seen both halves of my being. I'd attacked one of her people, though the specific memory was fuzzy. But she seemed to have the intention of treating me like a human being. However much of a struggle that would be. She visibly gathered herself.
"How are you?" she said. The concern was touching.
I shrugged, then winced, because I still hurt some. My ribs felt bruised, and my whole body felt pounded. "I've been worse."
"For what it's worth, I apologize. Officer Sawyer's going to get a reprimand. Just because you weren't permanently hurt doesn't mean he gets away with shooting a civilian."
"And if he'd had silver bullets?" I said. Both Ben and I stared up at her, waiting for the answer.
"Just be glad that he didn't." She walked back to her people and the cleanup.
I didn't even want to think about it. "I need my clothes."
"They kind of got trashed. You ready to get out of here?"
I propped myself against Ben and braced against the wall to get myself to my feet. My muscles popped, and my bones creaked. Ben pulled me to my feet without effort. I let him hold me up. I'd turned Wolf twice in the last twenty-four hours. I'd never done that before, never turned a second time so soon after the first. Almost, it seemed the pieces hadn't come back together quite right. Fur still peeked between the cracks. Wolf still looked out of my eyes. My brain felt fuzzy, the world looked strange; the shadows seemed to loom.