Kitty Steals the Show

“The American bitch.”

I never knew whether to take that term figuratively or literally.

“I think I need to get that on a T-shirt,” I whispered to Ben, who quirked a smile.

“Who else were you tracking?” Ned asked.

“Mexican delegation. The Indonesian doctor. The wolf soldier.” I tensed, my instinctive, protective reaction at the mention of Tyler. The prisoner continued. “It’s no secret where they’re staying. But when the bitch went out with you all … we called it in.”

“Called it in to whom?” Ned asked.

“Jan.”

“He’s holding your leash?” The werewolf nodded, and Ned went on. “You were ordered to watch Kitty Norville, then. You didn’t get your information from anywhere.”

“Her. Her mate. We tracked them.”

“Why target them?”

“Not them. They’re in the middle of it … but not important. Follow them, secure the target.”

Ned raised a brow and seemed genuinely intrigued. “Oh? Who, then?”

The werewolf smiled, a conspiratorial edge showing even through the trance. “Edward Alleyn, Master of London.”

“Am I to take it, then, that Jan saw the opportunity to remove a foe from the field and sent everyone he could muster to attack?”

“Too good a chance to miss,” he said. “You’re the obstacle. Without you, the rest would fall.”

“Well.” Still holding his gaze, the vampire absently stroked the man’s face. “How do you feel about that now?”

The werewolf’s body tensed, straining against the grip that held him. Anguished lips pulled back from teeth, and he snarled. But the gaze held, and the werewolf didn’t struggle. The vampire shifted his grip, twisted, and snapped. Neck broken twice in a night. Had to suck.

But I had a feeling he wasn’t going to wake up from this one.

Caleb dropped the limp form to the carpet and brushed his hands. “First London, then the world, is that it?”

“And it wasn’t Emma who told, right?” I said.

“No,” Ned said, looking at the young woman. “But you understand, we had to ask.”

She’d collected herself, sitting straight and calm, not letting the least emotion flit across her face. She tipped her chin up in acknowledgment, that was all. A gesture she’d learned from Alette. Ned must have recognized it, too; he turned to hide a smile.

“I didn’t think you’d really done it,” Antony said, spreading his arms. “It was just a possibility.”

“This cannot stand,” Ned said. “Any neutrality they’ve enjoyed, they’ve lost.”

“So the war begins,” Marid said. “At last.”

Ned shook his head. “They’ll go to ground when their minions don’t return. Move to new lairs. It’ll take time to find them, and it’s getting too close to dawn to search.”

“Dawn’s a perfect time to go after vampires,” Ben said. “Get ’em when they’re woozy.”

All the vampires gave him a look, even Emma.

“It’s a perfect time for you to go after vampires,” Ned said. “But I intend to twist Jan’s head off myself.”

“I can track them,” Caleb said.

“How?” Ned said roughly, skeptical.

Caleb curled a smile for him. “They’ve got their wolves standing guard. Like they always do. I may not know where the vampires are, but I can find their wolves.”

Antony stepped forward. “Then we’ll attack—”

“No,” I said. I started pacing, trying to catch a thought before it fled. “If we know which of the werewolf guards have moved, we’ll know who was in on the attack—which of the Masters are allied with Jan and by extension Mercedes—”

“And therefore Roman,” Ben said.

“So we can attack,” Antony reiterated, frowning.

“That’s not the point,” I said. “An attack is going to end up like the one we just had, lots of fighting with no real result. We can’t take the vampires on their home ground so there’s no point fighting their wolves. We don’t want them fighting us, we just want—”

“We want them to leave,” Caleb said. “Kitty’s right. My folk and I killed eight werewolves tonight. You lot can have your war, but it’s us that keep dying, and I’m sick of it. Go after your vampires, but I won’t let you go through more wolves to do it.”

“That’s just it—we can talk to the wolves. Oh, we can do this,” I said. My thoughts had caught up with my subconscious. Wolf and I both knew what to do here. We just had to prove to them that we were the stronger alpha, smarter even than their Masters. And they’d listen to us, right?

Ha.

“Caleb,” I said. “We have to find them. I need to talk with them—all of them.”

“You think they’ll just stand still to listen to you? Are you daft?” Ned glared, but I stood my ground. I was right. I was sure I was right.

“Don’t underestimate her ability to talk,” Ben said, his expression wry. He was enjoying this, the bastard. “It’s her superpower.”

“I don’t believe you,” Ned said. “I don’t believe you can manage this.”

“Caleb,” I said. “Will you help?”

His smile turned toothy. “I’m in. I want to see this. How about it, Ned? Give us your blessing, won’t you?”

“Do I have a choice? As soon as the sun rises you’ll do what you want, am I right?”

“You’ll just have to trust us,” the werewolf said. “Isn’t that what this is all about? Look at us—working together.”

“We should get going,” I said, my eyes bright, my nerves jumpy. Cormac—we had to call Cormac and let him know what was happening. Maybe he’d have some advice, however unlikely that seemed. He was used to shooting, not talking.

Caleb nodded, and we headed for the door.

“Before you go,” Ned said. “You mind if we take care of this one for you?” He pointed at their prisoner.

Caleb scowled at the inert body. “Be my guest.”

Apparently, advocating for the benefit of werewolves in general was one thing. But this one had attacked him and his people. Sympathy was forfeit. I couldn’t say that was the wrong attitude.

“Marid, have you eaten tonight? Would you like a bit?” Ned said, nudging the unconscious werewolf with a booted toe. “Antony?”

“I think you’re still in need of a boost, wouldn’t you say?” Antony answered.

“I daresay there’s enough for all of us to share.”

Antony actually rubbed his hands together.

“That’s it,” I muttered. “I’m out of here.”

“I’m sure we could all share,” Ned said. “The four of us will only take his blood, after all.”

He was only being polite. I glanced at Ben, whose face had gone scrunched up, bemused. It was what happened when your stomach turned and your mouth watered at the same time.

“I don’t … eat people,” I said.

“Not at all?” Antony said. “Ever?”

I paused, wincing. Bringing up the issue ignited the memory of a taste on the back of my tongue, flesh and blood, the iron warmth of it squishing between sharp teeth, gulping down my throat. It wasn’t even my memory, it was Wolf’s. I hardly remembered it, except that the sensory detail had never gone away. “Just that one time.”

Ned gave me an inquiring look. “You? Really?”