“It’stime,” he murmured.
Ifelt it, too. The animal inside of me pressing at the bars of her cage,waiting to break free.
Butthere was something else. Something . . . kind of tingly. Weirdly, Ifelt more relaxed, when at this time during a full moon I ought to befeeling more than tense, like my body was ripping apart.
ThenI saw Becky in the shape of her sandy-colored wolf charge across theclearing, stumble, and roll over on her back, paws batting at the air,tongue hanging out the corner of her mouth. Shaun’s dusky wolf satnearby, teeth bared, face pointed upward—almost like he was laughing.
Benwatched, squinting. “Does that look kinda weird to you?” He spokeslowly—his words were almost slurred. I couldn’t really focuson what he was saying. Claws sprouted from my fingers. I was Changing.But the whole thing felt kinda . . . blurry.
Ilooked at Ben, and both of us starting laughing. The laughs turned intolupine whines.
“Ithink we’re drunk,” I managed to gasp out.
“So.Less Blood Moon and more ‘nice dry, merlot moon’?” Ben said, and it wasthe last thing he said, because his body slipped and the Change washedover him. His wolf emerged—teeth bared, laughing.
Iwas about to follow. And you know what? That was all right.
Kittyand Cormac’s Excellent Adventure
"INEED YOUR HELP.”
Ileaned back in my office chair and stared at the phone for a moment.Cormac never asked for help. “Are you feeling all right?”
Heblew out a breath of what sounded like frustration, as if he was justas surprised as I was by this conversation. “Yeah, I’m fine. I justneed a favor.” His tone was curt. He didn’t want a discussion.
“Whatcan I do?”
Eachword sounded forced out against his will. “I need to see Rick.”
Rick,the Master Vampire of Denver. My brow furrowed, confused. “Why do youneed to see Rick?”
“Justa message. Not a big deal.”
Itwas probably a big deal. “You could call him yourself—”
“Buthe’llactually talk to you.”
“Comeon, what’s this about? You hate vampires.”
“Justfive minutes.”
“He’sgoing to want to know what this is about. He won’t open the door to youjust because I ask.” Cormac was a bounty hunter specializing insupernatural creatures. Vampires, werewolves, a lot of other crazystuff. At least, he used to be, before he went to prison formanslaughter. Now, he was more of a paranormal investigator, along withthe ghost of a Victorian magician who lived in his mind. Long storythere. He’d mellowed quite a bit under Amelia’s influence, or so Iliked to think. But yeah, Rick didn’t exactly trust him. It sometimesseemed kind of weird that I did.
“That’swhy I need to you to ask. Convince him.”
Iwas dying of curiosity. At this point I’d make the meeting happenjust to see what it was about. And of course I would be there. “Am Igoing to regret this?”
Thepause told me that yes, there was a good possibility that I would infact regret this. “It’ll be fine.”
“Sure,”I drawled. “I won’t be able to talk to him until nightfall.”
“Thesooner the better.”
“Seriously,Cormac, are you in trouble?”
“It’llbe fine. Call me when it’s set up.” He hung up.
Whatthe hell had he gotten into, and why was I just going to dive in afterhim? I’d better get a good story out of this.
Rickagreed to the meeting, probably because after I told him about Cormac’srequest, he was just as curious as I was. “What could he possibly be upto?” he asked.
“Noidea,” I answered. “So, you’re in?”
Hewas in, as long as the meeting happened on his turf at Obsidian, theart gallery that served as the public face of the lair of Denver’svampire Family. Cormac wasn’t happy about that when I called him.
“I’dhoped we could do this on neutral territory. Your place, maybe.”
“Takeit or leave it,” I said. “I’ll be there, if you think it’ll help.”
Hescowled. “I’d rather keep you out of this.”
“Nope,you dragged me in already, I want the story.”
Imet Cormac in the alley behind the gallery. He was a tall, rugged guywith an easy manner and hard face, dressed in a T-shirt, jeans,and leather jacket. After his felony conviction—he’d been out of prisonfor a couple of years now—he stopped carrying guns, but he still keptweapons. He usually had a couple of stakes up his sleeve. Now hecarried them openly, hanging in a quiver off his belt, along with aspray bottle that was no doubt filled with holy water, and a silvercross hanging around his neck. Had Cormac ever set foot in a church inhis life?
“Really?”I said, deadpan, glaring at him.
“Justmaking a statement,” he said. Also, he wore sunglasses to protectagainst vampires’ hypnotic stare.
“Allright, wait here,” I said. He leaned up against the back of thebuilding while I went down a set of concrete stairs to the basementdoor and knocked.
Rickhimself opened the door. Any other Master would have had minions andgatekeepers, but not Rick.
“Hey,”I said, waving a little. “Thanks for doing this.”
Hesmiled. “And howare you this evening?”
“Good,good. Dying of curiosity.”
“Anyidea what he’s up to?”
“Notat all.”
“Thenlet’s get this over with.” He gestured me up the stairs first.
WhereCormac was rough, Rick was elegant, his dark hair short, swept back,his gaze amused. I hadn’t gotten the whole story, but he was probablyaround five hundred years old. He claimed he’d been part of Coronado’sexpedition into the southwest. Couldn’t guess that about him now. Hisaccent was flat American, and while his looks and manner were refined,they didn’t seem particular to any time or place. He must have seen somuch, had so many adventures. Iwanted to hear all the stories, but he rarely talked about his ownhistory.
Whenwe reached the alley, Cormac straightened, his hand moving to hisquiver of stakes. Rick lifted a brow at Cormac’s armory. I made sure tostand between the two of them. The posturing was stupid; they both knewbetter than this.
Ricksaid, “Well, Mr. Bennett?”
Cormaclooked down the alley, along the roofline. Everywhere but at thevampire. His mustache shifted when he pursed his lips. I’d have thoughtthis was the hardest thing he’d ever done.
“I’msupposed to deliver a message,” he said finally.
“Allright,” Rickanswered. “What is it?”
“Themessage isn’t for you.”
Rickopened his hands. “Then why am I here?”
“Becausethey told me . . .
