Kitty and the Midnight Hour

breathe.

He was going to kill me.

I'd wanted to learn to fight to defend myself against enemies, not engage in pack power struggles. What was I doing?

Anger and fear. That was what this whole life was about, anger vying with fear, and whichever won out determined whether you led or followed. I had spent almost three years being afraid, and I was sick of it.

I kneed him in the crotch.

He gasped, and while he didn't release me, his grip slackened. Grabbing his wrist, I squirmed out from under him. I kept hold of his arm as I slid onto his back, wrenching the limb around. Something popped and he cried out. I twisted it harder. With my other hand I grabbed his hair and pulled as hard as I could, tilting his head almost all the way back. It took all my weight pressing down on him to keep him at this angle, which made moving too painful for him. I didn't have the luxury of being able to let go to smack him around. So I bit him. Right at the corner of his jaw, taking in a mouthful of his cheek. I bit until I tasted blood, and he whimpered.

Finally, he went slack. I let go of his face, licking my lips, sucking the blood off my teeth. I'd taken a chunk out of his flesh—a bite-sized flap of it was hanging loose.

I leaned close to his ear. 'I don't like you. I still hold a grudge against you and I always will, so stay out of my way or I'll rip you apart.'

I meant it, too. He knew it, because as soon as I eased my weight off him, he scrambled away, cowering on all fours—submissive.

I crouched and stared at him. The blood was clouding my mind. I saw him, smelled his fear, and wanted to tear into him again. But I couldn't, because he was pack, and he was apologizing. I walked to where he was crouched, curling in on himself like he might disappear. This fight could have gone so differently—I didn't see fear in his eyes so much as surprise. I'd won this not because I was stronger, but because he hadn't expected me to fight back. I'd never have a fight this easy again.

He rolled onto his back. His breaths came in soft whines. I stood over him. Then I turned my back on him and walked away.

A part of me was nauseated, but no way would the Wolf let me go puke in the corner. She was hungry.

I swayed a little. I had a raging headache. I wiped my face; my hands came away bloody. My nose was bleeding. I tried to soak it up with my sleeve, then gave up. I healed fast, right?

The thing was, Zan hadn't been bottom of the pack. Now, others would challenge me in order to keep their places in the pecking order.

Carl stood at the kitchen door, arms crossed.

'He pissed me off,' I said, answering the silent question.

'You don't get pissed off.'

My first thought was, how the hell would he know? But the last thing I needed tonight was to challenge Carl. Carl wouldn't waste any time in knocking the snot out of me.

I dropped my gaze and meekly stood before him.

He said, 'You may have a big-time radio show, but that doesn't make you anything here.'

That reminded me. I groped in my jeans pocket and pulled out the envelope I'd shoved there before leaving home. It was filled with this month's payoff, in cash. I gave it to him. The blood I inadvertently smeared on it glared starkly.

He opened the flap and flipped through the stack of fifties. He glanced at me, glaring. It might not have made everything all better, but it distracted him. He handed the envelope to Meg.

If Carl was the bad cop, Meg was the good cop. The first year, I'd come to cry on her shoulder when this life got to me. She taught me the rules: Obey the alphas; keep your place in the pack.

I didn't want to make her angry. Inside, Wolf was groveling. I couldn't do anything but stand there.

Giving me her own stare, she crossed her arms. 'You're getting stronger,' she said. 'Growing up, maybe.'

'I'm just angry at Zan. He wouldn't leave me alone. That's all.'

'Next time, try asking for help.' She prowled off to stash the money.

T.J., beta male, Carl's lieutenant, had been standing behind her. I forgot sometimes that within pack law he had as much right to beat up on me as Carl did. I preferred having him as a friend.

I leaned into T.J., hugging him. Among the pack, touch meant comfort, and I wanted to feel safe. I—the part of me I thought of as human—was slipping away.

'What was that all about?' T.J. said, his voice wary.

'I don't know,' I said, but I—she—knew, really. I felt strong. I wasn't afraid. 'I'm tired of getting picked on, I guess.'

'You'd better be careful—you might turn alpha on us.' He smiled, but I couldn't tell if he was joking.

Because the pack hunts together this night, she feeds on deer. An injured buck, rich with flesh and blood. Because she is no longer lowest among them, she gets to taste some of the meat instead of being left with bones and offal.

Others prick their ears and bare their teeth at her in challenge, but the leaders keep them apart. No more fighting this night.

She runs wild and revels in her strength, chasing with the others, all of them singing for joy. Exhausted, she settles, warm and safe, already dreaming of the next moon, when she may once again break free and taste blood.

I woke up at dawn in a dog-pile with half a dozen of the others. This usually happened. We ran, hunted, ate, found a den and settled in to sleep, curled around one another, faces buried in fur, tails tucked in. We were bigger than regular wolves—conservation of mass, a two-hundred-pound man becomes a two-hundred-pound wolf, when a full-grown Canis lupus doesn't get much bigger than a hundred pounds or so. Nothing messed with us.

We always lost consciousness when we Changed back to human.

We woke up naked, cradled in the shelter of our pack. Becky, a thin woman with a crew cut who was a couple of years older than me, lay curled in the crook of my legs. Dav's back was pressed against mine. I was spooned against T.J.'s back, my face pressed to his shoulder. I lay still, absorbing the warmth, the smell, the contentedness. This was one of the good things.

T.J. must have felt me wake up. Heard the change in my breathing or something. He rolled over so we faced each other. He put his arms around me.

'I'm worried about you,' he said softly. 'Why did you challenge Zan?'

I squirmed. I didn't want to talk about this now, in front of the others. But the breathing around us was steady; they were still asleep.

'I didn't challenge him. I had to defend myself.' After a moment I added, 'I was angry.'

'That's dangerous.'

'I know. But I couldn't get away. I couldn't take it anymore.'

'You've been teaching yourself how to fight.'

'Yeah.'

'Carl won't like that.'

'I won't do it again.' I cringed at the whine creeping into my voice. I hated being so pathetic.

'Yeah, right. I think it's the show. You're getting cocky.'

'What?'

'The show is making you cocky. You think you have an answer for everything.'

I didn't know what to say to that. The observation caught me off guard. He might have been right. The show was mine; it gave me purpose, something to care about. Something to fight for.

Then he said, 'I think Carl's right. I think you should quit.'

Not this, not from T.J.

'Carl put you up to this.'

'No. I just don't want to see you get hurt. You've got a following. I can see Carl thinking that you're stepping on his toes. I can see this breaking up the pack.'