Kitty and the Midnight Hour

this is great. It's what I've always wanted. You can help me. You're the only other one—one of us, one like us, I mean—I've ever met besides—' He stopped, swallowing. His breathing came fast.

'Besides who, James?' My voice caught.

'Besides the one who made me. She's been helping me. She said I could have a pack, if I killed this other werewolf and took his. She said she would show me. I—I can do that. I know I can do that. I've been practicing. But she won't tell me where to go. She—she hasn't been to see me in a while. But you'll help me, won't you? You help so many people.'

I felt sick. James needed help, but I couldn't give it to him. Who could? What hospital could hold him? What could anyone do? That was the human talking, of course. I remembered Cormac's words: You understand that we have to kill this guy. As a wolf, he'd overstepped his bounds. Like Zan. But what did that mean if there'd been no one to teach him the rules?

James looked up, over my shoulder. Cormac stood in the doorway.

'Norville, is he the one?'

All I could do was nod.

Cormac raised his arm, fired his handgun.

I ducked out of the way. James was already running. I thought he would turn around, try to make for the back of the house. That was what I would have done. But he dived forward, under the range of the gun, past Cormac, shouldering him aside, and out the door.

Cormac struck the door frame, but recovered in a heartbeat, turned outside, and fired twice more. His arm remained steady, his sight aimed at his target, tracking smoothly like he was mounted on a tripod.

'Shit!' He pointed the gun up when James disappeared around the corner of the house.

I ran after him, aware that he might have been waiting on the other side of the house to ambush whoever followed him. I didn't want to lose sight of him. Cormac was right behind me.

In the strip of yard between the two houses a trail of clothing led away: jeans, briefs, and a white T-shirt, torn to shreds. There was a dark, wild odor—the musk, fur, and sweat of a recently shifted lycanthrope.

I unzipped my jeans and shoved them to the ground.

'What are you doing?' said Cormac, stopping in his tracks.

I paused. I didn't know if I could do this. I didn't have a choice.

'I can move faster if I Change. It's the only way I'll keep up.' It can be a strength, T.J. had said. We'd see.

He opened his mouth, starting to argue. But he didn't say anything. His shoulders slumped, and he looked away. I took off my shirt, my bra. The air was cold, sending pimples crawling across my shoulders. Inside, I felt warm. My muscles tensed, already preparing to run, because I knew what this meant; Wolf knew what this meant. I wanted to hunt, and I needed her. I was ready. She crouched inside, filling me with anticipation.

Cormac started to walk away.

'Wait,' I said. 'I want you to watch.'

'Why?' he said, his voice rough.

'I want you to see what I look like, so you don't shoot me by accident.'

'If I ever shoot you, it won't be by accident.'

I walked up to him, naked, unself-conscious. I was on the edge of my other world, human mores falling away. I didn't know how else to be, like this, with Wolf looking out of my eyes.

I stood a step away, holding his gaze.

'Here's your chance. If that's what you're planning, get it over with now so I don't have to keep looking over my shoulder.'

I didn't know how long I planned on waiting for him to raise that gun and shoot me in the head. I stood, arms spread, offering myself to him. My glare didn't match my vulnerability. But once and for all, I had to know what he wanted to do.

Finally he said, 'Be careful.'

'Yeah. You, too.' I turned away, walking to the back of the alley.

'Don't try to fight him, Kitty. He's bigger than you. Just find him, and I'll take care of it.'

I nodded.

Holding her back felt a little like holding my breath. As soon as I thought of shifting to Wolf, the Change started, sensations coursing with my blood, waking those nerves and instincts that lay buried most of the time. Any time except full moon nights, I could hold it back. But if I wanted to shift, I just had to let that breath out, think of exhaling, and the next breath would belong to her.

My back bent, the first convulsion racking me. Think of water, let it slide, and fur sprouted in waves down my back and arms, needles piercing skin. I grunted, blocking the pain. Then claws, then teeth and bones and muscle—

She shakes, ruffling her fur and slipping into her muscles.

Her ears prick, and she raises her head to see the figure nearby. He stands on two legs and smells of danger, of mechanical pain. Her other self recognizes the weapons that can kill her.

Her other self also recognizes him, and keeps her hackles flat and buries the growls.

'Norville?'

Tension, anxiety, fear. She can take him, kill him if she has to. He's weak. But those weapons are stronger. They smell of fire.

'You in there? You know who I am?'

The tone is questioning, seeking reassurance. His anxiety isn't because of her, because there's another danger. The other one, the rogue, the outcast. She remembers.

Identifying him as friend, she wags her tail.

'Christ, I can't believe I'm doing this.'

He says this to her back, because she's already running.

She seeks the one who has invaded her territory, caused havoc, broken the code. He's run far ahead, but the night is still, the ground is clear, and she can smell him, chase him, like she would a rabbit. With her nose close to the ground, her legs racing, her muscles flowing, close to flying, she will find him. Her mouth hangs open a little; her tongue tastes the air.

Closer, she gets closer. He's turned up ahead. She feels a thrill because he's trying to confuse her, to make her lose him, but she isn't fooled. Stretching full-out, running hard, she turns the corner.

He is waiting for her.

He strikes, tumbling into her from the side. She doesn't have time to stop or swerve. He lays his paws on her, clamps his teeth around her throat, and they roll in a tangle of legs. Snarls, driven from the belly and guttural, echo.

Her speed carries her away from him, sends her rolling out of his grasp and away from his teeth, but she is dazed. She shakes her head. He doesn't hesitate, springing to his feet and leaping at her again. She braces, her lips pulled tight from bared teeth. When he is about to reach her, she rears to meet him, their front legs locking around each other's shoulders, teeth snapping at whatever purchase they can find.

He is so much larger than she, though. He pushes her over without effort; she falls on her back, with him on top of her, her throat and belly exposed. She writhes, kicking, desperate to protect herself. He bites hard catching her upper foreleg, and she yelps. The noise of pain spurs her to frenzy.

She arches forward, closes her teeth under his jaw, bites hard. Taste of blood. He cringes back, and she twists to her feet, is up and running.

Instinct, fear drive her away. She runs, wanting to escape, but he is faster. He jumps, catches her hind end, sends her sprawling. His claws dig into her fur, searching for flesh, scrabbling over her, pinning her to the ground. A memory of hate and wrongness surfaces. He has no right to do this. He is outcast. But he is stronger. If she showed submission, if she whined and turned her belly to him, would he listen? Would he stop?

She doesn't think so. He would kill her.