Kitty Takes a Holiday

him.

The bite wounds on his arm and shoulder were com­pletely healed, as if they'd never existed.

Almost, I dozed back to sleep myself, waiting for him to come around. Then, his slow, steady breathing changed. His lungs filled deep, like a bellows. His eyes flashed open, and his whole body jerked, as if every mus­cle flinched at once.

He gasped, a cutoff sound of terror, and tried to get up, tried to crawl back as if he could escape whatever it was that had scared him. His limbs gave out, and he didn't go anywhere.

I lunged over and grabbed his shoulders, pushing him to the ground. I had to lean my whole weight on him— that average build was powerful.

'Ben! Quiet, you're okay, you're okay, Ben. Please calm down.'

He stilled quickly enough, but I kept hushing him until he lay flat again, his eyes closed, panting for breath. I knelt by him, keeping my hands on his chest, keeping him quiet, and watching his face for any reaction.

After a moment his breathing slowed. He brought a hand to his face, covered his eyes, then dragged it across his forehead. 'I. remember,' he said in a tired, sticky voice. 'I remember the smells. Running. Blood—' His voice strained, cracked.

'Shh.' I lay next to him so I could bring my face close to his, brush his hair back, breathe in his scent, let him smell me, let him know that smell meant safety. 'We're safe, Ben. It's okay.'

'Kitty—' He said my name with a gasp of despera­tion, then clung to me, gripping my arm and shoulder, kneading the skin and muscle painfully. I bore it, hugging him back as well as I could. He was so warm in the freez­ing winter air; holding each other warmed us.

I kissed the hairline by his ear and said, 'You're back. Two arms, two legs, human skin. You're back. You feel it?'

He nodded, which gave me hope because it meant he was listening.

'Wolf is gone, it's not going to come back for another month. You get to be yourself until then. It's okay, it's okay.' I kept repeating it.

He relaxed. I could feel the tension leave him under my touch. He eased back against the ground instead of hold­ing himself rigid from it. His death grip on me lessened until it was simple holding, and it was okay if he didn't let go. I didn't want him to. I didn't want him to withdraw, lock himself inside himself where I couldn't talk to him.

'Two arms, two legs,' he said finally, wearily. Then he smoothed back my sweaty and tangled hair, the way I'd been brushing his. 'Opposable thumbs.'

I giggled, bowing my face to his shoulder. He was back.

'How do you feel?' I asked. He kept his arms around me, like he was still clinging for safety, and I snuggled into his embrace. Wolves touched for comfort. We both needed it.

After a long moment he said, 'Strange. Broken. But coming back together. Like I can feel the pieces closing up.' I tilted my head, trying to look at him. I saw his jaw, the slope of cheek, half an eye. 'But I remember… it felt good. It felt free. Didn't it?' His face shifted into a wince. 'I wasn't expecting that.'

'Yeah,' I said, and kissed his closest body part, his shoulder. Then I propped myself on my elbow, touched his face, and turned it to me, making him look at me. I held his gaze. 'You're doing just fine, Ben. You believe me?' You're going to live. You're not going to make Cormacshoot you.

He nodded, and I kissed his forehead. I was trying to make him feel safe, to make him feel wanted, so he wouldn't leave.

'You're doing just fine,' I repeated softly.

'That's because I have a determined teacher,' he said, giving me a thin smile.

I kissed his lips. They were right there. It seemed so natural. His smile fell—then he kissed me back. And again, long enough this time that I lost my breath. Then we both froze for a moment.

My skin flushed, my whole body growing warm—it knew what it wanted to do, anyway. I stole a glance down Ben's torso—and yes, his body knew what it wanted to do, too.

Ben's hazel-colored eyes—green, mud, gold, all mixed together—flickered, trying to hold my gaze again. I looked away, human enough to be chagrined.

I said, 'I should have mentioned, the lycanthropy thing, it sort of throws gasoline on the libido. You know— whoosh, fire, out of control.'

He kept staring at me, until I couldn't keep looking away.

He said, with an unreadable curl on his lips, 'I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm lying here naked with a beautiful woman, who is also naked.'

Blink. Double blink. My heart may have even stopped for a moment. 'Did you just call me beautiful?'

He touched my cheek, my neck, sending an elec­tric rush along my skin, then buried his hand in my hair. 'Yeah.'

That was it. 1 was gone.

I moved, sliding one leg over his stomach, slipping on top of him until I straddled him. I kept close, my chest against his, my breath on his cheek. His arms held me tight, hands sliding down my back, clenching, and we kissed, deeply, tasting each other, sharing our heat. We touched, nuzzled; I moved my lips along his jaw, to his ear. My eyes were closed, my mind gone. Mostly gone.

'I hadn't planned on this, honest,' I murmured.

He said, his voice thick with sarcasm, 'Gee, thanks.'

'That's not what I meant,' I said, smiling. 'I feel like I'm taking advantage of you.'

He made what sounded to my ears like a groan of con­tentment. 'You just want me to like being a werewolf. That's what this is about.'

I pulled away, just for a moment. 'You don't have to like it. You just have to survive it.'

His gaze focused, met mine. 'All right.'

I kissed him, and kissed, shivering to try to get closer to him—we akeady lay skin to skin along the length of our bodies. One of his hands clasped the back of my neck, the other worked its way to my backside, locking me close to him. His touch burned in the cold winter air.

He managed one more bit of commentary, his voice low and rough, 'Kitty, just so you know, you can take advantage of me anytime you want.'

So I did.

He lay curled in my arms, and 1 reveled in the scent of him—sweaty, warm, musky. All my mornings alone I had woken anxious and discontented. Now, here with him—I had a pack again, and all felt right with the world.

It was the lycanthropy, I told myself. I never would have slept with Ben if it hadn't been for the lycanthropy. Not that 1 regretted it.

But still.

The sun was almost above the trees. However much I wanted to stay here all day, we had to go back. Back to the world.

Ben was the one who said, 'I guess we ought to get back before Cormac comes looking for us.'

The bounty hunter would do it, too. Track us down. I wasn't entirely confident what he would do when he found us. 1 dug out the clothes I'd stashed and split them between us. We dressed, helped each other to our feet, and set off for the cabin.

In my pack back in Denver, the alpha male, Carl, bad made sleeping around a habit. If lycanthropy was to the libido what gasoline was to fire, Carl took full advantage of it. Shape-shifting was foreplay to him, and as head of the pack he had his own harem. At his call, every one of us would roll over on our backs, showing him our bellies like good submissive wolves. My Wolf had loved it: the atten­tion, the affection, the sex. The abuse—verbal and occa­sionally otherwise—that he heaped along with the attention hardly mattered. At least until 1 couldn't take it anymore. Carl was still in Denver. That was why I couldn't go back.

I didn't want to be like that. If I had to be the alpha of our little pack of two, I didn't want to be that kind of alpha. 1 didn't want to screw around just because I could.

Or had it happened because I liked him? I did like him. But would 1 have ever slept with him, if we hadn't been naked in the woods and smelling like wolves? Would it have ever even been an issue?

Had that been Ben holding me tightly and kissing me eagerly, or his wolf?

Did it even matter?

These things were so much clearer to the Wolf side: You like him? He's naked? He's interested? Then go for it! Only the human side was worried about people's feel­ings getting hurt.

He walked a couple steps behind me—that submissive wolf thing again. His head was bent, and he looked tired, with shadows under his eyes. But he didn't seem angry, frightened, tense, or any of the other things I might have expected to see in a newly minted werewolf. He caught me watching him, and I smiled, trying to be encouraging. He smiled back.

'What are you going to tell Cormac?'

'Don't shoot?' He winced and shook his head. 'You were right, 1 was wrong? I don't know. I'm confused. I don't want to die. I never did. You know that, right?'

I slowed my steps until we were walking side by side. A couple of barefooted nature freaks out for a morning stroll in the dead of winter. 1 wasn't cold; I could still feel his arms around me. 'You were pretty determined there for a while.'

'I was scared,' he said. After a moment, he added, 'Does it get easier? Less confusing? Less like there's an extra voice in your head telling you what to do?'

I had to shake my head. 'No. It just gets confusing in different ways.'

Then, almost suddenly, the trees thinned and the clearing in front of the cabin opened before us. The sun was shining full on the porch. Cormac stood there, leaning on the rail­ing. A rifle was propped next to him. Ready and waiting.

I stopped; Ben stopped next to me. My instinct said to run, but Cormac had already seen us. He didn't move, he just looked out at us, waiting for us to do something.

Cormac had had plenty of chances to shoot me dead and hadn't yet. I didn't think he'd start now. I hoped he wouldn't start now. 1 walked toward the front door like nothing was wrong. Ben followed, slowly, falling behind. Cormac watched him, not me.

'Morning,' 1 said, waving a little as 1 came within ear­shot. I tried to sound cheerful, but it came out wary.

'Well?'

Climbing the stairs, I crossed my arms and continued my campaign of strained brightness. 'Well, it's a nice day. Lots of sun. Everything's fine.'

By then Ben reached the porch stairs. Cormac's glare was challenging, but he wouldn't know that. Ben hesitated—I could almost see him start to wilt, growing defensive.

'Ben?' I said. He shifted his gaze to me, and the con­frontation was broken.

'You okay?' Cormac said to him.

After a moment he said, 'Yeah. Just fine.' He sounded resigned rather than convinced.

'No more talk about shooting you, then.'

'No.'

I didn't know what Cormac expected. Maybe he'd spent all night working himself up to kill his cousin in cold blood, and now it seemed like he didn't quite believe that Ben had opted out. His expression was neutral, unreadable, as usual.

'What happened?' he said.

Ben bowed his head, hiding a smile. 'It's hard to explain.'

'You look like you had a pretty good time,' Cormac said.

'Maybe I did.' Ben stared at him. He actually did look pretty good, considering: tired, but relaxed. Not freaked out, like Cormac might have expected. Ben looked better than he had in days, since