Kitty Goes to Washington (Kitty Norville 2)

I held the fist full of crosses in front of me and braced.

He didn’t reach me, because Alette put her hand around his neck. She shouldn’t have been able to stop him. He should have just tossed her aside and kept going. But who was I to decide what a multicentury-old vampire could and couldn’t do? She didn’t seem to strain, even, and Leo came up short, like he’d run into a clothesline. Her hand squeezed around his throat; her tendons flexing was the only sign of effort.

“I gave you everything,” she said. “I’ll take it all away.”

“No.” He gripped her wrist, scratching at it, trying to push her away. He was taller than she was, larger, rougher, yet she held him like he was made of cotton.

She couldn’t kill him by suffocating him—vampires didn’t breathe. She’d have to rip his whole head off. But she only stared at him, caught his gaze in hers, seeming to give him a chance to apologize, to beg forgiveness. To beg for his life. He began to thrash like an animal in a trap.

“No.” He gasped, choking, his voice failing. “You’re not my mistress, not anymore, you’re not—”

From a reservoir of anger, he lashed out. Arms together, both hands making a fist, he swung around and hit her arm at the elbow. The joint bent, breaking her hold on him for a moment—long enough. He ripped away from her and punched her hard, once in the gut, once in the face. Something cracked, like bone breaking. Alette’s expression didn’t have time to register surprise.

She fell backward and hit the ground. Didn’t move, and my belly turned cold. Leo turned on me, striking with an intent to do damage.

I still held the crosses as a shield, but Leo toppled into me anyway. He planted his hands on my shoulders and shoved, running me to the ground, pinning me to the floor. I clawed at him, the chains still laced around my fingers. The crosses pressed against his face.

He grimaced, his mouth opened wide as he hissed and shook himself to get free of them. The crosses left welts on his cheeks and neck, like allergy-driven hives, like silver did to me. Still, he didn’t let up his pressure on me. I couldn’t get away.

I didn’t know if Alette was in any shape to help me. I was on my own.

Change, you can fight him—Pain burned through me, Wolf starting to claw her way out. The full moon still shone. I still had power. My hands were thickening. Wildly, I thrashed, arching my back, because I didn’t want to do this, I didn’t want to be trapped, I hated that he was making me Change. Human or Wolf, I wasn’t strong enough to fight him.

He laughed, and in another quicksilver move, he grabbed my hand, the one holding the crosses, and jammed it to the floor. He managed to shift until both my hands were pinned, and his knee dug into my gut. He leaned in close, his fangs brushing my neck. Every breath I took was a growl, and he didn’t care.

“I’ll have you for dessert, my kitten,” he said. He was in the perfect position to rip out my throat, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I tried to work up enough spit to shoot at his face, since it seemed that was all I had left. My mouth had gone strangely dry, however.

“Leo.” Someone new had arrived. I knew that voice.

Leo looked up, hissing in surprise. Then, something whistled. I felt the air whine above me. In the same moment, he fell back, as if jerked on a chain.

Freed, I rolled out of the way, away from Leo, and scrambled back on all fours.

Paul Flemming stood at the base of the stairs holding some kind of spear gun. He lowered it from the ready position and watched his target.

Leo crouched on his knees, staring at his own chest with blank astonishment. A foot-long wooden dowel, like an arrow, protruded from his heart. No blood poured from the wound, even though the spear must have gone all the way through his chest. It looked ludicrous somehow, like it was a stage prop glued to the front of his shirt. The fabric puckered in around it.

So, Flemming was good with a stake. It seemed the spot at the top of the food chain was still up for debate.

I gasped for breath, trying to pull myself back into myself, to stay human. Alette had recovered. She sat up, legs folded neatly under her, and watched Leo die. She frowned, her gaze showing sadness.

Leo gave a short laugh, or the sound might have been the start of a sob. He reached for her, then slumped onto his side, his eyes open and staring. The body turned waxen, then ashen, then began to collap

se in on itself, turning to dust, the decay of the grave taking place in seconds instead of years. It took his clothes, the stake, everything with him. Everything touching him turned to dust, including a blackened oval shape on the carpet. He was gone.

I expected Alette to regain her feet gracefully, to resume her regal bearing and once again take charge. Instead, she remained on the floor, her eyes squeezed shut, gripping the fabric of her jacket over her heart, as if it hurt.

“How could I be so blind?” Her voice was thin, pained. “How could I be so . . . so stupid?”

Those words had been spoken by every woman who’d ever been screwed over by a boyfriend. Immortality didn’t change some things, apparently.

She ran her fingers through her hair, and finally opened her eyes to stare at the pile of ash that had once been Leo. Her face puckered, like she might start crying. But she shook her head, and shook the mood away. “He fought at Waterloo, you know. When I met him, he was a shell, broken by what he’d seen there. But he could still laugh. I liked that. I gave him a reason to continue. I gave him a place in my household. Then—I gave him everything. I trusted him. I thought—”

She loved him. I wouldn’t have thought it possible. Vampires seemed beyond love. What was more, she thought he’d loved her back.

A wave of fear crossed her expression. In a rush, she stood and went to the bed, sitting beside Emma. She touched the young woman’s face, felt her neck, then held her hands. She stared at Emma’s face for a long time, and my stomach turned into a lead weight.

“Alette, what—how is she?” I didn’t want to know. If I didn’t know, I didn’t have to react.