Kitty and the Silver Bullet (Kitty Norville 4)

She trots forward, nudges him. He reaches for her, rubbing the not-paws along her coat. The stroking is both odd and pleasurable. She squirms away, whines again—now, it’s time, come now—

And so he does, doubling over, groaning, and the sound changes, becomes less wrong and more right, until it is a howl, and she joins in, filling the woods with their song. He gasps a little, still not used to his legs and fur and voice. Still a pup, but stronger every time. All her hopes and desire and power go out to him—they rule these woods together. She greets him, licks him, nips him, lets him do the same to her, they writhe around each other, a tangle of fur and muscled bodies.

Then he launches into the forest. It’s a surprise—he leads the chase this time. She has to scramble to keep up. They hunt, nose to the ground, following the zigzag patterns of their prey.

He’s the one who finds the deer, a small one but large enough to feast on, upwind so it hasn’t sensed them. Together they pause. Can they do it? They’ve never hunted anything so large together. He is eager, he’s tasted blood, has hunted it, and the lust of it fills him because before anything else they are hunters. He makes a frustrated whine, because she hesitates. He wants to leap at it, tear into its haunches, bring it down. Together they can, one at its haunches, one at its throat. She knows this, can see the image in her mind. His limbs are trembling, he wants so badly to chase it down.

But she holds back.

Then it’s gone. Raising its head, twitching its ears, it senses something that makes it run, leaping around trees and bushes. Too much work to chase it down now.

He shakes himself, scratches the dirt in frustration, pins his ears at her. She snaps at him and trots away, in search of some easier creature that she can catch with little effort.

In a moment he follows, because they’re pack, and they hunt together. Rabbit instead of deer, but blood is blood in the end.

chapter 2

I didn’t feel good.

I never felt great after a full moon night, but that not feeling good was like a hangover after a party. You suffered and didn’t complain, because you’d had your fun and this was the price. Rather, the Wolf had her fun and left me to deal with the consequences.

But right now, I really didn’t feel good. I felt sick, which was weird, because I hadn’t been sick since becoming a werewolf. The same thing that made me a werewolf made me immune. Indestructible, almost. I curled up on my side, holding my stomach, which churned with cramps. No, it wasn’t my stomach, it was lower than that. Deeper. Like menstrual cramps, but I’d never had them this bad. My insides felt like they were grinding themselves up.

“What’s wrong?” Ben shifted behind me, where he’d been nestled asleep. He propped himself on an elbow and kissed my shoulder.

I must have let out a groan or something. “I don’t feel good.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. Cramps or something.”

“They always this bad?”

“Ben, we’ve been living together for five months, you should know the answer to that.” He glared, unamused. I shook my head. “No, never.”

“What else could it be?” He was sitting up now, his hand on my arm, frowning worriedly at me.

“I don’t know.” That came out with a definite whine.

“Should you go to a hospital or something?”

“I never have to go to the hospital.”

“Kitty, what if this is serious? You’ve been tired and sick for weeks.”

“It’s just cramps. What else could it be?”

“I have no idea what it could be—cancer? You accidentally swallowed a butcher knife last night? I don’t know.”

“Werewolves don’t get cancer.”

“Kitty.” He bowed his head. “Never mind, do what you think is best.”

“You think I should go to a doctor.”

“Can you even sit up right now?”

I didn’t want to think about sitting up, I hurt that much. Which meant maybe he was right.