Kitty and the Silver Bullet (Kitty Norville 4)

She’d understand. If I explained that staying here was going to get me killed, she’d want me to leave. I didn’t answer. I turned my back to him, moving to grab my bag.

He tried again. “What if there was a way to stand up to them without fighting. There’s got to be a way to compromise—”

“That’s the lawyer in you talking. These people don’t understand law, or compromise, or talking. There’s no plea bargains here. It’s all violence and hate.” My throat was tight, my voice thick. “You don’t know what they’re like, you don’t know, you haven’t seen the worst of it, I’ve tried to keep you safe from that and here I am dragging you into it—”

“Don’t worry about me. I can look out for myself.”

“No, Ben, you can’t! You don’t understand, you haven’t seen what he’s like, what he can do. You think all werewolves are like me, but they’re not, most of them are fucking insane—”

“Like you? Like me?”

He was being far too rational. “You know what I mean.”

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“All I know is you’re starting to smell more like a wolf than a human and if you don’t sit down and pull it together you’re going to lose it.”

Didn’t have time for that. This was a time to let Wolf’s instincts guide me. We were in an enemy’s territory, we couldn’t fight, so there was only one thing to do. I had to make him understand that. “Come with me, Ben. You have to.”

He hesitated, and I could see the wheels working in his mind, as he edited his own speech. Thought of one thing to say, then rejected it.

“I’m staying,” he said finally. “Do whatever the hell you want, but I’m not running.” He walked out of the room.

Funny thing was, that pause gave me a chance to catch my breath, and to realize that he was right. That had been the Wolf freaking out, and she was right on the surface, blurring my vision. I wasn’t thinking straight.

I sat on the bed and stuck my head between my knees, drawing in long breaths. Keeping it together.

I called after him, hating how plaintive my voice sounded. I didn’t want to have to beg. “Ben, we can’t stay here. They’ll kill us.”

He reappeared in the doorway, not looking any more amenable or sympathetic. We might manage our own little civil war right here.

“No, they won’t,” he said. “You say I haven’t seen the worst of it, but you don’t know anything about what I have or haven’t seen. And I can take care of myself, no matter what your alpha attitude says about it. We’ve got weapons. If we make a stand, they’ll leave us alone. I’m willing to make that stand even if you’re not. This is where I live. I’m not going to go running away to Pueblo just because you’re chicken and you’ve got your tail between your legs. And I hate that that isn’t just a metaphor anymore.” He ran his hands through his hair. He was breathing hard, and smelled a little more wolf than human.

I wasn’t keeping it together. I wasn’t listening to reason. The pack of two was breaking up. No, it wasn’t, this was just a pause, a hiccup.

“Are we a pack or not?” I said.

Softly, he said, “I don’t know.”

It was something of an epiphany, that the instinct to run was stronger than the need to stay with him. To defend him. As he said, he could look out for himself. He had guns on his side.

Bag over my shoulder, I stalked out.

chapter 9

I drove south. I’d done this before. Run away, abandoning my family, KNOB, everything. I had to ask myself: What was so important, what was so traumatic, that it was worth giving up all that?

Nothing, came the obvious answer, clear as a bell. Nothing was worth giving up all that. In those terms, facing Carl was a small price to pay to keep my life. Either way, I risked losing everything.

Maybe that was why I found myself turning off the interstate at Highway 50, going west toward Cañon City. I went to the prison, went through their security routine, and waited in that stark, stinking room for Cormac to emerge. I didn’t bother trying to be cheerful, not this time.

I didn’t have anyone else to talk to.

Clad in his orange jumpsuit, his expression neutral, he sat and picked up the intercom phone. Belatedly, I did the same. Even then, we only stared at each other for a long moment. He was clean, healthy-looking, his hair and mustache freshly trimmed. He looked rested, even. This was what keeping out of trouble did for him.

“Hi,” I said.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” he said. “What’s wrong?”