Kitty and the Silver Bullet (Kitty Norville 4)

I shook my head and refocused, because for a moment my vision had wavered and gone gray. For a moment I’d seen the world in wolf tones. Had to stay human. Wolf couldn’t drive the freaking car.

Or hold the gun.

chapter 16

The sky was pale now. Take care of him, Cormac had said. Keep him out of trouble. How would I ever be able to face him again? What would I say? I’d gotten Ben killed. I wiped tears from my face.

How was I going to keep going without Ben?

No time for that. I am a hunter. I can already taste their blood. My mouth waters for it. I let that part of Wolf edge into my mind. Our territory, our mate, they can’t do this to us.

We’ve learned to fight. We’ll show them. Or die trying.

They lived at the edge of town, near the foothills, on a chunk of land with a backyard that opened to wilderness. This was the heart of their territory. The pack came here to run on full moon nights. Even if they weren’t at their house, they’d be around here. I was betting Dack knew exactly where. Ben and Dack would have gone here to find Carl and Meg, and Carl and Meg would draw Ben here to kill him. I knew this as if I had smelled their trail the whole way.

Carl’s truck was in the driveway, but the house was dark, like no one was home. But it was also the crack of dawn, so who knew. An unmarked sedan sat half a block away; someone in the front seat was sipping coffee and looking bored—Hardin’s stakeout. I drove another couple of blocks. There, on the street outside a state park trailhead, Ben’s car was parked.

My heart lurched and a new wave of nausea struck me. Like morning sickness, like a miscarriage. Impending death, settling in my gut.

I passed Ben’s car and drove a few yards farther, peering through the cottonwoods to the open field beyond, hoping to spot something, looking for signs that they were near. Couldn’t see anything. I’d have to go looking for them. I stopped, shut off the car, and reached for my bag.

If you need to kill someone, make sure the thing’s loaded. That was what he’d said. I remembered all his instructions, like he was standing behind my shoulder, whispering to me. I could feel his arms around me, guiding my own.

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I popped the clip. Full up, bullets gleaming silver. Slid it back into place and chambered a round.

Sure didn’t take long to get into this gun thing, did it? I wished it were over so I could curl up and be sick. But the Wolf whispered, I am a hunter.

The world wavered to gray again. It was the dawn, it was the Wolf’s sight. It drove me on. Steadied me. Could only think of one thing now: them, and death.

“Rick? Rick, what are you doing here?” Dack came through the stand of cottonwoods, walking toward the street. He saw the BMW, recognized it, assumed.

My first catch.

I stepped out of the car. Thank God the BMW was low to the ground—I could actually look over it without appearing ridiculous.

“Rick’s not a morning person. You know that,” I said.

Dack froze, and his eyes grew round. He hadn’t expected to see me. Absolutely hadn’t expected to see me.

“Where’s Rick?” he said carefully.

“The basement of Obsidian.”

“What—”

“Arturo’s gone. Rick’s ordered Mercedes out of town. And we know all about you.” I rested the gun on the roof of the car. “You should have sided with the strongest vampire.”

He ran. Didn’t even hesitate. Flat out sprinted toward Ben’s car. Quickly—belatedly—I raised the gun and fired. Squeezed the trigger, and again, and both times the weapon jumped in my hand. Forgot Ben’s whispering voice, everything he taught me. Didn’t hit Dack—one of the trees shredded splinters, where I accidentally shot it instead. By then Dack had safely climbed into Ben’s car and had lurched it around in a U-turn to drive away.

Son of a bitch had stolen Ben’s keys.

Ben.

I let Dack go and ran to the trees. Did some quick math—fired twice, fifteen rounds, thirteen left. Should be enough. If I could keep my aim straight, I only needed two. I followed my nose.

There they stood, in a field on the other side of the cottonwoods, out of view of the street. All three of them. Ben was on his feet—but Carl was holding him there, standing behind him, wrenching both his arms back and pinning him immobile so Meg could torture him. Blood covered her, spattering her face and soaking her clothing. She was letting her wolf slide to the fore, and her hands had turned to claws. She had been slashing at Ben. I was twenty paces away, but I could make out wounds. He had cuts, parallel lines across his cheeks and across his neck as if someone with claws had grabbed him there and squeezed. His shirt was shredded, dripping with blood.