Kitty and the Silver Bullet (Kitty Norville 4)

But they weren’t his pack anymore, and they all moved toward him. Their glares held malice. In return for the abuse he’d handed out, on behalf of the ones he had killed, they wanted blood.

Carl’s expression turned to panic.

He raised his hands in a pleading gesture. “Kitty, no, no, please! I’ll leave. I’ll leave Denver, I won’t come back. It’ll be yours, it’ll all be yours.”

“It’s already mine,” I said.

His face went slack, as if the muscles gave out. The wolves, on two and four feet, came closer.

“Please let me go, Kitty.” He sounded like a little boy. “I’ll never bother you again.”

My mouth was dry. But I had to see this through. I couldn’t turn away. “You’ll leave Denver, never come back?” I said. “Same deal you gave me?”

He nodded quickly. “Yes, yes!”

A dozen monsters wanted his blood.

“I’m sorry, Carl. That’s not for me to decide.”

The pack closed the circle around him. A wolf clamped teeth around his waist, another raked claws down his back.

Carl screamed and started to Change. His wolf had sensed the danger and had clawed its way to the surface. His face stretched, growing a snout. His reaching arms bore claws, his skin shone with fur. But it was too late. The others were too many and too strong. They overwhelmed him, swallowed him in their crowd. I lost sight of him, but still heard him. His screams came fast and desperate, turning high-pitched and squealing, like the wailing of a dog, then gurgled to silence. They tore him apart.

I dropped the gun and ran to Ben.

“Ben! Ben, hold on, please—”

“Kitty!”

Already sitting up, he fell into my arms. We clung to each other, as if afraid of drowning.

My arms tight around him, his blood soaking into my clothes, smearing on my face, I kept saying, sobbing, over and over, “Don’t die, don’t leave me, don’t ever leave me.”

For all his injuries, he squeezed back just as tight. I couldn’t breathe, and that was okay.

“I’m all right,” he said, his voice weak. “I’ll be all right. I won’t go.”

“I love you. I love you, Ben.”

He kissed me. He could only find my ear because I pressed myself so tightly to him, my face against his neck. I responded, turning so my lips met his. He held my head, his fingers digging in my hair, and we kissed. I could taste the blood on his lips and face. I didn’t want to come up for air.

Ben slumped against me, and I had a moment of panic. Maybe he wasn’t all right after all, maybe he was dying, maybe—

He rested his head on my shoulder. He’d let himself relax, settling into my embrace. He wasn’t going to shift, he wasn’t going to die.

He murmured, “She kept saying, ‘We’ll give you back to her in pieces. We’ll show you to her in pieces, before we take her apart.’ And all I could think was, Don’t hurt her. Please don’t hurt her.”

Together, we sighed. The world had paused for a moment, and we took advantage of it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I tried to get a look at him, at his injuries. But I didn’t want to move. I wanted to keep him close.

“I feel like shit,” he said, and chuckled. “Dack’s with them, he’s one of the bad guys.”

“I know. He’s gone, he went away.”

“Did we win? Did the good guys win?”

“Yeah, the good guys won. Let’s take a look at you.”