Kitty Takes a Holiday (Kitty Norville 3)

I slipped out the door to stand next to him on the porch and looked out.

All around the clearing in front of the house, carcasses hung from the lower branches of trees. Skinless—pink and bloody, wet with a sheen of fat and flesh, the dead animals were hung up by their hind legs, so that their front legs and heads dangled. Their teeth—the sharp teeth of carnivores—were bared, and lidless eyes stared. There must have been a dozen of them. They swayed a little on their ropes, ghosts in the dawn light.

I moved forward, like that would help me see better— like I even wanted to see them better—and leaned against the porch railing. They looked alien and terrible, so that I couldn’t identify them at first. Four legs, straight naked tails, slim bodies with round rib cages and narrow hips. Heads with narrow snouts and triangular ears.

They were dogs. Some kind of dogs. Canines. Wolflike.

I made a noise like a sob.

I had to get out of here, but I couldn’t, not yet, not until I’d gotten Ben through the full moon. But the walls were closing in. And there weren’t even walls out here. The dead eyes all stared at me. Get out.

“Kitty?”

“Who hates me this much?” I started crying. Tension, exhaustion, uncertainty—in the space of a few days my whole life had fallen apart, and I didn’t know what to do about it. It all just came out.

I stumbled back, away from the mess, and bumped into Cormac. Then I leaned into him. He was close, and I needed a shoulder, so I turned to his. Eyes leaking and nose dripping on his T-shirt, I let it all out, feeling profoundly embarrassed about it even as I did. I didn’t care.

He put his arms around me. He held me firmly without squeezing, moving one hand to stroke my hair. For some reason this made me cry harder.

I didn’t like being an alpha. For the last couple of days, I’d been pulling out alpha left and right. Now, though, Cormac was willing to take care of me, at least for a little while. I was profoundly grateful.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said softly. “After tomorrow, we’ll work on figuring this out.”

Tomorrow. After the full moon. After we got all that sorted out. I held on to him.

Arm around my shoulder, he guided me inside, shut the door, and set his gun on the desk. I stayed close to him. I didn’t want him to pull away, and he took the hint. We stood there for a long time; I clung to him, and he kept his arms around me. I felt safer, believing he could actually protect me from the horrors outside.

“You’re being very patient with me,” I said, murmuring into his T-shirt.

“Hm. It’s not every day a woma

n throws herself into my arms. I have to take advantage of it while I can.”

I made a complaining noise. “I didn’t throw myself into your arms.”

“Whatever you say.”

I chuckled in spite of myself. When I tilted my head back, I saw he was smiling.

“You’d better be careful,” I said. “You’re getting to be downright likable.”

I could kiss him. Another two inches closer—standing on my toes—and I could kiss him. His hand shifted on my back, flattening like he was getting ready to hold me steady, like he wanted to kiss me, too. Then the hand moved away. He touched my cheek, smoothed away the tears. He pulled back.

“I’ll start some coffee,” he said, and went to the kitchen.

Part of me was relieved. All of me was confused. I covered up the confusion with my usual lame bravado. “There, you’re doing it again. Being nice.”

He ignored me. Cormac, back to normal.

We discussed the situation at the kitchen table over cups of fresh coffee.

“Whoever’s doing this doesn’t want to kill me,” I said.

“But that’s some pretty twisted stuff out there. It’s all aimed at you, and it’s escalating.”

“What’s next, if I don’t listen to it now?”

“Listen to it? What’s it saying?”