Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand (Kitty Norville 5)

Ben whirled to face them, crouching. I stood and put my hand on his shoulder, squeezing to show I was with him. Wolf crawled to the surface, claws itching in my fingers, a hunter’s vision filling my eyes. These two had attacked—were enemies. What would they do next? My mate and I could pounce on them before they could draw their guns. I was ready to protect him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ben shouted, his rash-covered hand curled in front of him. Round red welts in the shape of a spoon’s bowl marked the skin.

Evan stared at that hand, at the rash. “God, it’s true.”

“Told you,” Brenda said. Today she was wearing leather pants, a red V-necked shirt, and ankle boots with silver on the toes. Still with spike heels, which I was sure she could use as deadly weapons in a pinch. She picked up the spoon from where it had landed across the hall. “Grandma’s surefire werewolf detector.”

“Is that was this is about?” Ben said, almost laughing. “If you suspected, you could have fucking asked! What are you going to do now, shoot me in the middle of the hotel? Big bad werewolf needs to die?”

Evan and Brenda stood there, staring at him—and Ben had been right. They almost looked sad. Like they felt sorry for him. The muscles of Ben’s shoulders under my hand were hard as stone, tense and trembling. I could smell the anger coming off him, the scent of his wolf growing. I squeezed him again, hoping he would keep it together. Since they weren’t shooting at us, we had to keep it together.

“I’d wondered,” Brenda said. “When I saw you two together, there was something off. I can’t always tell by looking, but you’ve got this look that you didn’t have before.”

“What kind of look?” Ben said, his voice almost spitting with anger. But he didn’t feel like he was about to shift, skin getting ready to slide into fur. He straightened, and we stood shoulder to shoulder.

“Like you’re hunting. You were never a hunter before. Not like Cormac.”

Ben scowled and turned away.

Evan looked at me. “Are you the one—”

“No,” I said harshly. “Of course not. I’ve never turned anyone.”

“Have you ever killed anyone?” Brenda said, just as accusing.

I considered lying. Didn’t think it would win me points with her. Wasn’t sure she’d wait for the explanation, but I said it anyway, ice-cold. “Yes.”

Ben glared. “Cormac killed the one who got me. Then he brought me to her. She helped me. Saved my life.” We exchanged a glance. His look was bared, stark, reliving those weeks after he’d been turned, filled with gratitude and, sappy as it sounded, love. Because that was what my gaze held, looking at him. I didn’t care if the bounty hunters saw it.

I said, “He wanted Cormac to shoot him, but he wouldn’t.”

“Cormac went soft?” Brenda said, frowning.

“No,” Ben said. “I think he grew a soul.”

Enough of this. I was supposed to be on vacation. “Are we done here? Any more secrets you want to know, or can we leave?”

They stepped aside and let us pass. We did so, carefully, walking arm to arm. I didn’t

want to show my back to them, so I let Ben lead and watched them over my shoulder.

“You’ll slip,” Evan said. “Werewolves always do. One of these days, you’ll slip up, and one of us will find you.”

Ben stopped but didn’t turn around when he said, “I don’t believe that. I never did.”

Brenda gave a mocking chuckle. “You can’t convince me you’re actually happy being a monster.”

Wearing a thin-lipped smile, he looked at me, then her. “Beats being unhappy as one.”

“If you guys aren’t going to shoot us, we’re going,” I said, taking Ben’s hand and pulling him toward the elevators.

Ben didn’t move. He’d donned this quirky half-grin. “You want to see one of the benefits of being a werewolf? Besides getting to shack up with a babe like Kitty?”

Oh, a million brownie points for him, right there. “Aw, honey,” I said.

Brenda rolled her eyes.

“Stake me a hundred bucks and I’ll show you a trick,” Ben said.