Kitty's House of Horrors (Kitty Norville 7)

“I think it’s set in concrete,” Tina said. “I can’t budge it.”

Concrete? Overkill a little? Like I even had to ask at this point. I pursed my lips, bracing for the next few difficult minutes. I renewed my grip on Conrad, to make sure he knew I was there. He didn’t seem quite aware.

“Conrad? We’re going to have to slide your leg off.” I had no idea if that was the right thing to do medically. We didn’t really have a choice.

“Oh, God,” he moaned. He was past thought, wrapped only in pain and fear.

“I need you to hold on,” I said, making eye contact with Tina, trying to urge her to work quickly. She’d gone almost as pale as Conrad, but her expression was set, determined. She didn’t hesitate but shifted her reach to Conrad’s leg.

Now we had to lift at the same time.

I got a grip under Conrad’s shoulders and pulled. He screamed. Would it be gauche of me to knock him unconscious to shut him up?

“They’re going to find us,” Tina muttered. “Between the bomb and his screaming, they’ll find us.” She lay stretched out beside me, clutching the fabric of his pants and guiding the limb off its skewer.

“As soon as he’s up, we’ll run,” I said, gritting my teeth. At least, we’d run as well as we could. Conrad’s grip was starting to hurt, but at least he wasn’t thrashing. I thought he might thrash with panic, but maybe he was going limp from blood loss.

“Got it!” Tina called finally, and I fell back with my final effort, Conrad secure in my arms. He was breathing fast, hyperventilating.

“Conrad, hush, breathe slow. Slower.” I spoke softly, calmly, even though my own heart was racing in my ears, my hair standing on end, my own panic about to burst. This was just like talking down a panicking werewolf. I could handle this.

Tina pulled out a jackknife, cut away the lower half of his pants, and made two bandages of it, tying them tight around the entry and exit wounds.

“Conrad, can you stand?”

He was still gasping for breath, gulping for air. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

Tina and I didn’t have to talk. She took one of his arms over her shoulder, I took the other, and we hauled him. He let out a yelp, and I hissed at him to shut up. Not that it mattered at this point.

“Where?” Tina asked.

I nodded toward the lake. So far, all the traps had been around the lodge and the trails leading to it. If we went somewhere else, yet stuck to the edge of the forest, we might find a safe place to hunker down. If we did, I’d leave these two there and go for help.

My night vision was good enough to lead the way. Moving among the trees, we put distance between us and the tiger trap. Conrad managed to pull himself together, keeping himself upright on one leg, hopping painfully on the other. That only meant we weren’t dragging his feet behind us anymore. With every breath he whimpered, but he was obviously trying to keep quiet.

Ahead, a clearing opened up, a brighter space of open sky and moonlight shining down. The pewter gray surface of the lake shone, maybe a dozen yards away.

“Let’s rest for a minute,” I whispered, coming to a stop by the trunk of a wide old pine tree. Tina and Conrad slumped against it beside me, and we lowered him to the ground. He pulled his legs close, hugging the injured one, rocking. The whimpers sounded deep in his chest, suppressed.

I squeezed his shoulder. “Conrad? Conrad? How are you?” Really stupid question. I didn’t know how else to pull him out of himself. I needed him lucid.

He pushed himself up so he was almost sitting. He was shaking. Tina braced him, and he managed to stay upright.

“I’m sorry,” he said, panting. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He’d entered the raving stage. Now we had to dodge the hunters and get an incapacitated man to safety.

Tina was crying. I hadn’t even noticed, but tears streaked her face. She hadn’t made a sound. Stress, or her own brand of panic, I didn’t know what. I touched her hand.

“He thinks he’s dying,” she said. “He’s praying.”

I slouched against the tree, one hand on Tina’s arm, the other on Conrad’s shoulder. I looked through the last of the forest to the lake, so calm and beautiful in the crisp night air. Silver lined everything.

What had Anastasia said? Werewolves were pack animals. We were always banding together to fight, to take care of each other. I felt that now. We’d banded together, and now I felt like it was up to me to take care of these two. I didn’t have a clue how to do that.

Part of me wanted to wait here for someone to find us, to rescue us, but we couldn’t do that, because Provost would likely find us first. We were dead just sitting here. That was what Cormac would say: keep moving.

The smell of blood from Conrad’s wound was overpowering. This sent a blaze of warning to the Wolf side—that much blood was like a beacon to predators saying we were hurt, vulnerable, easy pickings—