Kitty Goes to War (Kitty Norville 8)

I slid my hand up his arm, squeezed his shoulder, and pressed my face to his neck as I hugged him. With deep breaths I took in his scent, and with the language of wolves I tried to comfort him as he slumped into my embrace.

My ribs hurt with every gasp of breath. I didn’t know how damaged I was, but I trusted that my werewolf healing would take care of me. My Wolf was still poised to fight; she wouldn’t retreat. But she wasn’t on the edge of bursting free anymore. I tried to concentrate on comforting Tyler, letting my own pain fade by ignoring it.

I heard noises. The women behind the door ahead of us were still there. I could smell their fear, their sweat. Around the other corner, a door smashed opened and several sets of boots clomped on the tile, running toward us.

Tyler immediately pulled away from me and straightened. His gaze had turned grim, but determined.

“Don’t tell him,” he said. “Don’t tell Stafford I was going to . . .”

“But don’t you think you can get some help, some counseling—”

Shaking his head, he cut me off. “I do anything like that, it’s on my own. I don’t want to give him any excuse to lock me up.” Tyler drew a deep breath, gathering himself to get through the next few minutes. Then the few after that. And so on.

Right. Then at least for now, it didn’t happen. I tried to stand, but pain shot through my guts and ribs. Breathing still hurt; I settled back.

Several soldiers paced up the hallway and stopped to crouch in defensive positions, their rifles aimed at us. I just looked at them. Didn’t beg, didn’t plead, didn’t yell for them to stand down. Just looked. Surely they could see that it was over.

The one closest to me lowered his rifle first. The other four followed. Then they waited.

Colonel Stafford and Ben came up behind them. When I saw Ben, tears finally blurred my vision. He met my gaze, and I tried to tell him everything without speaking. I wasn’t sure I could speak.

He gave my anguish back to me with his gaze, which I felt like a hand on my arm. His expression tightened, full of worry. But he didn’t rush. Turning to Stafford, he spoke a few words.

The colonel nodded and spoke to his men. “Stand down. Back off and wait at the doorway.”

The soldiers retreated, walking backward, unable to turn away from the tableau we presented: two people bent in despair, two ravaged bodies, a hallway spattered in blood.

Ben came to us first. I watched him, as if I could draw him forward with my eyes. He touched my shoulder, then Tyler’s, and bent his face to my hair. His breath tingled on my scalp, and I melted against him, relieved. I could finally let go. We were going to be all right.

“You’re hurt,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Mostly bruised, I think. Maybe broken ribs.”

“Can you stand?”

We’d have to get out of here sometime, I supposed. Tyler’s expression had settled into a mask. The sadness hadn’t gone away. He seemed so tired.

Holding Ben’s arm, I started to pull myself to my feet, but sharp pains rippled across my ribs. I hissed and doubled over, and both Ben and Tyler were at my sides, grabbing me to keep me from falling. They settled me against the wall instead. Yeah, bastard had broken something.

“What the hell did you do?” Ben asked.

“She went up against Vanderman,” Tyler said.

“You did what?” Then Ben rolled his eyes as though that didn’t surprise him.

“I had to,” I said. “He was trying to break into that room.” I called to Stafford, who was still hanging back. “Colonel, there are a couple of people in there, they might need help.” My lungs ran out of breath, my voice choked, and I started coughing.

Stafford looked like he wanted to argue, but he went to the broken door, called to the women inside, and after they answered, he shoved into the room. One more problem taken care of.

Ben and Tyler sat against the wall on either side of me. I leaned against Ben and let myself heal. Werewolf healing was fast, but never fast enough when you were in the middle of it.

“Walters saved me,” I said. “Right at the end. He got Vanderman away from me. I think he would have been okay. If we could have kept him safe, he would have been okay.” I shook my head.

Ben kissed the top of my head, and I sighed.

I would have liked to have said that it was all over. But I expected there’d be a lot of excuses, finger-pointing, and rationalizing. Maybe for Tyler this would never be over. He’d have Walters, Vanderman, Gordon, and all the guys from his unit living in his memory for the rest of his life. He’d be asking himself how he was the one who got out alive. This moment might have felt like a victory. But it was a Pyrrhic victory. We were left with a lot of pieces to pick up.

Stafford returned to the hallway. The room’s occupants were two women in fatigues, looking impossibly y