Kitty in the Underworld (Kitty Norville 12)

Their scents reach her, alien and uncertain. Four of them, all different. Her lips curl from her teeth and her throat burrs a growl. They’ve brought more light with them, a glare that fills the space, hurts her eyes. But she can’t look away. Ears flattened, tail straight, she stares at them, challenging. If they try to hurt her, she will mangle them all.

“Oh, she’s beautiful,” says one of them, female, smelling of feline, of musk and desert.

“Dangerous,” mutters another. Male. Another wolf. She hates him.

The group approaches and she backs away, keeping her distance. She can only back so far, and when they corner her, she’ll strike. She will not let them corner her.

Of the other two, one is cold. He smells of carrion without being rotten. She keeps her distance from him. The other, another female—this one smells of prey. Fear, sweat, trembling. Weak, she stands behind the others for protection.

She stares at the prey, and the curl in her lips feels almost like a smile.

“Here,” says the cold one. “We’ll start from here. No need to frighten her.”

For a moment, the door beyond the group stands open. A faint touch of mountain air seeps in, and her nose quivers, taking in the taste of freedom. But the door closes again before she can rally herself to escape.

Too slow, too late. Her muscles are stiff from standing rigid, from spending days locked in this cold, stone-filled space. Her mind burns. The blood of her meal coats her tongue; part of the haunch still remains, but she’s no longer hungry. Now, she wants only to escape. That, or devour the enemies standing before her.

She has to move. Circling back, she paces, following the wall, hoping it will run out, lead her to some wide open space where she can run, but it doesn’t. It loops back to the start, to the enemies and their droning voices. They stand their ground, don’t try to stop her from moving. But she has no path around them without going through them, which seems unwise. So she paces. She can still taste blood and wants more.

On the next loop, she ducks and charges, mouth open. Her claws scrape on the ground, her muscles pump—running feels good. She sees through a haze of anger. The cold one, whose voice has ice and smoke in it. She aims for him.

The wolf steps in her path. She plants her jaw on his raised arm. His skin rips, she tastes his blood. He shoves her back, redirects her, slams her into the cave wall. Pain stings her shoulder. Writhing, she twists out of his grip, falls, finds her feet again.

He braces, arms spread, standing between her and the others. He’s ready to fight. Blood drips down his arm; she tastes drops of it that smear on her tongue. There’s a tang of fear—from the lion, who comes forward and wraps cloth around his arm.

She remembers: traces of poison are everywhere here, imbedded in the walls. They wouldn’t have to rip out each others’ hearts, merely poison each others’ blood with traces of metallic stone.

His teeth are bared; so are hers. She won’t back down from the challenge. Softly, she growls.

Stop. We can’t win.

She stands, legs rigid, panting.

Calm, calm. We must stay calm. We have to wait them out.

The cold one speaks. “We have gathered to raise power, in order to do battle with great evil. We invite Regina Luporum to merge her power with ours. Now, in your truest form, see with your wolf’s eyes what we do here, see the power we have already gathered…”

She glares a challenge at him; the cold one meets her gaze, and her focus tumbles. The world turns to fog, and she cannot look away.

His tone is like singing. This makes her think of howls, of her pack under the full moon’s light, surging pure and ever skyward. But the cold one’s singing is broken and grates on her nerves. At the start, she almost understands what he says. Her two-legged self strains to listen. But as the chant goes on, her head aches, and it becomes meaningless, like everything else about this place. She doesn’t understand, and her other self fades to a distant influence. A murmur in the back of her head urges, listen, listen, remember what they’re saying, we have to understand what they’re saying …

They know things, they have the key to what this is about, but she doesn’t understand.

The others speak, telling their parts of the muddled flood of voices. They are not speaking her language, she is not part of their pack … but she could be … they are letting her in by telling their secrets.

She is so tired.

The haunch of deer is taken away. The cold one and the small human prey leave the room. They are careful to shut the door. But the wolf and lion linger.

She settles, lying with her head resting on her paws. Still watching them, full of confusion.

“Will she be all right?” the lion says.

“She’ll go to sleep soon enough,” the wolf answers.

“That’s not what I mean. What if Kumarbis is wrong and she never joins us?”

“We have to show her that his is the way. That’s all.”