Kitty and the Midnight Hour (Kitty Norville 1)

“I don’t want that information made public. With a little imagination I think you can understand why. My fans are forward enough as it is. But I wanted you to know the truth. I hope I can trust you to keep this secret.”

I nodded. “I’m good at keeping secrets. I’ve got a few of my own. How—I mean, if it isn’t too brazen of me to ask—how did you find out?”

“He’s been a youthful eighteen for twenty years now. I got suspicious. I asked for his secret, and he told me. My stories—they’re about him. My son will not have the life I envisioned for him, and these novels are my way of reconciling myself to the life he does have. If one can call it life.”

I saw her to the door, where she adjusted the mink stole around her shoulders and walked out, chin up, the epitome of dignity.

Full moon night. Time to run.

T.J. picked me up on his bike, which was behaving itself, rumbling smooth and steady like a grizzly bear. He drove fast and took the turns tight. I didn’t wear a helmet so I could taste the air whipping by. I tipped back my head and drank it in, as the city scents of asphalt and exhaust gave way to the countryside, dry grass, earth, and distant pines. The sun was setting, the moon hadn’t yet risen, but I could feel it, a silver breath that tugged the tides and my heart. A howl tickled the back of my throat—the pack was near. I clung to T.J., smiling.

The pack gathered at Carl and Meg’s house, at the edge of the national forest. It might have been just another party, the dozen or so cars parked on the street, the collection of people congregating in the living room. But tension gripped the room, anticipation and nerves. The veil to that other world we lived in was drawn halfway. We could see through, but had to wait to enter. Carl wasn’t here yet.

Twenty-two wolves made up the local pack. They came from an area of a couple-hundred-mile radius, drawing from the urban areas up and down the Front Range, from Colorado Springs to Fort Collins. Most of them I only ever saw on full moon nights. We knew our places. I slunk around the edges of t

he room, trying to be innocuous.

My skin itched. I hugged myself, trying to stay anchored. So close. She, the Wolf, was waiting, staring out of my eyes. Her claws scraped at the inside of my skin, wanting to push through the tips of my fingers. She wanted fur instead of skin. Her blood flowed hot.

I flinched when the presence of another entered my awareness, like a force pressing through a membrane that surrounded me. I felt Zan before I saw him move to block my path.

He was young, my age, but he’d been a wolf since he was a teenager. He had pale skin, unkempt dark hair, and an animal stared out of his eyes.

I hated him. His scent tinged my nightmares. He was the one who’d attacked me and made me this thing.

He followed me around sometimes, like he was waiting for a chance to finish what he’d started. Like he could still smell blood on me. Or like he thought I owed him something. I stayed away from him as much as I could. T.J., Carl, and Meg backed him off the rest of the time. He wasn’t that tough.

T.J. was in the kitchen. I’d have to cross the entire room to get to him. Zan cornered me.

“What do you want?”

“You.” He leaned close. I was already backed against the wall and couldn’t move away when he brought his lips close to my ear. “Run with me tonight.”

That was a euphemism among werewolves. Zan went through this whenever Carl wasn’t around. I usually cowered and slunk away to hide behind T.J. Zan could take me, but he couldn’t take T.J. That was how the dominance thing worked.

I was so not in the mood for this shit.

“No,” I said, not realizing what I was saying until the word was out of my mouth.

“No? What do you mean, no?”

I straightened from the wall, squaring my shoulders and glaring at him. My vision wavered to gray. Wolf wanted a piece of him.

“I mean no. I mean get out of my face.”

His shoulders bunched. An annoyed rumble sounded in his throat.

Shit. I’d just challenged him. I’d questioned his dominance, and he couldn’t let it pass without severely beating me up. Carl and T.J. wouldn’t save me because I’d gotten into it all by myself.

The room went quiet. The others were watching with a little too much interest. This wasn’t the usual squabble—people were always duking it out, jockeying for positions in the middle of the pack. But this was me. I didn’t fight. At best, as the pack’s baby I was subject to good-natured teasing. At worst, I ended up on the wrong end of roughhousing. I always cowered, giving up status in exchange for safety. Not this time.

I couldn’t break eye contact with Zan. I’d gotten myself into this. Let’s see what I had to do to get out.

Those tricks I’d been learning in the self-defense class depended on the opponent’s making the first move. It was supposed to be self-defense, not kick-ass. And here I was thinking a few cute punches made me tough. I’d made the challenge; Zan waited for me to start.

I feinted down, like I was going to tackle him in the middle. He reached to swipe at me, and I sidestepped, shoving into his back to topple him. He rolled, smacking into the back of the sofa. I rushed him again, not sure what I thought I was doing. But the Wolf knew. Before he could find his feet, I jumped on his back, hands around his throat, digging my nails into him.

He roared, grabbing my arms and rolling back and forth to dislodge me. My back hit the corner of the sofa, stinging my spine. But I held on, gripping with arms and legs. I wanted to use my teeth as well. At his next lunge, a floor lamp tipped.