Kitty and the Silver Bullet (Kitty Norville 4)

“You can trust me,” Shaun said, his shirt off, his jeans unzipped, half undressed. “I trust her.” He gave me that look that a subordinate gives his alpha. That focused gaze, waiting to be told what to do, when to jump.

I hadn’t done anything to earn that trust. Not yet. I didn’t deserve it. I hadn’t been able to save Jenny. I nodded to him, all the acknowledgment I was able to give.

He finished undressing, and a sheen of sweat covered his skin. His hands were shifting already, thickening, and his back hunched. Ben saw it; he’d clenched his own hands into fists, and his hair was damp. He was close, too.

“Ben.” I touched his hand, and it uncurled to grasp mine. I drew close to him. “I need you, okay? I need your help. I can’t do this by myself.”

“You seem to be doing just fine.” His cheek brushed mine. His other hand caressed my back. God, I wanted him. I wanted to ditch this whole thing and run into the woods with him.

We kissed, and the touch was hot, tense, desperate. A last kiss before battle.

“Later,” I whispered, hoping he’d been thinking the same thing. He nodded.

Nearby, Shaun gave a grunt—or what had been Shaun gave a grunt. In his place, a dark and silvery wolf shook out his fur and turned to us with gleaming eyes. His tail was low, questioning.

Ben was trembling, holding in his own wolf. I started unbuttoning his shirt. “Come on. It’s time.”

We got most of his clothes off before he fell, kicking off his pants as he shifted, bones melting and skin sliding, the other form bursting out of him, swallowing him. He didn’t make a sound, kept it all in and just let it happen. Flowing like water was how I thought of it. His wolf was rusty gray, turning to cream on his nose and belly. The two wolves approached each other, heads low, sniffing. Ben growled and Shaun ducked, clamping his tail between his legs. That was all it took. Pack order established. Ben was alpha male. Weirdly, I was proud of him.

I looked at my two wolves. When I knelt, they came to me, rubbed against me, smelling me, and I stroked them. “Thank you for believing in me,” I said, and maybe they understood and maybe they didn’t. But Ben wagged his tail once.

Go go go—

And Wolf was right, I couldn’t hold it any longer.

This is war.

This is battle, this is chaos, this is breaking taboos, edging into the territory of another pack. Seeking out this alien scent, letting it surround her—the nearness of danger makes all her hair stand on end, and a growl is ready to break loose in her throat.

And yet, she seeks it out, and the danger thrills her. She knows: We are stronger, we will win, we must.

She has a pack. A small one, but hers, and they follow, her mate and the other at her flanks. With their ground-eating strides—sometimes trotting, sometimes loping—they cover miles of ground on plain and hill. All the while, at junctures and borders, they mark. At the reeking places where the other pack has marked they especially linger.

There is joy in this as well, and she stops her followers to play, leaping at each other, snapping, yipping. Her mate finds a rabbit and they eat. Then they range again, mindful of the battle.

She feels the dawn approach rather than notes any sign of it—the lightening of the sky, the first songs of birds. Just as the urgency of war drove them for the few hours of night, the same urgency tells her they must be away from here by daylight. They must sleep, so she leads them back to their den. The three of them settle down, curled up nose to tail, touching, safe in each other’s company.

I woke up in a strange place, with strange pressures around me. I lie on my side, on dry grass with pine boughs overhanging. Ben was in front of me, his head against my chest, one arm over my waist, the other tucked between us. He was snoring a little—it was awfully cute. Another body pressed close against my back, breathing deeply in sleep. Shaun lay against me, back to back.

A pack. Waking up in a dog pile of naked bodies, safe and comforted by their warmth. I’d forgotten what it was like. I wanted to revel in the feeling for hours.

But we weren’t safe. We were in enemy territory, and we’d set a urinary time bomb that would be going off any minute now.

I elbowed Shaun and shook Ben. “Come on. We have to get going. Up up up, guys.”

Ben groaned and took a firm grip on my arms, holding me in place while he sidled closer to me. His eyes were closed, and I couldn’t tell if he was awake. Then he started necking me, working his way to my ear, where he started nibbling.

He sure knew which buttons to push. I just about melted. “Ben . . . this . . . this isn’t—” Oh, come on, a little voice said . . . This was just fine. Make that a big voice.

Oh, no. There were so many reasons why this wasn’t the time or place for this. “Ben. Wait.” I pulled away and took his face in my hands. Finally, he opened his eyes. Then glanced over my shoulder, to where Shaun was sitting up and watching us.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he said with a laugh behind his leer.

Ben gave me a look—smirking and clearly annoyed. “I didn’t sign up for this,” he said, nodding at Shaun.

“You didn’t sign up for any of this.” I kissed his forehead.

“Ozzie and Harriet,” Shaun said, shaking his head again.