Kitty Goes to War (Kitty Norville 8)

I wanted to tell him everything was going to be okay, as if he were a little kid. So strange to see someone that tough and capable look that lost.

“Bad planning on Gordon’s part,” I said. “He should have spent a little more time teaching you to take care of yourselves. The whole pack thing . . . it can be a lifesaver. It can be supportive and amazing. But it can also be codependent as hell.”

“We were a family,” Tyler said. “That’s part of why the captain picked us. None of us have wives or kids. It was just us.”

“Thank goodness for small favors,” I muttered, not quite under my breath. These guys having kids would have added a whole other level of tragedy to the situation.

“It didn’t matter how much the captain explained, we still wouldn’t have known what to expect. Like this,” Tyler said. He wiped his hands on a paper napkin and pushed up his left sleeve. “What do you see?”

A really buff arm, with a rounded shoulder and well-defined biceps. The dark skin was smooth, unblemished even by goose bumps. I shrugged and said, “Your arm?”

“I had a tattoo here. Really nice, tribal—covered half my arm. We all had tattoos—names, unit badges, good-luck charms, usual army shit. Then Gordon turned me. When I woke up, there was a big ink stain on the sheet and no tattoo. That happened to all of us.”

“It healed,” I said. “Werewolf superimmunity—your body rejected the ink as a foreign object.” Good thing I hadn’t been thinking of getting one of my own.

“It was like being erased,” Tyler said. “Starting over with a clean slate. But it also felt like losing something. I lost something I thought was going to be part of me forever.”

I knew how he felt. Saying so would sound trite and probably not help much.

“Have you heard anything about Van?” Walters asked suddenly. “The doctor won’t tell us anything.”

I didn’t imagine Shumacher talked to them much, if ever.

“Vanderman you mean?” I said. “No. Not apart from his being charged with murder.”

Walters slumped. “It wasn’t him. I mean, not just him. He wasn’t in his right mind.”

“He still has to stay in custody.”

“He’s taking the fall for us,” Tyler said.

“I don’t think you should feel guilty,” I said.

“You’re so keen on helping us, you ought to be helping all of us,” Tyler said.

“We’re a pack,” Walters said, as if it was a mantra.

I started thinking this would have been easier with Vanderman included. If I could rehabilitate him, the others would follow. Then I remembered the look in his eyes, that killer instinct. If Tyler and Walters were going to function on their own, they had to do it without the alpha.

They were making progress here. They were talking. They weren’t panicking or raging or about to shape-shift. They were acting almost normally. I had to give them goals, keep them motivated. Distracted. We had to make progress.

“Do you guys want to get out, maybe see a little of Denver?” I said. Ben glanced at me, questioning.

Tyler and Walters looked at each other, and Tyler said, “Could we really do that?”

“Why not? You can sit here and have a conversation. The next step is to sit out there and have a conversation.” I nodded in the direction of the door. “Discipline. It’s all discipline and self-control.”

“The army way,” Tyler said, quirking a smile.

My phone rang with “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.” The soldiers jumped, and I glanced around the table apologetically.

“Cormac,” I told Ben as I clicked the phone on. I’d finally given him his own ringtone so I’d have some warning.

“That’s your custom ringtone for Cormac?” he said.

I smirked back at him as I went to the corner for some privacy. Into the phone I said, “Yeah?”

“Your guy, Franklin? I found something,” Cormac said.