Kitty's Big Trouble (Kitty Norville 9)
 
; The lead werewolf smiled.
“You have a plan?” Ben said. His hands flexed, his shoulders bunched. He met the man’s stare across the few paces separating us. Way too few paces. I glared at the wolves, challenging, not backing down. They were big, two hundred pounds—bulky, lupine versions of their human forms and even more threatening. Their teeth were bared, their ears pinned back.
“Keep them away from Cormac and Grace,” I said. Anastasia could damn well take care of herself.
“Generic. Flexible. I like it,” he said, with a little more snark than the situation called for.
“Okay then.”
Anastasia shouldered past me, upsetting my balance so I rocked into Ben. “Hey!”
“They must have the pearl,” Anastasia said. “They know where Roman is.”
I tried to growl at her while not taking my stare off the wolves. “Anastasia—protect them.” I pointed at the two humans behind us.
Intent on staring down our enemy, she didn’t seem concerned with them at all. If we had an escape route, I’d be happy letting her take care of the wolves all by herself. But we were cornered and someone had to look after the most vulnerable in the group. The three of us formed a wall across the passageway. On the plus side, the space was defensible—as long as we could keep the werewolves out of the room, Cormac and Grace would be safe. On the other hand, we had no space. No room to pace, to circle, to flank, to attack. They must have felt the same way, because they didn’t attack, either. We were sizing each other up. I must have seemed insignificant to them. Ben wouldn’t look like much more of a threat. But our experience counted for a lot.
The pack of werewolves had halted their approach. The human thug said, “All right. Where is it?”
I blinked and cocked my head. “Where is what?”
“You know what I’m talking about. The safe is empty—what did you do with it?”
“We thought you had it,” I said.
Ben glanced at me. “You don’t have to tell them that.”
“Well, I’m confused,” I said. I pointed at them. “You guys don’t have it?”
“We’re not stupid. Hand it over and you can leave,” the leader said. The two wolves stepped forward, their lips drawing back and noses wrinkling as they snarled.
Anastasia donned a regal pose, chin up, staring down at the peons around her. “Your Master must know he can’t win,” she said to our opponents.
The wolves’ hackles were getting stiffer, the fur down their back standing straight up, and they weren’t going to back off. “We just want what was in the safe.”
“Yes, and we leave here alive, you said that,” she said. “Or, if you’d rather, you can deliver a message to Roman for me—and I will allow you to leave here alive.”
The guy actually took a step back, uncertainty tightening his features—a show of weakness that made my own Wolf perk up. We can take him …
But he shook himself and pulled back his lips, showing teeth. “Then you really don’t have it. So there’s no reason to keep you alive at all.”
The wolves launched.
Ben and I sprang forward to meet them. Inside me, my Wolf snarled, her teeth bared and claws outstretched, ready to slash. My crooked fingers matched the impulse. I would keep myself together as long as I could, but I would shift if I had to, to win this fight. I was cornered, and that might be my only option.
Ben slammed into the wolf on the right, and they both tumbled to the floor. The wolf on the left, the one I was about to tackle, squealed and writhed in a sudden pain. I stumbled as I pulled up—I hadn’t touched him yet.
Cormac yelled, “Kitty, the knife, it’s silver! Use it!”
Sure enough, the wolf had four inches of slim wooden handle protruding from his shoulder. If the blade was silver, the wolf was finished. Cormac must have thrown it from behind me. I didn’t want to think about what would have happened if he’d missed and gotten me instead. Despite all we’d been through and all the times he hadn’t killed me, I still worried.
Whining with each breath, the wolf was twisted back on himself, trying to bite and claw out the knife. I rushed forward to pull it out and finish the job, and move onto the next one—but the leader beat me to it. He yanked the knife out and stayed crouched over his henchwolf, holding the weapon with a sure grip and a braced arm, defensive. I backed away.
The guy and the knife were still way too close to Ben and the other werewolf. Ben had blood on him, streaking from cuts on his arms. He was doing a good job keeping the wolf away from vital bits—the wolf attacked, and Ben kicked his belly, sending him tumbling away. The creature sprang right back, biting and slashing. Ben blocked with his arms, which took the brunt of the attack, but he couldn’t keep this up forever.
The leader of the trio stayed by the fallen wolf, a hand resting on his fur, trying to comfort the animal even as he held the knife ready. The wolf lay flat now, panting for breath, whining as the silver did its work, poisoning his blood. They might have been mercenaries, but they were still a pack.