Kitty Saves the World (Kitty Norville 14)

Any minute now I expected the ground to open under me. It wouldn’t even have been him doing it; it might have just been the soft dirt weakened by thermals. My feet sank a few times, but I scrambled on. Avoided anyplace with cracks or steam spitting out. I made for the trees and the ridge marking the edge of the basin.

When I finally fell, skidding into a bank of ice-crusted snow lingering in shadows, I curled up and didn’t get back up again. My skin and all my nerves throbbed. My cheek, pressed into the ice, was the only part of me not on fire, so I focused on that, the soothing chill. The rest of me, though—all my muscles locked up with the pain.

I’d heal. I’d get better. I had to be patient. In the meantime, blacking out would be nice. Instead, I listened for following footsteps, for a suave voice taunting me from beyond the next row of trees. I had to hold my breath, to keep from gasping loudly.

Quiet, all quiet.

I unfolded—carefully, slowly. I didn’t want to look at myself. My muscles seemed to pop, and my skin stretched, feeling like it was blistered and falling off. But it was still there, though tender, and probably lobster-red. My feet were blistered, swollen. My shoes were just gone. But I was still conscious. I was still in one piece. Lucifer hadn’t found me yet.

I was in the middle of Yellowstone, with no clue what to do next. I patted my jeans pocket—my phone was there. Whether I’d get any reception—No, no I would not.

Run.

The word run was sometimes a euphemism among werewolves. It didn’t just mean the physical movement of running. It also meant turn, shift, flee to the wilderness. Run with me, meant something more.

“You’re back,” I murmured. “You’re awake.”

My Wolf stirred, and I felt something like claws press against the inside of my gut. Wolf, awake, wanting to run. It’s time to go.

Whatever Lightman had done to lock her away, we were out of range now, and he couldn’t stop us. We had to get away before he found us.

This was going to hurt.

Even taking off my clothes hurt, so I worked it like a Band-Aid—ripping it off fast rather than prolonging the torture, shoving off my jeans, and dealing with the flaming agony of fabric rubbing against blistered skin. Before I was too far gone, I checked for the coin, made sure the cord was tight and solidly around my neck, pressed it firmly to my chest, and repeated over and over, don’t lose it, don’t lose it. Maybe Wolf would remember, maybe Wolf would keep the coin safe. We needed it.

Then I let go of the bars of the cage in my gut, and Wolf roared out. My neck arched back, my teeth bared, my limbs stretched. Fur prickled along my burned skin, but I shut my eyes and let it wash through me. I was strong, I was Wolf—

* * *

Run, that’s all there is. There is pain, but it will pass. The danger is too large to manage. Some hunts aren’t worth the effort, so you leave off and wait for better odds. Running means being able to try again later.

This territory is difficult and unfamiliar. It ought to smell like forest and mountain, like home, but there’s a stench masking the air, confusing her. Finally, she finds a deer trail, follows it not to hunt, but to find water. A river, close. She heads toward this. It smells safe. Stretching, she lopes faster, her stride covering ground. The pain lessens the faster she goes, as if she is fleeing pain. Wind throu

gh her fur doesn’t hurt the way air on skin did.

Along the way she smells wolves—musky and alien. She avoids those scents and trails. She’s in foreign territory, and she isn’t strong enough to meet new wolves, especially ones that clearly aren’t like her. Wild wolves, pure wolves.

The daylight is too bright and feels wrong; she’s used to running at night.

Something hard and uncomfortable thumps against her chest with every stride. She could stop, scratch it off and get rid of it, but her other self whispers urgently, don’t lose it. She must carry it in her teeth if she has to, but she must not lose it. So she leaves it around her neck, and its weight is a reminder of what she flees.

She runs a long time until her tongue hangs out and her breath pants, but she finds a place that doesn’t smell of rot and steam, where young pine trees slope down to a clean-running river. Here, she smells prey and other predators, competition. Bear and fox as well as wolf. She avoids these. Is too tired and hurt to hunt. Isn’t even hungry, much. Sleep now, hunt later. Survive, the rest will come. She snugs into a den by a fallen tree, on fresh earth, rich with dead leaves and living forest.

* * *

I HEARD voices, one male and one female, talking nearby. I couldn’t understand them because they were speaking a different language. Chinese maybe? Though I was woozy, I was sure if I just concentrated hard enough I’d be able to understand them. Their manner was low and urgent.

I looked, but wasn’t sure I was really awake. Somehow I could feel that my eyes were amber, like Wolf’s, and saw the world through wavering, hyperfocused senses. But I had human hands, human fingers with hardened, pointed nails—not quite claws but definitely not normal nails. Gray and tawny fur covered my arms. I felt my face—a human face, flat with a small nose, but dusted in fur. My ears were Wolf’s pointed ears. I rubbed my arms, ruffling the fur, and shivered. It was like I was caught halfway between forms, stuck between myself and her. We are the same.

In a dark forest I saw trees drawn out in hard lines, with movement flickering in the underbrush. The silver cast of a full moon edged it all, but that wasn’t right, either—full moon was still a week off. And the moon was too close, filling up a quarter of the sky, like in a drawing or a dream.

I breathed and moved slowly.

They were still talking. My voice came out groggy when I said, “I can’t understand you … do you speak English?”

They stopped. I felt like the speakers should be right next to me, but I couldn’t see them. Their air felt thick, like I had to swim through it.

“She’s awake,” the male voice said, and I recognized it. It was right at the corner of my memory …