Kitty's Mix-Tape (Kitty Norville 16)

“But it’s not a level playing field,” she said, pressing. “Tell me about the fight in Vegas. About taking the punch that would have killed a normal human being.”

“That fight doesn’t prove anything.”

“But a lot of people are asking questions, aren’t they?” Larson said.

“What exactly do you want from me?”

“Your participation.”

“You want to ruin me, and you want me to help?” This sounded like a growl.

The trouble was, I sympathized with them both. Jenna Larson and I were both women working in the media, journalists of a sort, ambitious in a tough profession. She constantly needed to hustle, needed that leg-up. That was why she was here. I could understand that. But I’d also been in Jerome Macy’s shoes, struggling to do my job while hiding my wolf nature. I’d been exposed in a situation like this one: forced, against my will.

I didn’t know who to side with.

“Here’s a question,” I said, gathering my thoughts even as I talked. “Clearly you have a talent for boxing. But did you before the lycanthropy? Did you box before, and this gave you an edge? Or did you become a werewolf and decide a werewolf would make a good boxer? Are you here because you’re a boxer, or because you’re a werewolf?”

“Does it matter?”

Did it? The distinction, the value judgment I was applying here was subtle. Was Macy a boxer in spite of his lycanthropy—or because of it? Was I sure that the former was any better, more noble, than the latter?

“This isn’t any different than steroids,” Larson said before I could respond. “You’re using something to create an unfair advantage.”

“It’s different,” Macy said, frowning. “What I have isn’t voluntary.”

She continued, “But can’t you see it? Kids going out and trying to get themselves bitten by werewolves so they can get ahead in boxing, or football, or anything?”

“Nobody’s that stupid,” he said. The curl in his lips was almost a snarl.

Larson frowned. “If it’s not me who breaks the story, it’ll be someone else, and the next person may not let you know about it first. In exchange for an exclusive, I can guarantee you’ll get to tell your side of the story—”

I saw it coming, but I didn’t have time to warn her, or stop him.

He sprang, a growl rumbling deep in his throat, arms out-stretched and reaching for Larson. She dropped her recorder and screamed.

He was fast, planting his hands on her shoulders and shoving her to the wall. In response I shouldered him, pushing him off balance and away from the reporter. Normally, a five-six skinny blond like me wouldn’t have been able to budge a heavyweight like Macy off his stride. But as a werewolf I had a little supernatural strength of my own, and he wasn’t expecting it. No one ever expected much out of me at first glance.

He didn’t stumble far, unfortunately. He shuffled sideways, while I kind of bounced off him. But at least he took his hands off Larson, and I ended up standing in between them. I glared, trying to look tough, but I was quivering inside. Macy could take me apart.

“You bastard, you’re trying to kill me!” Larson yelled. She was wide eyed, breathing hard, panicked like a hunted rabbit.

Macy stepped back. His smile showed teeth. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.”

“I’ll charge you with assault,” she said, almost snarling herself.

“Both of you shut up,” I said, glaring, pulling out a bit of my own monster to quell them.

“You’re not as tough as you think you are,” he said, looking down at me, a growl in his voice, his fingers curling at his sides, like claws.

“Well I don’t have to be, because we’re going to sit down and discuss this like human beings, got it?” I said.

Never taking his eyes off Larson, he stepped back to the table and returned to sitting. He was breathing calmly, though his scent was musky, animal. He was a werewolf, but he was in complete control of himself. I’d never seen anything like it.

He was in enough control that Larson would never talk him into an exclusive interview.

She’d retrieved her recorder and was pushing buttons and holding it to her ear. By the annoyed look on her face, I was guessing it was damaged. “I don’t need your permission,” she muttered. “I’ve got Kitty to back me up. The truth will come out.”

I frowned. “Jenna, I’m not sure this is the right way to go about this. This doesn’t feel right.”