Kitty Raises Hell (5 page)

We still argued.

“I don’t want to do this,” he said as we made our way to the car. By “this” he meant the full-moon ritual that drew our werewolf
pack together, to Change, to run, to hunt. To stop being human.

“You say that every time.”

“And it’s true every time.”

“But do you have to keep saying it?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you like it,” he said, almost cutting.

“So do you, and that’s why you insist on saying you hate it.”

“Ah, in with the pop psychology.”

“That’s me,” I said happily. He grumbled wordlessly.

We drove in a stretch of silence until we reached I-70.

“I miss the old days,” Ben said suddenly. “When it was just the two of us.”

The old days. Our pack of two. We’d Change, run, hunt together as a pair. Sleep curled together, wake human, naked, in the
great outdoors. Aroused, inhibitions lowered to nothing—we’d spent some very nice mornings together, after full-moon nights.

“Maybe we can sneak off for a little while. The rest of the pack won’t miss us.” I smiled thinking of it.

Ben wore the same dreamy smile. “Hmm. Makes me almost look forward to it.”

On the drive into the mountains, I watched the rearview mirror, waiting to see someone following us. No one did, and we arrived
at our destination. One of these days someone in a uniform was going to discover this wooded field at the end of a remote
dirt track filled with cars at midnight on full-moon nights. I hadn’t figured out a better way to get the pack to wilderness.
Charter a bus, maybe?

My skin itched, every square millimeter, every pore. The car parked and silent, the world dark around us, I sat in the driver’s
seat. Ben sat beside me. Outside, people lingered at the edges of the field, waiting for us.

“I don’t like this,” I said. This was the first full moon since we found the word
Tiamat
defacing New Moon’s door. “I can’t get rid of the feeling that someone’s watching us.”

Ben shook his head. “We’re a pack. Nothing can get to us if we stick together.”

That didn’t make me feel any better. “You’re supposed to tell me that nothing’s out there, that I’m being paranoid and everything’s
going to be fine.”

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he said unconvincingly.

Sighing, I got out of the car.

“Hey,” Shaun called to us from the trees. Shaun was, for lack of a better word, our lieutenant, our right-hand wolf. He also
managed New Moon for us. Brown-skinned, dark-eyed, he wore a T-shirt and jeans and went barefoot. He was rubbing his arms
like he was nervous.

“Is everything okay?” I said. “You see anything, smell anything?”

“Seems clear.” But he shook his head and sounded uncertain.

The forest didn’t look any different. The conifers stood tall and black against a sky painted deep, deep blue by moonlight.
The moon sang to my sensitive ears.
It’s time.
Maybe it was a matter of expectation. We were expecting something to happen, something wrong and dangerous, and so we looked
through the trees and saw more danger than was really there.

Some of the pack members had left their clothing in their cars and walked out naked, like ghosts, moving with purpose. Others
had already Changed; they were larger than natural wolves, waist-high, padding forward, heads low to smell for scents, tails
out like rudders. Becky, Mick, Tom, Kris. The first ones to Change tended to like being wolves, or weren’t able to control
themselves as well. They came to our territory, with the moon shining on them, and the wolves took over. These animals trotted
to me, their backs at my hips, heads and tails low, looking away. I reached out, hands spread, and let their bodies pass under
my touch. My fingers left tracks in the thick velvet of their fur. Grays, browns, tans, blacks. Their eyes glinted yellow
and amber. I pressed my lips in a smile.

The ones who were more comfortable in their wolf skins seemed to revel in these nights. The few of us who lingered by the
cars, kept our clothing on, our human trappings, still resisted, even though most of us had lived this life for years.

All of them, wolf and human, showed deference to me. The bowed heads, slumped backs, tails flattened between their legs when
they looked at me. They didn’t look
at
me, but around me, glancing away, not daring to meet my gaze, to offer challenge. All of this was body language that said,
You lead, we’ll follow, we trust you.
So much trust shown in a few gestures. Almost, it was comforting—I didn’t have to guess what the wolves were thinking about
me. In the human world, someone could act like they adored you even as they planned to stab you in the back.

Eighteen of us made up the pack. We’d lost a few people over the last year to fighting, battles for dominance, all the crises
that happen to a pack in transition. I didn’t want to lose anyone else. I was desperate not to. I wanted to justify the reverence
the others showed me.

I wanted to justify what I’d gone through to become alpha of this pack.

It was my job to keep them all in line. To keep everyone safe—from enemies, from each other. From attention. We came here,
to the wild, where no one would get in our way. Where we couldn’t hurt anyone. By touch and look, I replied:
Thank you. I will lead, I will keep you safe.
I was more confident on these nights than any other. I had to be. They had to believe me if they were going to feel safe.

A couple more of those still human among us hunched over, skin blurring, bones stretching, fur growing, muscles straining,
voices groaning. Their transformations called up something in me. The itching turned to fire.
Time to run.

The wolves of my pack paced into the woods, to the wilds of our territory.

Ben stood at my shoulder. He kissed my neck. “Ready?”

“No,” I said. “I’m never ready for this.”

“Yeah.” His voice was tight, and I knew what he was feeling. Wolf clawed at my insides, howling,
It’s time, it’s time.

We walked farther into the woods, some of us human, some of us wolf, to the place where we made our den. A beautiful spot
for a picnic, I always thought, shaded over with trees, a well-worn rock outcropping, lichen-covered granite forming a sheltered
space. Plenty of space for a dozen and a half wolves to curl up and sleep. It smelled safe, despite my misgivings. We stripped.

A few steps away, Shaun had taken off his shirt. He looked through the trees, his gaze distant, vacant. His breaths were deep,
fast. He grimaced and hunched his back.

A wolf howled, and around us human flesh melted, slipped, morphed into something else. Fur grew on smooth skin, bones stretching.
Think of snowmelt becoming a rushing stream.

I quickly hugged Ben. All my muscles tense, I clung to him for a last lucid moment. “I love you,” I said.

He kissed me mouth to mouth. Then he fell, groaning, and I fell with him, and the wolves around us surged and whined, hungry,
celebrating. I shut my eyes, clamped my jaw, let my mind slip away—

H
er mind is torn. Senses in one direction, thoughts in another. Two-legged thoughts, from the other world. Worried, uneasy.
But the fear has no shape, and she can’t focus on it. Her senses tell her that nothing is wrong. But the tension is there,
shared among the whole pack. Tails twitch, ears flicker. Watchful. This is what the furless human world does to them. The
pack’s children, weaker ones whom she must protect, are especially fearful, slinking close to the ground, whining.

She remembers how that felt, fearing all. She nips and nudges them, encourages them. This is their night. Must not fear.

Her mate is at her side, silver and burning. They bump shoulders, trot side by side, circling around, searching for scent.
Hunting.

She stops. Ears up, tail straight. Hackles grow stiff like reeds. Whole body stiff. Because finally she smells it.

Too late, she smells it.

Sulfur, carbon, banked flames from hot coals. The two-legged self provides the names for what she smells. The names don’t
matter; it’s wrong. She whines, yips—at her side, her mate bumps her, flank to flank. They look in all directions, but see
nothing. Gather the pack, she thinks. Run. But where? The fear is confused, directionless. The scent doesn’t have a track.
It’s everywhere. It simply appears.

A wolf yelps, high-pitched, pain-filled.

She hears it and feels rage. One of her pack is in danger, hurt, something has attacked—

She and her mate together—he is at her shoulder—race, bounding in huge strides over brush and bracken until they find their
threatened brother.

Not one of the weak ones. A strong male, the beta, able to take care of himself, yet something pins him to the ground, a weight
on his back. He yelps and snaps, struggles to twist his mouth around to bite, to free his claws to slash at the thing. He
only scratches at dirt. There is a scent of scorched fur.

Nothing attacks their kind. Unless they corner desperate prey, they have no enemies except for two-footed death—enemies from
the other halves of their beings. This is something else. Maniacal, deadly, a shadow rising from the earth itself to swallow
them.

She attacks. Her mate follows from the other side. Jaws open, throats rough with snarling, they can’t see what they attack,
they only know something must be there.

But nothing is. They crash into each other and fall to the ground at their brother’s side, stunned.

Something sinks against her, pressing her. Human hands, but they’re too large, too strong, and too hot. In a panic she lurches,
claws into earth, struggling to escape. Writhing with every muscle, she manages it, cries out, and then all her wolves are
running. A burning smell fills her and drives her to panic.

They can run very, very fast when they need to.

She nips at flanks, pins her ears at the slow brothers and sisters, urging them on, faster. This is for their lives. The forest
becomes a blur, the moonlight a tunnel through which they fly. Lungs pumping, hearts pounding, mouths open to take in air,
tails straight out. Miles pass effortlessly. The pack together is a sea of motion.

The smell of sulfur fades. Soon she senses only forest, pine and damp, earth and life, as if the danger has never happened.
She lopes around her pack and gives a signal to slow, to settle. The wolves mill, uncertain, panting, ears back—frightened.

So is she. She can’t hide it. But she’ll watch out for them.

She leads them to a place if not as comfortable as their usual den, at least defensible. It’s a space of sheltered trees on
the side of a hill, open on all sides—she can watch anything that approaches, smell the air all around. They have plenty of
chances to escape. She paces, counts her wolves by scent. All here. All safe, though shaken. She settles in to patrol. To
keep watch until morning.

She watches the sunrise. The pack sleeps around her—naked, furless. They’ve all slipped back to their other halves. It’s sad,
seeing them like this. But they still smell of pack, of family. Exhausted, sleep is heavy in her eyes, but fear keeps her
upright.

Her mate wakens, and his furless hands reach for her. She sniffs him, wet nose tracing his limbs.

“Kitty.” His voice is thick, anxious. “You have to sleep. Come back to me, please.”

She licks his face, saying, But I’m here, I’m right here.

Others wake, moving slowly, groaning. Some of them flinch, looking around wide-eyed.

She yips. I’m standing guard, you see? I’m keeping watch.

“It’s our turn, Kitty. Let us watch. Sleep now.” He bends his face to her shoulder. She squirms under his touch. His fear
increases hers.

“What’s wrong?” another asks.

“She won’t sleep.”

“Can’t say I blame her.”

Her mate again, almost desperate. “Shaun and Mick are keeping watch, okay? You can rest now.”

He whispers by her ear, soothing. Strokes her flanks. Urges her to sleep. Shelters her with his presence.

Her eyes close. She can no longer stand. When she sleeps, she’s curled up tight, stiff with worry.

I
convulsed with the feeling of falling. My muscles twitched in anticipation of pain.

But I lay on solid ground, the earth of a forest, and with a great, frightened heave of breath, my lungs filled with Ben’s
scent.

His embrace tightened around me. “Shh, shh. You’re okay. It’s okay.”

The morning was bright around us. Late morning, by the look and smell of things. I was usually up much earlier than this,
the day after running. But Ben and I were both still naked. He held me close, his front to my back, his breath stirring my
hair. We weren’t in our usual den. His whole body was taut with anxiety.

“What happened?” I sat up, struggling free of him but still keeping hold of his hand, his arms. I still smelled burning coals,
like the woods were on fire. But all around me was calm.

“I’m not sure,” Ben said. “Something came after us last night.”

“Is everyone okay? Where is everyone?” We were alone in our shelter.

“I sent most of them home. I thought they’d be safer away from here. Mick and Shaun are still here.”

Watching our backs. Memories returned—images, emotions. We’d all been terrified. How far had we run? I didn’t recognize this
place. I started shivering and cuddled closer to Ben.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured. But I couldn’t get dressed, because my clothes were back at the old den, miles from here.
I looked around, dazed, trying to get my bearings, glancing over my shoulder for something that burned.

Mick and Shaun returned. Fully clothed, they might have been anyone. They’d walked out, studying the area between here and
where the attack had come, looking for any evidence of what had happened. They brought our clothing with them. I dressed quickly,
trying to get warm.