Kitty and the Midnight Hour
Page 40

I screamed, hunching over myself with the pain of it, angry at Zan for making me do this. The puncture wounds on my arm stretched and seared. While I was huddled and immobile with the Change, Zan attacked me again.
His paws landed on my shoulders; his jaw closed around my neck. I elbowed him, wriggling out of his grasp. His claws dug into me, but his teeth didn't catch. By this time, I had claws as well. I sat on my knees, raised my forelimbs, now stout and ending in thick, razor-tipped fingers, and raked them down his exposed belly.
They snagged and caught with a satisfying rip. I grunted as I put more effort behind it. Six lines of blood welled and matted with his fur. Elation, glee, and joy surged through me—through her. This was her. This power, this joy, this blood . My mouth watered. Her mouth. I had thick canines. Fangs. She wanted a piece of him.
She could have him. He backed off, meeting my gaze. My vision had gone soft and glaring. The lights were too bright and the shadows too clear, but I saw him. We growled, lips curled back from angry teeth. An official challenge between us. I was halfway there, to her, my Wolf. Just let it go. Like a cannonball, another wolf crashed into Zan. They tumbled, a mess of fur, claws, and furious snarls. I backed away, gagging, hugging myself, trying to hold on to myself.
Cold water. Ice. Clothing. Broccoli. Pull it in. I'd never been so far gone and pulled her back before. I had the list of words, things I thought of that made her go away, at least a little. Sprouts. Green. Daylight. Calm. Music. Bach, "Sheep May Safely Graze." Ha.
And she went away, but it hurt, like my guts were being dragged over razors, like teeth were chewing me from the inside. Bile rose in my throat, sank back, and my stomach churned.
The fight between Zan and the other wolf was over.
Where I had struggled for my life, fought for every inch of ground and barely held my own, the newcomer swatted him once and that was that. Zan whined, tail between his legs, crawling on his belly, smearing blood on the sidewalk as he went. His attacker snarled and bit his face. Zan rolled onto his back and stayed there. The dominant wolf stood over him, growling low.
The attacker was T.J.
As a wolf, he was slate gray, with silver hair like frosting on his muzzle, chest, and belly. His eyes were soft amber. He was big and scary as hell.
He was always saving my ass.
When one wolf showed submission to another, that usually meant they were done. The dominant wolf accepted the other's deference, order in the pack was restored, and they both went their separate ways.
T.J. didn't stop growling.
Jaws open, he dived at Zan. I flinched at the ferocity of the action. The dominant wolf tore into Zan's throat, gnawing without mercy. Zan twisted and yelped, screaming almost, as if his human side was trying to get out. His hind legs pumped the air, looking for purchase to claw into T.J. and failing. T.J. was too fast and ruthless. Arterial blood flowed and pooled on the ground.
With the other's neck fully in the grasp of his teeth, T.J. shook his head until Zan flopped in his grip like a rag. A dozen times he jerked his victim back and forth. Finally, he dropped Zan and backed away.
I fell on my backside, jarring my spine.
My shirt was so ripped up it was falling off. My left side, where Zan had clawed my shoulder, bitten my neck, and torn into my arm, was covered in blood. I cradled my arm to my chest. I couldn't feel it.
T.J.'s face and chest were bloody. Zan's body started shifting to human, slipping back to its original state in death. He lay sprawled, covered in his own blood. The claw wounds that I had given him showed as stripes all the way down his naked torso. His head was almost separated from his body.
He looked a little like Hardin's mauling victim.
T.J. gazed at me like nothing was wrong.
I tried to think of what he was thinking. Besides thinking of the taste of blood filling his mouth. He was tired of Zan, who had caused trouble too many times. He wanted to be finished with Zan once and for all. At least that was what I was thinking. Zan had been stupid coming after me like this. I embarrassed him in front of the pack, and he wanted revenge. So why didn't he challenge me in front of the pack?
I stared at the wolf sitting a few feet away from me. Smug. He looked smug.
"You jerk, I could have taken him! I was doing okay! You still don't think I can take care of myself!"
He probably understood me. He probably didn't care.
"How do you think this is going to look when the cops find a chewed-up body outside my apartment? Huh? Did you think of that? How am I going to explain this? 'Sorry, Officer, he just needed killing.' How is that going to sound?"
He looked at me, not twitching, not growling. Just watching me with utter calm and patience. Like, Are you finished? Ready to come home like a good cub ?
"Yeah, well fuck you, too!"
This was pretty funny, me yelling obscenities at an oversized wolf.
I gasped a sob and pushed myself to my feet. I swayed, caught in a dizzy spell. How much blood had I lost? A lot. My arm was slick with it I stumbled toward the door of my apartment building. I wanted a shower.
"Stop staring at me. I don't want to talk to you." I turned away from him.
He ran off. Gliding like a missile over the concrete, he disappeared into the dark.
Too late, I realized I'd told off my best friend. I needed him. How was I going to get through the night by myself? I hadn't been this hurt since the first night Zan attacked me and brought me into the pack.
Zan wasn't any older than I was. His hair splayed around his head like a crown, soaked with the blood that was pooling on the street. His mouth was open. His eyes were closed. He still smelled like the pack, a familiar, warm scent that jarred with the overwhelming wash of blood. Wrong, wrong. I gagged, but didn't vomit.
I managed to stumble to my apartment. I sat in a kitchen chair and tried to think. I was cold, shivering. Werewolves had rapid healing. I just had to wait for the healing to start. And go into shock in the meantime.
I was more hurt than I wanted to admit I needed help.
I considered who I could call. No one from my pack. One of my pack had done this to me, and I'd just driven T.J. away. Not too many others would know what to do with me. I thought of Rick, then thought of what he might do when he saw this much blood drenched over everything. He might not have my well-being immediately in mind.
I called Cormac. Again, I called Cormac when any normal, sane person would have called the police. And for the same reason: How would I explain this to the police? To a hospital staff, as the nurses watched my wounds heal themselves? I wouldn't have to explain any of this to Cormac.