Kitty's House of Horrors
Page 44
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Jeffrey caught Ariel as she fell. She dropped the flashlight.
“Inside! Now!” Grant hollered. I was already on the porch, opening the door and helping pull Ariel inside. We laid her down on the floor, and I slammed the door shut. The big picture window in front didn’t have drapes. I wished I could draw drapes and shut out the world.
“What is it? What’s going on?” Tina said.
“Oh, no,” Jeffrey breathed.
Ariel wasn’t moving. I dropped beside her, touched her forehead. Her eyes stared. “Ariel?”
I couldn’t hear her heart, but her skin was still warm. She was just standing there a second ago—
Kneeling beside me, Grant felt her neck, then turned her face. He smoothed back the hair over her ear and pointed to the bullet hole. A tiny little thing, maybe the width of a pencil, with just a tiny trickle of blood leaking from it. But it went right through the middle of her brain.
I bent over until my face was next to hers and tried not to scream. I held her, pressed my forehead to hers, and clenched my hands. A howl was building in my throat, but if I let it go, I wouldn’t stop. I’d have to shift. I’d have to go running, to find the person who did this and rip his throat out. And if I tried to do that in a fit of rage, I’d fail.
“Kitty,” Grant said. I expected to feel a hand on my shoulder, a comforting touch, but I didn’t, which was good. I’d snap at anyone who offered such a meaningless, stupid gesture.
I took a long, snuffling breath and realized I was crying. My head was going to explode. My hands were going to turn into claws. I wanted to know if the bullet was silver. I wanted to know if it had been meant for me. It should have been me.
Sitting back, I idly smoothed Ariel’s hair. I hadn’t gotten to know her well enough. She was too young and pretty for this. That scream built up again. Despairing, I looked at Grant.
His expression was long, mournful. I’d never seen him look so sad.
“We have to get whoever did this,” I murmured. Grant nodded once.
Wolf was close to the surface. I felt myself walking around with a hooded gaze, my head low, watchful, my body stiff, my fingers curled. Not just Wolf, but Wolf on the hunt. A Wolf who wanted blood.
I tried to relax and take a deep breath, because I didn’t want to shift right now. Because I had a feeling that was what the hunter expected me to do. Grant watched me; he’d seen this before, and he knew the signs.
I shook my head. “I’m okay.” I wasn’t, not really, but I wasn’t going to shift. Not right now.
The others watched us: Gemma with her hand over her face, like she couldn’t believe it; Tina looking away, holding Jeffrey’s arm. Jeffrey facing us, but with his eyes closed. Lee, staring out the window, hands clenched by his sides.
“Get away from the window,” Anastasia said, moving up to him, displacing him from the spot that gave whoever shot Ariel a perfect view. Lee curled his lips, a silent snarl. I wondered if he felt the same way I did. Or worse—his escape routes required open ocean. He had to be going crazy.
“Kitty, Lee,” Anastasia said, urgent, with a commander’s voice and not the urbane vampire voice I’d always heard from her. “I need your help. Leave out the back. I’ll draw him out. Be ready.”
“What?” Lee said. “What do you—”
But I knew. This plan was familiar, and I knew it without even hearing it. Lee didn’t recognize it because he didn’t hunt with a pack.
“Be ready,” she said.
I took Lee’s shoulder and guided him to the kitchen as Anastasia left through the front door. I pulled Lee out the back door in the kitchen.
“What does she expect us to do?” he said harshly, the anger of helplessness showing through.
“We have the best noses,” I whispered. I waited for the sound of a gunshot, for the sign that the sniper was still there and waiting for the next target—the bullet wouldn’t have done anything to Anastasia. She’d walk right through it, but maybe the shooter didn’t know that.
Who was I kidding? The arrow that killed Jerome was silver-tipped. The shooter knew what he was doing and wouldn’t waste a bullet on the vampire. No, his bullets were most likely silver, and he’d save them for me and Lee. I wondered if Lee had figured that out.
I wasn’t a vampire. My senses were not so fine that I could follow the path of a bullet, but I could tell when something didn’t fit, when something was wrong. I could smell the gunpowder and sense that we’d been invaded. Anastasia was moving toward that wrongness; she needed our help.
“You flank left,” I said. “I’ll move ahead and flank right.”
He must have figured it all out, because he nodded. We ran, jogging behind the lodge and toward the trees, arcing in opposite directions, keeping low and quiet. At every moment, I expected to hear a bullet whine toward me. Or a mine to explode under my feet. As a werewolf, I was tough and healed fast, but I didn’t know what an explosion would do to me. It didn’t matter, I understood what Anastasia was asking: she would flush the quarry, and then we would strike.
This was when Wolf could be an asset. I used her senses to range much farther ahead and around me than I could see. I moved quietly and knew where all the shadows were to hide in. Quickly, I reached the trees, entering the woods, gaining as much ground as I could to be in position. A prickling in my neck made me pause and look back toward the lodge. I spotted the vampire. To Wolf’s eyes, night wasn’t dark. It was filled with nuance, shadow, moments of light, spots of movement. Anastasia wasn’t moving, but she was incongruous, a poised figure in her tailored black clothes. Her face was pale, brilliant, like ivory. Her gaze focused on a spot. Something had been hidden before, but now she studied it, her chin tilted up slightly. Her figure was entrancing, beautiful; I could have just watched her. Instead, I looked to where she did, tried to find what had caught her attention. My nose flared, trying to detect it by scent. Finally, I saw it, well masked in the shadows: a man perched fifteen feet off the ground, on a branch of a pine with a view of the front porch a hundred yards away, where the picture window shone with light from the candles inside. Ariel had been backlit, a perfect shadow, a perfect target.
I couldn’t scent him because he smelled richly of pine, maybe sap from rubbing against the branches as he’d been sitting there. The extra-straight branch near him was his rifle, which smelled of burned gunpowder.
“Inside! Now!” Grant hollered. I was already on the porch, opening the door and helping pull Ariel inside. We laid her down on the floor, and I slammed the door shut. The big picture window in front didn’t have drapes. I wished I could draw drapes and shut out the world.
“What is it? What’s going on?” Tina said.
“Oh, no,” Jeffrey breathed.
Ariel wasn’t moving. I dropped beside her, touched her forehead. Her eyes stared. “Ariel?”
I couldn’t hear her heart, but her skin was still warm. She was just standing there a second ago—
Kneeling beside me, Grant felt her neck, then turned her face. He smoothed back the hair over her ear and pointed to the bullet hole. A tiny little thing, maybe the width of a pencil, with just a tiny trickle of blood leaking from it. But it went right through the middle of her brain.
I bent over until my face was next to hers and tried not to scream. I held her, pressed my forehead to hers, and clenched my hands. A howl was building in my throat, but if I let it go, I wouldn’t stop. I’d have to shift. I’d have to go running, to find the person who did this and rip his throat out. And if I tried to do that in a fit of rage, I’d fail.
“Kitty,” Grant said. I expected to feel a hand on my shoulder, a comforting touch, but I didn’t, which was good. I’d snap at anyone who offered such a meaningless, stupid gesture.
I took a long, snuffling breath and realized I was crying. My head was going to explode. My hands were going to turn into claws. I wanted to know if the bullet was silver. I wanted to know if it had been meant for me. It should have been me.
Sitting back, I idly smoothed Ariel’s hair. I hadn’t gotten to know her well enough. She was too young and pretty for this. That scream built up again. Despairing, I looked at Grant.
His expression was long, mournful. I’d never seen him look so sad.
“We have to get whoever did this,” I murmured. Grant nodded once.
Wolf was close to the surface. I felt myself walking around with a hooded gaze, my head low, watchful, my body stiff, my fingers curled. Not just Wolf, but Wolf on the hunt. A Wolf who wanted blood.
I tried to relax and take a deep breath, because I didn’t want to shift right now. Because I had a feeling that was what the hunter expected me to do. Grant watched me; he’d seen this before, and he knew the signs.
I shook my head. “I’m okay.” I wasn’t, not really, but I wasn’t going to shift. Not right now.
The others watched us: Gemma with her hand over her face, like she couldn’t believe it; Tina looking away, holding Jeffrey’s arm. Jeffrey facing us, but with his eyes closed. Lee, staring out the window, hands clenched by his sides.
“Get away from the window,” Anastasia said, moving up to him, displacing him from the spot that gave whoever shot Ariel a perfect view. Lee curled his lips, a silent snarl. I wondered if he felt the same way I did. Or worse—his escape routes required open ocean. He had to be going crazy.
“Kitty, Lee,” Anastasia said, urgent, with a commander’s voice and not the urbane vampire voice I’d always heard from her. “I need your help. Leave out the back. I’ll draw him out. Be ready.”
“What?” Lee said. “What do you—”
But I knew. This plan was familiar, and I knew it without even hearing it. Lee didn’t recognize it because he didn’t hunt with a pack.
“Be ready,” she said.
I took Lee’s shoulder and guided him to the kitchen as Anastasia left through the front door. I pulled Lee out the back door in the kitchen.
“What does she expect us to do?” he said harshly, the anger of helplessness showing through.
“We have the best noses,” I whispered. I waited for the sound of a gunshot, for the sign that the sniper was still there and waiting for the next target—the bullet wouldn’t have done anything to Anastasia. She’d walk right through it, but maybe the shooter didn’t know that.
Who was I kidding? The arrow that killed Jerome was silver-tipped. The shooter knew what he was doing and wouldn’t waste a bullet on the vampire. No, his bullets were most likely silver, and he’d save them for me and Lee. I wondered if Lee had figured that out.
I wasn’t a vampire. My senses were not so fine that I could follow the path of a bullet, but I could tell when something didn’t fit, when something was wrong. I could smell the gunpowder and sense that we’d been invaded. Anastasia was moving toward that wrongness; she needed our help.
“You flank left,” I said. “I’ll move ahead and flank right.”
He must have figured it all out, because he nodded. We ran, jogging behind the lodge and toward the trees, arcing in opposite directions, keeping low and quiet. At every moment, I expected to hear a bullet whine toward me. Or a mine to explode under my feet. As a werewolf, I was tough and healed fast, but I didn’t know what an explosion would do to me. It didn’t matter, I understood what Anastasia was asking: she would flush the quarry, and then we would strike.
This was when Wolf could be an asset. I used her senses to range much farther ahead and around me than I could see. I moved quietly and knew where all the shadows were to hide in. Quickly, I reached the trees, entering the woods, gaining as much ground as I could to be in position. A prickling in my neck made me pause and look back toward the lodge. I spotted the vampire. To Wolf’s eyes, night wasn’t dark. It was filled with nuance, shadow, moments of light, spots of movement. Anastasia wasn’t moving, but she was incongruous, a poised figure in her tailored black clothes. Her face was pale, brilliant, like ivory. Her gaze focused on a spot. Something had been hidden before, but now she studied it, her chin tilted up slightly. Her figure was entrancing, beautiful; I could have just watched her. Instead, I looked to where she did, tried to find what had caught her attention. My nose flared, trying to detect it by scent. Finally, I saw it, well masked in the shadows: a man perched fifteen feet off the ground, on a branch of a pine with a view of the front porch a hundred yards away, where the picture window shone with light from the candles inside. Ariel had been backlit, a perfect shadow, a perfect target.
I couldn’t scent him because he smelled richly of pine, maybe sap from rubbing against the branches as he’d been sitting there. The extra-straight branch near him was his rifle, which smelled of burned gunpowder.
