Kitty and the Silver Bullet

Chapter 13

The car's tires squealed as Ben swung into the parking lot of his building. With his help, I stumbled out of the passenger seat and limped toward the front door. I hurt all over. The bullet wound itself had faded to an ache, but the shock of it, the shape-shifting, and waking up on the hard floor had wracked my whole body. I wanted a very hot shower.

Ben stopped before we reached the front of the building, and I lurched to a halt beside him. I started to ask why—I wasn't really paying attention, not like I should have been. I was lulled into a false sense of security, tucked snugly under Ben's arm. But then I saw Cheryl marching toward us on the sidewalk. She wore her usual T-shirt and jeans, and a furious expression. I hadn't seen that expression since she caught me borrowing her Metallic Mayhem nail polish when I was eleven.

Out of all the trouble I was currently facing, I hadn't expected this.

"What's she doing here?" I muttered.

"She's your sister," Ben said. "You tell me."

I'd done something. Something so horribly wrong and sinister she had to come in person to chew me out. And I thought I knew what it was. "Mom went in for surgery yesterday," I said. "I wasn't there." No, I was at the shooting range, learning how to be a killer.

A sudden cold washed through me, and I tried to dismiss it. If something had gone wrong with the surgery, someone would have called me right away, not waited a day.

"Cheryl, what's wrong?" I said when she was close enough.

She put her hands on her hips. "I've been waiting for you to get back. I'm taking you to the hospital to see Mom since you can't seem to be bothered to get yourself over there." Then her eyes grew wide, and the color left her face. She was staring at Ben's bloody shirt. The blood had turned dry and crunchy. My own shirt had a sizable spot of blood on the upper chest, where the wound was still leaking.

"Holy crap, what happened to you guys?" She started to look a bit green.

"I got shot," I said.

"You what? Oh, my God. Why aren't you in a hospital?" Her voice was going shrieky.

I was so not in the mood for any of this.

"Because I'm a werewolf and it wasn't a silver bullet."

"Oh my God…what…what have you gotten yourself into?"

I only sighed. This would take way too long to explain. In my silence, Cheryl kept going, and I realized that this whole talking too much thing wasn't just me. It ran in the family.

"Kitty, what is going on? Are you in some kind of trouble? Is that why you couldn't go to the hospital? And you—" She pointed at Ben. "This all started when she met you. This is your fault, isn't it? "

"Actually, no," Ben said, full of mock cheerfulness. "Kitty made this mess pretty much on her own."

Please, let me pass out now. I didn't want to have to talk to either of them anymore.

"Listen, Cheryl, can you not tell Mom and Dad about this?" I could imagine Mom's reaction exceeding Cheryl's level of hysteria.

"Not tell Mom and Dad? Are you crazy?"

"Oh, come on, what about all those times you sneaked out of the house and told me not to tell? And that time Todd came over—"

"But you did tell!" she screeched.

"No I didn't, they figured it out on their own because you were an idiot!"

Ben was rubbing his forehead like he had a headache.

I took a deep breath and tried to start over. "I'm trying to keep you guys out of this."

"Kitty!" Cheryl said, making the word part demand, part reprimand, part plea. She was four years older than me. Our relationship had started on a foundation of years of forced babysitting and commands from our parents that were all some variation of "Cheryl, look after your sister." After she left for college, my teenage years continued in pure, unsupervised bliss. Our lives diverged radically after that, but we loved each other. We were family. And the tone of voice she was using now evoked a long history of responsibility and authority.

I spoke as calmly as I could. "Cheryl, I'm sorry I haven't been to the hospital yet. I'm sorry I can't explain everything. I'm okay. I got shot, but I'm okay. I—I think you should go home, or go back to Mom, or whatever. I'll call later. I really need to take a shower."

"No," she said. "No, enough of this, you haven't been straight with any of us since this happened to you. You know those old lists, how to tell if someone's a drug addict? The secrecy, the lies, the weird behavior—that's you! That's totally you!"

Wow. She had a point. Now if I could just quit being a lycanthrope. "What the hell are you going to do about it—run an intervention?" God, this wasn't going well. I had to get her out of here.

Beside me, Ben stiffened, his attention suddenly drawn elsewhere. He turned, his nose flaring, taking in a scent. He started to unzip my backpack, where he'd stashed a handgun.

"What is it?" I said.

"Do you smell that?"

I took a deep breath to taste the air.

"Kitty, what is it, what's going on?"

"Be quiet," I said, straining my ears.

Then I caught it. Ben had only been a werewolf for a few months, but he had a better nose than I did. Something was out there, something wrong. An alien touch in the air. Wolf, but not pack. No. Oh, no. Hardin hadn't found Carl. Single-minded, brutal Carl who probably only had one thought in his pea brain right now: me. He'd tracked us here, we were all doomed.

But this smelled female. This smelled familiar.

Ben drew the handgun from the backpack.

"Holy shit! You have a gun!" Cheryl cried.

"Cheryl, can you go back to your car and get out of here, please?"

"What's happening? I'm not leaving until you tell me what's happening!"

The figure, the intruder, finally appeared, coming around the corner behind Cheryl, moving toward us. Keeping Cheryl between us.

"Cheryl, move, please," I begged. My sister finally turned, to see what we were staring at—to see what was behind her.

"He wanted me to check if you were still alive," Meg said.

Ben dropped the bag and aimed at her, arms and gaze steady. Meg stopped and looked startled for a moment, like she was about to turn and flee, like she thought he might shoot. She wore jeans, a tank top, and sandals, and her long black hair draped over her shoulders. Her skin was tanned brown, her features were fine, exotic. I'd always thought she was beautiful.

Ben didn't shoot her outright. He was a lawyer, he was rational. He knew what this would look like when the cops arrived. Once she realized that, Meg relaxed a little and crossed her arms.

She kept talking. "He said, 'Don't confront her. Don't let her see you. Her bad-ass alpha male's got a gun. Don't push them,' he said. I think he's afraid of you."

"That warms my heart," I said flatly. "What about you?"

She didn't come any closer, which was sort of an answer. "You were smarter than me, picking somebody to turn," she said. "But how did you convince a sane man to let you bite him?" She talked like he wasn't even here. Ben didn't flinch.

A year or so ago, she'd made a bid for Carl's place by picking an alpha male to replace him. By making an alpha male to replace him. The plan had backfired horribly. The guy had been psychotic and couldn't handle the lycanthropy. A lot of people died.

"I didn't bite him. I didn't turn him. I just happened to be there to pick up the pieces. That's why we're together." And I liked him. I'd picked up the pieces because I liked him. Couldn't lose sight of that detail. I ought to tell him. I let my hand brush his leg. His whole body was tense. I wasn't sure he even felt me.

"Whatever you say," she said with a smirk, like she didn't believe me. Like she didn't respect me. We weren't equals in her eyes, but her body language spoke differently. She kept her distance. She looked Ben up and down like he was a piece of meat.

"What do you want, Meg?" I sounded exhausted.

"I don't suppose you'd tell me where Rick is?"

"You were never very good at subtlety and intrigue, were you?"

"You give us Rick, we'll let you leave Denver again. You and your mate both."

"Don't you get it? I don't want to leave. I can't leave. Everything I have is here, and if you won't leave me alone, then I'll fight."

Then she looked at Cheryl. She had to guess who she was to me—the same blond hair, short and tucked behind her ears. Same face. Even a little of the same smell—our human family.

"You have a lot to lose," Meg said. She took a step toward my sister, reaching out like she wanted to touch her. I almost grabbed the gun from Ben's hand and shot her myself. No one was going to touch my family. Cheryl had the sense to step back.

Get away from her, Ben said, holding her in the gun's sights.

I kept myself from rushing at Meg, claws outstretched. Calmly, I said, "All the more reason to fight."

That raised her hackles. "You think just because you're famous that protects you? That you can waltz in here and take over? That we'll just bow down to you? It takes more than that to be an alpha. You don't know anything. You may have fooled the people who listen to your show, but you don't know anything!" She started to march off.

"Meg?" She halted, apparently willing to listen.

We were just posturing. This was the growling stage. She wouldn't start a fight without backup. I began to relax. The old fears started to fade. She was all bluster. More than that, though, she was just wrong.

"Have you ever been pregnant?" I asked it on an impulse, out of curiosity. I just wanted to know.

She almost chuckled. "Werewolves don't get pregnant. We can't get pregnant." She said this with an air of triumph, as if I had just demonstrated my lack of knowledge, and she was happy to rub my face in it.

I smiled sadly. I remembered Dr. Shumacher's words, that most women lycanthropes simply might never realize if they got pregnant. Maybe Meg just didn't know.

"You're wrong. We can get pregnant. The pregnancy doesn't survive shape-shifting. You might never even know it."

She gaped at me, astonished, like I'd slapped her. How many woozy, crampy mornings was she looking back on? How many times had she just written it off to an odd cycle? I didn't want to know.

"Meg, you're ignorant, you're a blockhead, and me waltzing in here and taking over has got nothing to do with me being famous and everything to do with you being completely useless. You and Carl both." I managed to say that whole thing without raising my voice.

Snarling, she resumed her retreat.

Only after we heard her car door slam, the engine start, and the tires peel out of the parking lot, did Ben blow out a breath and lower his gun. I sat down right there on the sidewalk because my legs had turned to goo. Sheer willpower had been keeping me on my feet, but blood loss and nerves finally got the better of me.

Ben knelt and put his hand on my shoulder. "You okay?"

I leaned into him. "That thing I said, about picking up the pieces and that's why we're together—that's not just it. I mean, there's more than that, right?"

"We should have this conversation later," he said, glancing at my sister, who was standing over us, looking down with bugged-out eyes.

"What was that all about?" Cheryl said, even more hysterically, though it didn't seem possible.

"I said it was a long story," I sighed as Ben hauled me to my feet.

"No, not the mess. Not just the mess. I mean about the pregnant part."

I figured Mom had told her, but apparently not. I couldn't even look at her. Ben pulled me close and put a kiss on my hair, over my ear.

"Are you pregnant?" she said.

I smiled thinly. "Not anymore."

"Oh, geez. I'm sorry." She said it to both of us, and she looked sad.

I took her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back, and our argument disappeared. "Cheryl, there's kind of a war going on. I need you to go home, stay inside. Keep everyone inside. Don't let anyone in unless you know them really well. If you see anyone outside the house, if you see anything odd—if anything even feels odd—call 911 and tell them you have an intruder in the house. Don't even hesitate."

"What—"

I held up my hand to stop her. She was going to ask, again, what was going on. "That woman and some other people would happily kill me if they got the chance. We're not going to let that happen."

"Kitty—"

"Where's Dad? Is he at the house?"

"No, he's staying with us while Mom's in the hospital."

"Good. It's going to be okay. I'll call you later. I'll see Mom as soon as I can."

"Okay," she said, and sounded young. Then she hugged me, bloodstains and all. "Be careful."

"You, too."

We watched her return to her car and drive away. Ben kept hold of the gun the whole time, in case something else lurked in the shadows. Without a word, we made it inside. I made it into the shower. My upper chest had a puckered spot of skin where the bullet hole had been. That was it. I kept picking at it; it was healing, almost smoothing out under my touch.

I didn't want to leave the stream of water. I didn't want to go back to the war. But I did.

I asked Ben, who was making food, "Any word?"

"Nope."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Evening came, and we didn't get any calls. No one had spotted Carl after the KNOB attack. Hardin said she'd put a stakeout at his and Meg's house, but the place seemed to be empty. That meant Carl and Meg had run for the hills. They could be anywhere now. Arturo and Rick would be waking soon. Arturo would do something—he wouldn't sit back while Rick challenged him. The trouble was, I couldn't guess what he'd do, where he'd send his people, who he'd attack first. I had to wait for a call.

I was becoming a control freak. It was part of leading a pack.

Ben made chicken and pasta for supper. He was a decent cook—yet another reason to keep him around. But I couldn't eat. I stood by the door to the balcony, staring out. From the table, where two sets of plates and utensils were set out with a ceramic bowl of food in the middle, he pestered. "You need to eat."

"I can't."

"You should."

Pouting, I sounded like a spoiled child. "I just can't."

He dropped his fork on his plate, making a ringing noise. The silence after was rigid with tension. After a long moment he said, "I wish I could fix everything. I wish I could make it all go away. But I can't. So I thought, I'll make dinner. Maybe that'll help. But I guess not."

He wore a white T-shirt, jeans. His light brown hair was a bit too long, rumpled from him running his hands through it. His face was lined, tired. Full of character. He looked like a freaking rock star. I couldn't take my eyes off him. I wanted to cling to him like a leech.

"Thank you," I said, on impulse. "Thanks for standing by me."

The smile grew wider, and he bowed his head. "Well, you know. We're—"

I held up a hand to stop him. "Don't…say it. Just don't."

"I don't know what else to say." Roughly, he stood from the table. Grabbed the bowl of pasta and shoved it into the fridge. The whole appliance rattled. I was relieved, though; for a moment I thought he was going to throw it.

"You don't have to say anything."

But he kept going, coming out to the living room. "Maybe you're right, maybe you've been right all along, that if we weren't both werewolves we wouldn't be together. That we'd have no reason to be together."

"I never—"

He waved me off with a frustrated brush of his arm. "No, I know you've never said it. But you've been thinking it right from the start. And I wanted you to be wrong. I wanted to prove you wrong. But hey—you're never wrong."

"Ben!"

But he was already marching back to the bedroom, where he slammed the door behind him. I curled up on the sofa and covered my face with my hands. What happened if I won this war, yet lost everything I was trying to save?

When my cell phone, sitting on the coffee table, rang, my brain rattled. All my nerves twitched. It was like I forgot what to do with it, then I rushed to answer.

"Good morning," said Rick.

And so it starts. "Hi."

"What's been happening? Anything from Carl?"

"He went after KNOB," I said.

"And?"

This was actually almost working. I ought to be pleased. "Hardin has four of his wolves in custody. Carl got away. Hardin has people looking but they haven't found him." I'm not sure I wanted them to. I wasn't sure they could handle a cornered wolf.

"And you're all right? Your people are all right?"

I hesitated, then decided there'd be time for the long version later. "I'm fine. We're all fine. Anything happening on your end?"

"Yes. Charlie and Violet saw Arturo leave Obsidian. I want to move in while he's gone," he said, and his voice was too calm. Vampiric, I realized. The city could be crumbling around him and his tone wouldn't change.

This felt like a trap. I could see it. We were supposed to draw Arturo out, not race into the heart of his territory. "You can't take his stronghold. He'll have people protecting it—"

"It's his stronghold, which means he'll have to come back. I'll wait for him, then take him."

"But Rick, where is he? Where'd he go?"

"I was hoping one of your people had spotted him."

"I haven't heard anything." I gripped the phone and gritted my teeth. My spike in anxiety seemed to be making up for his calm. "This could be a trap. He leaves, makes it real obvious so you know about it, and as soon as you show up he busts your ass."

"That's why I'd like you and Ben to come help me. And any of the other werewolves you can call on."

My first impulse was to yell at him. Did he think we were his lackeys? Did he expect to be able to call on us the way Arturo called on Carl? But that had been the arrangement—an alliance to help each other. My getting cold feet didn't change that.

"What about Carl and Meg? Where are they?" I said.

"Again, I was hoping you'd have heard something."

"Geez, Rick, what do you expect me to be able to do? I can't battle a lair full of vampires. I can't ask anyone else to do that."

Ben had emerged and was leaning on the wall by the sofa, watching me, brow raised in a question. I found I couldn't look at him. But I could feel him, smell his presence washing over me.

The flavor of Rick's calm changed, taking on an edge—tension, held tightly in check. "You can't quit now, Kitty. You're way beyond being able to back out of this. I'm moving on Obsidian, and you'll help me because you can't let Arturo win this."

He was right. I'd set this series of events in motion. Backing out now would mean losing. This wasn't a game where I could pick up my pieces and go home. But I still didn't like it. "Have you given any more thought about who your spy is?"

"I'm not convinced there is one. I think Arturo had one of us followed and got lucky with the warehouse. Listen to me. We trap Arturo—I only need to get him alone for a few minutes, and I need you to watch my back. Dack, Violet, and Charlie are already here. When Arturo's gone, he won't be able to help Carl and Meg. Then we can take them out."

"Or we can take them out first—they're scared, we riled them up."

"You've seen them, then? You've confronted them?"

I hesitated. "Yes."

"And they're still alive?"

"The cops were there, there were too many people, I couldn't just—"

"But you see, Kitty: I can. You've taken us this far. Let me carry us the rest of the way."

I covered the phone and stared at the ceiling. Point of no return. I'd sped by it without even noticing.

Ben went to the door and picked up my backpack. He stayed there, waiting. He had a trunk full of gear that said we could do this. Damn Cormac and his armory.

I turned back to the phone. "When should we be there?"

"Now."

I hissed out a breath. "Okay. Fine. We're on the way. I'm going to make some calls. You'd better keep your phone handy in case I find out this is all some horrible trick."

"Will do. Park a block south of the building and I'll meet you."

I shoved the phone in my pocket. When I reached the door, Ben handed me my bag.

"We're going to Obsidian?" he said.

"Yeah."

"Then let's go." He was outside before I could say anything. Like I'm sorry.

In five minutes, we were on the road. Ben drove, his attention focused. Not looking at me, not saying a word. I wanted to cry. But I had those calls to make.

"Shaun, it's Kitty."

"What's happening?" he said, his voice urgent. We'd all been waiting by our phones.

"Rick's moving, but I need some eyes. Any word where Carl and Meg are?"

"Someone's watching the house. I'll find out."

"And if anybody spots Arturo, I want to know about it."

"Got it. I'll call back in a minute."

He was straightforward. Reliable. A good lieutenant. I'd been lucky, finding him when I did. Or maybe my instincts were better than I thought they were. Some of my instincts, anyway.

I was torn between wanting to make more calls, and wanting to leave the line open for Shaun and Rick. I risked one. Cheryl answered the phone.

"Hi, Cheryl?"

"Kitty, oh my God, are you okay? Is everything okay?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing." I couldn't tell anything by her voice. She still had the hysterical edge going.

"Everything's fine here. Dad left the hospital after dinner. Mom was asleep. They've still got her doped up pretty good. But everyone's fine. We haven't seen anything."

Good. "That's what I wanted to hear. I have to get off the line, but I'll call again. Maybe I'll wait until morning if everything's okay."

"Be careful."

"Thanks."

I clicked the line off and waited for Shaun to call back.

Ben kept looking in the rearview mirror, repeatedly, more than the average driving maneuver warranted.

"What is it?"

"I think we're being followed."

Oh, that was almost funny. I twisted around to look out the back window. "Are you serious?"

"Could you be a little less obvious?" Ben said.

"But this is hilarious. We're being followed? Really? Do I get to shoot out the window next?"

"Kitty, sit down."

I faced front and sat. By then, we'd pulled off the freeway at Colfax and turned east.

That was when the red and blue flashing lights started.

"Great," Ben muttered, shifting the wheel to pull us over to the curb. "Unmarked police car." Sure enough, a dark sedan, unmarked and unremarkable, pulled up behind us. The lights flashed from a panel on the back of the sun visor, behind the windshield.

"I, uh, don't suppose we could outrun 'em?"

Ben gave me another look. The annoyed look that had become so common. He said, "No situation has ever been improved by trying to outrun the cops."

The sedan's driver side door opened. Somehow, I was unsurprised when Detective Hardin stepped out.

I put my hand on the door handle, preparing to pile out to confront her, but Ben said, "Don't. We've been pulled over, we're going to sit and wait like good little citizens."

He helpfully rolled down the window. When Hardin leaned in, she was smiling.

"Hi," she said.

She was supposed to be one of the good guys. She may not have believed it, but we were all on the same side. I couldn't let her hold us here. So I did the only thing I could—I let my big mouth get the better of me.

"Detective—what the hell are you doing here? Are you still following me?"

I should have guessed that she was used to me by now. Her expression didn't flicker. "Yep. You seem to know where all the interesting people are."

Great. Just great.

She went on. "Those guys we caught today seem perfectly willing to rat out everyone involved. They just want to be let out before Tuesday. What's Tuesday?"

"Next full moon," I said.

Hardin winced. "Right. Got it. So. Who are you going to see now?"

Then my phone rang. I swore, as soon as this night was over I was going to shove it down the garbage disposal.

"Yeah?"

"Kitty, it's Shaun. Becky tried to call Mick—he was watching Carl and Meg's place. But we can't get hold of him. Something happened, they may be on to us."

"Mick was out at their place?"

"He was supposed to be."

"Look, the cops have someone staking out their place and haven't seen anything. Would Mick have followed them into the hills?"

"Maybe."

"Someone should go check on him. We need to know what they're doing out there."

"Becky and Wes are on it."

"What about Arturo?"

"No sign."

I groaned. "I don't like this."

"Can I help?" he said.

"Keep looking out at my sister's, but have your phone handy. We may need some ass-saving later on."

Hardin was staring at me. "Arturo? Denver's Master vampire? The one I want to pin those murders on?"

"Uh, yeah." Ben could jump in to save me anytime, but he seemed happy to sit back and watch me dig my own hole.

"You going after him?" the detective asked.

"It's more like we're trying to keep him from coming after us."

"I thought the best way to do that was to stay home and not invite them in."

"Um, yeah. Usually."

"I want this guy, Kitty. Help me get him."

"Can you handle him? Can you really handle him?"

"A trunk full of stakes and holy water says I can," she said. "I've been doing my homework."

"You have no idea what you're getting into," Ben said.

"I'm looking forward to finding out," she said.

My phone chose that opportune moment to ring. Again. It couldn't possibly be anything good.

"What!" I said.

"I'd like a word with you, Katherine. We need to end this, before we see another bloodbath." Arturo, as refined as ever. My skin pricked; the hair on my neck prickled. Where was he? And what was he doing? How badly were we all screwed this time?

I hoped my voice didn't shake too badly. "A word with me? Why not Rick?"

"You'll see. I want to deal with you and you alone."

"I think this is a trick. I think it's a trap. No, I won't do it."

"Oh, you'll come speak with me."

I laughed. "I will?"

"Yes. Because I'm standing next to your mother's hospital bed."

The phone clicked off.

A sickly, hot/cold fever washed over me, and my gut melted into my feet. My lips went numb. I couldn't feel anything. I leaned back against the headrest.

"Kitty?" Ben said. "What's wrong?"

"What is it?" Hardin echoed.

My voice didn't work. This was Rick's fault, I wanted to scream. Wanted to growl. Wolf started thrashing—pack was in danger. My human pack, but still. Had to run, had to fight. I swallowed, counted, coiled the fear deep inside. Kept it together.

"Kitty," Ben said in a low voice, drawing me back to myself. His hand clamped over my arm, a steadying pressure.

"That was Arturo." I gestured with my still-on phone. My hand was shaking. "He's got my mom."

The pause only lasted a beat. "Do you know where?" Hardin said. She had her radio in her hand.

I nodded and told her the hospital. "She just had surgery."

Hardin was talking into her radio, calling for backup.

"Ben, we have to go help my mom," I said, and at the same time more thoughts slammed into me. More implications. This wasn't an accident. This was a setup. "Arturo knows Rick’ll go after Obsidian. It's a trap."

Quickly I dialed Rick's number. It rang. And rang, and rang. "Shit."

"I'll go," Ben said. "I'll get to Obsidian to help Rick. You go with Hardin to the hospital."

I looked at Hardin. "Is that okay?"

"Sure. Come on." She headed back to her car.

Squeezing Ben's hand, I said, "Be careful."

"You, too."

I jumped out of the car to follow Hardin. I only got about halfway when I heard, "Kitty!"

Ben left the car and trotted toward me, hefting my backpack. I met him halfway, the late-night traffic roaring past us. Over us, the dark sky was washed out by city lights.

"Don't forget this." Ben handed me the bag. It had a weight snugged firmly inside that had become familiar. The handgun. "I put some stakes in there, too."

"Cool. Good."

Then he kissed me. Hand on my cheek, holding me steady, he covered my lips with his and urged open my mouth. I responded, melting against him. The movement lingered, passionate, flushing through my whole body. The touch was fire. I wanted to fall against him and keep him that close to me forever. My hands clenched on his arms.

He pulled away. "Be careful," he said, his voice tight. Then he retreated to his car. His jaw was taut, lips frowning, determined and driven.

That kiss was almost like saying goodbye.

"Kitty, come on!" Hardin called from inside her car.

Then we were back to the gangster movie. Ben drove off.

He'd be all right, I knew he would.

I climbed into the passenger seat of Hardin's car, and we peeled back onto the road.

"Lucky girl," she observed, her smile amused.

"Yeah," I said, still breathless. Yeah, I was.