Kitty Takes a Holiday

by Carrie Vaughn

  I took his moment of immobility to unfasten the button and zipper of his jeans. It took too long; my hands were shaking. But I had to get his clothes off before they tangled him up. That would only add to the pain and confusion. Taking both waistbands—jeans and underwear—at once, I pulled down as far as I could, then grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled up, forcing it over his head.

  “Come on, Ben, help me out here,” I muttered. My own Wolf was bucking inside me—It’s time, it’s time!—she had a pack now, and we were all supposed to Change together to go running. I locked her away, clamped down on the writhing beast, and ignored it. I had to get Ben through this. His whole body was covered in fuzz—I could almost see the fur growing.

  He groaned again, through grinding teeth and clenched jaw. He was doing his damnedest not to scream. I helped him straighten his arms to get the shirt off.

  Once again, I took his face in my hands. The bones were stretching under my touch.

  “Ben, don’t fight it. I know you want to, but you can’t stop it, and the more you fight it the worse it is. Look at me!” He’d squeezed his eyes shut, but they snapped open again and his gaze locked on mine. His eyes were amber. “Let it go. You have to let it go.”

  “It” was humanity. He had to let go of the body he’d had his whole life. It wasn’t easy. It was all he’d ever known. And it was slipping away as sure as the sky turned above us and the full moon rose.

  Finally, the scream that had been growing in him burst loose. The full-lunged note of agony echoed around us and into the sky. When the breath left him, he sounded a whine—a wolf’s whine. He broke away from me and fell forward, hugging his belly, chest heaving with every gasp.

  I stayed with him, got up behind him, hugged him from behind, my cheek pressed to his fur-covered back, and held him as tightly as I could so he would know I was here. He had to know he wasn’t alone. My best friend T.J. had held me like this, my first time. The fear might have driven me crazy, otherwise.

  He Changed.

  His back arced with a powerful seizure, but I held on. Then his bones slipped, stretched, melted, re-formed. It happened slowly. Maybe it always did, the first time. I couldn’t say I really remembered. I remembered the wide sweep of events and emotion from when it happened to me, not the details like this. It seemed to take forever, and I was too frightened to cry. What if he didn’t come back together again?

  Then the movement stopped, the groaning stopped. I was lying on the ground, my arms around a large, sleek wolf, who was stretched out and gasping for breath, whining with every heave of his chest as if he were dying. But he wasn’t, only exhausted. I ran my fingers through his thick, luxurious fur. He was dark gray, flecked with a rust color that ran to cream on his nose and belly. Large ears lay flat against his head, and he had a long, thick snout. He was damp with sweat—human sweat matted into lupine fur.

  I brushed my face along his neck and whispered by his ear, “You’re all right, you’re going to be fine. Just rest now. Just rest.” Meaningless comforts, spoken through tears. He flicked his ears at the sound, shifted his head, looked at me. I swore I saw Ben in those eyes, looking at me as if saying, Are you serious? You call this all right?

  I almost laughed, but the sound choked in my throat and came out as a whimper. He licked my chin—a wolfish gesture that said, I won’t make trouble, I trust you, I’m in your hands.

  Now, finally, it was time to join him. I could feel Wolf burning along every nerve. I pulled off my T-shirt.

  “Kitty.”

  Startled, I looked behind me. Cormac leaned on the porch railing, backlit by the still open front door. He’d watched the whole thing. He saw what Ben was, now.

  I couldn’t see him well enough to read his expression, to guess what he was thinking. Not sure I wanted to.

  “Look after him,” Cormac said.

  I answered him, my voice rough, thick with tears and failing. “I will. I promise. Now go inside and lock the door.”

  He went. Closed the door. Ben’s wolf and I were left in shining moonlight. Quickly now, I peeled off my sweatpants. Let it come quickly, flowing like water, slipping from one form to the other. I kept an eye on Ben—he raised his wolf’s head and watched me—until my vision blurred and I had to shut my eyes—

  Opens her eyes to the moonlit world.

  The scent of another fills her first breath. She recognizes him, knows him—she’s claimed him as pack, which makes them family, and they’ll run together, free this night.

  He lies stretched out, unmoving, and gives a faint whine. He’s weak, he’s scared. She bows, stretches, yips at him—she has to show him that he’s free, that this is good. Still he won’t move, so she nips at him, snapping at his hind legs and haunches, telling him to get up, he has to get up. He flinches, then finally lurches to his feet, to get away from her teeth. He looks back at her, ears flat and tail between his legs.

  He’s just a pup, brand-new, and she’ll have to teach him everything.

  Bumping his flank with her shoulder, she urges him on, gets him to walk. His steps are hesitant—he’s never walked on four legs before, he starts slowly. She runs ahead, circles back, bumps him again. As they pace into the woods of her territory, his steps become more sure. He starts to trot, his head low, his tail drooping. She can’t contain her joy—she could run circles around him all night. She tries to get him to chase her. She tries to chase him, but he only looks at her in confusion. She has to teach him how to play, bowing and yipping—life isn’t all about food and territory.

  She shows him how to run. And how to hunt. She kills a rabbit and shares it with him, shows him the taste of blood. The eating comes naturally. She doesn’t have to teach him how to devour the flesh and break the bones with his jaws. He does so eagerly, then licks the blood that has smeared on her muzzle.

  He’ll kill the next one, on another night.

  They run, and she shows him the shape of their territory. He tires quickly though—his first night on four legs, she understands. She leads him home, to the place where they can bed down, curl up together, tails tucked close, and bury their noses in each other’s fur so they fall asleep with the smell of pack and safety in their minds.

  She hasn’t felt so safe in a long, long time. She’ll keep her packmate close, to preserve the safety. He is hers, and she’ll look after him forever.

  chapter 9

  The thing was, Ben was part of my pack before this ever happened to him.

  I might have been alone, a werewolf on my own, but I had people I could call. People who would help me if I showed up on their doorstep in the middle of the night. Ben was near the top of that list. Yes, he was my lawyer and I sort of paid him to be there for me. But he’d handled the supernatural craziness in my life without blinking, and as far as I was concerned that went above and beyond the call of duty. He could have dumped me as a client anytime he wanted, and he didn’t. I could count on him, and that made him pack.

  I didn’t sleep well, waking before dawn. I was nervous— I wanted to make sure I woke up before Ben did. I had to look after him.

  As the sun rose, I watched him. I curled on my side, pillowing my head on my bent arm, just a breath away from him—close enough to touch. Even in sleep, his face was lined, tense with worry. He’d had an exhausting night; the evidence of it remained etched in his expression. Shifted back to human, he lay on his back, one arm resting on his stomach, the other crooked up, the hand curled by his shoulder. One of his legs was bent, the foot tucked under the opposite knee.

  His build was average. He didn’t work out, but he wasn’t soft; it was like he’d been thin as a wire when he was a kid, and was only just now filling out to a normal size. He had a stripe of hair running down his sternum. The hair on his head, still damp with sweat, stuck out, mussed and wild. I held back an urge to brush my fingers through it, smoothing it back. I didn’t want to startle him.

  The bite wounds on his arm and shoulder were completely healed, as if they’d never exis
ted.

  Almost, I dozed back to sleep myself, waiting for him to come around. Then, his slow, steady breathing changed. His lungs filled deep, like a bellows. His eyes flashed open, and his whole body jerked, as if every muscle flinched at once.

  He gasped, a cutoff sound of terror, and tried to get up, tried to crawl back as if he could escape whatever it was that had scared him. His limbs gave out, and he didn’t go anywhere.

  I lunged over and grabbed his shoulders, pushing him to the ground. I had to lean my whole weight on him— that average build was powerful.

  “Ben! Quiet, you’re okay, you’re okay, Ben. Please calm down.”

  He stilled quickly enough, but I kept hushing him until he lay flat again, his eyes closed, panting for breath. I knelt by him, keeping my hands on his chest, keeping him quiet, and watching his face for any reaction.

  After a moment his breathing slowed. He brought a hand to his face, covered his eyes, then dragged it across his forehead. “I remember,” he said in a tired, sticky voice. “I remember the smells. Running. Blood—” His voice strained, cracked.

  “Shh.” I lay next to him so I could bring my face close to his, brush his hair back, breathe in his scent, let him smell me, let him know that smell meant safety. “We’re safe, Ben. It’s okay.”

  “Kitty—” He said my name with a gasp of desperation, then clung to me, gripping my arm and shoulder, kneading the skin and muscle painfully. I bore it, hugging him back as well as I could. He was so warm in the freezing winter air; holding each other warmed us.

  I kissed the hairline by his ear and said, “You’re back. Two arms, two legs, human skin. You’re back. You feel it?”

  He nodded, which gave me hope because it meant he was listening.

  “Wolf is gone, it’s not going to come back for another month. You get to be yourself until then. It’s okay, it’s okay.” I kept repeating it.

  He relaxed. I could feel the tension leave him under my touch. He eased back against the ground instead of holding himself rigid from it. His death grip on me lessened until it was simple holding, and it was okay if he didn’t let go. I didn’t want him to. I didn’t want him to withdraw, lock himself inside himself where I couldn’t talk to him.

  “Two arms, two legs,” he said finally, wearily. Then he smoothed back my sweaty and tangled hair, the way I’d been brushing his. “Opposable thumbs.”

  I giggled, bowing my face to his shoulder. He was back.

  “How do you feel?” I asked. He kept his arms around me, like he was still clinging for safety, and I snuggled into his embrace. Wolves touched for comfort. We both needed it.

  After a long moment he said, “Strange. Broken. But coming back together. Like I can feel the pieces closing up.” I tilted my head, trying to look at him. I saw his jaw, the slope of cheek, half an eye. “But I remember… it felt good. It felt free. Didn’t it?” His face shifted into a wince. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Yeah,” I said, and kissed his closest body part, his shoulder. Then I propped myself on my elbow, touched his face, and turned it to me, making him look at me. I held his gaze. “You’re doing just fine, Ben. You believe me?” You’re going to live. You’re not going to make Cormac shoot you.

  He nodded, and I kissed his forehead. I was trying to make him feel safe, to make him feel wanted, so he wouldn’t leave.

  “You’re doing just fine,” I repeated softly.

  “That’s because I have a determined teacher,” he said, giving me a thin smile.

  I kissed his lips. They were right there. It seemed so natural. His smile fell—then he kissed me back. And again, long enough this time that I lost my breath. Then we both froze for a moment.

  My skin flushed, my whole body growing warm—it knew what it wanted to do, anyway. I stole a glance down Ben’s torso—and yes, his body knew what it wanted to do, too.

  Ben’s hazel-colored eyes—green, mud, gold, all mixed together—flickered, trying to hold my gaze again. I looked away, human enough to be chagrined.

  I said, “I should have mentioned, the lycanthropy thing, it sort of throws gasoline on the libido. You know— whoosh, fire, out of control.”

  He kept staring at me, until I couldn’t keep looking away.

  He said, with an unreadable curl on his lips, “I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m lying here naked with a beautiful woman, who is also naked.”

  Blink. Double blink. My heart may have even stopped for a moment. “Did you just call me beautiful?”

  He touched my cheek, my neck, sending an electric rush along my skin, then buried his hand in my hair. “Yeah.”

  That was it. I was gone.

  I moved, sliding one leg over his stomach, slipping on top of him until I straddled him. I kept close, my chest against his, my breath on his cheek. His arms held me tight, hands sliding down my back, clenching, and we kissed, deeply, tasting each other, sharing our heat. We touched, nuzzled; I moved my lips along his jaw, to his ear. My eyes were closed, my mind gone. Mostly gone.

  “I hadn’t planned on this, honest,” I murmured.

  He said, his voice thick with sarcasm, “Gee, thanks.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I said, smiling. “I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

  He made what sounded to my ears like a groan of contentment. “You just want me to like being a werewolf. That’s what this is about.”

  I pulled away, just for a moment. “You don’t have to like it. You just have to survive it.”

  His gaze focused, met mine. “All right.”

  I kissed him, and kissed, shivering to try to get closer to him—we already lay skin to skin along the length of our bodies. One of his hands clasped the back of my neck, the other worked its way to my backside, locking me close to him. His touch burned in the cold winter air.

  He managed one more bit of commentary, his voice low and rough, “Kitty, just so you know, you can take advantage of me anytime you want.”

  So I did.

  He lay curled in my arms, and I reveled in the scent of him—sweaty, warm, musky. All my mornings alone I had woken anxious and discontented. Now, here with him—I had a pack again, and all felt right with the world.

  It was the lycanthropy, I told myself. I never would have slept with Ben if it hadn’t been for the lycanthropy. Not that I regretted it.

  But still.

  The sun was almost above the trees. However much I wanted to stay here all day, we had to go back. Back to the world.

  Ben was the one who said, “I guess we ought to get back before Cormac comes looking for us.”

  The bounty hunter would do it, too. Track us down. I wasn’t entirely confident what he would do when he found us. I dug out the clothes I’d stashed and split them between us. We dressed, helped each other to our feet, and set off for the cabin.

  In my pack back in Denver, the alpha male, Carl, had made sleeping around a habit. If lycanthropy was to the libido what gasoline was to fire, Carl took full advantage of it. Shape-shifting was foreplay to him, and as head of the pack he had his own harem. At his call, every one of us would roll over on our backs, showing him our bellies like good submissive wolves. My Wolf had loved it: the attention, the affection, the sex. The abuse—verbal and occasionally otherwise—that he heaped along with the attention hardly mattered. At least until I couldn’t take it anymore. Carl was still in Denver. That was why I couldn’t go back.

  I didn’t want to be like that. If I had to be the alpha of our little pack of two, I didn’t want to be that kind of alpha. I didn’t want to screw around just because I could.

  Or had it happened because I liked him? I did like him. But would I have ever slept with him, if we hadn’t been naked in the woods and smelling like wolves? Would it have ever even been an issue?

  Had that been Ben holding me tightly and kissing me eagerly, or his wolf?

  Did it even matter?

  These things were so much clearer to the Wolf side: You like him? H
e’s naked? He’s interested? Then go for it! Only the human side was worried about people’s feelings getting hurt.

  He walked a couple steps behind me—that submissive wolf thing again. His head was bent, and he looked tired, with shadows under his eyes. But he didn’t seem angry, frightened, tense, or any of the other things I might have expected to see in a newly minted werewolf. He caught me watching him, and I smiled, trying to be encouraging. He smiled back.

  “What are you going to tell Cormac?”

  “Don’t shoot?” He winced and shook his head. “You were right, I was wrong? I don’t know. I’m confused. I don’t want to die. I never did. You know that, right?”

  I slowed my steps until we were walking side by side. A couple of barefooted nature freaks out for a morning stroll in the dead of winter. I wasn’t cold; I could still feel his arms around me. “You were pretty determined there for a while.”

  “I was scared,” he said. After a moment, he added, “Does it get easier? Less confusing? Less like there’s an extra voice in your head telling you what to do?”

  I had to shake my head. “No. It just gets confusing in different ways.”

  Then, almost suddenly, the trees thinned and the clearing in front of the cabin opened before us. The sun was shining full on the porch. Cormac stood there, leaning on the railing. A rifle was propped next to him. Ready and waiting.

  I stopped; Ben stopped next to me. My instinct said to run, but Cormac had already seen us. He didn’t move, he just looked out at us, waiting for us to do something.

  Cormac had had plenty of chances to shoot me dead and hadn’t yet. I didn’t think he’d start now. I hoped he wouldn’t start now. I walked toward the front door like nothing was wrong. Ben followed, slowly, falling behind. Cormac watched him, not me.