His struggles fade to a reflexive kicking, then nothing.
Blood covers his neck and chest, and her own face, neck, and chest. She licks her muzzle, then she licks him, burying her nose in the wound she made. She keeps growling as she digs into him. Bites, rips, gnaws, swallows.
The body under her is shifting as she feeds. The fur shrinks to naked skin, the muscles melt, the bones reform, until she is digging into the neck of a human body.
"Norville!"
Crack, a sound like thunder bursts, with a smell like fire. She recoils, springing to stand a foot away from where she was, to assess the danger. Her nostrils quiver.
The man, the dangerous one, the friend, stands there, arm pointing up, hand holding the source of the burning smell. The weapon.
"Kitty!" he shouts and stomps toward her, radiating a fierce challenge. She trots a couple of steps away and circles back, staring. Does he mean it?
Pounding human footsteps travel toward them. More of them arrive, smelling of weapons, anxiety, danger. They are pointing at her.
The man yells, "Hardin, hold your fire! It's Kitty!"
There are too many of them.
She runs.
She runs for a long distance, until the world is quiet and the smells are peaceful. She searches for trees, shelter, comfortable scents, finds none of these. She's far from home, doesn't know this place.
A patch of dry ground in the corner between two walls makes an uncomfortable but acceptable den. She is hurt—aches in her face, leg, and shoulders, a sharp pain in her back. She needs rest. She misses the others. There should be others. There should be pack, for her to feel safe.
All she can do is curl tight around herself, snugged in the corner of the den.
Chapter 11
Sirens woke me.
I tried to stretch and moved about an inch before pain froze me. I groaned. I felt totally hung over. It was still pitch dark out, middle of the night, which meant I hadn't slept very long. I needed more time to sleep and recover from shifting back from the Wolf before I'd feel decent.
I bent my elbow enough to pillow my head. I was curled up in the corner formed by a brick wall and a wooden fence. I had no idea where I was. But I heard sirens. Police, ambulance.
I remembered enough of the last hour or so to not be entirely confused. I licked my teeth and tasted the blood. Blood still coated my mouth. I curled up tighter, squeezing shut my eyes.
Footsteps crunched up the gravel alleyway.
"Norville. You awake?"
For all my earlier lack of modesty, I now felt thoroughly naked. I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged myself, covering myself as much as I could.
The footsteps stopped. I looked. A few steps away, Cormac knelt. He offered a blanket. When I tried to reach for it, I felt a cut open across my back. Wincing, I hissed.
He put the blanket over my shoulders, and with his hands under my arms, helped me sit up. I wrapped the blanket tight around me.
"You found me," I said.
"You were trailing blood."
I nodded. I could feel it caked on my face and neck. I hadn't even looked at my injuries yet. The wounds I got as a wolf transferred. They hadn't had enough time to heal. They itched.
I tasted blood. Blood in my mouth, in the back of my throat. I could taste it on my breath, all the way down to my stomach.
I choked, unable to hold back a sob, and my stomach quailed. I pulled away from Cormac and vomited. It was purplish. It had chunks. After a couple of waves, and a couple more dry heaves, I could take a breath and start to think of what had happened. I rested my head against the brick, which was cool and rough.
"Heap big werewolf, eh?" Cormac said with a half-grin.
"That's me," I said weakly.
"I told you not to fight him."
"It was self-defense, Officer."
"Can you stand?"
I thought about it, taking a couple more deep breaths while I assessed myself. I thought I could stand. I tried. I got my legs under me, but when I put weight on them, they shook. When I tipped, starting to fall, Cormac caught me.
I cried. I pulled close into myself and cried, gritting my teeth to stop the sound, embarrassed that I couldn't stop the sobs shuddering through me. I hugged my arms around my head, all the hiding I was able to do.
Cormac held me. He didn't pet me or make silly comforting noises. He just held me, halfway on his lap, bracing me.
Eventually, the crying stopped. The trembling stilled. My eyes squinted, swollen. I hiccuped, trying to fill my exhausted lungs. I didn't feel any better after crying my heart out. But I did feel ready to fall asleep without having nightmares.
Sometimes I had dreams where I was covered with blood, running through the forest, killing things, happy to be doing it. Sometimes I couldn't remember if they were dreams or not.
"You okay?"
"I don't know," I said, my voice small. I rubbed my face, which was gritty with dirt and grime.
"Come on. I'll drive you home." He started to stand, and this time when I put weight on my legs, they held me. Cormac kept his hand under my arm, just in case.
The blanket went down to my knees. I walked gingerly; my feet were bare and the alley was covered with broken glass and metal bits. I watched my feet and wasn't paying attention to much else. When Cormac stopped, I looked up.
Detective Hardin stood there. She turned and said something to the half-dozen uniformed cops trailing behind her. Reluctantly, they backed away. All of them had their guns out.
Hardin tucked her gun into a belt holster. She crossed her arms, regarding us like she was a high school teacher who'd caught a couple of kids necking behind the bleachers. Or maybe it was just that I felt like one of the kids.
She said, "I've got a body back there with its face ripped off. Why do I get the feeling if I check the guy's DNA, I'll get a match with the suspect's evidence from my mauling victims?"
I swallowed. My throat was still raw from trying not to cry. "You will."
"What about the guy from outside your apartment?"
"No. But, I'm ready to talk about him. I think."
Her face took on a pained, annoyed expression. "Does this happen often? Werewolves slaughtering each other for no apparent reason?"
"Oh, there's always a reason," I said. Realizing how bad that sounded, I looked away. "No, it doesn't happen often." Only when the power struggles happened. When a junior wolf like me got too big for her britches.
"Huh. And I thought police internal affairs was tough."
I glanced at Cormac. His expression was a mask, inscrutable. I was sure he hadn't called the cops. I said, "How did you know where to go?"
"Your sound guy called me."
"Matt. Bastard," I muttered. I thought he knew better than to get mixed up in supernatural rumbles.
"Why didn't you call me?"
"I didn't want you to get hurt."
"I'm touched. Really, I am. Do you have any idea how I'm supposed to write this up? What am I supposed to do with you?"
I shrugged, wincing when the cut on my back split again. I was going to have to lie still for a good couple of hours if I wanted it to heal. "Should I call my lawyer?"
She stared hard at me, like she was trying to peel back my skin. My shoulders bunched. If she'd been a wolf, I'd have taken her stare as a challenge. I looked at my feet and tried to seem harmless, small, and inconsequential, metaphorical tail between my legs.