"I don't know enough about this," he says, his voice strained. "I don't know if she's going to be okay. "
"She'll be okay, " says the other. "Once she sleeps she'll be fine. Try to get her to sleep. "
So the voice continues, close to her ear, breathing comfort into the fur of her neck. Furless, clawless hands stroke her flanks, a strange and soothing touch.
And because he smells and sounds and feels like home, she settles with him and closes her eyes.
I remembered being shot and started awake.
I lurched up onto an elbow and looked around. I was in a corner of the KNOB lobby, wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket, and curled up on the cold tile floor. Underneath, I was naked.
Ben was standing nearby, talking to Detective Hardin and a couple of other cops. Ozzie was there, too, and some other KNOB staffers. The station manager wore a worried frown and rubbed a hand through his thinning hair. Some of the cops were taking statements. Red and blue lights flashed against the front windows.
Ben turned around before I could draw breath to speak. Quickly he came over and knelt beside me. I screwed up my face and felt vaguely ashamed. I pulled the blanket tightly around my shoulders.
"What happened?" I said, my voice scratching.
"You got shot," he said.
"I remember that. What about after?"
"You didn't hurt anyone."
I gave a thin laugh. "Thank God for small favors." In truth, this relieved me immensely. I felt lighter.
Idly, he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Bloodstains covered his shirt, complete with handprints and streaks from where I'd grabbed his arms. "How do you feel?"
"Crappy. I didn't want to hurt anyone." The horror of it took a long time to settle over me—Injured and frightened, I'd shifted in the middle of a crowd of people I'd have done it and not thought twice. I'd have just been defending myself. "I can't believe I got shot."
"Tell me about it." He sat beside me and tucked me under his shoulder, wrapping his arm around me. I snuggled in closer. "Hardin sent a couple of cars after Carl. They're cordoning off the neighborhood to look for him."
"They won't find him."
"I know. She took the rest of his guys into custody. She thinks she'll find forensic evidence linking them to the warehouse. She seems to be having a good time with all this."
"She wants to try out her silver-lined jail cell."
"Well, more power to her."
The woman herself came over then, looking tired but smug. I had an impulse to stand—I didn't want to have to look up at her. From wolf eye level no less. But I was too tired, and Ben was too comfortable. Blearily, I stared up at her.
Wary, she studied me, edging toward me like she might toward a wild animal. Which I supposed I was. She'd seen me shift—seen both halves of my being. I'd attacked one of her people, though the specific memory was fuzzy. But she seemed to have the intention of treating me like a human being. However much of a struggle that would be. She visibly gathered herself.
"How are you?" she said. The concern was touching.
I shrugged, then winced, because I still hurt some. My ribs felt bruised, and my whole body felt pounded. "I've been worse."
"For what it's worth, I apologize. Officer Sawyer's going to get a reprimand. Just because you weren't permanently hurt doesn't mean he gets away with shooting a civilian."
"And if he'd had silver bullets?" I said. Both Ben and I stared up at her, waiting for the answer.
"Just be glad that he didn't." She walked back to her people and the cleanup.
I didn't even want to think about it. "I need my clothes."
"They kind of got trashed. You ready to get out of here?"
I propped myself against Ben and braced against the wall to get myself to my feet. My muscles popped, and my bones creaked. Ben pulled me to my feet without effort. I let him hold me up. I'd turned Wolf twice in the last twenty-four hours. I'd never done that before, never turned a second time so soon after the first. Almost, it seemed the pieces hadn't come back together quite right. Fur still peeked between the cracks. Wolf still looked out of my eyes. My brain felt fuzzy, the world looked strange; the shadows seemed to loom.
He must have noticed me craning my neck and squinting, trying to focus.
"You're going to have to sleep a week when this is all over," he said.
God, that sounded so nice…"I could just let Carl kill me. Sleep all I want then."
He gave me an odd sideways look.
“Kitty! Are you all right?" Ozzie intercepted us. He was actually wringing his hands.
"I'll be fine," I said. Though I must have looked awful, all tangled hair and bloodstains. "So, are you worried about me, or are you really worried about your cash cow?"
He gave me a look that was half hurt, half admonishing. "Geez, Kitty, give it a rest. When I heard the gun and they told me who got shot I about had a heart attack. Don't ever do that again."
I smiled tiredly. "I'll try not to. Ozzie, have you met Ben?"
Ben said, "He introduced himself while you were asleep."
Ozzie pointed at him. "Don't let her get shot again."
"I think we'd better get home and cleaned up," he replied.
Ozzie found me a T-shirt and sweats from the stash of KNOB giveaways. I could add them to the million KNOB T-shirts I already had. I was just grateful not to have to drive home naked.
During the ride home, Ben kept asking if I was okay. Huddling in the passenger seat, I kept muttering that I was fine.
Finally, he gave a frustrated sigh. "You're damned lucky, you know that?"
Yeah, I was. I had to remember that. I smiled at him. "Thanks. For taking care of me."
"We're pack."
I wished he would stop saying that. I wasn't sure why it was starting to piss me off. He wasn't saying anything that wasn't true. Maybe because it sounded like a cop-out. Like if we weren't pack, he'd have been out of here a long time ago.
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.