Carrie Vaughn - Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand

“Even now?” He inched closer, pressing his body to mine, wrapping an arm around me, his hand crawling up my torso to cup a breast. I nestled firmly into his arms.

“I saw this TV special once about security in the casinos. They have cameras everywhere. You can’t even tell where they all are. People sit in these dark rooms watching the footage all day, every day.”

“There are no cameras in the hotel rooms.” His movements, holding me against him, nuzzling at my hairline, became more insistent. His erection against my backside became insistent.

“I’m worried about people who don’t need cameras. Like the lycanthropes from Balthasar’s show. And Odysseus Grant—the way he seemed to jump out of thin air. That doesn’t even start to mention all your buddies at the silver-bullet convention—oh—” Another moan caught in my throat, because he was tracing my ear with his tongue and shifting me onto my back.

He loomed over me now, gray and shadowy in the dark, his hair ruffled by sleep, but a light shone in his eyes. He smelled warm and wild, a spicy, earthy scent that was all his. I wanted to dig my fingers into him and pull him close, never letting go.

“Kitty,” he said. “Stop worrying.”

“Okay.”

I laced my hands in his hair and made him kiss me until I forgot about everything else.

The next morning, I felt as good as I had all weekend—relaxed, refreshed, ready for the day. On the other hand, Ben, his expression pursed and studious, was pacing back and forth along the window.

“You okay?” I said, watching him from the bed.

“I’m not sure I can go through with this.”

I blinked in confusion and tried not to let out a wail. “Wait a minute. The wedding? Now you get cold feet?”

“No, not the wedding,” he said, frowning. “The poker tournament.”

“Oh. That.” The frown turned into a scowl, and I said, “But this tournament, it’s a big deal, right? If you don’t try, you’ll always wonder.” See? I could be a supportive girlfriend.

“I don’t know. Am I supposed to be this nervous? I’ve got butterflies. No—it’s like I’ve got claws scraping the inside of my skin. What are you smiling at?”

“That’s exactly how I felt yesterday before my gig.”

Ben stopped pacing and let out a sigh, a release of nervous energy. I’d had my turn in the spotlight yesterday—I actually thought it was kind of cool Ben was getting a bit of that spotlight today. In poker, of all things. I said, “If your werewolf superpowers can win anything at all, I think you should try it. It’d be nice to have some good come out of being infected with lycanthropy.”

“Besides being with you, you mean?” he said, his smile crooked.

I grinned stupidly. “Aw.”

“You’re right, it’s just nerves.”

“Do you want me to come cheer you on? I could even find some pom-poms.” I wrinkled my brow. “Is cheering allowed at poker tournaments?”

“You don’t have to do that. It’ll be boring, watching a bunch of obsessive people playing cards.”

“You were there for me yesterday.”

“Kitty, it’s okay. You’ve wanted to go sit by the pool for weeks. Now’s your chance. Besides, I’m not supposed to see the bride before the ceremony, right?”

I smirked. “If you wanted to be that traditional, we should have gotten separate rooms and last night never should have happened. Which would have been a shame.”

His smile was a very satisfied leer.

I finally pulled my swimsuit out of my suitcase. A bikini, even. I figured I’d only be young once. Ben was suitably admiring, and best of all, he held my hand when he walked me to the elevator. My mental Frank Sinatra soundtrack had started playing again. Come fly with me...

We were halfway there when the faint click of a heel on linoleum behind a closed service door caught my attention. My hand flexed against Ben’s. I glanced over my shoulder at the service door, which was behind us. I met Ben’s gaze; his nose was flaring.

“Run,” I whispered, because my instincts had started flaring. We both tensed, preparing to launch.

Doors swung open on both sides of the hall.

A hand from the direction of the service door grabbed me and sent me sprawling. I rolled and came up to a crouch, ready to pounce, a growl in my throat, to see Evan spring from a room opposite me and lock Ben in a full nelson. Ben shouted and kicked, shoving him against the wall, and there was Brenda, lunging toward him, outstretched hand holding—

I thought it was a knife, but it wasn’t. It was a spoon, slightly tarnished. Silver. She pressed it into Ben’s hand and curled his fingers around it. Held it there.

“What the—Jesus Christ!” Ben hissed in pain and flailed all the harder, jerking out of Brenda’s grip and flinging the spoon away, then slamming Evan against the wall so hard the bounty hunter’s head knocked. He dropped Ben.

Ben whirled to face them, crouching. I stood and put my hand on his shoulder, squeezing to show I was with him. Wolf crawled to the surface, claws itching in my fingers, a hunter’s vision filling my eyes. These two had attacked—were enemies. What would they do next? My mate and I could pounce on them before they could draw their guns. I was ready to protect him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ben shouted, his rash-covered hand curled in front of him. Round red welts in the shape of a spoon’s bowl marked the skin.

Evan stared at that hand, at the rash. “God, it’s true.”

“Told you,” Brenda said. Today she was wearing leather pants, a red V-necked shirt, and ankle boots with silver on the toes. Still with spike heels, which I was sure she could use as deadly weapons in a pinch. She picked up the spoon from where it had landed across the hall. “Grandma’s surefire werewolf detector.”

“Is that was this is about?” Ben said, almost laughing. “If you suspected, you could have fucking asked! What are you going to do now, shoot me in the middle of the hotel? Big bad werewolf needs to die?”

Evan and Brenda stood there, staring at him—and Ben had been right. They almost looked sad. Like they felt sorry for him. The muscles of Ben’s shoulders under my hand were hard as stone, tense and trembling. I could smell the anger coming off him, the scent of his wolf growing. I squeezed him again, hoping he would keep it together. Since they weren’t shooting at us, we had to keep it together.

“I’d wondered,” Brenda said. “When I saw you two together, there was something off. I can’t always tell by looking, but you’ve got this look that you didn’t have before.”

“What kind of look?” Ben said, his voice almost spitting with anger. But he didn’t feel like he was about to shift, skin getting ready to slide into fur. He straightened, and we stood shoulder to shoulder.

“Like you’re hunting. You were never a hunter before. Not like Cormac.”

Ben scowled and turned away.

Evan looked at me. “Are you the one—”

“No,” I said harshly. “Of course not. I’ve never turned anyone.”

“Have you ever killed anyone?” Brenda said, just as accusing.

I considered lying. Didn’t think it would win me points with her. Wasn’t sure she’d wait for the explanation, but I said it anyway, ice-cold. “Yes.”

Ben glared. “Cormac killed the one who got me. Then he brought me to her. She helped me. Saved my life.” We exchanged a glance. His look was bared, stark, reliving those weeks after he’d been turned, filled with gratitude and, sappy as it sounded, love. Because that was what my gaze held, looking at him. I didn’t care if the bounty hunters saw it.

I said, “He wanted Cormac to shoot him, but he wouldn’t.”