Rachel Caine - Chicks Kick Butt

Louis-Cesare was right behind me. We landed hard in front of the puddle of water that spanned most of the alley. It reflected the explosion in the club behind us, flames shooting upside down, livid and wavering, until a screaming mass of panicked vamps came pouring out of the door. They scattered in all directions, some splashing through the water and turning it into a rippling mass of flame.

One of the last to emerge was Scarface, with the boss draped inelegantly over one shoulder. “You.” He pointed at me. I blinked at him. “Later.”

I nodded and waved him off as Ray came scooting out the door, the seat of his pants smoking. “Now who owes who?” I demanded as he hightailed it down the alley. He paused at the corner to shoot me the bird, before disappearing in the opposite direction from Cheung’s vamps.

“He’ll be okay,” I told Louis-Cesare. “He’ll run straight to the senate, and now that they know there’s a danger, they’ll have to—”

Somebody started shaking me, which was not a good idea under the circumstances. “Don’ do that,” I said, grabbing hold of Louis-Cesare’s jacket.

“You’re drunk,” he accused. But he did stop shaking me.

I pondered that for a moment. It was undeniably true. And then I remembered that there were extenuating circumstances, some of which involved him. “Well, you were late.”

“I was in Brooklyn!”

“You went to see me?” I grinned happily. And then stopped, wondering if he’d had some other reason for making the trip. It wasn’t like we had a Thing. Not an official Thing, anyway. He didn’t have to visit, although I couldn’t think of any other reason he’d be in Brooklyn. Louis-Cesare was definitely more of an uptown kind of—

“Why are you out of bed?” he demanded, looking like he wanted to start with the shaking again.

“I just wanted a quiet drink,” I said defensively. That and I’d been going crazy with boredom.

“It appears that you found one,” he said drily.

“Well, I don’t know how quiet it was—” I broke off, because something in his expression was wrong. It took me a moment, but I finally sorted through exasperation, fondness, and relief to something that looked like hurt. And that didn’t make sense.

“We won,” I said distinctly. “At least, I think so.…” I looked around. The alley was quiet again, except for the crackling fire and the distant sound of sirens.

“Yes, we won,” he affirmed.

I looked back up at him, fuzzily. “So why the long face?”

He took a deep breath. “I was hoping that the first time you expressed affection for me, it would not be in a room full of strangers. And that you would not have just said it to a sniveling creature like that Raymond!”

“I expressed affection for Ray?”

“Yes!”

“Man, I really must be drunk.” Louis-Cesare just looked at me. I blinked politely back, until I realized that he expected a response. “Uh. Sorry?”

“Isn’t there anything else you wish to say to me?” he asked impatiently.

I swallowed. “Yes. Yes there is.”

Warm arms suddenly engulfed me, pulling me in, and one large hand tucked my head into his chest. “What is it?” he asked softly.

“I’m about to yak all over your shirt.”

Vampire reflexes got me to the side of the road instead, and then he crouched there, brushing my hair away from my sweaty cheeks as I made good on the first part of my threat. He sighed. “One day, you will say it to me again. You will be sober. And you will mean it.”

I was actually terrified that I already meant it. A guy just might be a keeper if he hears your cry for help in his head. And comes into a den of thieves to get you out. And then holds your hair while you throw up for ten minutes.

Then again, I was in no condition to judge. But that old saying kept rattling around in my head. “In vino veritas,” I whispered, faintly appalled.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I looked up at him as he pulled me back to my feet. “Let’s go home.”

The forest was singing, and its song was all mine. The others couldn’t hear it, with their human ears. They heard only the crackle-roar of the campfire and their own voices. Huddled in down jackets and sleeping bags, they thought they owned the world, by virtue of their ability to tame it, and that was an understandable mistake. But they’d never really seen the world. Not like I saw it.

Soon I’d have to go back to the campfire. To their idea of “roughing it” with battery-powered radios, canned food, and no-rinse bathing wipes, guaranteed to keep you fresh, even days into a showerless camping trip. Soon I’d have to put on my human skin and put away my feline instincts, so I could be Abby Wade, normal college sophomore. I could do that. I’d been hiding that part of my life for a year and a half, and my secret run was just a temporary reprieve from all things human.

Still, the next few moments were mine.

My paws snapped through twigs and sank into underbrush, pushing against the earth to propel me faster, higher. I was a streak of black against the night, darker than the forest, yet a part of it, as I hadn’t been in weeks. Small animals fled just ahead of my paws, scurrying through tangles of fallen leaves and branches. The scents of oak, birch, maple, and pine were familiar comforts, relaxing me even as they pushed me for more speed, greater distance. Thorns caught in my fur. Cold air burned in my nose and stroked the length of my body as I ran, like a caress from the universe itself.

I was welcome in the woods. I belonged there, at least for the next few minutes.

When I’d run fast and long enough to satisfy that initial need for exercise, I slowed to a gradual, soft stop, huffing from exertion. It was time to eat and replace the energy I’d burned during my Shift.

My ears swiveled on my head, pinpointing the sounds I needed to hear. Werecats can’t track by scent, like a dog, so we hunt with our ears and our eyes. On my run, I’d smelled mice and a couple of weasels, both of which stay active in the winter, but I was holding out for a rabbit, or even a beaver. No use wasting a deer with only me there to feed on it.

Something scuttled through the underbrush several yards to the southeast. Too fast and light to be a raccoon. Probably a mouse or a rat. Too much effort for too little meat.

I slowed my breathing and listened harder. From the north came a soft, rapid, swooshy heartbeat, but no movement. Whatever it was, it knew I was close and hungry. I turned my head and sniffed toward the north—I could pinpoint it with my ears, but would have to ID it with my nose. A rabbit. Perfect. Its fur wouldn’t be white yet—not in mid-October—but my cat’s eyes would still spot it. As soon as I flushed it out of hiding.

I pounced. The rabbit sprung from the underbrush and landed three feet away. I got a glimpse of brown and white fur, and then it was off again, racing through the woods and jumping over low shrubs and fallen logs.

I ran after it at half speed, reluctant to end the chase too soon—who knew when I’d have another chance to hunt? But seconds later, a scream shattered the cold, quiet night with a sharp echo of pain and terror.

A sudden spike of fear glued me to the forest floor. I knew that scream—that voice. Robyn. My roommate, and for the next three nights, my tent-mate.

No!

I turned and raced through the woods toward the campsite, my lungs burning, my heart trying to beat its way through my sternum. I had no plan, no thought beyond simply getting there, and only the vaguest understanding that if I burst into the camp in cat form, I’d scare her far worse than whatever had made her scream.