Kitty's House of Horrors (kn-7) by Carrie Vaughn (christmas read aloud txt) 📕

inhuman. Black streaks marked his veins, crawling from the wound in his shoulder, poisoned blood flowing through his body.

“Kitty. Run,” he said through gritted teeth. He had fangs now, in a long mouth.

“Jerome.” My voice was thick with despair.

“Run!” he said, and it was a growl. He twitched, convulsed, pushed me away.

I ran.

I took off through the trees, hoping to get some cover. Didn’t look back, sure that the next silver-tipped bolt would strike me. The thought pushed me over an edge—I couldn’t handle this situation, not like this. Not as a human. I could run fast on two legs. I could run faster on four, I could hide better, and right now that was all I cared about.

I pulled off my T-shirt, my bra, and didn’t fight it. When I wanted it, when it came fast like this, it didn’t hurt so much. I leaned into it because this time, it could save my life. My back rounded, a wave passed through me, my body turned liquid, bones and skin melting, re-forming, fur prickling. Shoved my sweats and panties down in the same moment—

S he shakes herself and keeps going, can’t stop. A hunter has attacked and she’s alone now. Run, that’s all she thinks of, legs pumping, taking deep breaths, scenting for danger. Catches traces of an enemy and moves away.

She tastes the air and feels the wind like fingers through her fur. Nothing can catch her like this. Nothing. But she keeps running, trying to outrun fear. At this moment, speed is the greatest strength she has, and she uses it.

But she can’t keep running forever. She has to go somewhere, so she heads toward safety. She knows that smell, where she’s been sleeping, where she has friends. She has no place else to go. Too far away from her own pack, this will have to do. Though she would run to her pack if she could.

Time passes.

She slows to a trot as she approaches the den where she hopes to find safety. Strange smells—too many people, the two-legged ones, have passed here. Some of them may be hunting her. She whines, because she can’t trust where she is. Can’t trust any of these smells. But the human side, the two-legged self, nudges her. There are friends here. At least, there should be. She has to hope.

The trees end, opening to a wide, exposed clearing, and the large human structure in the middle of it. Full of danger. Her fur bristles, her tail is stiff, her head hangs low. She circles, tracking every smell, every hint of danger. Searches her memory, finds the area smells much like it did when she left. Nothing has changed; the hunter has not followed her. The blood in front of the structure is old, from this morning.

She paces slowly, carefully around the building, spiraling closer. Ready to flee the moment the air feels wrong.

The den draws her in. A noise startles her—she flicks her ear. Footsteps sound hollow, and a two-legged figure stands before her, looking out. She stops, stares. He doesn’t stare back. Drops his gaze, doesn’t offer challenge, and she feels better. He smells familiar. A friend. He has helped her before. She remembers. Her throat whines, because she’s been afraid for a long time now and wants to rest.

More footsteps, more people, too many, and her ears pin back, her hackles go rigid, and she braces, ready to run, ready to fight.

“Stay back. Go back inside, all of you,” the first man says. The one she wants to trust.

“What is it? Oh my God—is that—”

“It’s Kitty,” he says.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, you don’t seriously expect—”

“Conrad, shut up!”

“What happened?” another says. A female.

“I don’t know. We won’t know until she turns back. We need to get her inside, to safety.”

“And how do you propose we do that? It looks… she looks… I mean…”

The first one, the male, acts like an alpha. “Everyone needs to get back inside and give her space. She’s spooked. Go upstairs. I’ll take care of this.”

“Odysseus, are you sure?” Another male, an odd-smelling one—he smells like fish and rivers—says this. “If she bites you—”

“She won’t. I’ll be fine.”

Then the doorway, the whole front of the den, is empty, and he turns his back to her and walks inside, leading her in. Head low, hesitating, she follows. The hard, artificial ground feels wrong, harsh against her feet. Her claws click. If she goes inside, she’ll be trapped, no way to get out, no wide spaces to run in. But to her other side, it smells safe. Her other side trusts.

She slips inside and keeps to the wall so nothing can sneak up on her, surround her. She stays by the entrance, just in case. She keeps her eyes on the man, who sits nearby, quietly, watching.

Then, because she’s been running all day, she folds her legs under her, curls up tight so her tail brushes her nose. She hopes the world is safer when she wakes up.

The bed was hard, but I was warm. My mouth was sticky. I’d had nightmares.

Not nightmares. Memories.

I gasped a breath and sat up. I had a blanket over me—someone’s kind thought. I was against the wall, right next to the front door. This was how far they’d been able to coax me inside. I was amazed I managed to make it this far. Part of me thought I should have just kept running until I made it back to Colorado. Except for that fence, trapping us.

I pulled the blanket tighter around me and scrubbed my face, trying to wake up. My muscles ached, my head throbbed. I wanted to go home. I glanced out the window; the