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

have time to reach for his fallen weapon. I shove into him, and my claws are into him. I can’t see through the anger, I only feel. Hear his scream. He doesn’t think I have it in me to tear his throat out. No one ever thinks I have it in me.

For a moment we look into each other’s eyes. I can’t imagine what he sees in mine, what amber fire is blazing in them. But I see that he is frightened—eyes ringed with white, terrified. I dig—

O n the ground now, her weight has toppled him. Teeth around his neck, not letting go, shaking her head to rip the skin. Blood fills her mouth, a taste of ecstasy. Flesh gives way. He shrieks in her ear, hits her with fists. Only makes her more angry. Not dead yet, but he already smells rotten. Snarling, clawing, ripping, she mauls.

A distant memory recognizes a voice that calls, “Kitty! Get back, get inside!” One of the two-legged ones, but familiar, and the voice within her, her other half, urges her: listen. Go. Too dangerous in the open.

She raises her head to look, sees the male who called her running toward her and sees another male in the trees. Her nose flares, takes this one’s scent, and the wrongness of it shocks her. He is weapons, steel, fire. Her other half knows this means terrible danger. Only one option: run to safety. But she has no den here, no pack, no safety—except the house, which smells lived-in, denlike. Closest safety she’ll find.

She runs for the door she burst from only a moment ago. Leaps past chaos, a male and female dragging two others. An explosion, a hot streak ripping through air. Part of her expects to feel an impact, expects that this is her death. She doesn’t stop running, even after she passes through the door.

She’s felt nothing, no pain. The weapon of smoke and fire missed.

Another explosion sounds, very close—the female stands at the door, holding another weapon straight. It fires, bursts of heat and thunder, again and again, until the man slams shut the door and they both collapse, along with two bodies that smell richly of blood.

She licks her snout, which is covered with blood. She is standing by the far wall, tail rigid, hackles raised, a low warning growl breathing out each time she exhales. Waiting for the next attack.

“Oh God, oh God. Odysseus, Tina—what do we do about her?” Another man is sitting up, staring. He smells like old blood. Injured. Easy prey. He’s staring right at her, and this makes her angry. She directs her growls at him, and he cringes.

“Conrad, don’t look at her. Look away. Conrad! Look at me!”

The injured one looks away. She was almost ready to pounce to show him which of them was stronger.

“Tina, can you see outside? What’s he doing?”

“He’s staying there—he hasn’t left the trees. Jeffrey, how’s Jeffrey, oh, my God—”

The room has filled with blood. Makes her hungry. The two-legged ones are trembling like a frightened herd.

“Kitty—she wouldn’t really,” the female says. “She’s in there somewhere, right? She wouldn’t really attack us.”

“Tina, stop looking at her.” This is the strong male, the one who called her inside. “Walk very calmly along the wall to the kitchen. Find the pantry—there should be some canned food left. Open a can of chicken or tuna.”

Movement. The female is edging along the wall. She’s strong—the only person here who doesn’t smell injured. Let her go.

The male is speaking, his voice like soft fur. He’s looking at the floor near her. “Shh, Kitty. It’s all right. Danger’s over for now. It’s all right.”

The calming voice helps. The fury ebbs. But she’s still standing with her back to a wall and the smell of an enemy in the room. Where is her pack? Her mate? The growl turns into a whine.

The female puts something on the floor and quickly edges away—a new scent. Meat, but not fresh. Not fresh, but available, a few paces away. Hunger has become more important than the rest. She pads to the scent, finds several mouthfuls. She eats warily, keeping a watch on the group of two-legged people. Finishes the carrion quickly, but it settles her.

She does not mean to sleep, but weariness pulls her under.

I had blood and skin under my fingernails. I picked at it.

Either I didn’t remember what had happened, or I didn’t want to. I could guess. The last thing I remembered was Provost’s face, white with fear. Yeah, I could guess what had happened. I hadn’t even felt the Change come. I’d just snapped. That had never happened before.

If I stayed numb, I wouldn’t have to think about the implications.

Someone had put a blanket over me. I lay against the far wall, nearest the kitchen. My muscles were stiff, as if I’d slept curled in a tight ball. Looking across the room, I was having trouble recognizing what I was seeing. My mind was still filled with wolfish vision and the taste of blood. I could smell death.

A body lay against the wall, covered with a sheet, dead. I made a wish, took a breath, and let out a moan, because I smelled Jeffrey. Provost had been so close, Jeffrey couldn’t have survived the shot. Still, I couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t. I just wouldn’t deal with that right now.

There was another person lying on the floor, breathing fast, painfully, in the way of the seriously injured. I recognized his scent, too.

Joey Provost was alive.

Chapter 21

I wrapped the blanket around my naked self and stood in the middle of the living room, assessing. I clamped my mouth shut because I was afraid I might throw up. If