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She'd pushed him too far. She almost quailed. She almost backed down. His aggression was palpable, and it frightened her. But she fought not to let that show. Stood her ground. Being alpha was a new feeling for her.
"So you could have killed someone," she said.
He pulled away and covered his face with his hands. She barely heard him whisper, "No. No, it's impossible. It has to be impossible. "
He didn't know. Honestly didn't know. Now, what was she supposed to do about that?
She tried again, calmer this time. Pulled out whatever counseling skills she'd picked up over the last year.
"Try to think. Can you remember images? Scents, emotions. Some clue. Anything. "
He shook his head firmly. "I don't know what it's like for you, but I don't remember anything. I don't know anything!"
"Nothing?"
"It's a blank. But you - how can you remember? You don't actually remember - "
"Images," she said. "The smell of trees. Night air. Trails. Prey. " A long pause, as the memory took her, just for a moment. A flood of emotion, a tang of iron, euphoria of victory. Yes, she remembered. "Blood. Now, what do you remember?"
He dug the heels of his hands into his temples and dropped to a crouch. Gritting his teeth, setting his jaw, he groaned, a sound of anguish. Every one of his muscles tensed, the tendons on his hands and neck standing out. He was shaking.
She worried. He was alone, out of control, and over the edge. She knelt by him and touched the back of his head - simple contact, chaste, comforting. "Keep it together," she said. "Pull it in. Hold it in. Breathe slower. In . . . out. " She spoke softly, calmly, until he matched his breaths to the rate of her speech. Slowly, he calmed. The tension in his fists relaxed. He lowered his arms. His face eased from a grimace to a simple frown.
She stroked his hair and rested her hand on his shoulder. "It's possible to keep some control and remember. "
"I used to have a life," he said. "I just want my life back. "
She didn't know what to say. Of course he wanted his life back. So much easier if everything could go back to the way it was. Nearly every day she thought of it. But if you wanted that life back, you had to fight for it. Fight for that control, every day.
"What am I going to do?" he said, voice shaking, almost a sob.
"Nothing," she said. "We wait. "
If he hadn't done anything, nothing would come of this. Nothing would lead the police to him. But she didn't want to even suggest that much. In case he had done something, and the police did come for him.
David took a moment to recover after Kitty left the bathroom. Not that a moment alone would help. He felt fractured. The parts of his being had scattered, for months now.
He didn't understand her at all. She was like him - the same, another monster, a werewolf. And yet she was completely different. So . . . with it. And he didn't understand how she did it. How she looked so calm.
If he couldn't remember what had happened, maybe he could learn what happened some other way. He couldn't
sit here waiting for the cops to find him and haul him away. Not that they could. The moment he felt danger, he knew what would happen - he would turn, and run.
He stepped to the end of the hall that tucked the bathrooms away from the restaurant. Kitty had returned to the booth. The waitress poured her more coffee, which she sipped. Hunched over the table, she looked out with a nervous gaze. He could see the wolf in her, intense brown eyes flickering to every movement, watchful, alert. Part of him was afraid of her, her strength and confidence. She'd had him cowed in a second.
She believed he was a murderer, and he couldn't deny it. Couldn't say that she was wrong. He couldn't be sure that she wouldn't call the police. He'd only known her for an hour. She might be a monster like him, but she also seemed like the kind of person who would tell the police. A law-abiding werewolf. He never would have believed it.
He had to prove that he didn't do it.
From the hallway, he ducked and slipped to the back of the kitchen, moving quickly so Kitty or the waitress wouldn't see him. She'd think the worst.
One guy in the kitchen, a Latino wearing a white apron, looked at him. "Hey - "
David didn't slow down but ran straight through the kitchen, unlocked the back door, and slipped out. Outside, he paused, taking deep breaths of chilly air through flaring nostrils. Night had fallen, gray and overcast. A light snow fell. A dusting of it would mask scents.
Thinking like a hunter, a wolf - he shook his head to clear his vision of the haze that covered it for a moment. Couldn't let the wolf take over. Had to stay human. What had Kitty said? Keep it together.
His breathing slowed. He straightened his back and felt a little more human.
