Free Kitty in the Underworld (Kitty Norville) by Carrie Vaughn

me. They could, because I was in the cage. Because I had no way out, and I was helpless.
    No, let me out, not helpless at all, let me fight—
    The bars of a cage inside my gut snapped, shattered to dust. Wolf was free now. She howls, and the piercing sound breaks from my own throat. Her claws slash at the inside of my skin.
    I double over, hugging myself, groaning. No, please, not this, I can’t shift, I have to keep it together, stay in control. How can I stand up to them if I can’t keep myself together?
    Finally, it’s over. I scream, and all the rage that’s been building rips out of me in a throat-splitting howl. Reflexively, I pull off my shirt and sweater, shoving my jeans off in a panicked, violent seizure. Have to get free. The howl just keeps going, a lungful’s worth that doesn’t stop until I tear out of my own body—
    *   *   *
    There is a tiny opening to her cage, and if she fights hard enough, she can break free. She snarls, spit flying. Digs her snout and paws through the opening. Almost fits her whole head through. Almost. Her body flops, back claws scrabbling against rock, trying to push herself out. A male stands outside—an enemy. She can almost see him.
    Almost almost almost. She can’t do anything. The snarls turn to howls. The sound echoes against rock. The wood of the door bites into her skin, and she can smell the silver in the rock pressing toward her.
    A voice from her gut speaks: Calm down. Please be calm. This isn’t helping.
    She’s furious, but the other half of her being pleads. The weaker, two-legged half. This territory is strange, the situation is strange. She doesn’t know what to do, so she listens to the calming voice. Backs away from the opening, shaking out splinters caught in her fur.
    She lies on the ground, looking out to the dim light. The man is there, the other werewolf. Standing, watching. If she could see his eyes she would challenge him, but she can’t. If she could leap at him, she would tear out his throat. She pants, her tongue hanging from her mouth. Blood still stains the ground.
    When the man moves, taking a step back, she perks her ears. Tries to guess what will happen next.
    Calm.
    He kicks the dead rabbit through the hole in the door, right in front of her. She jumps back, stares. Her mind tumbles. It has to be a trick. It doesn’t smell like a trick. A soft whine, in the back of her throat. Her other half is silent.
    Blood wins out over all.
    She eats the carcass, kneading it with jaws and teeth. The blood and flesh sings through her. She forgets about all but the blood and flesh.
    Soon it’s gone, all of it but a few scraps of fur and bone. Her awareness has collapsed to the space of her own body. She paces, yawns. Wonders where the light is, there should be light, there should be a moon.
    Her mate should be here. But no, not in the cage. He’s safe, and that’s good. But she longs for him, to feel him curled beside her, breathing into the ruff of her neck. The meat feels heavy in her gut. She doesn’t want to sleep, but she doesn’t have a choice. The walls hold silver. She cringes away from them, curls up in the middle of the floor, her muscles taut. It’s all so wrong.
    She dreams of running.
    *   *   *
    I ’D BEEN moved. The smells I woke to were different, slightly. While I still smelled the musty damp of underground, the dust and rock of the tunnels, the air had opened up. I wasn’t breathing my own waste anymore. A glow pressed against my closed eyelids.
    Starting awake, I saw a rocky room with a half a dozen small, battery-run camp lanterns resting on the floor around the edges. I squeezed my eyes shut, rubbed them, opened them again and reveled in the feeling of being able to see something, anything, clearly. This wasn’t a cave so much as a junction, a place where two tunnels came together. I was still in the mine; the pale granite walls were even, blasted out by dynamite and hammers. The lamps didn’t give much light,