of them with fresh cups of coffee. Jane also brought over a plate of pancakes. David gazed up at her sheepishly, blushing. Embarrassed, Kitty decided. He didn't like the charity. But he drowned the pancakes with syrup and dug into them.
Around bites, he finished his thought. "How did a werewolf end up with a name like Kitty?"
"The better question is, How did someone named Kitty end up as a werewolf? That's a long story."
"It's almost as bad as a werewolf named Harry."
Perish the thought. "Oh my God, your name isn't - "
"No," he said, ducking his gaze. "It's David."
"Well, David. It's nice to meet you. Though I have to say, I wasn't expecting to see another one of us walk through the door. Are you from around here?"
"No. I've been on the road awhile."
"That's what I thought."
He hadn't yet taken a sip of his coffee, but he wrapped a hand around the cup, clinging to it like he could draw out its warmth. He hunched over, gazing out at the world with uncertainty. He probably didn't realize how odd he looked, coming out of the cold without a coat. Werewolves didn't feel the cold as much.
Looking at the tabletop, he said, "I've never met another one. Not ever. But I could tell, as soon as I walked in here I could smell you and I knew. I almost walked right back out again."
"What, let a little old thing like me scare you off?" She'd meant it as a joke, but he flinched. She willed him to relax. His hand around the mug squeezed a little tighter. He set his fork down and pressed his fist to the table.
His voice was taut. "You seem so calm. How do you do it?" His gaze flickered up, and the look in them was stark. Desperate.
She froze, nerveless for a moment. Is that how she looked? Calm? She was exiled from her pack, driven from Denver by the alpha werewolves, and so was spending Christmas at a Waffle House in a desolate corner of the state and not with her family. She felt like she was on the verge of losing it. Without an anchor. She'd lost her anchor - but David had never had one.
"What about the one who turned you?"
"I was camping by myself, something . . . something attacked me. It looked like . . . I remember thinking, this is impossible, there aren't any wolves here. I knew something was wrong when I woke up, and I didn't have any wounds, no scars, and I didn't . . ."
He stopped, swallowed visibly, clamped his eyes shut. His breathing and heart rate quickened, and his scent spiked with fur and wild, wolf trembling just under his skin.
He didn't know how to control it at all, she realized. He hadn't had anyone to teach him. He'd been running as a wolf recently. Probably woke up with no idea where he was - no idea that it was Christmas, even.
Suddenly, her own situation didn't seem so bad.
"Breathe slowly," she whispered. "Think about pulling it in. Keep it together."
He rested his elbows on the table and ran his fingers through his hair. His hands were shaking. "I turn all the time. Not just on full moons. I can't stop it. Then I run, and I don't remember what happens. I know I hunt, kill whatever's out there - but I don't remember. I try to stay away from people, far away. But I just don't remember. I don't want to be like this, I don't - " His fingers tightened in his hair, his jaw clenched, teeth gritting. His wolf was right on the edge. Always right on the edge.
"Shh." She wanted to touch him, to steady him, but didn't dare. Anything might set him off. And wouldn't that be a Christmas to remember? Werewolf rampage in a Waffle House in southern Colorado . . . He might have done okay by Jimmy Stewart, but she'd like to see Clarence the angel fix that mess.
He looked at her. Square on this time. "How do you do it? What's your story?"
"I had a pack," she said. "They found me right after it happened to me. Like you, in the woods, attacked. But they took care of me. Told me what had happened, taught me how to deal with it."
"Does that happen?"
"Yeah, it does. There are probably more of us out there than you think. We keep quiet, stay hidden. At least, most of us do."