Silver Borne mt-5

by Patricia Briggs

  It wasn’t very bright, but it showed me that the lighting fixtures on the ceiling had been torn loose and were dangling by wires. The neat stacks of boxes were mostly gone, leaving tumbled books, ripped-up cardboard, and shreds of paper in their place. There was also blood. A lot of it.

  Some of the fae bleed odd colors, but this was all a dark red that pooled black in the dim light a yard or so from the edge of the rug where the kill had been made. It hadn’t been too long because the edge of the pool of fluid was still wet. But the victor had dragged the body over a pile of book boxes and found a secluded place hidden behind several leaning stacks in the far corner of the basement where the weak light I held wouldn’t penetrate.

  “Sam?” I asked. “Sam?”

  The sound of feeding paused. Then a shadow darker than the things around it flowed over the stacks and crouched on top of the remaining piles of books, flattened to keep from bumping into the ceiling. For a moment, I thought it was the fae, because the wolf was so drenched in blood that he was almost black. Then white eyes caught my desk light, and Sam growled.

  * * *

  “SO,” I ASKED SAM AS WE HEADED BACK TOWARD KENNEWICK, “what do you think we can do to resurrect the love of life in your human half? Because I don’t think that this is working. You almost lost it there, my friend.”

  Sam whined softly and put his head on my lap. I’d cleaned both of us in Phin’s bathroom as best I could. His white fur was more pink than white still, and he was soaking wet. Thank goodness the Rabbit had a powerful heater.

  “Well, if you don’t know,” I muttered, “how am I supposed to figure it out?”

  He pressed his head harder on my thigh.

  He’d almost killed me tonight. I’d seen the intent in his eyes as he’d raised his hindquarters—and knocked over the boxes he was perched on, already precariously tipped during his battle with the fae.

  It was the kind of mistake that Samuel would never have made, and it had thrown off his attack. He’d landed short of me, on top of the broken office chair. He’d put a foot through the space between the arm and the seat and during the struggle to free himself had remembered that we were friends.

  From the lowered tail and head, I think he’d scared himself almost as much as he’d scared me.

  We’d spent a long time in that bookstore, so the traffic had subsided somewhat, though it was still pretty busy.

  I took my right hand off the steering wheel and ran my fingers through the fur behind Sam’s ears. His whole body relaxed as I rubbed. “We’ll manage it,” I told him. “Don’t you worry. I’m a lot more stubborn than Samuel is. Let’s go home and dry us both off. Then I think . . . it’s time to call Zee—”

  MERCY!

  Adam’s voice in my head screamed at such volume that I couldn’t move. A blasting yet soundless noise that grew and grew until . . . there was nothing at all. The cry left me with a headache that made the one I’d woken up with in Phin’s basement seem like a pinprick.

  “Sam,” I said urgently, both hands on the wheel again—for all the good it was going to do me. I’d only just barely kept from hitting the brakes as hard as I could, which doubtless would have caused a big pileup on the busy highway behind me. On the other hand, I could hardly keep traveling the way I was. “Sam. Sam, I can’t see.”

  A mouth closed on my right wrist and tugged down and then back. As soon as he was guiding me straight, I put on my brake, gently, and rolled to a stop.

  The Rabbit shook as cars blasted past us, but no one honked, so we must have made it to the shoulder. After some indefinable amount of time, the pain faded finally and left me shaken and sweating and feeling as if I’d been run over by a semi.

  “We have to get home,” I said, restarting the car. My hands were shaking as I put the Rabbit in gear and made a beeline toward Finley.

  I’d left Adam to deal with his pack. If something had happened to him, I’d never forgive myself for my cowardice.

  Chapter 8

  WE WERE ON CHEMICAL DRIVE, THE HIGHWAY THAT LED out of the city to the countryside, when the ambulance passed us going the other direction, lights flashing but sirens off. I almost turned to follow.

  No. Better to find out exactly what’s happened first. Sam isn’t a doctor today, and I can’t help anyone better than the hospital where they’re taking the victim. And maybe it wasn’t anyone I knew in the ambulance at all.

  As soon as I turned down my road, I put my foot down on the gas pedal and forgot about speed limits. Ahead of us, something was billowing black smoke. There were red flashing lights—fire engines at my house, which was well on its way to becoming so much kindling.

  Adam would have thought I was in there. I hadn’t told him I was leaving—because he’d have sent someone with me, someone he trusted, and I wanted him to have all of those with him.

  Adam’s cry suddenly made sense, but I was terrified of what he’d done when the connection had blown. It might have felt like I had died or fallen unconscious. I should have called him instead of waiting until I could drive here.

  Adam’s pack surrounded the trailer, staying out of the way of the fire department. The fire must have started while the meeting was still taking place or shortly thereafter—I firmly squelched the notion that they might have set it on fire in effigy. My eye slipped over familiar faces—there was Darryl, Auriele, Paul—and some not so familiar—Henry and George. I couldn’t find Adam anywhere in the bunch. My stomach clenched in fear at his absence.

  I parked by the side of the road as close as I could get with the fire trucks everywhere, but it was still well back from the fire.

  I sprinted up to the closest of Adam’s pack and grabbed her by the arm—Auriele.

  “Where is Adam?” I asked.

  Her irises widened in shock. “Mercy? Adam thought you were in there when it blew.”

  Blew? I looked around and realized that it did look as though the trailer had simply exploded. Bits of siding, glass, and trailer were scattered a dozen yards from the burning hulk that used to be my house. The trailer had gas heat; maybe there had been a leak. How long would it have had to leak before blowing up? If it had been leaking when I left, I would have smelled gas.

  Tomorrow, I’ll feel bad about losing my home and the things that are important, like my photos . . . poor Medea. I left her locked in because I always lock her in at night so she’ll be safe. I don’t want to think about what happened to her. Tonight, I have more urgent fears.

  “Auriele,” I said slowly and clearly, “where is Adam?”

  “Mercy!”

  Arms snagged me hard and pulled me close. “Oh God, oh God, Mercy. He thought you were effing dead. Went through the side of the bloody trailer to find you.” Ben’s voice was hoarse from the smoke and almost unrecognizable. If it hadn’t been for the British accent, I wouldn’t have been certain it was him.

  “Ben?” I peeled myself out of his embrace with some difficulty—and care, because the hands that clutched me convulsively were burned and blistered—but I had to be able to breathe. “Ben. Tell me where Adam is.”

  “Hospital,” said Darryl, trotting over to us from where he’d been talking to some of the firemen. Darryl was Auriele’s mate and Adam’s second. “Mary Jo was able to ride in with him on the strength of her job.” Mary Jo was a werewolf whose day job was as a fireman and a trained EMT. “I’ll take you.”

  I was already running back to the Rabbit. Sam somehow slithered past me when I was getting in, and when the passenger door opened, he hopped into the backseat so Ben could sit down.

  “Warren’s on his way,” Ben said. His teeth were chattering with shock, and his eyes were bright wolf eyes. “He was working, couldn’t get off in time for the meeting. But I called him and told him that Adam was at the hospital.”

  “Good,” I said, pulling out in a storm of gravel. “Why didn’t they take you to the hospital, too?”

  Away from the fire, the scent of burnt flesh and his pain was impossible to miss. The lit
tle car’s engine roared as I opened it up on the highway. Ben closed his eyes and braced himself against the seat.

  “I was still in the building,” he said. He coughed, rolled down his window, and hung out the side, choking and hacking for a while. I handed him a half-empty water bottle, and he rinsed his mouth out and spit.

  He rolled up the window and took a drink. “Adam went for your bedroom, and I went for Samuel’s.” His voice was even rougher than it had been.

  “How bad are you?”

  “I’ll be all right. Smoke inhalation sucks.”

  * * *

  WE THREE BARGED INTO THE EMERGENCY ROOM. Even for a place that was used to odd things, we must have looked a sight. I glanced at Sam. He’d rolled on the ground when I wasn’t looking, covering up the remnants of bloodstains with dirt. All of us looked bedraggled, but at least I didn’t think Sam and I looked as if we’d been killing fae. Of course, we didn’t look like we’d been fighting a fire, like Ben did, either. I’d come up with some story if someone asked.

  I’d forgotten that there was something more shocking about us than dirt, burns, and old, mostly washed-out bloodstains.

  “Hey, you can’t bring a dog in here!” The triage nurse took three quick strides to us and met my eyes . . . and she stumbled to a halt. “Ms. Thompson? Is that a werewolf?”

  “Where is Adam Hauptman?”

  But a roar from the emergency room told me all I needed to know.

  “Whose bright idea was it to bring him here?” I muttered, running for the double doors between the waiting room and the emergency room, Ben and Sam flanking me.

  “Not me,” Ben said, sounding a little more cheerful. I think he’d been worried about what we’d find, too. “I am absolved of guilt. I was in the trailer getting toasty-warm when they sent him here.”

  A gray werewolf whose fur darkened around his muzzle stood in the aisle between the patient rooms and the central counter, his change so recent that I could still see the muscles of his back realigning themselves.

  He was missing large patches of fur where his skin was blackened and had bubbled up like wax. All four of his feet were hideously burnt, the singed skin a horrible imitation of the black fur that usually covered them. The curtain from the room was caught over his tail.

  I stopped just inside the doors, assessing the situation.

  Jody, the nurse I’d talked to the night of Samuel’s accident, was standing very still—and someone had coached her on how to behave around werewolves, because her eyes were fixed on the floor. But even from where I stood, I could smell her fear, an appetite-rousing scent for any werewolf. Mary Jo crouched in front of Adam, one hand resting on the floor, her head bowed in submission—and her tough athletic body, so fragile-appearing next to the wolf, was directly between the bystanders and her Alpha.

  I glanced down at Sam, but apparently he’d fed enough on the dead fae that his attention was all on Adam, though he stayed next to me. Ben waited on my other side, holding himself very still, as if he was trying really hard not to attract Adam’s attention.

  In other circumstances I wouldn’t have been as worried. Werewolves tend to lose their human halves when badly injured, but they can be recalled to themselves by a mate or by a more dominant wolf. Samuel was more dominant than Adam, and I was Adam’s mate. Either of us should have been able to bring him back.

  Unfortunately, Samuel wasn’t himself this evening and Adam had fried our mate bond in his panic when he thought I was trapped in the trailer. I didn’t know what that meant in terms of how he would respond to me. He lowered his head and took a step forward, and my time to dither ran out.

  “Adam,” I said.

  His whole body froze.

  “Adam?” I stepped away from Ben and Sam. “Adam, it’s all right. These are the good guys. They’re trying to help—you’ve been hurt.”

  I’m fast, and I have good reflexes, and I didn’t even see him move. He pinned me back against the doorframe, rising on his poor burnt hind legs until his face and mine were at the same height. The scent of smoke and burning things wrapped around us as his hot breath touched my cheeks. He inhaled, and his whole body began shaking.

  He’d really thought I was dead.

  “I’m okay,” I murmured while I closed my eyes and tilted my chin to expose my throat. “I wasn’t in the trailer when it blew.”

  His nose brushed from my jaw to my collarbone and he let out a low, wheezing cough that seemed to go on forever. When it was finally over, he laid his head on my shoulder and began to change.

  It would be safer for everyone if he were human, which was probably why he’d done it. But he’d just been badly hurt—and only just completed a change from human to wolf. To attempt to reverse the shift within minutes was miserably difficult. That he chose to do it anyway made it obvious to me that he was in very bad shape.

  He’d never have started changing while he was touching me if he’d been fully aware. The change is agonizing enough in itself; skin-on-skin contact makes it even worse. Add to that his awkward position and the pain Adam was already in because of his burns, and I didn’t know what would happen. I slid slowly down the wall, bringing him with me as his skin stretched and the bones moved. Watching a wolf change is not a beautiful thing.

  I put my palms flat on the floor, so as not to give in to the temptation to touch him. As much as my head knew more skin contact was the last thing he needed, my body was curiously convinced that I could alleviate the agony of the change.

  I looked up at Ben and jerked my chin toward the nurse . . . and the doctor who’d pulled the curtain back to join the fuss out front. Ben gave me a “why me?” look. In return, I glanced at Adam—obviously incapacitated—and then Sam, who was a wolf.

  Ben looked up at the sky, invoking God’s pity, I supposed. He trudged over, hands cradled in front of his body, to solve the problems he could. I caught Mary Jo’s eye and interrupted a look directed at me . . . such a look. As soon as she realized I was looking at her, her face cleared. I couldn’t interpret the emotion I’d seen, just that it was very strong.

  “Anybody hurt?” asked Ben. When he extends himself beyond his usual nasty personality, people tend to find Ben reassuring. I think it’s the nifty British accent and composed appearance—and even with the burns and the charred clothing, he looked somehow more civilized than anyone else.

  “No,” said the doctor, whose name tag read REX FOURNIER, MD. He looked to be in his late forties. “I surprised him when I opened the curtains.” And then in a spirit of fairness seldom seen in terrified people, he said, “He was pretty careful not to hurt anyone, just knocked me aside. If I hadn’t stumbled over the stool, I’d have kept my feet.”

  “He was unconscious when I left,” Mary Jo told Ben, half-apologetically. “I came out to see if I could find someone to help him—we’d been here for a while. I didn’t realize I’d been away long enough for him to change.”

  “Not so long,” I said. “I saw the ambulance pass us. You can’t have been here more than a half hour, and it takes about half of that for him to complete the change. Whose bright idea was it to bring Adam to the hospital in his condition anyway?”

  It had been Mary Jo’s. I could see it in her face.

  “All he needed was the dead flesh peeled off,” she said.

  A really, really painful procedure—and no painkillers work on werewolves for long. It was such a bad idea that we all stared at her, all of us who knew, anyway—Ben, Sam, and I. Adam was preoccupied with his change.

  “I didn’t realize how bad it was,” she defended herself. “I thought it was just his hands. I didn’t see his feet until we were already in the ambulance on the way over here. If it had just been his hands, it would have been okay.”

  Maybe. Probably.

  “I thought you and Samuel were dead,” she said. “And that left it my problem as the pack medic. And as medic and as my Alpha’s loyal follower, I deemed the hospital the safer option.”

  She’d just l
ied.

  Not about Adam being safer at the hospital than home. With the recent upheavals, she was probably right that a badly wounded Adam wasn’t safe with the pack in his condition. They’d tear him apart and apologize and maybe even feel bad afterward. But that first statement . . .

  Maybe she thought we were too overwrought to notice—and Ben was sometimes not as aware of subtle cues as some of the other wolves. But maybe Mary Jo didn’t realize that I could tell when she was lying as well as any of the wolves could have.

  “You knew we weren’t in the house,” I said slowly. And then the light dawned about what that meant. “Did Adam send you out to keep watch over me while he met with the others? Did you see us leave?”

  She had. It was in her face—and she didn’t bother denying it. She might be able to lie to the humans in this room, but not to the rest of us.

  “Why didn’t you tell him?” asked Ben. “Why didn’t you stop him before he went into the fire?”

  “Answer him,” I said.

  She met my eyes for a long count of three before finally dropping them. “I was supposed to follow you if you left. Make sure you didn’t get hurt. But you see, I think everyone would be better off if one of the vampires had killed you.”

  “So you chose to defy Adam’s orders because you disagreed with him,” said Ben. “He picked you to watch Mercy because he trusted you to take care of business while he dealt with the pack—and you betrayed that trust.”

  I was grateful that Ben kept talking.

  Mary Jo was one of the people in Adam’s pack I’d thought was my friend. Not because a debt the fae owed me had kept her from dying a little while ago . . . I suspected that had been a mixed blessing, like most fairy gifts. But we’d spent a lot of hours in each other’s company because Adam liked to use her as a guard when he felt I needed one.

  Mary Jo wanted me dead. That was what that look had been about.

  It was such a shock that I might have missed her answer to Ben’s question if she hadn’t sounded so defensive.