Mercy Thompson 8: Night Broken

by Patricia Briggs

  He looked at Kyle, his eyes narrowed in a way that told me his head was still hurting. “However, the real reason I went to prison was because a few months before I woke up in front of the police station, I slept with the wife of the man who was later my state-appointed lawyer. I didn’t know that he knew I slept with his wife until after I was serving my sentence, when another of his clients was happy to tell me.” Gary closed his eyes. “That the car we stole was a police car didn’t help.”

  Gary laughed, winced, then said, “The funny part is that I had not had a drink of alcohol since I went on a five-day bender in 1917 and woke up to find I’d volunteered for the army.” He smiled and moved his arm back over his eyes. “It’s not safe, you see, to get drunk when Coyote might be watching.”

  “He’s telling the truth,” I said, after it became obvious that Gary was through talking.

  “And you escaped because you knew that we were about to get hit with some kind of volcano god when we were expecting Mr. Flores the stalker,” Kyle said.

  Gary grunted. “I didn’t know about Mr. Flores. All I knew was that Mercy was trying to get an artifact back from Coyote. But then somehow this volcano manitou was going to kill someone, and it was connected to Mercy.” He looked at me and then away. “And Mercy was my sister.”

  Kyle rubbed his face, drew in a breath, and looked at the curtain covering the window. Then he said, with a sigh, “Plausible deniability, eh?”

  “If you didn’t know Gary had escaped from prison, you couldn’t be held responsible,” I said. “Warren was pretty mad at us for putting you into a situation that could hurt you like that. Adam told him that he’d take care of you and see that you wouldn’t get hurt.”

  “And if you go with the pack to deal with Guayota,” Kyle said to Gary, “Warren survives.”

  Gary shook his head very slowly, like it hurt. “Not how it works. All I know is that if I don’t go, they all die. Maybe if I go, we all of us die much more horribly than they would have otherwise.” He moved his arm so he could see Kyle’s face and grimaced. “Yes. I recognize that expression. Anyone who deals with Coyote wears that expression eventually. And no, I don’t know why my going makes a difference.”

  Kyle stretched his neck to relieve tension and gave a miserable half laugh. “I suppose if Warren’s possible death makes me feel like this, I should give him the benefit of the doubt, right?”

  “People make mistakes,” I said. “Even people we love.”

  “Hell of it is, I’m not sure where the mistake was,” said Kyle.

  “Not killing Coyote the first time I saw him,” said Gary. “Not that he’d have stayed dead, but I think the experience might have made the rest of my life more bearable.”

  “Kyle,” I said. “I love you like a brother. Go out and make up with Warren before he heads out to try to get himself killed.”

  Christy made dinner with Lucia’s and Darryl’s help: baked herb-and-flour-encrusted stuffed chicken. I ate it and had seconds. It was very good—and right now I was too scared to be jealous.

  Honey didn’t have a table big enough to seat the whole pack—and Adam had called the whole pack together. Samuel and Ariana showed up toward the end of dinner.

  Elizaveta could have made a spell to make one werewolf resistant to Guayota’s elemental fire magic—her term, not mine—but she would have needed a piece of his hair or fingernails. If I’d stuck Guayota’s finger in my pocket, she could have used that, but I didn’t think we’d have much luck getting it back from the police.

  Ariana said she could help. With fireproofing, not finger-stealing.

  We all settled down in the big upstairs room to see what she had to offer. She and Samuel stood in front of the big-screen TV.

  Dr. Samuel Cornick was tall, compelling but not handsome, and when I was sixteen, I’d thought he was the love of my life. He’d thought I was someone who might be able to give him children that lived. It was a relationship that was doomed to make neither of us happy, and his father, the Marrok, had seen it before we’d fully committed tragedy and so had sent me away. For a long time, I’d compared every man I met to Samuel—Adam was the only one who had stood up to the comparison.

  Samuel’s mate, Ariana, stood in his shadow. Where he drew the eye, even in a crowded room, she could go unnoticed. Her hair was blond, her eyes gray, her skin clear, and her entire aspect unremarkable. But that was a fae thing. Being too beautiful or too ugly made someone interesting, and mostly, the fae would rather go unnoticed. I’d seen what she really looked like under her glamour, and she was spectacularly beautiful.

  “Okay,” she said when everyone was in the room. She held Samuel’s hand with white-knuckled strength because she was afraid of us, all of us. To say she had a canine phobia was a masterly understatement. “I command earth, air, fire, and water—though not as well as I once did. That I command fire means that I can protect you, some of you, from this demon-god. I don’t know how many I can spell. I think it unlikely that I can do more than ten, but probably at least five. Adam, you should pick the ones you need to take with you in order of the most useful in battle.”

  Adam nodded and stood up, but before he could speak, Samuel said, “I’m going, and she’s already tried out the spell on me.”

  Adam gave him a look.

  “This is not my pack,” Samuel said to Adam’s unspoken comment. “But Mercy is part of my family by my choice, and that makes you, by extension, my brother by marriage. I’m going. You don’t get a choice.”

  So the fear I’d seen in Ariana’s eyes hadn’t just been because she was in a roomful of werewolves.

  Adam said, “I would not have asked, but I’m very glad to have you on our side.”

  Then he looked around the room, his gaze touching each of us as he spoke. “Guayota is our enemy. He is not our enemy because he hurt one of our own, though he has. He is not our enemy because he violates our territory, though that is also true. He is not our enemy because he attacked my mate. He is not even our enemy because he is evil. He is our enemy because he kills those who cannot protect themselves against him. Because he will not stop until someone stops him.”

  He paused and took a deep breath. “I have seen him fight—and so have you. I am not sure this is a fight we can win. But there is one thing I do know, and that is that we will not, we cannot, wait around until he kills another innocent. We might die fighting him, but if we do not try and stop him, we are already defeated.”

  The room was silent and at the same time it echoed with the power of his words.

  He looked at Darryl. “We don’t always see things the same way, but you have always put the pack first and foremost. I have fought Guayota, and I tell you that without Tad’s help, he would have defeated me. Ariana can make us invulnerable to his heat—but you saw the video. I don’t know that he can be killed, or if he can, how it might be done. I have spoken to Bran, and if we fail here tonight, then he will send Charles. But Guayota invaded my territory. This is my fight. You should also know that Ariana told me what she could and could not do, and I’ve had time to think. Darryl, I need you to protect the pack if this fight doesn’t go well.”

  He looked around at the whole room, and we were all silent, even Lucia, Jesse, and Christy, who were not pack, even Darryl, who wanted to protest. We were silent because he wanted us to be so, and he was the Alpha. His eyes lingered on mine, and if there was grief in them, I think it was only our mating bond that let me see it. He didn’t think he was going to survive this—or he’d have taken Darryl with him.

  “I will take the walker Gary Laughingdog, who brings a prophecy that he must come,” Adam said into the silence. “Then myself. The rest of you are volunteers. Feel free to say no because the estimate that Ariana gave me was six wolves. If you would rather not die tonight, or rather wait until another night, there is no shame. Warren?”

  Warren drawled his “Yes, boss” without hesitation.

  The wolves stirred and began to howl. Emerging from human thro
ats, it was not as pure or carrying as it would have been out of the wolves, but the emotion was the same. There was respect and a celebration of his bravery in accepting and in the honor of being chosen to fight beside his Alpha.

  It took Warren entirely by surprise. He grabbed Kyle’s hand and held on as his eyes brightened with tears that threatened to spill over.

  Warren had spent most of his very long life alone, when wolves are meant to live in packs. I’d first met him while he worked at a gas station near here. I’d introduced him to Adam—who I resented at the time but couldn’t help but respect. As Gary had said, Adam was what an Alpha should be, and I’d known it. Adam had welcomed Warren into the pack, but the pack had taken him in with mixed feelings.

  Their support told him that there were no mixed feelings left. Not at this moment.

  When the howl faded, Adam said, “Honey?”

  There was another stir in the pack; this time it was more shock than approval. Women didn’t fight, not in traditional packs. Honey was now unmated, which should have left her rank at the lowest of the pack, even below Zack, our new submissive. But Honey wasn’t a submissive wolf, not even close.

  Honey didn’t need their approval. She raised her chin, looked at me—because Adam’s call had as much to do with me as it did with the pack. She’d resented it when I had refused to leave the traditional relegation of women alone. She’d liked that being married to Peter meant she was low-ranking.

  She gave first me, then Warren, for whom she’d always had a soft spot, a savage smile. “Yes, boss,” she said.

  Me. I thought hard at Adam—and I knew he heard me. Pick me. If everyone who goes is going to die anyway, why not pick me?

  I need you to survive, he answered me without speaking, without looking at me. I need to know you survive.

  I need you to survive, too, I thought, but I tried not to send it to him. There was a faint chance he’d listen—and what if one werewolf instead of a coyote made a difference? What if I was the reason he died? So I kept silent.

  “I’m sorry,” said Christy suddenly, before Adam could name anyone else.

  Adam gave her a tender look that she didn’t deserve. God help us and keep us from receiving what we deserve—it was a favorite saying of my foster father, Bryan.

  “It’s not your fault, Christy,” Adam said. “It is just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  She got up from the couch where she was sitting next to Auriele. “No. Not that, Adam. I’m sorry that I wasn’t strong enough to live your life. I left you—you would never have left me.” She looked at me and looked away. The tears on her face weren’t crocodile tears, they were the real, unattractive thing complete with runny nose. She still was beautiful. “I’m glad I left, for your sake. You found someone who can stand beside you. I couldn’t live with what you are, but that’s my problem, not yours.” She looked down, then straight into his eyes. “I love you.”

  If she hadn’t done that last part, I would have kissed her—figuratively speaking—and cried friends. There are some things that honest, honorable people don’t do to the people they love. They don’t propose marriage on TV. They don’t bring home small cuddly animals without checking with their spouses first. And they don’t tell their ex-husband they love him in front of a crowd that includes their daughter and his current wife right before he goes off to almost certain death. It didn’t help that most of us could tell that she wasn’t lying.

  Adam said, “Thank you.” As if she’d given him a great gift. But he didn’t tell her what, exactly, he was thanking her for.

  She caught the ambiguity. She gave him a rueful smile and sat down. Auriele hugged her fiercely.

  I pulled my legs up and wrapped my arms around them.

  Maybe they won’t die, I thought. Maybe something Gary does keeps them from dying.

  All this time, since the first time he kissed me, I’d been worried about growing old, about leaving Adam alone. And it turned out that it was going to be the other way around.

  “Paul,” Adam said. Paul’s name wasn’t a surprise, not like Honey’s.

  Paul nodded, looked at Warren, shook his head, and said, “Yes, boss,” with graveyard humor. Paul had tried to kill Warren once because Warren was the wolf just above him in rank and because Warren was gay. Now he was going out to a battle that Adam didn’t think they would come back from, and he, like Honey, was telling Warren that he had his back. People can change.

  “George.”

  “Yes, boss,” said the quiet policeman.

  Maybe I should have kept the walking stick. It had worked against a vampire, against the river devil—surely the river devil had been as powerful—more powerful with its ability to remake the world—and it had been the walking stick that had brought it down.

  “Mary Jo?” he asked.

  “Fighting fires is what I do,” she told him. “Yes, boss.”

  Mary Jo loved my mate, too. She’d protect him if she could. I was glad that she was going. My grief was so huge that I had no room for jealousy.

  The walking stick … was made of wood and silver, and no matter how magical it was, wood was wood. I had no doubt that someone could throw it into a campfire and it would emerge unscathed, but a campfire was not a volcano. If the walking stick could do some great magic that would kill a fire elemental like Guayota, Coyote would have told me. I was pretty sure Coyote would have told me.

  “Alec?” I didn’t know Alec as well as I did some of the other wolves. He was a friend of Paul’s, and Paul didn’t like me much.

  Maybe Coyote would have told me if the walking stick could kill Guayota. He’d told me that mortal means could not harm the tibicenas when in their tibicena form. Did he mean that the walking stick might?

  “Yes, boss.”

  I was pretty sure that the walking stick had served Coyote’s purpose by showing me what lay within the tibicenas. If it would have been effective against them, he’d have told me—or couched it in some kind of riddle that I’d still be puzzling out when one of the tibicenas killed me.

  “That’s enough,” said Adam. “If Ariana has more magic when she has dealt with us, then I will call for more volunteers.”

  Because of her fear of the wolves, Ariana worked with them one at a time, in the kitchen. I thought Samuel was going to go with her, but he came and sat next to me instead.

  “We don’t have any idea on how to kill this thing,” Samuel said. “Ariana tells me that as far as she knows, the only way to kill a primitive elemental like Guayota would be to destroy his volcano, and even then, he would not die for centuries.”

  “El Teide is the third highest volcano in the world,” I told him, pressing my cheekbone into my knees. The burn reminded me that turning to my other cheek would have been smarter. “I think it’s a little beyond our capabilities. Killing the tibicenas, his two giant dogs, might do it. But you can only kill their mortal forms, when they look like mostly normal dogs instead of polar-bear-sized monsters. I suspect they are not going to be fighting werewolves in their mortal forms.”

  “Ariana would come with us,” he told me, “but she doesn’t have the power she once had, not even a tenth of it. And fire-dogs are too close to her nightmares; there is no guarantee that she wouldn’t do as much damage to us as she would to Guayota and his beasts.”

  “I’d come with you,” I said, “but Adam doesn’t want me to die, and for some reason, he seems to think that’s his decision to make.”

  Samuel hugged me. “Don’t mourn us until we’re dead,” he said.

  “I’ll spit on your graves,” I told him, and he laughed, the bastard.

  “Nice,” said Adam, crouching in front of me. “I had to watch you go up against the river devil.”

  “That sucked, too,” I told him without looking up from my knees. “But we had a plan that we thought might work.”

  “Based on a story,” he said roughly. “It wasn’t a plan; it was a suicide mission.”

  I looked up
and met his eyes. I didn’t say, So is this. He knew it; it was in his eyes.

  “Honey has made her suite available to us,” he said. “Will you come?”

  I unlocked my fingers from around my legs and rose out of Samuel’s embrace and went into Adam’s.

  “Yes, please,” I whispered.

  No one in the room spoke, but they watched us leave, knowing where we were going, and I didn’t care.

  Honey’s suite was a bedroom, office, and bathroom, all done in shades of cool gray. It surprised me until I remembered that this had been Peter’s room, too. The gray suited the man he’d been.

  We didn’t speak. All of the words had already been said. When he stripped my clothes off me, I noticed that Honey kept her house a little cooler than ours because I was cold—or maybe that was just fear.

  Naked, I took off Adam’s clothes and folded them as I set them down, as if taking care with his clothing might show him how much I longed to take care of him. Unusually, his body was slow to awaken, and so was mine—but that was okay because this was about saying good-bye. About impregnating my skin with his scent so that I would have him with me after he was gone. About remembering exactly—exactly—what the soft skin just to the side of his hip bone felt like under my fingertips and under my lips. It was about love and loss and the unbearable knowledge that this could be the last time. Was probably the last time.

  I could feel Ariana’s magic on him, and I hoped that it would be enough to keep him safe.

  He lay on his back on Honey’s bed and pulled me on top of him as he’d done the first time we’d made love. He let me touch him until his body was shuddering, and sweat rose on his forehead. He pulled my face up to his and kissed me tenderly despite the speed of his pulse.

  “My turn,” he whispered. I nodded, and he rolled me beneath him and returned the favor, seeking out his favorite places and the ones where I was most sensitive. He brought me to climax, then lay with his head on my stomach, his arms around me, catching his breath before he started to build the pace again.