Sam wasn’t Samuel, I thought. In the normal course of things Samuel would have kept that challenge from happening. I wondered if Paul or Henry had realized that. Probably not.
“My fault,” I said.
“No.” I’d left Mary Jo in Jesse’s room, but she must have followed me down. “Not your fault,” Mary Jo said. “Maybe Warren or Darryl could have stopped Paul, but Henry was very careful to make sure they weren’t there.” She gave me an inscrutable look that would have done credit to Darryl, inscrutable but not overtly hostile. “They wouldn’t have thought Samuel would interfere. They think of him as a lone wolf, not as Adam’s friend.”
The look, I realized, was to let me know that she wouldn’t tell them about Samuel unless I did.
“Henry?” Darryl was shocked into dropping his anger. “Henry?”
Mary Jo lifted her chin. “He planned it.” She looked at me, then away. “He wants Adam dead and is using Paul . . . used me, too, in order to accomplish it.”
“Is that what they told you?” Henry himself came into the kitchen. He was a compact man, a little taller than me, with a quick smile and hazel eyes that could look either gray or gold rather than the more usual brown and green. He wore his hair in a conservative cut and almost certainly shaved with a regular razor rather than an electric because an electric never produces quite the same well-groomed look. “Mary Jo—”
“Inconvenient,” I murmured. “Not being able to lie to another werewolf.”
If Mary Jo hadn’t stepped in front of me, he’d have hit me. She took the hit for me and it knocked her into the center island. The granite top broke loose under the impact and slid—Jesse caught the granite slab before it overbalanced and fell on the floor, shoving it back on its base. If he’d hit me that hard, I wouldn’t have gotten up the way Mary Jo did—and she was holding her ribs.
Auriele stepped in front of Henry when he would have gone to her. Her lips peeled back. “¡Hijo de perra!” she said, her voice alive with anger.
Henry flushed, so the insult hit home. Calling someone a son of a dog is a good insult among werewolves.
“Hijo de Chihuahua,” said Mary Jo.
Auriele shook her head. “Darryl kept saying that it couldn’t be Paul behind the unrest we’ve been having for the last couple of years. No one would listen to Paul. We knew he was right, but no one else fit. I would have suspected Peter before I suspected you.”
Peter was the lone submissive wolf in the pack. It was inconceivable that a submissive wolf would play power games. If Auriele was right, this had started long before the disastrous bowling-alley incident.
“How long have you known that Mary Jo would have dropped you like a hot potato for Adam?” I asked.
He snarled something rude.
“You have no common sense whatsoever,” said Auriele. I assume she was talking to me, so I answered her.
“He’s not going to do anything with you between us,” I told her. “He’s smart enough to be afraid of you.”
“Since I was killed for certain,” said Mary Jo, answering the question I’d asked Henry. “Isn’t that right? The first time I regained consciousness. You kissed my forehead, and I called you by Adam’s name. But it sounds like you had a pretty good idea about it even earlier.”
“Get out of here,” said Darryl, his voice low with anger. “Get out of this house, Henry. When you come back to see this fight, you come in from the outside door. And you’d better hope Adam wins this fight, or I’ll wipe the ground with you so hard they won’t need a box to bury you in. All they’ll need is a mop.”
Henry flushed, went white, then flushed again. He left the room without a word. The outside door opened and slammed shut.
Ben strolled in, looking grim, Sam right behind him.
“Where’s Henry going in such a hurry? Darryl, good—I was looking for you. I just got through talking to Warren downstairs. Have you heard . . . ?” His voice trailed off when he saw Jesse standing there. He took a good look at all of us. “I see you have.”
Darryl stiffened. “Samuel?” His voice was soft.
“He’s been like this a couple of days,” offered Ben. “So far, so good. It’s a long story, and you can hear it later: we’re due in the garage in five.”
11
THE ONLY REASON THE GARAGE WASN’T PACKED WITH werewolves was that there hadn’t been enough time for the word to go around.
Instead of thirty or so, we only had eighteen, not including Sam, who wasn’t pack. But I had to keep looking around and counting because there seemed to be fewer people than my count showed. Most dominance fights, like boxing or wrestling matches, are full of jostling, cheering, jeering, and betting. This one was eerily silent, and only one person was moving.
Paul jogged in place on one side of the padded floor, stopping every ten or fifteen seconds to stretch or do a little shadowboxing. He was a tall man with blond hair and a short red beard. His skin was the kind that is usual for redheads, pale and freckled. The excitement of the impending fight left him flushed. Like Adam, he wore only a pair of gi pants.
There is no tradition that dictates dominance fights have to be done in human form. It is common, though, because it makes the challenge more about skill and strength. When you are armed with fangs and claws, a lucky hit can take out a more skilled opponent.
On the far side of the mats from Paul, Adam stood in horse stance, head bowed, eyes closed, and shoulders relaxed. All signs of pain were gone from his face, but he hadn’t been able to eliminate the pain-caused stiffness in the time that he’d walked from the house to the mat. Even if he had, only an idiot would look at the broken scabs on his feet and hands and not understand that he was in trouble.
As Alpha, even as badly hurt as he had been, he really should have been healing faster than this. Granted that werewolves, even the same werewolf, will heal wounds at different rates depending upon a number of things. He might have been hurt worse than he’d shown us, or the trouble he’d been having with his pack could be interfering with his ability to heal. I tried not to look worried.
Jesse and I had the equivalent of ringside seats at the edge of the mat on the side where Adam stood—traditional for the family of the Alpha, but not smart when neither of us could reasonably defend ourselves if the fight rolled off the mats. Sam stood beside Jesse, and Warren stood between us, presumably to keep the combatants from hurting us.
Adam wasn’t wearing a watch, but at exactly nine thirty by the clock on the wall, he raised his head, opened his eyes, and nodded at Darryl.
Wolves aren’t much given to long speech-making. Darryl strode from the sidelines to the center of the mat. “Paul has chosen today to challenge our Alpha,” he announced baldly. His lips twisted as he said, “He eschewed the formality of running the challenge by the Marrok.”
No one murmured or looked surprised. They all knew what Paul had done.
There was the bare chance that the Marrok would look at the mess the pack was in and allow that Paul had no choice but to challenge. The chance that the Marrok wouldn’t kill Paul would have been slightly greater if Adam hadn’t been hurt already. But Paul probably thought that he was in the right and that he could convince the Marrok of the same thing.
I suppose anything is possible. I don’t think Paul understood just how unlikely that was. He’d never, to my knowledge, actually met the Marrok. Henry, who had, probably told Paul that it would be all right. People like Henry are good at getting others to believe them.
Darryl looked around the audience. “My job is to see that you stay off the mats. I am willing to ensure that this is a fair fight with your life. Are we clear?”
“Excuse me,” said Mary Jo’s voice.
She was just this side of five feet tall so I didn’t see her until she stepped onto the mat in front of Darryl.
“I call challenge on Paul,” she said.
And then there was noise, a great howl of noise as the whole garage full of werewolves objected—women don’t fight in ch
allenge fights.
Darryl raised his hand and quiet spread reluctantly.
“I’m within three of his rank,” she said. Her eyes were properly on Darryl’s feet, though her face was turned to him. “It is within my right to challenge him for the right to fight the Alpha.”
I stared at her. This was not something I’d have expected of the Mary Jo who had allowed the fae to set fire to my house while she was supposed to be standing guard.
“You’re not within three ranks,” growled Darryl.
She held up her hand. “Paul,” she said. Then she held up one finger “Henry.” Another finger. “George and me.”
She was right. That was where I’d have put her, too.
“You are an unmated woman,” Darryl said. “That puts your rank at the bottom. Alec is after George.”
“Alec,” she called, not taking her attention away from Darryl. “Who is more dominant, you or me?”
Alec stepped around the other wolves and looked from her to Paul. I could see the answer he wanted to make, and Darryl started to relax. Adam, I noticed, was watching Mary Jo with surprised respect.
Alec opened his mouth, then hesitated. “You all could tell if I lied,” he said. He raised up both his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Mary Jo.” He looked Darryl in the eye, and said, “Mary Jo outranks me.”
And chaos reigned. Paul stuck his head in Darryl’s face and raved. He was one of the very few people in the pack tall enough to stand eye to eye with Darryl. If there hadn’t been so much noise, I’d have been able to hear what he said—but I could guess. Paul liked Mary Jo. He didn’t want to kill her.
Mary Jo stood there; like Adam, she was an island of quiet in the uproar. She was small, but every ounce of weight she had was muscle. She was tough as boot leather, quick, and agile. I wasn’t as certain as Paul was that she’d lose—I wouldn’t want to fight against her. If she won, she could yield to Adam. If she decided to fight—and I didn’t think she would—she’d be coming into the challenge tired and possibly hurt.
Then I remembered the way Henry had thrown her into the island in the kitchen. She had either broken or cracked her ribs when she hit. Though I couldn’t see it in the way she was moving, there had not been enough time for her to heal. No one healed that fast unless they were an Alpha with a full moon outside.
“Enough,” roared Warren suddenly, his voice ringing out over the hubbub like a shot fired in a crowd.
Darryl turned to Mary Jo, and said, “No.”
“Not your call to make,” she informed him. “Adam?”
“I have a problem,” he said. “Justice demands that I must step away from this determination because I am more than a little vested in the decision. In the name of justice, then, let it fall to the next three in rank—Mercy, Darryl, and Auriele.”
He looked at me.
I know what I wanted to say. Auriele was likely to agree with Mary Jo—and we’d already heard what Darryl’s viewpoint was. Even if Mary Jo lost, it would help Adam. I looked at the wolves and saw a lot of resentful faces—they had done the math as well, and they were very unhappy with me being a part of the decision.
Then I saw some wiggle room.
“It seems to me that there is another problem,” I said. “If we agree that Mary Jo can fight because she ranks within three people of Paul. I submit that Paul does not stand within three people of Adam.” Like Mary Jo, I held up my hand. “Adam, then me.” I held up a finger. “Darryl—and Auriele, then Warren.”
“Then Honey,” said Warren with a little smile. “Then Paul.”
Paul snarled. “He has already accepted my challenge. That presupposes I have the right.”
I looked at Adam.
“Nice try,” he told me. “But I agree with Paul.”
“And the official code of conduct,” said Ben grumpily, “which I had to damn well memorize before I was allowed in the pack, says challenge within quote three men unquote. The important word being ‘men.’ ”
“So Mary Jo can’t fight,” said Paul with a relieved grin. “She’s not a man.”
“So Mary Jo’s claim is still valid,” I pointed out. “She’s within three men of your rank. Does the code of conduct say that the challenger has to be a man?” Kyle told me that one of the secrets of being a lawyer was never to ask a witness a question you didn’t know the answer to. I knew what it said, but it would sound better coming from someone else.
“No,” said Ben.
I’d done all I could do. Adam’s silent urging pushing me, I looked at Mary Jo, and said, “Like Adam, I have too much of a stake in this.”
“Mercy,” whispered Jesse fiercely. “What are you doing?” I patted the hand she’d locked on my wrist.
“Darryl, Auriele, and Warren will decide this, then,” said Adam.
Because my mate bond with Adam was sort of functioning again, I knew he believed that if I’d been part of the decision, it would have just become another point of contention. Another stupid thing that allowing a coyote into a pack of wolves had accomplished—instead of what it should be, a recognition of Mary Jo’s right to challenge regardless of her sex. I figured he was right.
“There are only three females in this pack,” said Darryl. I don’t think he forgot about me so much as he really meant three women werewolves instead of females in general. “That is typical for all packs. Most werewolves die before they have spent a decade as a wolf, but for women who are wolves, that life span is almost doubled because they do not fight men for dominance. And still they are so few. You are too precious to us to allow you to risk so much.”
It took me a while to realize he wasn’t talking to the whole pack, but to his mate.
Auriele crossed her arms. “That makes sense in a species where women are important to survival. But we aren’t. We cannot have children—and so are no more valuable to the pack than anyone else.”
It had the ring of an old argument.
“I vote no,” said Darryl, snapping his teeth as he spoke.
“I vote yes,” responded Auriele coolly.
“Damn it,” said Warren. “Y’all are going to throw me in the middle of a marital spat on top of everything else?”
“Up to you,” Auriele said grimly.
“Hell,” said Warren, “if this ain’t a whole can of worms, I don’t know what is. Mary Jo?”
“Yes?”
“You sure about this, darlin’?”
It felt as if the whole pack drew a breath.
“This is my fault,” she told him. “That Adam got hurt, that the pack has been in an upheaval. I didn’t cause it all, but I didn’t stop it either. I think it’s time I make suitable reparations, don’t you? Try to fix the damage?”
Warren stared at her, and I saw the wolf come and go in his eye. “All right. All right. You go fight him, Mary Jo—and you damn well better win. You hear me?”
She nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
“You do better than that,” he said grimly.
“Mary Jo.” Paul’s voice was plaintive. “I don’t want to hurt you, woman.”
She kicked off her shoes and started pulling off her socks. “Do you yield?” she asked him, while she stood on one foot.
He stared at her, his body tight with growing anger. “I stuck my neck out for you,” he said.
She nodded. “Yes. And I was wrong to ask you to.” She tossed her second sock aside and looked at him. “But Henry used both of us to ruin our pack. Are you going to let him get away with it?”
It was very quiet in the garage. I’m not sure anyone was even breathing. Henry’s name had been a shock. Heads turned toward Henry, who was leaning against the wall between the garage doors, as far as he could get from Adam’s side of the mat.
Paul looked at him, too. For a moment, I thought it was going to work.
“Are you going to let some girl lead you around by your tail like I did?” Henry said, sounding miserable. “She wants Adam, and she’s willing to t
hrow both of us away to get him.” It was a masterful performance, and Paul bought it—hook, line, and sinker.
“The hell with you, then,” Paul said to her. “The hell with you, Mary Jo. I accept your challenge.” He looked at Adam. “You’ll have to wait. I guess I’ll eat my dessert first.”
And he strode to the far end of the mat, next to Henry. Mary Jo walked up to where Adam was standing.
“Reparations accepted,” he said. “You remember he fights with his heart and not his head.”
“And he moves slower to the left than the right,” she agreed.
Adam left her. As he walked across the white mat, he left little traces of blood wherever his foot hit. Blood was better than yellow pus, right?
“Good job,” he murmured when he came up to me. “Thank you. I couldn’t tell if you could hear me or not.”
Warren yielded Adam his place between Jesse and me, moving around Jesse so he could still help her if he was needed. Sam moved around to my side and lay down on the cement with a sigh.
“See if you congratulate me when she’s lying dead,” I said, very quietly. I’d have told him about her ribs, but I was afraid that the wrong person would hear, and Paul would find out. Henry knew, of course . . . but somehow I didn’t think he would tell Paul that he’d broken Mary Jo’s ribs. Paul wouldn’t understand—and Henry was smart enough to know that.
Mary Jo adopted Adam’s horse stance and faced Paul, whose back was to her.
“Challenge given and accepted,” Darryl said. “Fight to the death with the winner having the option to accept a yield.”
“Agreed,” said Mary Jo.
“Yes,” said Paul.
Mary Jo was faster, and she was a better-trained fighter. But when she hit, she didn’t hit as hard. If Paul had been nearer to her size instead of four inches over six feet, she’d have had a good chance. But he had over a foot of height, which translated into reach. I’d remembered from his fight with Warren that he was surprisingly fast for such big man.
Eventually, he landed a fist on her shoulder that put her down like she’d been hammered.
Patricia Briggs Mercy Thompson: Hopcross Jilly Page 136