Bone Crossed (Mercy Thompson #4)(48)
Author: Patricia Briggs

"Call him," Bernard said.

Fine. It couldn’t be that difficult, or Stefan would have told me more about how to do that. I hoped. Stefan? I thought as hard as I could. Stefan!

If I’d thought he’d be in any danger, I’d never have tried it, but I was pretty sure that Bernard, like Estelle, was going to try to recruit Stefan for his side in the civil war Marsilia had brewing in her seethe.

He wouldn’t try anything right away, and after the way Stefan had dealt with Estelle, I wasn’t worried about Bernard as long as the element of surprise wasn’t a factor.

Bernard was wearing jeans, running shoes, and a semicasual button-front shirt – and he still looked like a nineteenth-century businessman. Even though his shoes had a glow-in-the-dark swoosh on them, he wasn’t someone who would blend in with the crowd.

"I’m sorry you’re so stubborn," he said. But before he could get the gun up for a final, painful-if-not-fatal shot, Stefan appeared from… somewhere and jerked the gun out of his hands. He swung it by the barrel into a rock, then handed the not-so-useful remains back to Bernard.

I waded out of the water and shook off over both of them – but neither reacted.

"What do you want?" asked Stefan coolly. I padded over to him and sat at his feet. He looked down at me and before Bernard could answer his first question, he said, "I smell blood. Did he hurt you?"

I opened my mouth and gave him a laughing look. I knew from experience that the couple of birdshot in my backside weren’t deep, probably not even deep enough that they would need to be dug out – fur has many advantages. I wasn’t all that happy about it, but Stefan didn’t have a wolf’s understanding about body language. So I told him I was fine in a way he couldn’t mistake – and my rump hurt when I wagged my tail.

He gave me a look that might, under other circumstances, have been doubtful. "Fine," he said, then looked over at Bernard, who was twirling the broken shotgun.

"Oh," said Bernard. "Is it my turn? You’re through coddling your pretty new slave? Marsilia was certain that you were so fond of your last flock that you wouldn’t have the stomach to replace them soon."

Stefan was very still. So angry he had even stopped breathing.

Bernard braced the shotgun on the ground and gripped it one-handed, butt up – leaning on it as if it were one of those short canes that Fred Astaire used to dance with.

"You should have heard them screaming your name," he said. "Oh, I forgot, you did."

He braced himself for an attack that never came. Instead, Stefan folded his arms and relaxed. He even started breathing again, for which I was grateful.

Have you ever sat around while someone held their breath? For a while it doesn’t bother you, but eventually you start holding your breath with them, willing them to breathe. It’s one of those automatic reflexes. Fortunately, the only vampire I associate with much likes to talk – so he breathes.

I sat at his side, trying to look harmless and cheerful – but looking around for more vampires. There was one in the trees; she’d let herself be silhouetted briefly against the sky. There was no way to communicate what I’d seen to Stefan as there would have been with Adam. He’d have read the tilt of my head and the paw on his foot. Bernard’s verbal attack hadn’t had quite the effect he’d expected… or at least been ready for. But that didn’t seem to faze him. He smiled, showing his fangs. "She had only you left," he told Stefan. "Wulfe’s been ours for months, and so was Andre. But he was afraid of you, so he wouldn’t let us do anything." There was a world of frustration in the last two words, and he jerked up the gun, threw it casually over his shoulder, and began pacing.

For the first time, he looked to me like what he was. Somehow, before, he’d always looked like an extra from a Dickens movie – someone full of pomp and circumstance and nothing more. Now, in motion, he looked like a predator, the Edwardian facade nothing but a thin skin to hide what was beneath.

Estelle had always unnerved me, but I discovered I hadn’t been afraid of Bernard until just then. Stefan stayed silent while Bernard ranted. "He was worse than Marsilia, in the end. He brought that thing… that uncontrollable abomination among us." He paused and stared at me. I dropped my eyes immediately, but I could feel his attention burning into my skin. "It is good your sheep killed it, though Marsilia couldn’t see it. It would have brought upon us our doom – and she did us the second favor by killing Andre."

He stopped speaking for a moment, but his eyes were still on me, digging through fur to see me. It was uncomfortable and scary.

" We would let her live – and if Marsilia has her way, she is dead – just like your last flock." Bernard waited for that to sink in. "Marsilia has minions who work in the day… Hell. With the crossed bones on your coyote’s business proclaiming her a traitor to all of us, how long do you think she’ll survive? Goblins, harriers, the carrion feeders – there are a lot of Marsilia’s allies who hunt in the day."

"She is the Alpha’s mate. The wolves will keep her safe when I cannot."

Bernard laughed. "There are some of them who would kill her faster than Marsilia ever would. A coyote? Please." His voice softened. "You know she will die. If Marsilia wanted to kill her for slaying Andre, how do you think she’ll feel now that you’ve taken the coyote for your own? She doesn’t want you, but our Mistress has ever been jealous. And you protected this one for years when you should have told us all that there was a walker living among us. You took chances for her – what would have happened if another vampire had noticed what she was? Marsilia knows you care for her, more than you ever did the sheep you fed off. Eventually, Mercedes will die, and it will be your fault."

Stefan flinched at that. I didn’t need to look at his face to see it, because I felt him jerk against me.

"You need Marsilia to die, or Mercy will," Bernard said. "Whom do you love, Soldier? The one who saved you or the one who abandoned you? Whom do you serve?"

He waited, and so did I.

"She was a fool to let you go alive," Bernard murmured. "There were two others she trusted with the place she sleeps. Andre is dead. But you know, don’t you? And you rise a full hour before she does. You can keep this from being a bloody battle with many casualties. Who will die? Lily, our gifted musician, almost certainly. Estelle hates her, you know – she is talented and beautiful when Estelle is neither. And Marsilia loves her dearly. Lily will die." Then he smiled. "I’d kill her myself, but I know that you care for her, too. You could protect her from Estelle, Stefan."

And he went on naming names. Lesser vampires, I thought, but people Stefan cared for.