From Dead to Worse (Sookie Stackhouse #8)(35)
Author: Charlaine Harris

"They’re going to celebrate their victory and the ascension of a new packmaster," she said.

The skinny girl clenched her hands together and brought them down on the skull of a fallen – but still twitching – enemy. The bones broke with a nasty crunch. All around me the defeated Weres were being executed, at least those who were severely wounded. A small cluster of three scrambled to kneel in front of Alcide, their heads tilted back. Two of them were women. One was an adolescent male. They were offering Alcide their throats in surrender. Alcide was very excited. All over. I remembered the way Patrick Furnan had celebrated when he got the packmaster job. I didn’t know if Alcide was going to f**k the hostages or kill them. I took in my breath to exclaim. I don’t know what I would’ve said, but Sam’s grimy hand clapped over my mouth. I rolled my eyes to glare at him, both angry and agitated, and he shook his head vehemently. He held my gaze for a long moment to make sure I would stay silent, and then he removed his hand. He put his arm around my waist and turned me abruptly away from the scene. Claudine took the rear guard as Sam marched me rapidly away. I kept my eyes forward.

I tried not to listen to the noises.

Chapter 10

Sam had some extra clothes in his truck, and he pulled them on matter-of-factly. Claudine said, "I have to get back to bed," as if she’d been awoken to let the cat out or go to the bathroom, and then pop! she was gone.

"I’ll drive," I offered, because Sam was wounded.

He handed me his keys.

We started out in silence. It was an effort to remember the route to get back to the interstate to return to Bon Temps because I was still shocked on several different levels.

"That’s a normal reaction to battle," Sam said. "The surge of lust."

I carefully didn’t look at Sam’s lap to see if he was having his own surge. "Yeah, I know that. I’ve been in a few fights now. A few too many."

"Plus, Alcide did ascend to the packmaster position." Another reason to feel "happy."

"But he did this whole battle thing because Maria-Star died." So he should have been too depressed to think about celebrating the death of his enemy, was my point.

"He did this whole battle thing because he was threatened," Sam said. "It’s really stupid of Alcide and Furnan that they didn’t sit down and talk before it came to this point. They could have figured out what was happening much earlier. If you hadn’t persuaded them, they’d still be getting picked off and they’d have started an all-out war. They’d have done most of Priscilla Hebert’s work for her."

I was sick of the Weres, their aggression and stubbornness. "Sam, you went through all of this because of me. I feel terrible about that. I would have died if it wasn’t for you. I owe you big-time. And I’m so sorry."

"Keeping you alive," Sam said, "is important to me." He closed his eyes and slept the rest of the way back to his trailer. He limped up the steps unaided, and his door shut firmly. Feeling a little forlorn and not a little depressed, I got in my own car and drove home, wondering how to fit what had happened that night into the rest of my life.

Amelia and Pam were sitting in the kitchen. Amelia had made some tea, and Pam was working on a piece of embroidery. Her hands flew as the needle pierced the fabric, and I didn’t know what was most astonishing: her skill or her choice of pastimes.

"What have you and Sam been up to?" Amelia asked with a big smile. "You look like you’ve been rode hard and put away wet."

Then she looked more closely and said, "What happened, Sookie?"

Even Pam put down her embroidery and gave me her most serious face. "You smell," she said. "You smell of blood and war."

I looked down at myself and registered what a mess I was. My clothes were bloody, torn, and dirty, and my leg ached. It was first aid time, and I couldn’t have had better care from Nurse Amelia and Nurse Pam. Pam was a little excited by the wound, but she restrained herself like a good vampire. I knew she’d tell Eric everything, but I just couldn’t find it in me to care. Amelia said a healing spell over my leg. Healing wasn’t her strongest suit, she told me modestly, but the spell helped a bit. My leg did stop throbbing.

"Aren’t you worried?" Amelia asked. "This is from a Were. What if you caught it?"

"It’s harder to catch than almost any communicable disease," I said, since I’d asked almost every werecreature I’d met about the chances of their condition being transmitted by bite. After all, they have doctors, too. And researchers. "Most people have to be bitten several times, all over their body, to get it, and even then it’s not for sure." It’s not like the flu or the common cold. Plus, if you cleaned the wound soon afterward, your chances dropped considerably even from that. I’d poured a bottle of water over my leg before I’d gotten in the car. "So I’m not worried, but I am sore, and I think I might have a scar."

"Eric won’t be happy," Pam said with an anticipatory smile. "You endangered yourself because of the Weres. You know he holds them in low esteem."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I said, not caring one little bit. "He can go fly a kite."

Pam brightened. "I’ll tell him that," she said.

"Why do you like to tease him so much?" I asked, realizing I was almost sluggish with weariness.

"I’ve never had this much ammunition to tease him with," she answered, and then she and Amelia were out of my room, and I was blessedly alone and in my own bed and alive, and then I was asleep.

The shower I took the next morning was a sublime experience. In the list of Great Showers I’ve Had, this one ranked at least number 4. (The best shower was the one I’d shared with Eric, and I couldn’t even think of that one without shivering all over.) I scoured myself clean. My leg looked good, and though I was even more sore from pulling muscles I didn’t use too much, I felt a disaster had been averted and that evil had been vanquished, at least in a gray sort of way.

As I stood under the pounding hot water, rinsing my hair, I thought about Priscilla Hebert. In my brief glimpse into her world, she’d been at least trying to find a place for her disenfranchised pack, and she’d done the research to find a weak area where she could establish a foothold. Maybe if she’d come to Patrick Furnan as a supplicant, he would have been glad to give a home to her pack. But he would never have surrendered leadership. He’d killed Jackson Herveaux to attain it, so he sure wouldn’t have agreed to any kind of co-op arrangement with Priscilla – even if wolf society would permit that, which was doubtful, especially given her status as a rare female packleader.