Moon Called (Mercy Thompson #1)(30)
Author: Patricia Briggs

"Feeling sorry for himself," snapped Samuel.

Bran put a hand on Samuel’s arm, but spoke to me. "Carter’s case is tragic and unusual. Usually when a wolf lives through the Change but doesn’t survive his first year, it is because the human cannot control the instincts of the wolf."

"I thought it was always a matter of control," I told Bran.

He nodded his head, "It is. But in Carter’s case it is not a lack of self-control, it is too much."

"He doesn’t want to be a werewolf," said Samuel. "He doesn’t want to feel the fire of the killing instinct or the power of the chase." For a moment the sun caught Samuel’s eyes, and they glittered. "He’s a healer, not a taker of life."

Ah, I thought, that rankled, didn’t it, Dr. Samuel Cornick? Samuel hadn’t been given to in-depth talks-although that might have been as much a function of my age as his inclination-but, I remembered that he had trouble, sometimes, because his instinct to heal was not as strong as his instinct to kill. He told me that he always made certain to eat well before performing any kind of surgery. Did he think that Dr. Wallace was the better man for choosing not to live with that conflict?

"Unless Carter allows the wolf to become part of him, he can’t control it." Bran’s mouth turned down. "He’s dangerous, and he gets more dangerous every moon, Mercy. But all it would take was for him to compromise his damn hardheaded morals just once, so he can accept what he is and he’d be fine. But if it doesn’t happen soon, it won’t happen at all. I can’t let him see another full moon."

"Gerry’s the one who talked him into Changing," said Samuel, sounding tired. "He knows that the time is coming when someone is going to have to deal with Carter. If he’s here, it will be his duty-and he can’t handle that."

"I’ll take care of it," said Bran, taking a deep breath. "I’ve done it before." He moved the hand on Samuel’s arm to his shoulder. "Not everyone is as strong as you, my son." There was a world of shared sorrow in his words and in his posture-and I remembered the three of Samuel’s children who hadn’t survived the Change.

"Get in the van, Mercy," said Samuel. "You’re shivering."

Bran put his hands on my shoulders and kissed me on the forehead, then ruined it by saying, "Let the boys take care of this, eh, Mercedes?"

"Sure thing," I said, stepping away from him. "Take care, Bran."

I stalked around the front of the bus. The only reason I wasn’t muttering under my breath was because the werewolves would all hear what I was saying.

I started the van-it protested because of the cold, but not too much. I let it warm up while Bran said a few last words to Samuel.

"How well does Bran know you?" asked Adam quietly. The noise of the engine and the radio would most likely keep the others from hearing us.

"Not very well if he thinks that I’ll leave things to you and Samuel," I muttered.

"That’s what I was hoping," he said, with enough satisfaction that I jerked around to look at him. He smiled tiredly. "Samuel’s good, Mercy. But he doesn’t know Jesse, doesn’t care about her. I’m not going to be good for much for a while: I need you for Jesse’s sake."

The passenger door opened and Samuel pulled himself up into the seat and shut the door.

"Da means well," Sam told me, as I started backing out, proving that he knew me better than his father did. "He’s used to dealing with people who listen when he tells them something. Mercy, he’s right, though. You aren’t up to dealing with werewolf business."

"Seems to me that she’s been dealing just fine," Adam said mildly. "She killed two of them in as many days and came out of it without a scratch."

"Luck," said Samuel.

"Is it?" In my rearview mirror, I saw Adam close his eyes as he finished in almost a whisper. "Maybe so. When I was in the army, we kept lucky soldiers where they would do us the most good."

"Adam wants me to help find Jesse," I told Samuel, putting my foot on the gas as we left Aspen Creek behind us.

The conversation went downhill from there. Adam dropped out after a few pointed comments, and sat back to enjoy the fireworks. I didn’t remember arguing with Samuel much before, but I wasn’t a love-struck sixteen year-old anymore either.

After I pointedly quit talking to him, Samuel unbuckled his seat belt and slipped between the front seats to go back and sit next to Adam.

"Never argue with Mercy about something she cares about," Adam advised, obviously having enjoyed himself hugely. "Even if she stops arguing with you, she’ll just do whatever she wants anyway."

"Shut up and eat something," growled Samuel, sounding not at all like his usual self. I heard him lift the lid on a small cooler and the sweet-iron smell of blood filled the van.

"Mmm," said Adam without enthusiasm. "Raw steak."

But he ate it, then slept. After a while Samuel came back to the front and belted himself in.

"I don’t remember you being so stubborn," he said.

"Maybe I wasn’t," I agreed. "Or maybe you didn’t used to try to order me around. I’m not a member of your pack or Bran’s pack. I’m not a werewolf. You have no right to dictate to me as if I were."

He grunted, and we drove a while more in silence.

Finally, he said, "Have you had lunch?"

I shook my head. "I thought I’d stop in Sandpoint. It’s grown since last time I drove through there."

"Tourists," said Samuel in disgust. "Every year there are more and more people." I wondered if he was remembering what it had been like when he’d first been there.

We stopped and got enough fried chicken to feed a Little League team-or two werewolves, with a little left over for me. Adam ate again with restrained ferocity. Healing was energy-draining work, and he needed all the protein he could get.

When he was finished, and we were back on the road, with Samuel once again in the front, I finally asked, "What happened the night you were attacked? I know you’ve told Bran and probably Samuel, too, already-but I’d like to know."

Adam wiped his fingers carefully on the damp towelette that had come with our chicken-apparently he didn’t think it was finger-lick’n good. "I’d pulled the pack in to introduce Mac, and to tell them about your adventures with his captors."

I nodded.

"About fifteen minutes after the last of them left, about three-thirty in the morning, someone knocked on the door. Mac had just managed to regain his human form, and he jumped up to answer the door." There was a pause, and I adjusted the rearview mirror so I could see Adam’s face, but I couldn’t read his expression.