Moon Called (Mercy Thompson #1)(37)
Author: Patricia Briggs

"I’ve never seen that it bothered him," I said. "He bends over backwards to keep you happy. Seems to me that you might give him a little something back."

"It’s forbidden," Samuel said, but he sounded sad. "He can’t tell him."

"What do you think Kyle’d do," I said indignantly. "Tell everyone that Warren’s a werewolf? Not Kyle. He didn’t get where he is by shooting off his mouth-and he’s not the kind of person to betray anyone. He’s a lawyer; he’s good at keeping secrets. Besides, he’s got too much pride to allow himself to be just another tabloid headline."

"It’s all right, Mercy." Warren patted me on my head. "He hasn’t left me yet."

"He will if you have to keep lying to him," I said.

The two werewolves just looked at me. Warren loved Kyle, and he was going to lose him because someone had decided you had to be married before you told your spouse what you were-as if that wasn’t a recipe for disaster.

I was pretty certain Kyle loved Warren, too. Why else would he live at Warren’s when he had a huge, modern, air-conditioned monstrosity with a swimming pool? And Warren was going to throw it all away.

"I’m going for a walk," I announced, having had enough of werewolves for one day. "I’ll come back when Zee calls."

I wasn’t as civilized as Kyle. I slammed the door behind me and started off down the sidewalk. I was so mad, I almost walked right past Kyle who was just sitting in his Jag, staring straight ahead.

Before I could think better of it, I opened the passenger door and slid in.

"Take us to Howard Amon Park," I said.

Kyle gave me a look, but his lawyer face was on, so I couldn’t tell what he thought, though my nose gave me all sorts of information on what he was feeling: angry, hurt, and discouraged.

What I was about to do was dangerous, no question. It wasn’t just a werewolf’s obligation to obey his Alpha that kept Warren’s mouth shut. If Kyle did start telling everyone about werewolves, he would be silenced. And like me or not, if Adam or Bran found out I was the one who told him, they’d silence me, too.

Did I know Kyle well enough to trust him with our lives?

The Jag slid through the sparse Wednesday-after-work traffic like a tiger through the jungle. Neither Kyle’s driving, nor his face, gave any sign of the anger that had raised his pulse rate, or the pain that fueled his anger-but I could smell them.

He pulled into Howard Amon near the south end and parked the car in one of the empty spaces. There were a lot of empty parking slots: November is not a time when most people decide to head to a river park.

"It’s cold," he said. "We could talk in the car."

"No," I said, and got out. He was right, it was chilly. The wind was mild that day, but the Columbia added moisture to the air. I shivered in my cocoa-stained T-shirt-or maybe with nerves. I was going to do this and hope I wasn’t wrong about Kyle.

He opened the trunk of his car and pulled a light jacket out and put it on. He took out a trench coat, too, and handed it to me.

"Put this on before you turn blue," he said.

I wrapped myself in his coat and in the smell of expensive cologne. We were much of a size, so his coat fit me.

"I like it," I told him. "I need to get one of these."

He smiled, but his eyes were tired.

"Let’s walk," I said, and tucked my arm in his, leading him past empty playground equipment and onto the path that ran along the river.

Warren was right, I thought. Having Kyle know he was a monster might not help matters between them at all-but I had the feeling that today would be the final straw if someone didn’t clue Kyle in.

"Do you love Warren?" I asked. "Not the good sex and great company kind of love. I mean the I’ll-follow-you-to-death-and-beyond kind."

It made me feel better that he paused before he answered. "My sister Ally is the only one of my family I still talk to. I told her about Warren a few months ago. I hadn’t realized, until she mentioned it, that I’d never told her about any of my other lovers."

He put his hand over mine where it rested on his arm, warming it. "My parents denied what I was for years. When I finally confronted them about it after my mother set me up with yet another young woman with a good pedigree, my father disinherited me. My sister Ally called as soon as she heard-but, after that first conversation, we avoid talking about my being g*y. When I talk to her, I feel as if I have a scarlet letter sewn on my chest, and we are both trying to pretend it’s not there." He gave a bitter, angry laugh that changed subtly at the end. When he spoke again his voice was subdued. "Ally told me to bring him to visit." He looked at me and shared what that invitation meant to him.

We’d set out at a fast pace, and the park had narrowed to a strip of lawn on either side of the path. The riverbank exchanged its well-groomed look for a more natural growth of bushes and winter-yellowed, knee-high grass. There was a metal porch-type swing set on the top of a rise, set to look out over the river. I tugged him to it and sat down.

It was so important to get this right. Now that the time had come, I was afraid I’d ruin everything.

Swinging lazily, we watched the water flow past us, almost black in the growing shadows of the overcast sky. After a moment he rubbed his face briskly to warm it-and to wipe away incipient tears.

"God," he said, and I flinched. I’m not a vampire, who can’t bear to hear His name, but I don’t like it used in vain. When he continued, though, I thought perhaps it hadn’t been in vain at all.

"I love him." It sounded as though the words were ripped from his throat. "But he won’t let me in. People call in the middle of the night, and he leaves without telling me where he’s going."

A lone bicyclist, wearing the skintight uniform of the die-hard enthusiast, appeared from the way we’d come. He passed us in a blur of spokes and Superman blue lycra.

"Nice legs," said Kyle.

It was an old game. Kyle and I comparing notes on men while Warren pretended exasperation.

I leaned my head against Kyle’s shoulder. "Too small. I don’t like it when I outweigh my men."

Kyle leaned back until he was looking at the sky rather than the river. "When we were in Seattle last month, he drove away a group of drunken, redneck g*y-bashers, just scared them off with a few words. But that Darryl treats him like… like dirt, and Warren just puts up with it. I don’t understand. And this stuff tonight…" He sucked air in to steel himself. "Is he involved with drug dealers?"

I shook my head quickly. "No. Nothing illegal." Not yet anyway.

"Is he a fae, then?" he asked, as if it wouldn’t bother him much.