River Marked (Mercy Thompson #6)(41)
Author: Patricia Briggs

"Werewolves do," I said–and remembered that one of the side effects of rapid healing was an even larger than usual need for food. Adam needed to eat meat–lots of it, the rawer the better. He was holding on to his control, which couldn’t be easy, with his wound exposed to all of these possibly hostile strangers. Alpha wolves can’t afford that kind of weakness. He hid his pain well, but they all knew he’d been shot and they could see the blood.

"I’ll get some food," I told him.

"No," Adam said, holding on to my arm before I could go. "Not yet. We’ll get this meeting over with first."

He didn’t want to betray any more weakness among these people. I supposed I could understand it, but it didn’t make me happy. But he was Alpha, and I was his mate. I’d argue with him in private . . . Okay, who was I kidding? I’d argue with him in front of the pack. But not in front of strangers. Not when he was hurt, anyway.

He glanced at the others, who were mostly working on restraining Hank with Jim’s rope. Gordon had gone over to supervise the others.

Adam raised his good hand to me, and said quietly, "Give me a hand up."

I did, and tried not to show how much strength it required to get him on his feet. He walked–only a little stiffly–to the picnic table and leaned a hip on it. Apparently, he was satisfied with the job Fred was doing because he didn’t say anything until Fred had finished hog-tying his brother.

It is difficult to tie up a person so he can’t escape. When I was about ten, a whole bunch of us kids in Aspen Creek, inspired by some movie or other, spent a whole month tying one another up at recess with jump ropes until Bran came and put a stop to it. He probably wouldn’t have bothered if we hadn’t left Jem Goodnight tied to the swing set after the bell rang. We felt pretty justified because Jem told us that no girl could tie him up in such a way that he couldn’t get out of it. "Girls," he’d pronounced, "can’t tie knots."

It had taken us three recesses to get it right, but after a half hour of working on it, it had taken Bran’s knife to finally free Jem. I could tie knots, girl or no. Bryan, who’d once been a sailor on the tall ships with sails, had worked with me since I first tied my own shoes.

Adam’s phone rang, and he glanced at the screen before he answered it. With a grimace he opened it, and said, "I’m fine, Darryl. Just a misunderstanding." Pack bonds could be a nuisance sometimes, like when Adam had been shot and didn’t want the pack to come running.

"You’re hurt," said Darryl’s voice, and I think the only person who didn’t hear him was Jim.

"It’s minor."

"Felt like you got shot," Darryl said dryly. "I know what a bullet feels like. You had a misunderstanding on your honeymoon that resulted in your getting shot? We could be there in a couple of hours."

"It was a misunderstanding," growled Adam, speaking slower, as if that would make Darryl more compliant. "Stay where you are. I’ll call you in if I need you."

There was a pause. "Let me talk to Mercy."

"Who is Alpha?" Adam’s voice was a low threat.

"You are," I told him, and snatched the phone out of his hand. "But this is payback for your making poor Darryl watch out for me when you were in D.C. Hey, Darryl. He got shot with a .38 in the shoulder, lead. We’re not sure exactly what’s going on right now other than the excitement is over for the night. If we need you, we’ll call you. Right now, that’s looking like it might not be a really good idea."

"Boss man is okay?"

"Grumpy," which was shorthand for hurt, which I wouldn’t say, and Darryl would understand that. Wolves never admit how badly they’re hurt. "But he’s okay. We are safe and not in need of rescue."

"Good enough. I’m keeping the bags packed in case something changes." "How’s Jesse?" I asked. "Has she been throwing parties and living wild?" Jesse made a good change of topic because both Adam and Darryl relaxed as soon as Darryl responded.

"She dyed her hair orange, and it has these glittering purple strings in it," he said, sounding moderately aghast and intrigued at the same time. "I figured since she does it when Adam is in charge, he wouldn’t kill me. Does she know that too much dyeing could make her hair turn green?"

I snorted. "Her hair was green. Did you miss it?"

"I forgot," he said. "Maybe not having kids is a good idea after all. Tell the boss all is okay here."

"Will do," I said. "Good night."

I handed the phone back to the wolf who was my mate. "They’ll stay home."

He put his phone away without a word, but I could see his dimple peeking out. Jesse’s disconcerting the intellectual and physical giant who was Adam’s second was pretty funny to think about.

"Sorry," Adam said to the others. "Urgent business, unless you want to be neck-deep in werewolves."

"He knew you were hurt?" Fred asked.

"He’s pack," Adam told him. Then, maybe to forestall questions about things Bran didn’t want the public to know about werewolves, he continued briskly, "Here’s what we need to figure out about whatever is in the river. How much harm is this creature doing? We don’t really have a lot of data to go on other than a lot of scary talk about monsters. As the sole representative of monsters here, it is my . . . obligation to make certain we are looking at this with a balanced perspective. I am sorry that Benny’s sister was killed and Benny injured. However, people are injured by"–he hesitated–"bear attacks, too. Just because something is dangerous does not make it evil. Was it defending its territory? Are we correct that it is a single beast? How intelligent is it? Can we bargain to keep people safe? Should we kill the last or near last of its kind because it has killed a woman and hurt her brother? Is there a way to salvage this situation with no more deaths?"

When you are a werewolf, I thought, it’s a little hard to point at another predator, and shout, "It’s a scary monster, kill it! Kill it!" I rubbed my calf though it wasn’t itching at the moment.

Hank’s eyes were open, but he didn’t say anything or look at anyone. Instead, he stared at the river with such intensity that I shivered.

"I have a friend in River Patrol," said Fred. "I can find out how many casualties there have been in the river." He looked at Gordon. "Is there any story about how someone is freed from this mark?"

Gordon shook his head. "I do not know. But I will ask around." He looked at Adam. "It is not something you can bargain with, Mr. Hauptman. It is Hunger."

"I’m a werewolf," Adam told him. "People would have said that about me a century ago, too."