River Marked (Mercy Thompson #6)(42)
Author: Patricia Briggs

"This," said Gordon, "is nothing so benign as a werewolf or a grizzly bear."

Fred, kneeling on the ground next to his hog- tied brother, frowned suddenly at Gordon. "I thought you’d come with them"–he tipped his head toward the trailer, so he meant Adam and me –"until you named yourself Calvin’s grandfather. But Calvin Seeker’s father’s father is dead. I know his mother’s father. How is it you are his grandfather?"

Gordon smiled, the gap in front making him look as harmless as I was suddenly certain he wasn’t. "I’m an old man," he told Fred. "How should I remember this?"

"I’ll vouch for Gordon," said Jim, though he didn’t sound enthusiastic or certain of it. "And so will Calvin. I think we ought to get Hank to the hospital, where they can check him. He doesn’t seem to be tracking very well."

"I hit him pretty hard," I said, almost apologetically, which was as good as I could do, given that he’d shot Adam. "I didn’t realize I’d grabbed my walking stick and not just some random stick until afterward."

"Understandable," said Fred unexpectedly. "My wife would take a baseball bat to someone who shot me."

"Has," said Jim. "I remember. It was Hank that time, too, wasn’t it?"

"He didn’t mean to," said Fred. "It was in Iraq– Desert Storm. I startled him on sentry-go, and he shot me. Meant I beat him back by a month. He showed up at my house to see how I was, and my Molly chased him around the front yard with my boy’s bat until she got him in the backside. Good thing it was a plastic bat, or Hank wouldn’t be walking now."

THEY LEFT. JIM, FRED, AND HANK TOOK JIM’S TRUCK with Hank bound and laid out as comfortably as possible in the truck bed, with his brother to steady him. I rode up with them to let them out, and by the time I got back, Adam was alone. He was standing up–I think because if he sat down, he was worried he couldn’t get up again.

"Food," I told him. But he shook his head. "No. Shower. Then food. After I eat, I’ll want to sleep. Can’t safely sleep covered in blood and risk the wolf waking up without me and panicking him."

He was worried that he’d be weak enough when he slept that he couldn’t control his wolf. For the wolf, all the blood would be all it took to wake up defensive and ready to fight. He had a point–the dark hid the worst of it, but there was no denying that he and I were covered in his blood.

"Okay," I said, and ran into the trailer to grab clean clothes and towels. I got back out and made him get in the truck because "I can’t carry you if you go down hard." He didn’t argue much, which showed me how badly he was hurting.

We showered together in the men’s room, because that was the direction he headed and, well, there was no one else in the campground, so what did it matter which side we went in? The men’s room was done in browns rather than greens, but it had the same huge shower stalls with big showerheads. By the end of the shower, he was leaning on me pretty heavily.

"Maybe I should have just washed up with a wet cloth and changed clothes," he admitted.

The mark on his chest, where Gordon had opened a path to the bullet, was a dark, angry red, but it would heal as soon as the rest of the damage did. Shift to wolf, food, and sleep would see him right.

"Mercy," he said. "I’ll be okay."

I controlled myself because he had enough to worry about without me setting his wolf off. "Sorry. I know you will." I growled a little, not seriously, just enough so he knew I wasn’t happy. "I don’t like it that you are hurt. I like it even less that it could have been worse."

"Good." He lifted his head into the water. "I’ll try to make sure that you always feel that way. My mother used to threaten to shoot my father."

He could barely stand up, and he was making jokes.

I nipped his shoulder. "I can see why she might feel the urge. Tell you what. If you make me mad enough to aim a gun at you–I’ll aim for right between your eyes."

"So I won’t feel it?" he asked.

I nipped him again, but gently, just a scrape of my teeth. "No. So the bullet will just bounce off your hard head."

He laughed. "Birds of a feather, Mercy."

If Hank had loaded his gun with silver, I might never have heard that laugh again.

Two years ago, silver bullets meant someone had to make them–I’d made my share. After the wolves had come out, suddenly people could buy silver bullets at Wal-Mart. Cops were unhappy about it because silver works pretty slick as an armor-piercing round, but without legislation, anyone who wanted to spend thirty dollars on a bullet could get one. Hank had known what Adam was, and still his gun had been loaded with lead. To me that indicated that he hadn’t been planning on shooting Adam–or else he was really broke and couldn’t afford the thirty bucks.

Another question occurred to me. Why had he shot Adam instead of Fred, Jim, Gordon, or me?

Assuming he was under the control of the river devil or whatever it was, maybe he or it or they together had decided that the werewolf was the greatest threat. I could understand that reasoning at least as far as Fred and I were concerned. Who would worry about a hawk and a coyote when there was a werewolf in the party? Yo-yo Girl’s premonition indicated that Adam was important. Maybe the river devil knew why that was.

I propped Adam against the shower-stall wall and dried him as quickly as I could. I kept a wary eye on him while I did the same to myself and dressed.

"You could shift now," I suggested.

He shook his head. "Not until I eat. The wolf is riled up. Can’t protect you, and there’s danger around. Too easy to hurt you when I’m like that."

I snorted inelegantly. "Me, fragile? You’ve got the wrong woman. I don’t break; I bounce. Besides, we’re mates, remember? Your wolf won’t hurt me."

"Not always true," he grunted, as I helped him into a pair of sweatpants. "Ask Bran. Not going to risk it."

"Fine," I said. "Let’s get you back to the truck," I said.

"Shirt," he insisted.

"No one is going to see that mark and know you’ve been wounded." I didn’t say that no one would have to as badly as Adam was staggering. Willpower was all well and good, but there were limits. "Anyway, there’s no one here to see you but me."

"Shirt," he insisted.

Arguing was taking up energy neither of us had to spare. So I grabbed the button-up shirt I’d brought and helped him into it. The Italian silk shirt looked a little odd paired with the sweatpants, but who was going to look?

Back at the trailer, he sat at the little table and ate with a ferocious and silent intensity. I gave him the last of the hamburger and the thawed steaks before going to work on the frozen stuff. Happily, there was a microwave in the Trailer of Wonders. When I’d finished slicing the frozen meat, I watched the speed with which he was eating and knew it wouldn’t be enough.