Silver Borne (Mercy Thompson #5)(52)
Author: Patricia Briggs

"There are only three females in this pack," said Darryl. I don’t think he forgot about me so much as he really meant three women werewolves instead of females in general. "That is typical for all packs. Most werewolves die before they have spent a decade as a wolf, but for women who are wolves, that life span is almost doubled because they do not fight men for dominance. And still they are so few. You are too precious to us to allow you to risk so much."

It took me a while to realize he wasn’t talking to the whole pack, but to his mate.

Auriele crossed her arms. "That makes sense in a species where women are important to survival. But we aren’t. We cannot have children – and so are no more valuable to the pack than anyone else."

It had the ring of an old argument.

"I vote no," said Darryl, snapping his teeth as he spoke.

"I vote yes," responded Auriele coolly.

"Damn it," said Warren. "Y’all are going to throw me in the middle of a marital spat on top of everything else?"

"Up to you," Auriele said grimly.

"Hell," said Warren, "if this ain’t a whole can of worms, I don’t know what is. Mary Jo?"

"Yes?"

"You sure about this, darlin’?"

It felt as if the whole pack drew a breath.

"This is my fault," she told him. "That Adam got hurt, that the pack has been in an upheaval. I didn’t cause it all, but I didn’t stop it either. I think it’s time I make suitable reparations, don’t you? Try to fix the damage?"

Warren stared at her, and I saw the wolf come and go in his eye. "All right. All right. You go fight him, Mary Jo – and you damn well better win. You hear me?"

She nodded. "I’ll do my best."

"You do better than that," he said grimly.

"Mary Jo." Paul’s voice was plaintive. "I don’t want to hurt you, woman."

She kicked off her shoes and started pulling off her socks. "Do you yield?" she asked him, while she stood on one foot.

He stared at her, his body tight with growing anger. "I stuck my neck out for you," he said.

She nodded. "Yes. And I was wrong to ask you to." She tossed her second sock aside and looked at him. "But Henry used both of us to ruin our pack. Are you going to let him get away with it?"

It was very quiet in the garage. I’m not sure anyone was even breathing. Henry’s name had been a shock. Heads turned toward Henry, who was leaning against the wall between the garage doors, as far as he could get from Adam’s side of the mat.

Paul looked at him, too. For a moment, I thought it was going to work.

"Are you going to let some girl lead you around by your tail like I did?" Henry said, sounding miserable. "She wants Adam, and she’s willing to throw both of us away to get him." It was a masterful performance, and Paul bought it – hook, line, and sinker.

"The hell with you, then," Paul said to her. "The hell with you, Mary Jo. I accept your challenge." He looked at Adam. "You’ll have to wait. I guess I’ll eat my dessert first."

And he strode to the far end of the mat, next to Henry. Mary Jo walked up to where Adam was standing.

"Reparations accepted," he said. "You remember he fights with his heart and not his head."

"And he moves slower to the left than the right," she agreed.

Adam left her. As he walked across the white mat, he left little traces of blood wherever his foot hit. Blood was better than yellow pus, right?

"Good job," he murmured when he came up to me. "Thank you. I couldn’t tell if you could hear me or not."

Warren yielded Adam his place between Jesse and me, moving around Jesse so he could still help her if he was needed. Sam moved around to my side and lay down on the cement with a sigh.

"See if you congratulate me when she’s lying dead," I said, very quietly. I’d have told him about her ribs, but I was afraid that the wrong person would hear, and Paul would find out. Henry knew, of course . . . but somehow I didn’t think he would tell Paul that he’d broken Mary Jo’s ribs. Paul wouldn’t understand – and Henry was smart enough to know that.

Mary Jo adopted Adam’s horse stance and faced Paul, whose back was to her.

"Challenge given and accepted," Darryl said. "Fight to the death with the winner having the option to accept a yield."

"Agreed," said Mary Jo.

"Yes," said Paul.

Mary Jo was faster, and she was a better-trained fighter. But when she hit, she didn’t hit as hard. If Paul had been nearer to her size instead of four inches over six feet, she’d have had a good chance. But he had over a foot of height, which translated into reach. I’d remembered from his fight with Warren that he was surprisingly fast for such big man.

Eventually, he landed a fist on her shoulder that put her down like she’d been hammered.

"Yield," he said.

She stuck her feet between his and knocked them apart. Then she rolled like a monkey between his spread legs, elbowing him in the kidneys as she rose behind him. A second kick behind the knee almost had him on the ground, but he recovered.

"Yield like hell," she gritted, when she was a few body lengths from him.

"Quit being easy on her," said Darryl heavily. "This is a fight to the death, Paul. She will kill you if she can. If you accepted her challenge, you have to give her the respect of fighting her honestly."

"Right," said Adam.

Paul snarled soundlessly, and stepped back to the edge of the ring, raising both arms to a high block position, his feet perpendicular to each other, hands loosely fisted, deliberately inviting a strike to the torso.

Trouble with baiting a trap like that was that if Mary Jo handled it right, she might be able to turn it into a very big mistake. I grabbed hold of Adam’s arm and tried not to dig in my fingernails. He was tense beside me, muttering, "Watch out, watch out. He’s faster than he looks."

Mary Jo went slowly left, then right, and Paul turned easily to face her. She shifted her weight to the right – but with a blur of speed, she broke left and moved to the attack, dropping into a long, low lunge that looked almost like something a fencer might use, her fist blurring as hip and shoulder rotated into line, driving it forward like a lance. It was a perfect strike, delivered with superhuman speed.

Paul rotated smoothly as her fist flashed through empty air, just grazing his stomach. He brought both fists down like hammers on her unprotected back, driving her flat to the ground with a sound like distant thunder. Next to me Adam grunted, as if he felt the impact of Paul’s fists himself.