Bone Crossed (13 page)

He looked at my feet. “You shouldn’t be out here barefoot,” he told the ground. Then he shut the car door, turned the key as he turned on the lights, and left.

“He meant thank you,” said Adam. “I’ll say it, too. I can think of a lot of things I’d rather do than try to defend Paul from Baba Yaga.”

“I should have let her have him,” I told Adam. “It would have made your life easier.”

He grinned, then stretched his neck. “This could have been a very, very bad night.”

I was looking over his shoulder at his SUV. “Would you settle for just a little bad? Your insurance doesn’t have an exception for snow elves, right?”

It had looked all right at first, then I thought it just had a flat tire. But now I could see the right rear tire was bent up at a forty-five-degree angle.

Adam pulled out his cell phone. “That doesn’t even register on my scale of bad tonight,” he told me. He put his free arm around my shoulder, pulling me against him as his daughter answered the phone. He wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“Hey, Jesse,” he said. “It’s been a wild night, and we need you to come pick us up at Uncle Mike’s.”

“SOME DATE,” ADAM MURMURED. IT DIDN’T MATTER HOW quiet he was; we both knew that most of the pack was inside his house listening to us as we stood on his back porch.

“No one could ever accuse you of being boring,” I said lightly.

He laughed with sober eyes. He’d scrubbed up in the bathroom at Uncle Mike’s and changed as soon as we’d made it back to his house. But I could still smell the blood on him.

“You need to see to Mary Jo,” I told him. “I need to go to bed.” She would survive, I thought. But she’d survive better with me at home and not disrupting the pack, who was forcing her to fight to live.

He hugged me for not saying all of that out loud. He lifted me to my toes—clad in a pair of Jesse’s flip-flops—and set me back down. “You go scrub your feet clean first so none of those cuts get infected. I’ll send Ben over to watch your house until Samuel is satisfied with Mary Jo’s condition and goes home.”

Adam watched from the porch as I walked home. I wasn’t halfway there when Ben caught up with me. I invited him in, but he shook his head.

“I’ll stay outside,” he said. “The night air keeps my head clear.”

I scrubbed my feet and dried them before I went to bed. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. But I woke up while the dark still held sway, knowing that there was someone in my room. Though I listened closely, I couldn’t hear anyone—so I was pretty sure it was Stefan.

I wasn’t worried. The vampires, except Stefan, wouldn’t have been able to cross the threshold of my home. Most anyone else would have woken Samuel.

The air told me nothing, which was odd—even Stefan had a scent. Restlessly, I rolled onto my side and right up against the walking stick, which had taken to sleeping with me every night. Mostly it gave me the creeps when it did that—walking sticks shouldn’t be able to move about on their own. But tonight the warm wood under my hand felt reassuring. I closed my hand around it.

“There’s no need for violence, Mercy.”

I must have jumped because I was on my feet, stick in hand, before it registered just whose voice I was hearing.

“Bran?”

And suddenly I could smell him, mint and musk that told me werewolf combined with the certain sweet saltiness that was his own scent.

“Don’t you have something more important to do?” I asked him, flipping on the light. “Like ruling the world or something?”

He didn’t move from his spot on the floor, leaning against a wall, except to put his forearm over his eyes as light flooded the room. “I came here last weekend,” he said. “But you were asleep, and I didn’t let them wake you up.”

I’d forgotten. In the hubbub of Baba Yaga, Mary Jo, the snow elf, and the vampires, I’d forgotten why he would have come to visit me personally. Suddenly I was suspicious of the arm he’d thrown over his eyes.

That Alphas are protective of their packs is an understatement—and Bran was the Marrok, the most Alpha wolf around. I might belong to Adam’s pack just now, but Bran had raised me.

“I already talked it all over with Mom,” I said defensively.

And Bran grinned hugely, his arm coming down to reveal hazel eyes, which looked almost green in the artificial light. “I bet you did. Are my Samuel and your Adam hovering over you and giving you a bad time?” His voice was full of (false) sympathy.

Bran is better than anyone I know, including the fae, at hiding what he is. He looked like a teenager—there was a rip in his jeans, just over the knee, and some ironic person had used a marker to draw an anarchy symbol just over his thigh. His hair was ruffled. He was perfectly capable of sitting around with an innocent smile on his face—and then ripping someone’s head off.

“You’re frowning at me,” he said. “Is it such a puzzle that I’m here?”

I dropped to the middle of the floor. It is uncomfortable for me to be in the same room for very long with Bran if my head is higher than his. Part of it is habit, and part of it is the magic that makes Bran the leader of all the wolves.

“Did someone call you about Adam bringing me into the pack?” I asked.

This time Bran laughed, his shoulders shaking, and I saw how tired he was.

“I’m glad I amuse you,” I told him grumpily.

Behind me the door opened, and Samuel said cheerily, “Is this a private party, or can anyone join?”

How cool was that? In one sentence, one word actually (party), Samuel told his father that we weren’t going to talk about Tim or why I’d killed him, and that I was going to be okay. Samuel was good at things like that.

“Come in,” I said. “How’s Mary Jo?”

Samuel sighed. “Da, let me tell you now. If I am dead, and a fae offers to heal me—I’d prefer you tell her no.” He looked at me. “I think she’ll be fine, eventually. But she’s not very happy right now. She’s dazed and shocky to an extent I’ve never seen before in a wolf. At least she’s not crying anymore. Adam finally forced her change, and that helped a lot. She’s sleeping with Paul, Alec, Honey, and few others on the monstrosity of a couch Adam keeps in the TV room in the basement.”

He gave his father a keen-eyed look, then sat on the floor beside me—and that was a message, too. He wasn’t between Bran and me, not precisely. But he could have sat beside Bran. “So what brings you here?”

Bran smiled at him, having seen the message Samuel wanted him to. “You don’t have to protect her from me,” he said softly. “We’ve all seen she does a pretty good job of protecting herself.”

With the wolves, there is always a lot more going on in a conversation than just the words. For instance, Bran had just told us that he’d seen the video, from the security camera, of me killing Tim ... and of everything else, too. And that he’d approved of my actions.

It shouldn’t have pleased me so much; I was no child. But Bran’s opinion still meant a lot.

“And yes,” he told me after a moment, “someone called me about Adam bringing you into the pack. Lots of someones. Let me tell you the answers to the questions I’ve been asked, and you can pass them on to Adam. No. I had no idea it was possible to bring someone who was not a werewolf into the pack. Especially you, upon whom magic can be unpredictable. No. Once done, only Adam or you can break those ties. If you want me to show you how, I will.” He paused.

I shook my head ... and then tempered it. “Not yet.”

Bran gave me an amused look under his eyebrows. “Fine. Just ask. And no, I’m not mad. Adam is Alpha of his pack. I do not see how anyone has been harmed by this.” Then he grinned, one of the rare smiles he had when he wasn’t acting, just genuinely amused. “Except maybe Adam. At least he doesn’t have a Porsche you can wrap around a tree.”

“That was a long time ago,” I said hotly. “I paid for that. And after you practically dared me to steal it, I don’t see why you were so angry about it.”

“Telling you not to take it out wasn’t daring you, Mercy,” Bran said patiently ... but there was something in his voice.

Was he lying?

“Yes, it was,” said Samuel. “And she’s right—you knew it.”

“So you didn’t have any reason to be so mad I wrecked the car,” I said, triumphantly.

Samuel laughed out loud. “You still haven’t figured it out, have you, Mercy? He never was mad about the car. He was the first one at the scene of the accident. He thought you’d killed yourself. We all did. That was a pretty spectacular wreck.”

I started to say something and found I couldn’t. The first thing I’d seen after hitting the tree was the Marrok’s snarling face. I’d never seen him that angry—and I’d done a lot, from time to time, to inspire his rage.

Samuel patted me on the back. “It’s not often I see you absolutely speechless.”

“So you had Charles teach me how to fix cars and how to drive them.” Charles was Bran’s oldest son. He hated to drive, and until that summer I’d thought he couldn’t drive. I should have known better—Charles can do anything. And everything he did, he did very well. That’s only one of the reasons that Charles intimidates me and everyone else.

“Kept you busy and out of trouble for a whole summer,” said Bran smugly.

He was teasing ... but serious as well. One of the oddest things about being grown-up was looking back at something you thought you knew and finding out the truth of it was completely different from what you had always believed.

It gave me courage to do what I did next.

“I need some advice,” I told him.

“Sure,” he said easily.

I took a deep breath and started with my killing Marsilia’s best hope of returning to Italy, jumped to Stefan’s appearance in my living room and the unexpected visit from my old college nemesis, and ended it all with the nearly fatal adventure at Uncle Mike’s and the little bag that smelled like vampires and magic. I told him about Mary Jo and my fear that if I told Adam about the bag, it would cause a war.

“I’ll stop by and see if I can help Mary Jo,” Bran said after I’d finished. “I know a few tricks.”

Samuel looked relieved. “Good.”

“So,” I told Bran, “it is my fault. I chose to go after Andre. But Marsilia’s not attacking me.”

“You expected a vampire to be straightforward?” asked Bran.

I supposed I had. “Amber gives me a reason to get out of town for a little while. Without me around, Marsilia might leave everyone else alone.” And it would give me a chance to think through my response. A day or two to figure out something that wouldn’t lead to more killing.

“And give Adam and me a chance to mount a proper response,” Samuel growled.

I started to object ... but they had the right to go on the offensive. The right to know that they were targets.

As long as Mary Jo survived, Adam wouldn’t bring a war to Marsilia’s doorstep. And if Mary Jo didn’t survive ... Perhaps Marsilia was crazy. I’d seen that kind of madness in the Marrok’s pack, where the oldest wolves often came to die.

“If you leave, Marsilia might take that as a victory,” said Bran. “I don’t know her well enough to know if that will help you or hurt you in the end. I do think that getting out of here for a few days might not be a bad idea.”

He didn’t say Marsilia would quit targeting my friends, I noticed. I was pretty sure Uncle Mike would figure out that the vampires had used his place to target the wolves—and if I thought that, Marsilia surely would. She must be truly furious if she was willing to anger Uncle Mike and enrage Adam in order to get to me.

I was betting that if I left, she’d wait, because she wanted me to witness the pain I’d made her rain down upon my friends. But I wasn’t sure. Still, it wouldn’t hurt.

“The problem is ... there’s something a little off about Amber’s offer. Or maybe just after Tim ...” I swallowed. “I’m afraid to go.”

Bran looked at me with keen yellow eyes, weighing something in his mind. “Fear is a good thing,” he said at last. “It teaches you not to make the same mistake twice. You counter it with knowledge. What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t know.” Which wasn’t the right answer.

“Gut check,” Bran said. “What does your gut tell you?”

“I think that maybe it’s the vampires again. Stefan lands in my lap to give me a good scare—and look, here’s a way out. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

Samuel was already shaking his head. “Marsilia isn’t going to send you to Spokane to get you out of our protection before she takes care of you. Not that it isn’t a good idea, but she’d send you to Seattle maybe, she has some allies there. But in Spokane, there’s only one vampire, and he doesn’t allow visitors. There are no packs, no fae, nothing but a few powerless creatures who manage to stay out of his sight.”

I felt my eyes widen. Spokane is a city of nearly half a million people. “That’s a lot of territory for a single vampire.”

“Not for that single vampire,” said Samuel at the same time Bran said, “Not for Blackwood.”

“So,” I said slowly. “What will this vampire do if I stay in Spokane for a few days?”

“How would he know?” Bran asked. “You smell like coyote. But a coyote smells a lot like a dog to someone who doesn’t hunt in the forests—which I assure you, James Blackwood doesn’t do—and most dog owners smell like their pets. I wouldn’t want you to move to Spokane, but a couple of days or weeks won’t put you in danger.”

“So do you think it’s a good idea if I go?”

Bran raised his hip and pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket.

“Don’t you break them like that?” I asked. “I killed a couple of phones by sitting on them.”

He just smiled and said into the phone, “Charles, I need you to find out about an Amber ... ?” He looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry to wake you, Charles. Chamberlain was her maiden name,” I told Samuel’s brother apologetically. “I don’t know her married name.” Charles would hear me as clearly as I heard him. Private phone calls around werewolves needed headsets, not a cell phone speaker.