Bone Crossed (4 page)

Peter was old enough to have been in the cavalry, but here and now he worked as a plumber. He was good at his job, and he had a half dozen people (human) on his payroll. But he walked to the right and behind Darryl because Darryl was very dominant and Peter was one of the few submissives in Adam’s pack.

Darryl stopped at the foot of the porch. He didn’t like me much most of the time. I’d finally decided it was snobbery—he was a wolf and I a coyote. He was a Ph.D. working in a high-priced think tank, and I was a mechanic with dirt under my fingernails.

And worst of all, if I was Adam’s mate, he had to follow my orders. Sometimes the chauvinism that permeates the rules by which the werewolves operate works backward. No matter how submissive the mate of the Alpha is, her commands are second only to his.

When he didn’t say anything, I just opened the door and led Adam’s two wolves into my home.

STEFAN WASN’T AMENABLE TO CHANGING DONORS, SO Peter and Darryl knelt, one on either side, and began to pry his grip loose. When I approached to help, Adam snarled at me.

If he hadn’t snarled, I’d probably have let the wolves take care of it. After all, they all have awesome werewolf superstrength. But if Adam and I were going to have a relationship, something that was giving me butterflies already, it was going to be on an equal footing. I couldn’t afford to back down when Adam growled.

Besides, I despised the cowardly part of me that flinched at his anger. Even if I was pretty sure it was the smart part.

Peter and Darryl were working on Stefan’s hands, so I went to his head. I slipped my fingers into one side of his mouth, hoping that vampires had the same reaction to pressure points as the rest of us. But I didn’t need to use any nerve pinches, because as soon as my fingers touched his mouth, he shuddered and released Adam, his arms going limp at the same time as he pulled his fangs out.

“Won’t,” Stefan said as I pulled my fingers out of his mouth. “Won’t.” It came out a whisper and faded eerily as he ran out of air.

His head moved until he rested against my shoulder, his eyes closed. His face almost looked like his now, filled out and healing. The broken places on his skin, hands, and lips looked like wounds now. It said something about how bad he’d been that oozing wounds were an improvement.

If his body hadn’t shook against me as if he were having an epileptic fit, I’d have been happier.

“Do you know what’s wrong with him?” I asked Adam helplessly.

“I do,” Peter said. He casually pulled a huge pocketknife out of its belt sheath and made a small cut in his wrist.

He moved me out from under Stefan and moved him around until Stefan was lying down with his head on Peter’s lap, held steady by the werewolf’s unwounded hand. Peter held his bloody wrist in front of the vampire, who clamped his lips together and turned his head away.

Adam, who had wrapped his hand around his own wrist to staunch the bleeding, leaned forward. “Stefan. It’s all right. It’s not Mercy. It’s not Mercy.”

Red eyes slitted open, and the vampire made a sound I’d never heard before ... and wished I could still say that. It raised every hair on the back of my neck, high-pitched and thin like a dog whistle but harsher somehow. He struck and Peter jerked, gritting his teeth and hissing.

I didn’t notice when my mother left us, but she must have at some point because she had Samuel’s big first-aid kit from the main bathroom open on the couch. She knelt by Adam, but he surged to his feet.

Alpha werewolves don’t admit to any pain in public, and seldom in private. His wrist might look like it had been savaged, but he’d never let my mother do anything about it. I stood up, too.

“Here,” I said, before he could say something to offend her or vice versa. “Let me see.”

I tugged and pulled until I could see the wounds. “He’ll be all right,” I told Mom with satisfaction. “It’s scabbed over already. A half hour from now it’ll just be a few red marks.”

That was good.

My mother raised her eyebrow, and murmured, “And to think I was always worried that you didn’t have any friends. I suppose I should have been counting my blessings.”

I gave her a sharp look, and she smiled past the worry in her eyes. “Vampires, Mercy? I thought they were made-up.”

She had always been good at making me feel guilty, which was more than Bran had ever managed. “I couldn’t tell you,” I said. “They don’t like it when humans know about them. It would have put you in danger.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Besides, Mom, I’ve never actually seen any in Portland.” And had been very careful not to look when I smelled them. Vampires like Portland—lots of rainy days.

“Can all of them just pop in wherever they want to?”

I shook my head, then reconsidered. “I only know of two, and Stefan’s one of them.”

Adam was watching Stefan feed; he looked worried. I hadn’t realized he and Stefan were more than casual acquaintances.

“Is he going to be all right?” Mom asked.

Adam was pale but healing just fine. Other wolves would have taken longer, but Adam was an Alpha, and his pack gave him more power than other wolves had. But if Stefan gnawed on Peter the way he’d chewed up Adam, it would take Peter a while longer to heal.

She looked at me, and her dimples peeped out. “I was speaking of the vampire. You do have it bad, don’t you?”

I’d been trying not to dwell on Stefan’s condition and why it was so bad—and how it was my fault. “I don’t know, Mom,” I leaned against her, just a little, before straightening to stand on my own. “I don’t know that much about vampires. They’re hard to kill, but I’ve never seen one as bad as this who survived.” Daniel, Stefan’s ... what? Friend hadn’t quite covered it. Maybe just
Stefan’s.
Daniel had quit feeding because he believed he had run crazy and killed a whole bunch of people. He’d looked bad, but not as bad as Stefan.

“You care about him, too.”

She didn’t sound surprised, but she would have been if she knew as much as I did about vampires.

I knew Stefan kept a bunch of people virtual prisoners to feed from—though none of them had seemed to mind. I’d had my rose-colored glasses ripped off when he’d killed two helpless people, people I’d rescued, in order to protect me. It might have been the enigmatic vampire Wulfe who’d twisted their necks, but Stefan had been the director of that macabre little conspiracy.

But it hurt to see him like this.

“Yes,” I told Mom.

“You can let him go now,” Adam told Darryl. “He’s feeding.”

Darryl dropped Stefan’s arm and stepped back as if fearing contamination. There wasn’t a lot of room left in my living room, but he bumped his back up to the counter that separated the larger room from the kitchen and curled his lip. Adam gave him a considering look before turning his attention to the other wolf.

“Are you all right, Peter?” Adam asked.

I looked at the werewolf and saw that there was sweat gathering on his forehead and he’d closed his eyes and turned them away from the vampire, who was sprawled across his lap and fastened to his arm. Judging from the difference between his reaction and Adam’s, it might have been better to find a more dominant wolf to feed to Stefan.

Peter didn’t answer, and Adam walked behind him so he could put a hand on the skin of his neck. Almost immediately I could see the impact of that touch as Peter relaxed against his Alpha with a sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry,” Adam said. “If there’d been someone else ... Ben should be here soon.”

There had been Darryl, who was staring at his shoes. Adam’s remark hadn’t been pointed, but Darryl looked like he’d been slapped.

Peter shook his head. “No problem. It was bad for a minute, though. I thought it was supposed to be a myth that vampires could trap your mind.”

That was one of the problems with the vamps. Like the fae, there was so much misinformation out there it was hard to sift truth from fact.

“He’s not himself,” I found myself saying. “He wouldn’t do it on purpose.” I wasn’t entirely sure that was truthful, but it sounded good. He’d taken me over once. It had all worked out just fine, but I’d rather it never happened again.

My mother looked at me. “Do you have orange juice or something else with sugar in it for the blood donors?”

I should have thought of that. I hopped over Stefan’s legs so I could go to the kitchen and look. Once my roommate had declared me completely unadventurous in my food choices, he’d taken over shopping. I had no idea what he’d managed to stuff into the fridge.

I found a half-full bottle of low-pulp orange juice and poured two glasses. I handed the first to Adam and held the second in front of Peter.

“Do you need help?”

Peter gave me a half smile, shook his head, and took the glass, downing it in quick time and handing me back the glass.

“More?”

“Not now,” he said. “Maybe when it’s over.”

 

 

 

MOM AND I SAT ON THE COUCH, ADAM TOOK A CHAIR, and Darryl stayed where he was, pointedly not looking at the vampire.

There was a sharp knock on the door, and Darryl said, “Ben.”

He made no move to answer it, but it popped open anyway and Ben stuck his head in. His blond hair looked almost white illuminated by the porch light. He glanced at Stefan and said in his nifty British accent, “Bloody hell. He’s in bad shape.”

But his attention was all for my mother.

“She’s married,” I warned him. “And if you call her a rude name, she’ll shoot you with her pretty pink gun and I’ll spit on your grave.”

He considered me a moment and started to open his mouth.

Adam said, “Ben. Meet Mercy’s mother, Margi.”

Ben paled, closed his mouth, and opened it again. But nothing came out. I didn’t think Ben was used to meeting mothers.

“I know.” I sighed. “She looks like my younger, better-looking sister. Mom, this is Ben. Ben is a werewolf from England, and he has a foul mouth when Adam’s not around to ride herd on him. He’s saved my life a couple of times. Against the wall is Darryl, werewolf, genius, Ph.D., and Adam’s second. Peter, also a werewolf, is the nice man feeding Stefan.”

And after that, the awkwardness set in. Darryl wasn’t talking. Ben, after one more bemused look at Mom, kept his head down and his mouth shut. Peter was obviously distracted by the feeding vampire. Adam was staring at Stefan with a worried frown.

He knew what Stefan’s first words had meant, too. But he couldn’t talk to me about it in front of my mom until I did. And I wasn’t going to let her know that Marsilia and her vampires were after me. Not unless I had to.

Mom wanted to ask me about ... about the incident last week. About Tim and how he died. But she wouldn’t ask me about anything until everyone
else
was gone.

Me? I’d just as soon not talk about any of it. I wondered how long I could keep everyone together, awkwardness being better than the stomach-churning panic that conversation with Adam or my mother was going to cause.

“I’m done in,” Peter said.

Stefan wasn’t any happier about changing donors this time. But having an additional wolf did the trick and, with only minor damage done to my end table, he was soon feeding off Ben. But only a few minutes later, Stefan went limp, his mouth falling away.

“Is he dead?” Peter asked and took a sip of his second glass of orange juice.

“Him?” asked Ben, extracting his wrist. “He’s been dead for years.”

Peter grunted. “You know what I mean.”

Truthfully, it was difficult to tell. He wasn’t breathing, but vampires didn’t, not unless they needed to talk or pass for human. His heart wasn’t beating, but again, that didn’t mean much.

“We’ll take him to my house,” Adam said. “The...” He glanced at Mom. “My basement has a room without windows, where he’ll be safer.” He meant the cage where they locked up werewolves when they had control issues. He frowned. “Not that that will stop whoever dumped him in the middle of your living room, Mercy.” He knew “whoever” all right.

Marsilia, I thought, though maybe it had been Stefan himself. Or maybe some other vampire. The one who’d explained that Marsilia and Stefan were the only ones who could teleport like that was Andre, the one I’d had to kill. Hard to trust his information too far.

“I’ll be careful,” I told Adam. “But you have to be careful, too. There was a vampire watching the back of the house when I was out talking to Amber.”

“Who’s Amber?” Adam’s question was just a hair faster than my mother’s “Amber? Charla’s friend Amber from college?”

I nodded at Mom. “She read about ... I’ve apparently made national news. She decided that she should look me up to check into her haunted house.”

“That sounds like Amber,” Mom said. Char and Amber had spent a number of weekends at my parents’ house in Portland while I was in college. “She always was self-centered, and I don’t suppose that would change. Though why would she think that you could help her with a haunted house?”

I had never told Mom about seeing ghosts. I hadn’t really thought it was anything unusual until recently. I mean, people see ghosts all the time, right? They just don’t talk about it much. Having a daughter who turned into a coyote was bad enough, so anything else I could keep quiet about, I had.

This didn’t seem like the time to tell her about it either. I hadn’t told her about last week. I hadn’t told her about vampires. I had no intention of informing her of any other secrets I’d been keeping.

So I shrugged. “Maybe because I associate with werewolves and the fae.”

“What did she expect you to do about it?” Adam asked. He’d have listened in on the whole conversation with Amber; werewolves have very good hearing.

“Beats me,” I told him. “Do I look like an expert at laying ghosts?” Seeing them was a long way from sending them away. I wasn’t even sure it was possible. I thought about what Amber had said. “Maybe she just wanted me to go tell her that her house really is haunted. Maybe she just needs someone to believe her.”