Blood Bound mt-2 Page 12

  "Well…" I began.

  Honey turned to me, vibrating with rage. "I hope that Adam lets me be the one to break your scrawny neck."

  Yep. It wouldn't be long before everyone knew Honey was a werewolf. She was just too easy. I ought to have felt guilty for baiting her.

  Instead, I rolled my eyes at her. " Please."

  Black ignored Honey. "I want to know what you think about him personally. What is dating a werewolf like?" He gave me a charming smile, though his eyes were still watchful. "The public wants to know."

  That last statement was too comic-book reporter for me to ignore. It pulled my attention from Honey. I considered Black thoughtfully for a moment. He smelled anxious-and angry. Not the emotions of a reporter about to get the story he wanted.

  I pushed the money roll back at him. "Put that away. I'm pretty upset with Adam right now, so I'd really like to give you an earful." Especially with Honey watching. "You may not quote me, but the truth is that, for a domineering control freak, he's pretty damn nice. He's honest, hard working, and generous. He's a good father. He's loyal to his people and he takes care of them. It doesn't make a very good story, but that's your problem, not mine. If you are looking for dirt on Adam Hauptman, let me save you a lot of fruitless effort. There is no dirt."

  I don't know what kind of a reaction I expected, but it wasn't the one I got. He ignored the bills on the counter and leaned down over it, invading my space.

  "He's a good father?" he asked intently. The fake smile vanished from his face. I could smell his anxiety winning over anger.

  I didn't answer. I wasn't going to take responsibility for directing the eyes of the press toward Jesse, when Adam had been so careful to keep her out of the way. Besides, the reporter's strange reactions made me think there was something else going on.

  Black closed his eyes briefly. "Please," he said. "It's important."

  I took a deep breath and could smell the truth of his words. The first complete truth he'd uttered in my presence. This was very important to him.

  I shuffled through possibilities and then asked, "Who do you know that is a werewolf?"

  "Are you a werewolf?" he asked.

  "No." Not that he could have known if I lied, because he was decidedly human.

  The same thought must have occurred to him. He waved away his last question impatiently. "It doesn't matter. If you'll tell me why you say he's a good father… I'll tell you about the werewolves I know."

  Fear. Not the kind of fear you feel when unexpectedly confronted by a monster in the dark, but the slower, stronger fear of something terrible that was going to happen. Fear and pain of an old wound, the kind that Samuel had smelled of last night. I hadn't been able to help Samuel, not enough.

  I considered Mr. Black who might or might not be a reporter.

  "Your word you won't use this for a story," I said, ignoring Honey's raised eyebrows.

  "You have it."

  "Are you a reporter?" I asked.

  He nodded his head, a quick up and down followed by a get-on-with-it glare.

  I thought a moment. "Let me give you an example. Adam is supposed to be speaking to government officials about legislation dealing with werewolves. He's up to his neck in touchy negotiations. When his daughter needed him, he dropped everything and came back here-though he has a number of trusted people he could have called upon to take care of her."

  "She's human, though, right? His daughter. I read that they can't have werewolf children."

  I frowned at him, trying to see the point of his question. "Does it matter?"

  He rubbed his face tiredly. "I don't know. Does it? Would he treat her differently if she was a werewolf?"

  "No," said Honey. Black was being so interesting, I'd forgotten about Honey. "No. Adam takes care of his own. Wolf, human or whatever." She looked at me pointedly. "Even when they don't want him to."

  It felt weird to exchange a smile with Honey, so I stopped as soon as I could. I think she felt the same way because she turned her head to stare out the window.

  "Or when they don't belong to him," I told her. Then I turned to Black. "So tell me about your werewolves."

  "Three years ago, my daughter survived an attack by a rogue werewolf," he said, speaking quickly as if that would make it easier for him to handle. "She was ten."

  "Ten?" whispered Honey. "And she survived?"

  Like Honey, I'd never heard of someone attacked so young surviving-especially not a girl. Females don't survive the change as well as males. That was why Adam's pack only had three females and nearly ten times that many males.

  Lost in his tragic story, Black didn't seem to hear Honey's comment. "There was another werewolf. He killed her attacker before it could finish her off. He brought her back to us and told us what to do for her. He told me to hide her. He said that a young girl might… might have it rough in a pack."

  "Yes," said Honey fervently. At my questioning look she said, "Unmated females belong to the Alpha. Your wolf instincts kick in, so it's not terrible"-her eyes said differently-"even if you don't particularly like the Alpha. But a girl so young… I'm not certain that an Alpha would spare her." She took a deep breath and whispered, almost to herself, "I know some of them would even enjoy it."

  Black nodded, as if this wasn't news to him-though it was to me. I thought I knew all there was to know about werewolves.

  "What about when she first changed?" I asked. Humans are not equipped to deal with a new-made werewolf.

  "I built a cage in the basement," he said. "And every full moon I chain her and lock her in."

  Every full moon even after three years? I thought. She should have managed to gain control of her wolf by now.

  "Two months ago she broke the chain to her collar." Black looked ill. "I got a thicker chain, but this time… My wife told me that she gouged a hole in the cement. I was in Portland covering a trade conference. I called the werewolf. The one who saved her. He told me she was getting stronger, that I had to find a pack for her. He told me our local Alpha would be a poor choice. When he found out I was in Portland, he gave me Hauptman's name-and yours."

  I felt sorry for his daughter-and for him. Sorrier still because finding an Alpha who wouldn't abuse her might be the least of his problems if she hadn't managed to control her wolf yet. Wolves who are out of control are killed by their Alpha so they don't hurt anyone else.

  I didn't want to give Adam responsibility for a young girl's death.

  "There may be someone closer to where you live," I said. "Let me make a phone call."

  "No," said Black, taking two steps back. He might not be a werewolf, but he was fast. I never noticed the gun until it was in his hands. "It's loaded with silver," he said, the spike of fear I felt from him made me want to pat him on the back and tell him it would be all right-or it would if he didn't shoot me and Honey didn't kill him.

  I don't think he was used to combat situations, because he ignored Honey and kept the gun on me.

  "He's not going to shoot anyone, Honey," I told her as she started to move. "It's all right, Mr. Black, I won't mention your name. Has your contact told you anything about the Marrok?"

  He shook his head.

  Honey waited, her eyes locked on his gun.

  "Okay. The Marrok is like, the Alpha of all the Alphas." That there was a head werewolf was kind of an open secret. Everyone knew that there was someone pulling the werewolves' strings, and there was a lot of speculation about who it might be. So I hadn't given away any great secret.

  Bran wasn't out to the public-if things went badly, he wanted to make sure that the sanctuary he'd established in Montana remained a safe haven. Even if he had been out, no one would think that he was the Marrok. Being unremarkable was one of Bran's favorite talents and he was good at it.

  "He'll know which Alphas will take care of your daughter, and which ones to stay away from better than any lone wolf could. It's his job to take care of the werewolves, Mr. Black, to make sure the ones like your daughte
r are safe."

  And to make sure the ones who were not able to control their wolfish side were killed quickly and painlessly before they started killing people, people like their parents and families.

  "All right," he said, at last. "Call him. But if you say something I don't like, I'll kill you."

  I believed him; he had the look of a man with his back to the wall. Honey eased closer, close enough that she'd probably be able to stop him before he pulled the trigger. Probably. If she wanted to badly enough.

  I took out my cell phone and placed the call.

  "Hello?" It was a woman's voice.

  Damn. Bran's wife didn't like me. Not like Honey disliked me, but the I 'll-kill-you-if-I-get-a-chance kind of not like. She'd tried it a couple of times. She was the reason I always called Bran's cell phone and not his home number.

  "This is Mercedes," I said. "I'm calling on official business. I need to talk to your husband." I heard Bran's voice, but he was speaking too low for me to hear anything except the command in his tone. There were a few clicks and unidentifiable noises and then Bran came on the line.

  "How can I help you?" he asked sounding calm, though I could hear his mate's bitter voice in the background.

  Briefly, I explained the situation to him. I didn't tell him that I was worried about a wolf who couldn't control herself after three years, but he must have heard it in my voice because he interrupted me.

  "It's all right, Mercy. A child chained in the basement doesn't learn control because it is not expected of her. With a little help she might be fine. Any child who survives a werewolf attack before adolescence has willpower to spare. Where does he live?"

  I relayed Bran's question.

  Black shook his head. He still had his gun out, pointed at me.

  I gave an exaggerated sigh. "No one intends your daughter harm."

  "Fine," said Bran's voice in my ear. "Roughly three years ago? A rogue werewolf killed by a lone wolf. There were two incidents that might fit, but only one of the lone wolves would take it upon himself to help a girl. Tell your gentleman that he's from somewhere near Washington D.C., probably in Virginia, and his werewolf friend is Josef Riddlesback."

  "Not a good idea," I told Bran as I looked Black in the eyes. It was hard to blame him for the gun when I could read the fear in his face. "He's worried about his daughter. She's thirteen and he doesn't want her hurt." I had to use the tone of my voice to convey just how worried Black was. Much too worried to amaze him with Bran's powers of deduction.

  "I see. A little paranoid is he?"

  "Absolutely," I agreed.

  There was a short pause, then Bran said, "Do you have a sheet of paper handy?"

  "Yes."

  "Right. Josef is right, neither of the pack leaders in that area are the sort I'd trust with a child. I'm going to give you the names of the pack leaders who would be safe with a child. Leaders who would not mind a reporter knowing who they are. It is very short, and none of them are anywhere near Virginia. There are others. Do you believe his story?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "Then I'll also give you places where the Alphas have not come out to the public and don't want to do so, but who would take care of a young girl. If he wants to chance it, he could go there and see if the Alpha would meet with him."

  I wrote down the names he told me, four men, including Adam, complete with phone numbers. Then I wrote down fifteen towns. Nineteen Alphas out of maybe a hundred and fifty that Bran thought could be trusted to help a child without abusing her.

  It made me acknowledge just how lucky I was that the werewolf relative my mother went to for help once she realized I could turn into a coyote belonged to the Marrok and not to some other pack.

  "You can send them to me, too," he said, when he was done.

  "But-" I bit my tongue. I wasn't going to tell a reporter that the Marrok was one of the wolves who wasn't out yet.

  "I trust your judgement, Mercy-and I've raised a few strays before." Like me.

  "I know."

  He must have heard the gratitude in my voice, because I heard the smile in his. "One or two, anyway, Mercy. Tell your gentleman that he needs to find someone to help as soon as possible. Unless he uses silver, which will hurt her, I doubt he'll be able to keep her in his cage forever. Not to mention that she doesn't need the moon to change. Some day she's going to be hurt or startled into changing and then she'll kill someone." Bran hung up.

  I gave Tom Black the list and explained what it meant. Then I gave him Bran's warning. As the words sank in, he lowered his gun, but I don't think it was on purpose. It was more as though he was sunk in despair and nothing mattered anymore.

  "Listen," I told him. "There's nothing you can do about her being a werewolf-"

  "She tried to commit suicide," he told me, tears welling in his eyes. "The day after the full moon. She's worried she will hurt someone. She used a knife on her wrist, but the cuts kept healing too fast. I'd take her to a damned shrink, but I don't want to risk telling anyone what she is. She already thinks she's a monster, she doesn't need anyone else telling her so."

  I saw Honey's eyes widen, when he said that bit about being a monster. From the expression on her face, she thought she was a monster, too.

  I frowned at her. I didn't want to have sympathy for Honey-it was so much easier to dislike her. She frowned back.

  "Put the gun away," I told Black in the firm voice that sometimes worked on werewolves. I guess it worked on grieving fathers, too, because he slipped the pistol back in his shoulder holster.

  "She doesn't need a shrink," I told him. "Every thirteen year old girl wants to kill themselves at some point or other."

  I remembered being thirteen. When I was fourteen my foster father had killed himself, and that permanently removed the impulse. I'd never do that to people I cared about.

  "I expect getting locked in the basement once a month doesn't help," I continued. "The Marrok told me that there's every reason to expect she'll be able to control her wolf if you find an Alpha to guide her."

  He turned away and raised his hands to his face. When he turned back his tears were gone, though his eyes were moist. He took the piece of paper I'd written on, and, only after I handed it to him, the roll of money. "Thank you for your help."

  "Wait," I said, glancing at Honey. "Mr. Black, that werewolf who talks to you, has he ever shown you his wolf?"

  "No."

  "Has he shown your daughter?"

  "We only saw him once, the night he brought her back to us. The night of the attack. He left a number where he could be reached."

  "So the only wolf you've seen is your daughter, chained and out of control in her cage-and the only wolf she's ever seen is the one who attacked her?"

  "That's right."

  Honey was, if anything, more beautiful in her wolf form than she was in her human form. I looked at her. Wolves communicate very well without words; she understood what I asked her to do. She also very clearly didn't understand

  After a few moments of silent arguing while Black grew puzzled, I finally said, "Honey, as much as I hate to admit it, your wolf is glorious. No one would ever think you were a monster-any more than a Siberian tiger or a golden eagle is a monster."

  Her mouth opened and closed, then she glanced at Black. "All right," she said in a curiously shy voice. "Can I borrow your bathroom?"

  "It will take her a little time," I told Black when she was gone. "Fifteen minutes or so-and she might wait a few minutes beyond that. Changing is painful and newly changed werewolves tend to be a little grumpy about it."

  "You know an awful lot about werewolves," he said.

  "I was raised by them," I told him. I waited a moment or two, but he didn't ask me why. I suppose he was more concerned with other matters right then.

  "If I were you," I told him. "I'd bring your daughter here to Adam." Bran thought the girl might make it with a little help-that she wasn't a hopeless case. Adam was very strong-and he had Samuel here, who was good wi
th young wolves. Her chances in Adam's pack were better than they would be anywhere else. "Adam has a big house because pack members and other wolves have the tendency to drop in on him without a moment's notice. Big enough that you and your wife could stay for a while." Adam would honor my invitation. I knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't even resent it. "With Adam around, your daughter wouldn't have to be caged-and I think that she, and the rest of your family, would benefit from being around a pack of wolves for a while. They are dangerous and terrifying, but they can be beautiful, too." Adam would keep his pack from scaring the humans.

  "Josef-the werewolf I know-told me that there are benefits to being a werewolf. He said-" Black's voice tightened and he had to stop for a moment. "He said that hunting was the best thing he'd every felt. The kill. The blood."

  Stupid werewolf, I thought. Heck of a thing to tell the parent of a thirteen-year-old girl, truthful or not.

  "Werewolves heal incredibly fast," I told him. "They are strong, graceful. She'll never grow old. And the pack… I don't know how to explain it to you, I'm not sure that I understand it myself, but a wolf with a good pack is never alone."

  I looked him straight in the eye and said, "She can be happy, Mr. Black. Safe and happy, and not a danger to herself or anyone else. It's horrible that she was attacked and a miracle that she survived-I've never heard of a child that young surviving an attack. Being a werewolf is different, but it is not terrible."

  I smelled fur and turned to look at the doorway before Honey walked in. She was a small werewolf, about the height of a large German Shepherd though heavier in the body and leg. Her fur was a light fawn color with a darker undercoat and a silvery stripe down her back almost the same color as her crystal gray eyes.

  A werewolf's shoulder is articulated more like a tiger or bear than a wolf, giving them lateral motion and the ability to use their impressive claws. With some of the bigger males, the effect can be almost grotesque, but Honey fit together well. When she moved she looked gracile and strong, just not entirely canid.

  I smiled at her-she wagged her tail and ducked her head. It took me a moment to realize why she did that. Since Adam had claimed me as his mate, I was higher in the pecking order than she was.