Bone Crossed mt-4 Read online

  Mary Jo, who had been heading toward Adam's vehicle until she saw me, abruptly changed directions and got into Warren's old truck. Alec, trailing her around like a lost puppy, followed.

  "And I thought Bran could be Byzantine," I said finally, trying to relax in the safety of the leather upholstery as Adam drove through the gates.

  "I didn't catch it all," said Darryl. He must have been tired because his voice was even deeper than usual, buzzing my ears so I had to listen closely to catch all of his words. "For some reason she had to convince Stefan that he was out of the seethe. Then, when her traitors approached him, he had to refuse their offers before he could witness that they'd made them?"

  "That's what it sounded like to me," said Adam. "And only with his witness and their maker's consent could she deal with her traitors."

  "Makes sense," offered Paul almost shyly. "The way the seethe works, if he belonged to her—his witness is hers. If those two were imposed on her, she couldn't have them killed at her word. She'd need outside verification."

  I wondered if I'd been set up. I thought of Wulfe's oh-so-convenient aid when I'd killed Andre. He'd known I was looking for Andre—I'd stumbled upon his resting place before I found Andre's. I'd thought he kept it from the Mistress for his own reasons… but maybe he hadn't. Maybe Marsilia had planned it.

  My head hurt.

  "Maybe we were suspecting the wrong vampire of trying to take over Marsilia's seethe," Adam said.

  I thought about the vampire who had been Bernard's maker and had stood to watch this… trial.

  I didn't want to be sympathetic; I wanted to hate Marsilia cleanly for what she had done to Stefan. But I'd become passing familiar with evil and all its shades, and that vampire, Bernard's maker, set off every alarm that I had. Not that all vampires weren't evil… I wished suddenly that I could say except for Stefan. But I couldn't. I'd met his menagerie, the ones Marsilia had killed—and I knew that for most of them, except for the very few who became vampire, Stefan would be their death. Still, the other vampire had hit pretty high on my coyote's "get me out of here" scale. There had been something in his face…

  "Makes me glad I'm a werewolf," said Darryl. "All I have to worry about is when Warren will lose his self-control and challenge me."

  "Warren's self-control is very good," said Adam. "I wouldn't wait dinner on his losing it."

  "Better Warren as second than a coyote in the pack," said Aurielle tightly.

  The atmosphere in the car changed.

  Adam's voice was soft, "Do you think so?"

  "'Rielle," Darryl warned.

  "I think so." Her voice brooked no argument. She was a high school teacher, Darryl's mate, which made her… not precisely third in the pack—that was Warren. But second and a half, just below Darryl. If she had been a man, I didn't think she would have ranked much lower.

  "Unlike vampires, wolves tend to be straightforward critters," I murmured, trying not to feel hurt. Rejection, for a coyote raised by wolves, was nothing new. I'd spent most of my adulthood running from it. I wouldn't have thought that exhaustion and hurt was a recipe for epiphany, but there it was. I'd left my mother and Portland before she could tell me to go. I'd lived alone, stood on my own two feet, because I didn't want to learn to lean on anyone else.

  I'd seen my resistance to Adam as a fight for survival, for the right to control my own actions instead of a life spent following orders… because I wanted to obey. The duty that Stefan clung to with awful stubbornness was the life I'd rejected.

  What I hadn't seen was that I had been unwilling to put myself in a place where I could be rejected again. My mother had given me to Bran when I was a baby. A gift he returned when I became… inconvenient. At sixteen, I'd moved back in with my mother, who was married to a man I'd never met and had two daughters who hadn't known of my existence until Bran had called my mother to tell her he was sending me home. They had been all that was loving and gracious—but I was a hard person to lie to.

  "Mercy?"

  "Just a minute," I told Adam, "I'm in the middle of a revelation."

  No wonder I hadn't just rolled over at Adam's feet like any sensible person would when courted by a sexy, lovable, reliable man who loved me. If Adam ever rejected me… I felt a low growl rise in my throat.

  "You heard her," said Darryl, amused. "We'll have to wait for her revelation. We have a prophet for our Alpha's mate."

  I waved at him irritably. Then looked up at Adam, whose eyes were, quite properly, on the road.

  "Do you love me?" I asked him, pulse pounding in my ears.

  He gave me a curious look. He was wolf, he knew intensity when he heard it. "Yes. Absolutely."

  "You'd better," I told him, "or you'll regret it."

  I looked over my shoulder at Aurielle, holding the full force of my will close to me. Adam was mine.

  Mine.

  And I would take up all the burdens he could give me, even as he did the same with mine. It would be an equal sharing. That meant he protected me from the vampires… and I protected him from what problems I could.

  I stared at Aurielle, met the predator in her eyes with the one in mine. And after only a few minutes, she dropped her eyes. "Suck it up and deal with it," I told her, and I put my head on Adam's shoulder and fell asleep.

  IT WAS, SADLY NOT VERY LONG BEFORE ADAM STOPPED the car. I stayed where I was, half-awake, while Darryl, Aurielle, and Paul got out of the car. We stayed where we were until I heard Darryl's Subaru fire up, and Adam started for home.

  "Mercy?"

  "Mmm."

  "I'd like to take you home with me."

  I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and sighed. "Once I go horizontal, I'm going to be out like a light," I told him.

  "It's been days" — I tried to remember, but I was too tired—"several at least since I had a good night's sleep." The sun, I noticed, was brightening in the sky.

  "That's all right," he said. "I'd just…"

  "Yeah, me too." But I shivered a little. It was all very well and good to get hot and heavy over the phone, but this was real. I stayed awake all the way to his house.

  AN ALPHA'S HOME IS SELDOM EMPTY—AND WITH THE recent troubles, Adam was keeping a guard there, too. When we came in, we were greeted by Ben, who gave us an offhand salute and trotted back downstairs, where there were a number of guest bedrooms.

  Adam escorted me up the stairs with a hand on the small of my back. I was sick-to-my-stomach nervous and found myself taking in deep breaths to remind myself that this was Adam… and all we were going to do was sleep.

  Repairs were in progress on the hall bathroom. The door was back up, and mostly the hall wall next to it just needed taping, texturing, and painting. But the white carpet at the top of the stairs was still stained with brown spots of old blood—mine. I'd forgotten about that. Should I offer to have his carpet cleaned? Could blood be cleaned out of a white carpet? And what kind of stupid person puts white carpet in a house frequented by werewolves?

  Bolstered by indignation, I took a step into his bedroom and froze. He glanced at my face and pulled a T-shirt out of a drawer and threw it at me. "Why don't you use the bathroom first," he said. "There's a spare toothbrush in the top right-hand drawer."

  The bathroom felt safer. I folded my dirty clothes and left them in a small pile on the floor before pulling on his T-shirt. He wasn't much taller than me, but his shoulders were broad, and the sleeves hung down past my elbows. I washed my face around the stitches in my chin, brushed my teeth, then just stood there for a few minutes, gathering courage.

  When I opened the door, Adam brushed by and closed the bathroom behind him—pushing me gently into his room to face the bed with its turned-down comforter.

  There should be only so much terror you can feel in a night. I should have met my limit and then some. And the fear of something that wasn't going to happen—Adam would never hurt me—shouldn't have been enough to register.

  Still, it took every bit of courage I had to crawl into his bed.
Once I was there, though, in one of those odd little psychological twists everyone has, the scent of him in the sheets made me feel better. My stomach settled down. I yawned a few times and fell asleep to the sound of Adam's electric razor.

  I awoke surrounded by Adam, his scent, his warmth, his breath. I waited for the panic attack that didn't come. Then I relaxed, soaking it up. By the light sneaking in around the heavy blinds, it was late afternoon. I could hear people moving around the house. His sprinklers were on, valiant defenders of his lawn in the never-ending battle against the sun.

  Outside, it was probably in the seventies, but his house—like mine since Samuel moved in—had a chill edge to the air that made the warmth surrounding me that much better. Werewolves don't like the heat.

  Adam was awake, too.

  "So," I said… half-embarrassed, half-aroused, and, just to round things out, half-scared, too. "Are you up for a trial run?"

  "A trial run?" he asked, his voice all rumbly with sleep. The sound of it helped a lot with the halves I was feeling—virtually eliminating embarrassed, reducing scared, and pushing aroused up a few notches.

  "Well, yes." I couldn't see his face, but I didn't need to. I could feel his willingness to participate in my trial pressed against my backside. "Thing is, I've had different things happen with these stupid panic attacks. If I stop breathing, you could just ignore it. Eventually I start breathing again, or I pass out. But if I throw up…" I let him draw his own conclusions.

  "Quite a mood breaker," he observed, his face on the back of my neck as he wrapped an arm more fully around me on top of the covers.

  I tapped his arm with my finger, and warned, only half in jest, "Don't laugh at me."

  "I wouldn't dream of it. I've heard stories about what happens to people who laugh at you. I like my coffee without salt, please. Tell you what," he said, his voice dropping even lower. "Why don't we just

  play for a bit—and see how far it gets? I promise not to be" — amusement fought with other things in his voice—"dismayed if you throw up."

  And then he slid down in the bed.

  When I flinched, he stopped and asked me about it. I found I couldn't say anything. There are things you don't tell someone you're still trying to impress. There are other things you don't want to remember either. Panic tightened my throat.

  "Shh," he said. "Shh." And he kissed me there, where he'd caused me to shy. It was a gentle, caring touch—almost passionless, and moved on to somewhere less… tainted.

  But he was a good hunter. Adam isn't patient by nature, but his training was very thorough. He worked his way back to the first bad spot and tried again.

  I still flinched… but I told him a little. And like the wolf he was, he laved the wound in my soul, bandaging it with his care—and moved on to the next. He explored thoroughly, found each mental wound—and a few I didn't know I had—and replaced them with other… better things. And when passion began to grow too wild, too fast…

  "So," he murmured, "are you ticklish here?"

  Yep. Who'd have known it? I looked at my inner elbow as if I'd never seen it before.

  He laughed, bounced over a little, and made a raspberry noise with his mouth on my belly. My knees jerked up in reflex, and I bopped him on the head with my elbow.

  "Are you all right?" I pulled away from him and sat up—all desire to laugh gone. Trust me to clobber Adam while we're making out. Stupid, clumsy idiot, me.

  He took one look at my face, put both arms over his head, and rolled on his back, moaning in agony.

  "Hey," I said. And when he didn't stop, I poked him in the side—I knew some of his ticklish spots, too.

  "Stop that. I didn't hit you that hard." He'd been taking lessons from Samuel.

  He opened one eye. "How would you know?"

  "You have a hard head," I informed him. "If I didn't damage my elbow, I didn't hurt your head."

  "Come here," he said opening his arms wide, eyes glittering with laughter… and heat.

  I crawled over on top of him. We both closed our eyes for a bit while I made myself comfortable. He ran his hands over my back.

  "I love this," he told me, a little breathless and yellow-eyed.

  "Love what?" I turned my head and put my ear on his chest so I could hear the pounding of his heart.

  "Touching you…" He deliberately ran a hand over my bare butt. "Do you know how long I've wanted to do this?"

  He dug in with his fingers. Tension from the night before had left me tight, and it felt good. I went limp, and if I could have purred, I would have.

  "Someone looking at us might think we're asleep," I told him.

  "You think so? Only if they don't notice my pulse rate… or yours."

  He hit just the right spot, and I moaned.

  "Just like Medea," he murmured. "All I have to do is put my hands on you. You can be spitting mad… and then you lean against me and go all soft and still." He put his mouth against my ear. "That's how I know you want me as much as I want you." His arms were tight around me, and I knew that I wasn't the only one with wounds.

  "I don't purr as well as Medea," I told him.

  "Are you sure about that?"

  And he proceeded to show me what he meant. If I didn't ever reach Medea's volume, I came close. By the time he got down to business, there was no room in the inferno he'd made of me for fear or memory.

  There was only Adam.

  THE NEXT TIME I WOKE UP I WAS SMILING I WAS ALONE in the bed, but that didn't matter because I could hear Adam downstairs—he was talking to Jesse. Either they were making lunch—I checked the window shades—dinner, or someone was getting chopped into small bits.

  Soon I'd start worrying. But for now… the vampires weren't going to kill everyone I knew. They weren't even going to kill me. The sun was up. And matters between Adam and me were right and tight. Mostly. We had a lot of things to talk about. For instance, did he want me to move in? For a night, it was wonderful. But his house wasn't exactly private; any of his pack could be here on any given day.

  I liked my home, scruffy as it was. I liked having my own territory. And… what about Samuel? I frowned. He was still… not whole, and for some reason bunking at my house was helping. With me he could have a pack, but not be Alpha and responsible for everyone. I wasn't sure it would work out so well for him if I moved in with Adam—and I knew it wouldn't work out if he moved over here, too.

  See, worrying already.

  I took a deep breath and let it go. Tomorrow I would worry about Samuel, about Stefan, and about Amber, whose ghost was the least of her problems. I was just going to enjoy today. For the whole day I was going to be happy and carefree.

  I slid out of bed and realized I was stark naked. Which was only to be expected. But there was no sign of underwear on the floor or in the bedding. I was head and shoulders under the bed when Adam said, from the doorway, "I spy with my little eye something that begins with the letter A."

  "I'll spy your little eye and squish it," I threatened, but, since the bed hid me, there was a grin on my face. I'm not body shy—not growing up among werewolves. I can fake it so people don't get the wrong idea… but with Adam it would be the right one. I wiggled the something in question, and he patted it. "I've been smelling whatever you've been cooking" — something with lemon and chicken—"it's making me hungry. But I can't find my underwear."

  "You could go without," he suggested, sitting on the bed just to the right of me.

  "Hah," I said. "Not on your life, buster. Jesse and who knows who else are down there. I'm not running around without underwear."

  "Who would know?" he asked. "I would know," I told him, pulling my head out from under the bed only to see that he had my bright blue panties dangling from a finger.

  "They were under the pillow," he said with an innocent smile.

  I snatched them and put them on. Then I hopped up and went to the bathroom, where the rest of my clothes were. I dressed, took a step toward the bathroom, and had a flashback.


  I'd been here, unworthy, soiled… stained. I couldn't face them, couldn't look into their faces because they all knew…

  "Shh, shh," Adam crooned in my ear. "That's over. It's over and done with."

  He held me, sitting on the bathroom floor with me on his lap, while I shook and the flashback faded. When I could breathe normally again, I sat up with an attempt at dignity. "Sorry," I said.

  I'd thought that last night would have taken care of the flashbacks, the panic attacks—I was cured, right? I reached up and grabbed a hand towel and wiped my wet face—and found that it just kept getting wet.

  I'd been so sure everything would be back to normal now.

  "It takes longer than a week to get over something like that," Adam told me, as if he could read my mind.

  "But I can help, if you'll let me."

  I looked at him, and he ran a thumb under my eyes. "You'll have to open up, though, and let the pack in."

  He smiled, a sad smile. "You've been blocking pretty ferociously since sometime on the trip back from Spokane. If I were to guess, I expect it was when you let Stefan bite you."

  I had no idea what he was talking about, and I guessed it showed.

  "Not on purpose?" he said.

  Somehow, I'd slid off his lap and was leaning against the opposite wall. "Not that I know."

  "You had a panic attack on the way home," he told me.

  I nodded and remembered the warmth of the pack that had pulled me out of it. Remarkable, awesome—and buried under the rest of the events of the past two nights.

  His lids lowered. "That's better… a bit better." He looked up from the floor and focused on me, yellow highlights dancing in his irises. He reached out and touched me just under my ear.

  It was a light touch, just barely skin to skin. It should have been casual.

  He laughed a little, sounding just a bit giddy. "Just like Medea, Mercy," he said, dropping his hand and drawing a breath that sounded just a little ragged. "Let me try this again." He held out his hand.