Smoke Bitten (Mercy Thompson, #12)(33)

“Agreed,” I said. “But that doesn’t tell me why you need me to come.”

“I don’t know about him,” Darryl said. “But I’m hoping she’ll be so focused on you that she’ll forget to be mad at me. I want to be able to sleep tonight without having to keep one eye open.”

“Thanks,” I said dryly. “Happy to help.”



* * *



? ? ?

Adam’s office was not large enough for four people to fit comfortably. That was even more evident when three of them were dominant werewolves.

Adam sat in the chair behind his desk. Auriele occupied the other chair, a leather and maple work of art that Christy had given Adam for their anniversary one year. That left Darryl holding up a wall and me sitting on Adam’s desk.

Auriele was sitting as though she were modeling for a portrait, she was that still. She held her body like a dancer just before the music starts, back upright and body tense. Her legs were tucked back, ready to push her to her feet at any time.

She had barely acknowledged any of us.

Adam pursed his lips. “So how do you think Harolford—always assuming he is the one in charge—will work his attack? Slow and steady? Or blitzkrieg with all barrels firing?”

Auriele finally looked up. “Are you asking me?” Her tone was incredulous.

Adam looked at Darryl, who was keeping his face neutral, and then me before looking at Auriele. His face was slightly amused. “Yes.”

She glared at him. He raised an eyebrow.

“I thought we were going to talk about my behavior,” she said, her voice a growl.

Adam tilted his head. “Why? You know what you did today was stupid. We know that there is something behind it that’s a lot more traumatic than my ex-wife’s disappointment about Jesse’s choice of schools. I’m not going to ask you about it. Just inform you that”—his voice dropped low and softened dangerously as his eyes turned yellow—“you need to stop letting it affect you to the point where you are useless to the pack.”

She met his eyes for a long moment before water gathered on her lower lids. I twisted around and opened a drawer in Adam’s desk to grab a tissue. When I turned around, Darryl was kneeling beside her, one of his big arms wrapped around her. To accommodate his hold, she had slid to the very edge of the chair.

I handed her the tissue. She grabbed it and wiped her eyes.

“Damn it,” she muttered. “I’m sorry, Mercy. I should have talked to you before I acted. I know that Christy isn’t logical about you.”

I made a humming noise. “It’s probably the blue hair dye that I may or may not have put in the shampoo container she left in my shower,” I told her. “I wouldn’t like me, either, if I were her.”

Her lips turned up and she gave a half laugh. “Yes, Mercy. I’m sure that the blue dye is the real reason that Christy doesn’t like you.”

She looked at Adam. “I’m sorry. I had some family news a few days ago.” She drew in a breath, and when she spoke again, she was talking to Darryl. “My youngest sister is pregnant with twins.”

The silence that followed was full of sharp edges.

Auriele and Darryl had no children. Male werewolves could father children—but female werewolves could not carry them. The moon’s call ensured that all werewolves had to change. The change from human to wolf is violent, too violent for a fetus to survive the first trimester.

Auriele’s youngest sister was not a werewolf.

“Surrogate,” said Darryl, his voice decisive.

“Who would be a surrogate for a werewolf?” Auriele shot back. The speed of her response told me that this was an old argument.

“Someone who wanted to become a werewolf anyway,” answered Adam. “Let me speak to Bran.”

They both blinked at Adam as if it had not occurred to them.

“I don’t know that there is such a woman,” he continued. “And even if we can locate one, it might be hard to find a reproductive specialist willing to work with our situation.”

“And if you find someone like that,” said Auriele, “there will be a long line of werewolves who want children. And our pack is not affiliated with the Marrok anymore.”

Adam shrugged. “You have time. As long as you don’t force me to kill you or Darryl in the meantime.”

“So don’t start that fight, mi vida,” said Darryl.

She laughed, though it sounded shaky. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She rubbed her hands together, rolling the damp tissue into a ball. She leaned a little harder into Darryl and said. “Blitzkrieg. There is no other way for them to succeed. This is our territory and we have resources here. They need to make you look weak, make the pack feel unprotected. So they have to hit us hard and heavy. Mary Jo’s beau won’t be the only family member hit.”

“He wasn’t hurt,” I said.

“First salvo,” said Darryl. “They are telling our pack, ‘Look at us, we can take yours and return him unharmed because we are just that powerful.’”

“I agree,” said Adam. “None of our vulnerable is safe.”

“Should we call them into the pack house?” I asked.

Auriele shook her head. “No. Not yet. We have to trust our people. Adam’s been instilling fighting skills in all of us, willing or not, way before Darryl or I joined the pack. We can protect our own. If someone needs support, then they can call for help.”