Frost Burned (Mercy Thompson, #7)(58)

Tony frowned at Tad. “And why do you know the names of assassins for hire?”

Tad’s brilliant facade soured. “Because even though they don’t care a fig for the half-bloods, the pureblooded fae send us lists of fae who did not answer the Gray Lords’ call. We, the rejected, are to watch out for these fae and turn in any purebloods we see.”

Tony nodded slowly. “I see. And if you don’t turn them in?”

Tad’s smile left entirely, and he looked very adult. “Nothing good. The Gray Lords don’t have much use for half-bloods.”

Tony blinked a couple of times and bit back whatever homily had come to him. Finally, he looked around at the destruction that was getting cleaned up. It was a crime scene, so probably no one should be cleaning yet—but it was also Sylvia’s private papers flying in the wind.

“No bodies on the ground,” said the officer Tad had cornered. “No one bleeding. No lawsuit because Mr. Hauptman is paying the damages—though we’ll need to do a report just in case. We can let them clean up, Tony.” He looked at Adam. “Mr. Hauptman is coming in tomorrow to make a statement about his kidnapping. That works for me—Tony?”

Tony frowned at me, and Tad’s magic lit up again. Finally, Tony said, “Okay.” He looked at Sylvia, and his face softened. “Why don’t you give your keys to one of your neighbors so they can lock up after they’re done cleaning the mess? I’ll take you to Kyle’s house, so you can look in on the kids.”





8



ADAM


Adam kept his mouth shut and left his arms wrapped around Mercy so that he was anchored and didn’t snarl at the nice policemen.

He kept his eyes off her face because he was having a hard enough time with all the noise and people as it was—the bruise that covered half her face would not help. His instincts kept shouting that something was wrong, and had ever since he’d seen the desk land, and he couldn’t tell if it had missed her. He’d stopped breathing. The thought of his world without Mercy in it . . .

Well, that didn’t help him calm down, either. He had the feeling that enemies were watching, that no one was safe. It was just the aftereffects of battle, dealing with his kidnappers last night and interrupting Mercy’s fight this morning. That on-edge feeling had been familiar even before he was a werewolf.

Adam politely refused to answer any of Tony’s casual questions as they waited for Sylvia to converse with her neighbors. The policeman finally gave up prying. He was a good cop, Tony, and knew that there were things they were hiding; but Adam had scrubbed in the shower of the unfinished winery while they were waiting for Elizaveta to show up. He knew that the only stains left of his killing spree were invisible ones, and he knew how to hide those, even from a good cop’s instincts.

Tony picked up a fluttering paper that had attacked his shoe and looked at it. A bill from the power company, Adam saw, with a lot of red on it. Tony clenched it in his hand.

It was no secret that Tony loved Sylvia—or that she had put him off firmly. But, Jesse had told Adam, that had been a couple of years ago, when Sylvia’s husband had been dead only a year. Tony had respected her wishes and backed off then, which was the right thing to do. But, maintained Jesse, someone should kick Tony and make him try again.

Or else, judging by the expression on Tony’s face while he shoved the crumpled bill into his pocket, maybe a fae should destroy her home, threaten her children, and leave her unpaid bills floating in the wind. Sylvia was tough, smart, and could survive on her own—she didn’t need a handsome prince to ride up and rescue her. But that didn’t mean such a man might not want to protect her from everything he could, anyway.

Adam tipped his head down to see if Mercy had noticed Tony’s epiphany, but as soon as she realized he was looking at her, she turned her attention to him and smiled.

Her lips were outlined in black that faded to gray. If it had been lipstick, it would have been an interesting effect with her coloring. But he knew, from the way the silver had burned his skin when he’d kissed her, that it wasn’t some new color of lipstick. He was also sure that the silver impregnating her lips had something to do with the way she’d taken it from him through their mate bond. He just hoped to Hell that she hadn’t been harmed any other way from that. It might mean they weren’t going to be able to kiss without giving him blisters for the rest of their lives, but he could deal as long as that was the worst it had done.

There were a lot of things to worry about tomorrow. Today he was good. He waited until Sylvia was secured in Tony’s car. Then, when he was satisfied the people he felt responsible for were safe, it was time to leave.

He kissed Mercy’s temple, and said, “Wait here.” Then he headed off at a jog to find his people.

He found both identical Toyota Corollas, the one he’d arrived in and the other manned by Mercy’s surveillance team, parked near the Dumpster. He had the man who’d driven with him hand over the keys and ride back with the other two. By the simple expedient of combining them, he gained a car to take Mercy back to Kyle’s. He opened the door—but realized, as he bent to slide in, that the pair of shoes on the ground next to his car were Mercy’s—as was a sock just under the Dumpster.

He smelled Mercy, death, fae—and a strange werewolf. It was that last scent that made him growl. He’d forgotten that Mercy had gone off with a werewolf Bran had sent to help. A werewolf who was making himself conspicuously absent.