Blood Bound (Mercy Thompson #2)(47)

"He'll be all right?" he asked, sounding quite different from his usual airy tones.

"He's breathing on his own, and his heart is beating" Samuel said.

It wasn't exactly an agreement, but Kyle didn't seem to notice. He sank back onto the carpet and started telling a story as if he'd never been interrupted. His voice showed none of the strain in his face.

"Tell me what I need to know about demons," I told Adam, though I couldn't take my eyes off of Warren. I had the strangest feeling that if I quit watching him, he would die.

There was a long pause. He knew why I wanted to know. If he didn't tell me what he could now-didn't help me with what I intended-then he wasn't the man for me.

"Demons are evil, nasty, and powerless unless they manage to attach themselves like a parasite to some damned fool. Either they are invited in as a guest-which is what makes a sorcerer, or they sneak in because someone weak of will does an evil thing. A simple demon possession doesn't last long because the possessed man cannot blend in: a demon in control wants one thing-destruction. A sorcerer, someone who controls the demon by means of a bargain, is far more deadly. A sorcerer may live undetected by the human population for years. Eventually, the sorcerer will lose control, and the demon takes over."

Nothing I hadn't known.

"How do you kill a demon?" I asked. Samuel's hands were once more sliding needle and thread through bloody flesh.

"You can't," Adam said. "All you can do is remove the threat by killing its host. In this case, Littleton, who is a vampire, bolstered with the demon's magic." He took a breath. "Not any kind of prey for a coyote. You can leave it to us, Mercy. We'll see that he is dead." He was right. I knew it. I was useless.

I noticed that Kyle was staring at us with wide eyes, though he didn't pause in his baseball story, something about when he was in Little League.

"Did you think that werewolves were the worst monster in the world?" I asked Kyle in a nasty tone. I didn't know until I spoke how angry I was. It wasn't right, taking it out on Kyle, but I couldn't seem to stop my mouth. He had rejected Warren for being a monster-maybe he ought to learn more about monsters. "There are a lot worse things out there. Vampires, demons, and all sorts of nasties and the only thing that stands between the humans and them are people like Warren." Even as I said it, I knew I wasn't being fair. I knew that being lied to had bothered Kyle as much as finding out that Warren was a werewolf.

"Mercy," said Adam. " Shh."

It seemed as if his words carried a cool wind of peace that swept over me, washing away all the anger, the frustration and the fear, the Alpha werewolf calming his wolf-only I wasn't his wolf. He had done it again.

I jerked around to stare at him; he was watching Warren intently. If he'd done this to me on purpose, he wasn't concerned about it. But I was pretty sure he'd done it out of habit, because it shouldn't have worked on me.

Damn it.

Warren made a noise, the first one I'd heard out of him since we'd come into the room. I'd have been happier if he hadn't sounded scared.

"Easy, Warren," Adam told him. "You're safe here."

"If you die on us, you won't be," said Kyle with a growl that would have done credit to any of the werewolves in the room.

Battered, bruised, and bloody they might be, but Warren 's lips could still smile. But only a very little bit.

Samuel, his work apparently finished, pulled the old bent-wood rocker from its place in the hall and set it next to the foot of Warren 's bed, leaving the space at the head of the bed to Kyle. Samuel leaned forward in the chair, elbows on the bentwood arms and rested his chin on his folded hands. He looked as though he was watching his shoes, but I knew better. His attention was on his patient, listening for a change in breathing or heartbeat that might signal trouble. He was capable of sitting there, motionless, for hours-Samuel had a reputation as a very patient hunter.

The rest of us mimicked his quiet stillness as Warren drifted to sleep-except for Kyle, who had dropped back into his trials as a ten-year-old third baseman.

While Warren dozed restlessly, there was a steady, but silent, stream of visitors over the next hour. Some of them were friends, but most of them were just checking out the damage. If Adam-or Samuel-had not been there, it would have been dangerous for Warren. Werewolves, outside of a well-run pack, will kill the wounded or weak.

Adam leaned on the wall, watching the visitors with brooding intensity. I could see the effect of his regard as his wolves (and even though they were in human form, they were still his wolves) entered the room. As soon as they saw him, their footfalls quieted further. They dropped their heads, tucked their hands under the opposite arms, took a quick, comprehensive look at Warren 's wounds and left.

When Honey came in, she was sporting a bruise on the side of her face that was healing visibly fast. A half hour later there would have been no sign of it at all. She gave Adam a quick look from the hallway. He nodded his head-it was the first reaction he'd given to any of the visitors.

She scooted around Samuel's chair, then sat down on the floor beside Kyle. She gave Adam another look, but when he didn't object she quietly introduced herself to Kyle, touched him on the shoulder, then settled against the wall with her head leaned back and her eyes closed.

A few visitors later a blond man with a short, reddish beard came into the room. I didn't know him by sight, though I recognized his scent as belonging to one of Adam's pack. I'd quit paying attention to the visitors-and would have ignored this one as well except for two things.