Moon Called (Mercy Thompson #1)(46)

"Do you love Warren?" I asked. "Not the good sex and great company kind of love. I mean the I'll-follow-you-to-death-and-beyond kind."

It made me feel better that he paused before he answered. "My sister Ally is the only one of my family I still talk to. I told her about Warren a few months ago. I hadn't realized, until she mentioned it, that I'd never told her about any of my other lovers."

He put his hand over mine where it rested on his arm, warming it. "My parents denied what I was for years. When I finally confronted them about it after my mother set me up with yet another young woman with a good pedigree, my father disinherited me. My sister Ally called as soon as she heard-but, after that first conversation, we avoid talking about my being g*y. When I talk to her, I feel as if I have a scarlet letter sewn on my chest, and we are both trying to pretend it's not there." He gave a bitter, angry laugh that changed subtly at the end. When he spoke again his voice was subdued. "Ally told me to bring him to visit." He looked at me and shared what that invitation meant to him.

We'd set out at a fast pace, and the park had narrowed to a strip of lawn on either side of the path. The riverbank exchanged its well-groomed look for a more natural growth of bushes and winter-yellowed, knee-high grass. There was a metal porch-type swing set on the top of a rise, set to look out over the river. I tugged him to it and sat down.

It was so important to get this right. Now that the time had come, I was afraid I'd ruin everything.

Swinging lazily, we watched the water flow past us, almost black in the growing shadows of the overcast sky. After a moment he rubbed his face briskly to warm it-and to wipe away incipient tears.

"God," he said, and I flinched. I'm not a vampire, who can't bear to hear His name, but I don't like it used in vain. When he continued, though, I thought perhaps it hadn't been in vain at all.

"I love him." It sounded as though the words were ripped from his throat. "But he won't let me in. People call in the middle of the night, and he leaves without telling me where he's going."

A lone bicyclist, wearing the skintight uniform of the die-hard enthusiast, appeared from the way we'd come. He passed us in a blur of spokes and Superman blue lycra.

"Nice legs," said Kyle.

It was an old game. Kyle and I comparing notes on men while Warren pretended exasperation.

I leaned my head against Kyle's shoulder. "Too small. I don't like it when I outweigh my men."

Kyle leaned back until he was looking at the sky rather than the river. "When we were in Seattle last month, he drove away a group of drunken, redneck g*y-bashers, just scared them off with a few words. But that Darryl treats him like... like dirt, and Warren just puts up with it. I don't understand. And this stuff tonight..." He sucked air in to steel himself. "Is he involved with drug dealers?"

I shook my head quickly. "No. Nothing illegal." Not yet anyway.

"Is he a fae, then?" he asked, as if it wouldn't bother him much.

"The fae all came out years ago."

He snorted. "You're not that dumb. I know a few doctors and teachers who are still in the closet about being g*y-and all they have to worry about is losing their jobs, not having a group of idiots burn their houses down." I could feel him deciding Warren was fae, and his agitation dropped appreciably. "That would explain some things, like how strong he is and how he knows who's coming before he answers the door."

Well, I thought feeling hopeful, being fae wasn't quite the same as being a werewolf. But if he could accept the one, maybe the other wouldn't be too big a stretch.

"He's not fae," I said. I started to tell him just what Warren was, but the words caught in my throat.

"Warren should be the one telling me this," said Kyle.

"Right," I agreed. "But he can't."

"You mean he won't."

"No. Can't." I shook my head. "I don't have many friends," I said. "Not 'come over and eat popcorn and watch a stupid movie' friends. You and Warren are sort of it." I don't have many girlfriends. My work isn't conducive to meeting other women.

"Pretty sad," Kyle commented. Then he said, "You and Warren are the only people I eat popcorn with, too."

"Pathetic." The banter helped. I drew in a breath and just said it. "Warren's a werewolf."

"A what?" Kyle stopped the swing.

"A werewolf. You know. The moon-called, run-on-four-feet-with-big-fangs kind of werewolf."

He looked at me. "You're serious."

I nodded. "And you're not going to breathe a word of it."

"Oh?"

"That's why Warren couldn't tell you. That and because Adam-the pack Alpha-forbade it. If you go out now and talk to the authorities or the papers, even if they don't believe you, the pack will kill you." I knew I was speaking too fast, but I couldn't seem to slow down. In Warren's house, with only Samuel and Warren, it hadn't seemed so dangerous. Samuel and Warren might care for me, but there were plenty of werewolves right here in town who would be happy to see me-and Kyle-dead for what I had just told him. "Warren will fight them, but there are too many of them. He'll die, and you'll die with him."

Kyle held up a hand. "Hold on. It's a little soon for you to have Warren and me dead, don't you think?"