Moon Called (Mercy Thompson #1)(66)

"Stop that," I chided him. "Keep all your body parts in the van."

He ignored me and opened his mouth, letting his tongue get swept back like his ears. After a while, he pulled his head in and grinned at me.

"I've always wanted to do that," I confessed. "Maybe when this is all over, you can drive, and I'll stick my head out the window."

He turned toward me and let his front paws rest on the floor between our seats. Then he stuck his nose in my midriff and whined.

"Stop that!" I shrieked, and slapped his muzzle. "That's just rude."

He pulled his head back and gave me a quizzical look. I took the opportunity to glance at my speedometer and make sure I wasn't speeding.

"You're going to cause a wreck, Samuel Llewellyn Cornick. Just you keep your nose out of my business."

He snorted and put one paw on my knee, patted it twice-then stuck his nose in my belly button again. He was quicker than my slap this time, withdrawing all the way back onto his seat.

"My tattoo?" I asked, and he yipped-a very bassy yip. Just below my naval I had a pawprint. He must have seen it while I was scrambling into my clothes. I have a couple on my arms, too.

"Karen, my college roommate, was an art major. She earned her spending money giving people tattoos. I helped her pass her chemistry class, and she offered to give me one for free."

I'd spent the previous two years living with my mother and pretending to be perfect, afraid that if I weren't, I'd lose my place in my second home as abruptly as I had the first. It would never have occurred to me to do something as outrageous as getting a tattoo.

My mother still blames Karen for my switching my major from engineering to history-which makes her directly responsible for my current occupation, fixing old cars. My mother is probably right, but I am much happier as I am than I would have been as a mechanical engineer.

"She handed me a book of tattoos that she had done and about halfway through was a guy who'd had wolf tracks tattooed across his back from one hip to the opposite shoulder. I wanted something smaller, so we settled on a single pawprint."

My mother and her family had known what I was, but they'd asked no questions, and I'd hidden my coyote self from them, becoming someone who fit their lives better. It had been my own choice. Coyotes are very adaptable.

I remember staring at the man's back and understanding that, although I must hide from everyone else, I could not hide from myself anymore. So I had Karen put the tattoo on the center of my body, where I could protect my secret and it could keep me whole. I'd finally started to enjoy being who I was instead of wishing that I were a werewolf or human so I'd fit in better.

"It's a coyote pawprint," I said firmly. "Not a wolf's."

He grinned at me and stuck his head out the window again; this time his shoulders followed.

"You're going to fall out," I told him.

Chapter 12

"The pack is coming," I told Samuel, as we cruised slowly by Warren's house for a look-see. "I don't know how much you remember from while you were changing, but Warren called for help. Adam was sleeping and couldn't be woken up-" With Samuel safe, I could worry about Adam. "Is that normal?"

Samuel nodded, and I felt a wave of relief. Clearing my throat, I continued, "Since we can't trust the pack, I think Warren is going to try to keep them away from Adam-which would be fine except that Darryl is Adam's second." Which meant a fight.

Samuel told me once that, despite all the physical benefits they gain, the average life span of a werewolf from his first Change until his death is ten years. People, like my old friend Dr. Wallace, who had to be eliminated within their first year, accounted for some of that. But most werewolves died in dominance fights with other wolves.

I didn't want Warren or even Darryl to die tonight-and if one of them did, it would be my fault. Without my flash of intuition or paranoia that there was something wrong with the pack, Warren wouldn't have been trying to keep Darryl away from Adam.

Richland was quiet, but both sides of the street on Warren's block were solid with parked cars. I recognized Darryl's 67 Mustang as I passed it: the pack was already here. I parked a block away and jogged back with Samuel at my side.

A woman stood under the porch overhang in front of Warren's door. Her black, black hair was pulled back into a waist-length ponytail. She folded her sleekly muscled arms and widened her stance when she saw me. She was a chemistry teacher at Richland High and Darryl's mate.

"Auriele," I said, climbing up the stairs until I shared the porch with her.

She frowned at me. "I told him that you wouldn't do anything to hurt Adam, and he believed me. I told him you would not act against the pack. You have some explanations to give."

As Darryl's mate, Auriele ranked high in the pack. Normally I'd have discussed the matter with her politely-but I needed to get past her and into Warren's home before someone got hurt.

"Fine," I said. "But I need to explain myself to Darryl, not you, and not right now."

"Darryl is busy," she said, not buying my argument. I'd noticed before that teaching classrooms of teenagers made Auriele hard to bluff.

I opened my mouth to try again, when she said, "We keep the Silence."

Wolves have little magic, as most people think of it. Sometimes there will be one, like Charles, who has a gift, but for the most part they are limited to the change itself, and a few magics that allow them to stay hidden. One of those is Silence.