Shifting Shadows: Stories from the World of Mercy Thompson(73)
“Hello?”
“Is he all right?”
She remembered the werewolf who had brought out a chair for Charles to sit on while the EMTs worked on him. He must have called the Marrok.
“I think so. The wound wasn’t so bad, pretty much a deep cut across his shoulder blades, but the bullet was silver and he seems to be having a bad reaction to it.”
There was a little pause. “Can I speak to him?”
“He’s in wolf form,” she told him, “but he is listening to you now.” One of his ears was cocked toward the phone.
“Do you need help with Charles? His reaction to silver can be a little extreme.”
“No. He’s not causing any problems.”
“Silver leaves Charles’s wolf uncontrolled,” crooned the Marrok softly. “But he’s giving you no problems? Why would that be?”
She’d never met the Marrok, but she wasn’t dumb. That croon was dangerous. Did he think she had something to do with Charles being shot and was now holding him prisoner somewhere? She tried to answer his question, despite the possible embarrassment.
“Um. Charles thinks that his wolf has chosen me as a mate.”
“In less than one full day?” It did sound dumb when he said it that way.
“Yes.” She couldn’t keep the uncertainty out of her voice, though, and it bothered Charles. He rolled to his feet and growled softly.
“Charles also said I was an Omega wolf,” she told his father. “That might have something to do with it as well.”
Silence lengthened and she began to think that the cell phone might have dropped the connection. Then the Marrok laughed softly. “Oh, his brother is going to tease him unmercifully about this. Why don’t you tell me everything that has happened. Start with picking Charles up at the airport, please.”
• • •
Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel, but Charles was in no mood to ease Anna’s fears.
He’d tried to leave her behind. He had no desire to have Anna in the middle of the fight that was probable tonight. He didn’t want her hurt—and he didn’t want her to see him in the role that had been chosen for him so long ago.
“I know where Leo lives,” she told him. “If you don’t take me with you, I’ll just hire a taxi and follow you. You are not going in there alone. You still smell of your wounds—and they’ll take that as a sign of weakness.”
The truth of her words had almost made him cruel. It had been on the tip of his tongue to ask her what she thought she, an Omega female, could do to help him in a fight—but his Brother Wolf had frozen his tongue. She had been wounded enough, and the wolf wouldn’t allow any more. It was the only time he could ever remember that the wolf put the restraints on his human half rather than the reverse. The words would have been wrong, too. He remembered her holding that marble rolling pin. She might not be aggressive, but she had a limit to how far she could be pushed.
He found himself meekly agreeing to her company, though as they got closer to Leo’s house in Naperville, his repentance hadn’t been up to making him happy with her presence.
“Leo’s house is on fifteen acres,” she told him. “Big enough for the pack to hunt on, but we still have to be pretty quiet.”
Her voice was tight. He thought she was trying to make conversation with him to keep her anxiety in check. Angry as he was, he couldn’t help but come to her aid.
“It’s hard to hunt in the big cities,” he agreed. Then, to check her reaction because they’d never had a chance to really finish their discussion about what she was to him, he said, “I’ll take you for a real hunt in Montana. You’ll never want to live near a big city again. We usually hunt deer or elk, but the moose populations are up high enough that we hunt them sometimes, too. Moose are a real challenge.”
“I think I’d rather stick to rabbits, if it’s all the same to you,” she said. “Mostly I just trail behind the hunt.” She gave him a little smile. “I think I watched Bambi one too many times.”
He laughed. Yes, he was going to keep her. She was giving up without a fight. A challenge, perhaps—he thought about her telling him that she wasn’t much interested in sex—but not a fight. “Hunting is part of what we are. We aren’t cats to prolong the kill, and the animals we hunt need thinning to keep their herds strong and healthy. But if it bothers you, you can follow behind the hunt in Montana, too. You’ll still enjoy the run.”
She drove up to a keypad on a post in front of a graying cedar gate and pushed in four numbers. After a pause the chain on the top of the gate began to move and the gate slid back along the wall.
He’d been here twice before. The first time had been more than a century ago and the house had been little more than a cabin. There had been fifty acres then and the Alpha had been a little Irish Catholic named Willie O’Shaughnessy who had fit in surprisingly well with his mostly German and Lutheran neighbors. The second time had been in the early twentieth century for Willie’s funeral. Willie had been old, nearly as old as the Marrok. There was a madness that came sometimes to those who live too long. When the first signs of it had manifested in him, Willie had quit eating—a display of the willpower that had made him an Alpha. Charles remembered his father’s grief at Willie’s passing. They—Charles and his brother, Samuel—had been worried for months afterward that their father would decide to follow Willie.