Fire Touched

by Patricia Briggs

  “Like Gary,” said Warren in a serious voice.

  Gary was my older half brother. My very-much-older half brother who was smitten with Honey and had made no bones about it—he wasn’t, strictly speaking, a bad guy. On the other hand, he wasn’t a poster child for the heavenly choir, either.

  Honey flushed, raised her chin, and said, “Like Gary. Are we mediators? A hotel for the night? And how will we deal with expenses?”

  “Do you really think that it’s going to get that big?” I said, taken aback. “I was looking upon it more like a line in the sand. A ‘this is our territory and we will defend it’ rather than a clarion call of blanket protection for anyone who wanted to show up.”

  She examined me with a small smile. “Who knows?” she said. “I was just trying to distract you from your intention of cornering Adam in a private place and ripping him a new one. I figured it would be easier for me to do it than whatever Warren had planned.”

  Warren grinned at her, but when he turned to me, his face was sober. “He had to do it, Mercy. I’m surprised he let it go this long, but he was worried that you would run if he stepped in too soon.”

  That startled me. “Did he tell you that?” I asked.

  “Today,” Warren said. “Darryl and me both, while he was getting fixed up. And Zack, too, I guess, because Zack also needed repairs. You were a tough hunt for him. He had to all but turn himself inside out not to scare you away.” He looked up at the ceiling, then he looked at Honey. “The rest of this conversation is private, I think. You’ve distracted her from her panic, thank you.”

  Honey nodded her elegant head and left, the foggy shape of her dead husband’s ghost followed her. Peter was fading now, I thought with sad satisfaction. It wasn’t safe for the living to cling too hard to the dead; it pulled the living in the wrong direction.

  She shut the door behind her.

  Warren closed his eyes a moment, and I felt when the pack magic slid back into place, locking us into a private space where no one could overhear.

  When he opened his eyes, they were yellow, but that faded. “When you found me alone all those years ago and sent me to Adam, I thought that it would be the usual talk—don’t get in our way, don’t make a stink, and we might not come for you some night and run you out of our territory.”

  “That’s not Adam,” I said.

  He nodded. “No. He’s not the usual Alpha at all, is he? For which we are all grateful. He’s taking a lot of flak, you know. Not from Bran, but from other places. We are the only pack on the planet that has members who are not werewolves or human mates of werewolves, and even that last is right uncommon.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “And you upset the applecart over how our female werewolves are ranked, much to the betterment of their lot everywhere, no matter how much Honey hates it,” he said. “And she hates it less every day. You and Adam, you’ve broken a lot of traditions between the two of you. You are probably lucky you haven’t become targets of other packs. It may not have happened since Bran assumed control—but our history is full of packs who were exterminated when they got uppity.”

  “What does that have to do with anything that happened tonight?” I asked, honestly puzzled.

  “Most of the pack members are actually pretty happy about a lot of the changes. That one about the women, that is the best one because it allows the pack power structure to lay as it should instead of how the Alpha thinks it best. Makes our bonds tighter, healthier.”

  I waited, and he smiled at me. “Well, now, Mercy. Today, you did the right thing—and whatever he said today about not judging that decision, he and I and Darryl talked a lot about it. We all think it was not only the right decision, it was the only decision you could make.” His Texas accent got momentarily thicker. “An’ when you held up thet flaming walking stick, thet was ahlmighty somethin’.” He grinned, and his voice went back to normal, which still had a Texas flavor. “But it’s going to cause a real whoop-de-do all over the place, and we cannot afford to have the pack focused on you instead of on business, or some of our people are going to get hurt.”

  “The vampires?” I asked. “Adam thinks Marsilia is going to be up in arms because I claimed the Tri-Cities for us?”

  “No, ma’am,” said Warren. “Darryl is worried about that, but Adam says, and I reckon he’s right, that Marsilia will be pleased at having that little bit to throw at any other vampires who think to come here and challenge her like that one did a while back. Besides, we can handle the vampires. Stefan won’t move against you”—he didn’t say why not; Warren was one of the few who knew about the bond between Stefan and me—“and that leaves Marsilia herself, and Wulfe. The rest of them aren’t old or powerful enough to give Zack a fair fight.”

  “So where is the problem?” I asked. “The Gray Lords?”

  “Uniting the pack against the fae won’t be no trick.” Warren reached up to tip his cowboy hat—and rubbed his ear instead when he realized it was sitting on his knee because we were inside. Warren didn’t wear hats inside a building because it was rude. He was also perfectly capable of speaking with good grammar, he just didn’t always bother. “The fae are pretty good at making themselves unlikeable—excepting Zee and Tad.”

  “Excepting Tad,” I said. “Zee can be as obnoxious as the best of them when he wants to be.” But I was still working through what he said—and I figured it out. “Oh holy wow. Oh wow. Oops.”

  Warren smiled. “See, I knew you’d think of it when you got going. But if it helps, Adam thinks that pot was boiled when Darryl and Zack jumped in to face off with the troll.”

  “Bran,” I said. “Bran is going to be livid.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  “He just got things smoothed over from when Charles took out that monster in Arizona,” I said. Livid wasn’t even in the ballpark of what Bran was going to be.

  “We figured he’d get the news when it broke on the national front—about twenty minutes ago.”

  “National news,” I said.

  He tipped his imaginary hat to me. “Yes, ma’am. One of our local reporters was close enough to get your declaration on camera, complete with fiery sigils lit up and down your walking staff.”

  I sucked in a breath. This wasn’t my fault. At least, it wasn’t all my fault. It was the fault of the fae for letting a troll loose in my town.

  There was no way we could have left that troll to the police. The troll’s appearance was outside my ability to affect—therefore this was not my fault. I felt guilty anyway.

  “So what does Bran have to do with Adam’s sudden, knuckle-dragging declaration of protection?” I asked.

  “Wait a moment,” Warren said. “He wrote it down because he was worried I might mess it up.” He lifted his hip off the chair and dug around in the back pocket of his jeans. “Here it is.” He handed me a three-by-five card that had seen better days. He’d folded it in half to stick it into his pocket—and Adam had bled on it. There was writing on both sides.

  In small, neat engineers’ block lettering I read:

  1. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.

  2. I cannot afford dissent in the pack over anything if we are to square off against Bran. If they are showing disrespect to my mate, they are not committed to me. They need to be loyal to me, that will matter to Bran.

  3. The rest of the packs all over will now have to decide what they are going to do. If they don’t follow our example, they are going to appear weak. If they follow our example in this, in making our territories truly our territories, they will follow, will they or not, the other changes that have begun in our pack. For this to happen, we must be united.

  4. Even if Bran eases off, the fae will not. I had a little talk with Zee. They want Aiden. They will not be gentle, and Aiden has done nothing to raise their ire, but that won’t save him from torture or worse. I’m not rea
dy to turn someone over for torture just because it would be easier for me. So—here, too, we cannot afford for the pack to be divided.

  I turned the card over. The writing on this side was different, more angular, larger, and the pen had dug into the surface of the card.

  5. Most importantly. I love you. And I am done with standing by while my pack thinks it is acceptable to disrespect you. I am done.

  After the last “done,” he’d written, “I’m sorry,” but it was crossed out. Evidently he wasn’t sorry.

  Warren tapped the card. “The back side he wrote after we had to break his shoulder blade a second time. Apparently, all we did the first time was open a hairline fracture into a full break in the wrong place. Which is why we’d brought Zee down. He’s better with a hammer than any of us.”

  I flinched. “He should have let me be there,” I said.

  “He needed an excuse to be strong,” said Warren. “He was afraid that he couldn’t hold the illusion of strength if you were there.”

  I tucked the card into a front pocket. “You win,” I said. “I won’t yell at him about his declaration. I wouldn’t have even if you hadn’t added that last bit.”

  Warren wrapped his long-fingered hand around the back of my neck and pulled me over so he could kiss the top of my head. “Go ahead and yell at him,” he said. “He’s tough, he won’t mind. Just don’t leave, and he’ll be good.”

  “I wouldn’t have left him over this,” I said, feeling insulted. Then I rubbed my face. “It’s just . . . Warren, I was raised with werewolves. I was raised among the wolves in the Marrok’s pack, where no one was allowed to say anything bad about Bran’s mate, Leah. Sometimes I still wake up in the middle of the night and use phrases I learned from Ben and aim them at her because now I can.”

  “Adam told me that your experience with Leah would make you madder about Adam’s stance,” Warren said. “I’ve met Leah, and she deserves the worst Ben’s potty mouth can offer. Adam knew putting you in Leah’s position wasn’t going to make you happy.”

  I opened my mouth to agree, but honesty stopped me. “It’s going to rankle,” I said. “But I’m all right with it.” I looked at the bloody note. “It’s the idea that he thought I might leave him over this that he’s going to pay for.” I gritted my teeth. “Idiot.”

  Warren grinned and hit his leg with his hat. “I told him he was worried over nothing. If we are okay here, I’m going to go get Kyle and head home. He’s got a meeting with a new client tomorrow. Couple who’ve been married twenty-five years. Their youngest child just graduated from high school. I guess they were waiting for that.”

  “Sad,” I said.

  He looked at me with wise eyes. “Take happiness where you can,” he said. “It seldom lasts—’course, neither does sorrow, right?”

  5

  I stalked out of the meeting room and ignored the surreptitious looks aimed my way as I stomped down the stairs. Adam wouldn’t be in our bedroom—he tried not to bring conflict there. Given his temperament—and mine—he was only partially successful at this. But he did try.

  He wouldn’t want to linger among the wolves, either, not after his exit. He’d let them stew and absorb his edict on their own. Speaking of the wolves, as I got over myself enough to look around, the pack was still here. Lately, some of them lingered after meetings, choosing to go downstairs and play computer games, or stay to chat. They were lingering, chatting (pointedly not about me) and, if my ears didn’t deceive me, playing computers downstairs. But almost no one had gone home.

  I thought about that a moment. Of course no one was going home—I’d made our home a target, and we needed the pack to keep everyone here safe.

  “Where’s Zack?” I asked Ben, who was leaning against a wall scarfing down a couple of leftover hamburgers held precariously on a saggy paper plate.

  He swallowed and ran his tongue over his teeth before opening his mouth. “Asleep. Tad suggested he take half the bed in his room, as it was likely to be quieter than anywhere else he could sleep tonight.”

  That’s not exactly what Ben said, but I’d gotten good at ignoring the swearing ever since I figured out it was a defense mechanism. Occasionally, he got me with something truly creative.

  “And our guest?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I think he went to bed, too. But honestly, Mercy, I don’t care, right? We promised to grant him sanctuary, but if he doesn’t stick around like a fly on a whore’s mattress, then I guess we’re off the hook.”

  I wasn’t sure of that, but I was pretty sure, from his reaction on the bridge, that Aiden wasn’t going to be running off while he was still safe.

  “Adam?”

  Ben grinned at me. “In his office.”

  Of course he was. Because he wasn’t a coward, he wasn’t afraid of fighting with me. The only reason he’d left Warren to talk to me was so that he could face off with Bran.

  I knocked on Adam’s office door. Adam’s office was soundproofed, mostly. Which meant I had to be leaning against the door to hear anything inside.

  “Who?” he asked.

  “You know who,” I told him.

  “Come in.”

  I slipped in and closed the door behind me, locking it. Despite my expectations, he wasn’t on the phone. That was good, because I still had a few things to say to him.

  “Afraid someone will interrupt us?” Adam asked, his face politely wary.

  “Afraid you’ll run,” I told him seriously. “Apparently. From what you told Warren. And Darryl. Oh. And Zack.”

  He flushed a little. “I only said that because—”

  “Because you were afraid if you jumped in between the pack and me, I would run,” I said.

  He folded his arms and looked unhappy.

  That was okay. I was unhappy with him, too.

  “Because,” I said with fierce irony, “you can’t count on me not to take off when the chips are down. Because every time we fight, I run away and lick my wounds. Because if you do something I don’t agree with—and we’ll get back to that—I’ll desert you and go looking to find myself like your ex-wife did.”

  “Because,” Adam said carefully, “Bran told me that if I treated you the way I did Christy, you’d leave me, too. Maybe not that day, or the one after that, but eventually you’d burst free of any chains I tried to wrap you in, even if it was for your protection.”

  I froze. Raised an eyebrow. “Did Bran really compare me to your ex-wife, or are you just saying that so I’ll be mad at him instead of you?”

  “Would I do that?” he asked.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “In a heartbeat, you would.”

  He laughed.

  “Okay,” he said. “I deserved that. But those were his exact words.”

  I took a deep breath. “There are two of us in this relationship, Adam. I love you. If you need to establish a rule I disagree with, but it is necessary for you—I can compromise.” I took a deep breath because I really, really didn’t like the gag order he’d issued. “I can live with the law you laid down on the pack tonight—I don’t like it. But I can deal—and so will they.” Just like Bran’s pack dealt with his wife, Leah. I hated her when I lived with Bran’s pack. But I’d never disrespected her to her face.

  Adam relaxed.

  “Of course,” I said, “not letting me know how badly the initial treatment of your broken shoulder had gone, that might get you in real trouble. But you would never try to keep something from me, like having to break your shoulder twice because the first time didn’t work, would you? Because you know that I would be really, really ticked off about that.”

  He looked at me.

  I held my hand up at hip height. “Here’s my irritation level when someone jumps in to protect me when I don’t need it.” I thought about it and bent down until my hand was at my knee. “Nope. This is where my irritation le
vel is. My irritation level is here”—back at my hip—“when he does it without warning me. My irritation . . . anger level is here”—I held my hand up to my eyes—“when you keep me out of something that is my concern. When I landed in the hospital after your ex-wife’s stalker tried to kill me”—he’d been an insane volcano god, the same one who’d destroyed my shop and turned my friend Joel into a tibicena—“I wasn’t trying to make everyone keep you away because the sight of me all beaten up might make you feel bad.”

  “You were dying,” Adam said. “You had no choice.” But his face was tight. He didn’t like to be reminded about how close I’d come to dying.

  “Yes,” I snapped. “And if you keep me away again, you only hope you’ll be dead when I find out about it.”

  I was absolutely serious. The force of my anger took me by surprise. Adam was mine. I’d belonged at his side, not setting up a stupid barbecue. He’d sent me away—and I’d let him because I’d felt guilty for setting the pack up to face off with the fae, the vampires, and a host of other people and not-people who might take offense at my declaration that the Tri-Cities was our territory. It was probably myself I was maddest at, but Adam was a good substitute.

  The computer chimed.

  I marched around and saw that Skype was up, and hit the ANSWER button.

  Bran appeared, his eyes half-lidded in the way they were when he was furious.

  “Not now,” I told him. “Adam and I are having a fight about stupid wolves who don’t tell their mates when some damned iron-kissed fae has to break his shoulder because your son the doctor is running around Europe. We have some competent EMTs, but EMTs are not up to bone work—which they proved by breaking his shoulder wrong. Excuse us. I’ll call you back when we are done here.”

  “Mer—”

  I hit the button to hang up, turned to Adam—who was laughing. Laughing. It was going to be the last thing that he ever did.

  “That might be the last thing either of us ever do,” he answered, and I realized I must have said that last thing out loud. “Bran doesn’t really appreciate being hung up on.” He sobered. “I plead stupid,” he said. “And prideful. In my defense, I was pretty badly hurt, and no one wants to get their shoulder broken. Three times today, actually, if you count the first one.”