From Dead to Worse

insult, Alcide is aimed to go off like a shotgun. He needs to be more like a sniper rifle.”
    “Isn’t Furnan’s strategy real . . . unusual?”
    “Yes,” Tray said heavily. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. Apparently, he don’t want to face Alcide in personal combat. He don’t want to just beat Alcide. He’s aiming to kill Alcide and all Alcide’s people, as far as I can tell. A few of the Weres, the ones with little kids, they already repledged themselves to him. They’re too scared of what he’d do to their kids, after the attacks against women.” The Were stood. “Thanks for the food. I’ve got to go feed my dogs. You lock up good after me, you hear? And where’s your cell phone?”
    I handed it to him, and with surprisingly neat movements for such large hands, Tray programmed his cell phone number into my directory. Then he left with a casual wave of his hand. He had a small neat house by his repair shop, and I was really relieved to find he’d timed the journey from there to here at only ten minutes. I locked the door behind him, and I checked the kitchen windows. Sure enough, Amelia had left one open at some point during the mild afternoon. After that discovery, I felt compelled to check every window in the house, even the ones upstairs.
    After that was done and I felt as secure as I was going to feel, I turned on the television and sat in front of it, not really seeing what was happening on the screen. I had a lot to think about.
    Months ago, I’d gone to the packmaster contest at Alcide’s request to watch for trickery. It was my bad luck that my presence had been noticed and my discovery of Furnan’s treachery had been public. It griped me that I’d been drawn into this fight, which was none of my own. In fact, bottom line: knowing Alcide had brought me nothing but grief.
    I was almost relieved to feel a head of anger building at this injustice, but my better self urged me to squash it in the bud. It wasn’t Alcide’s fault that Debbie Pelt had been such a murderous bitch, and it wasn’t Alcide’s fault that Patrick Furnan had decided to cheat in the contest. Likewise, Alcide wasn’t responsible for Furnan’s bloodthirsty and uncharacteristic approach to consolidating his pack. I wondered if this behavior was even remotely wolflike.
    I figured it was just Patrick Furnan-like.
    The telephone rang, and I jumped about a mile. “Hello?” I said, unhappy at how frightened I sounded.
    “The Were Herveaux called me,” Eric said. “He confirms that he’s at war with his packmaster.”
    “Yeah,” I said. “You needed confirmation from Alcide? My message wasn’t enough?”
    “I’d thought of an alternative to the theory that you were attacked in a strike against Alcide. I’m sure Niall must have mentioned that he has enemies.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “I wondered if one of those enemies had acted very swiftly. If the Weres have spies, so may the fairies.”
    I pondered that. “So, in wanting to meet me, he almost caused my death.”
    “But he had the wisdom to ask me to escort you to and from Shreveport.”
    “So he saved my life, even though he risked it.”
    Silence.
    “Actually,” I said, leaping to firmer emotional ground, “you saved my life, and I’m grateful.” I half expected Eric to ask me just how grateful I was, to refer to the kissing . . . but still he didn’t speak.
    Just as I was about to blurt out something stupid to break the silence, the vampire said, “I’ll only interfere in the Were war to defend our interests. Or to defend you.”
    My turn for a silent spell. “All right,” I said weakly.
    “If you see trouble coming, if they try to draw you in further, call me immediately,” Eric told me. “I believe the assassin truly was sent by the packmaster. Certainly he was a Were.”
    “Some of Alcide’s people recognized the description. The guy, Lucky somebody, had just been taken on by Furnan as a mechanic.”
    “Strange that he’d entrust such an errand to someone he hardly knew.”
    “Since the guy turned out to be so unlucky.”
    Eric actually snorted. Then he said, “I won’t talk to Niall of this any further. Of course, I told him what occurred.”
    I had a moment’s ridiculous pang because Niall hadn’t rushed to my side or called to ask if I was okay. I’d only met him once, and now I was sad he wasn’t acting like my nursemaid.
    “All right, Eric, thanks,” I said, and hung up as he was saying good-bye. I should have