Frost Burned

Marsilia I knew at all.
    I took the key fob to the car out of my pocket and handed it to her. She looked at me, looked at the dent in the driver’s side door, and paced slowly around the Mercedes, saving the trunk for last.
    “Remind me not to leave an expensive item in your care again,” she said. And that was the Marsilia who despised me, the one I felt just fine hating right back.
    “You haven’t shown yourself to be all that wonderful at taking care of your treasures, either,” I said coolly. “At least the car can be fixed.” She’d hurt my friend with her carelessness, and I wasn’t sure Stefan would ever recover. “Besides, if what I suspect is true, this damage”—I waved at the car—“as well as the death of my wolf Peter Jorgenson is a result of vampire politics.”
    She didn’t say anything, which meant my speculation was accurate.
    “An assassin attacked me,” I continued. “Her head hit the driver’s side door during the fight and left the first dent. She broke out of the trunk—still quite dead.” I tapped my nose. “I could smell it on her.”
    Marsilia gave me a tight smile. “Perhaps you are right,” she said, and her hand went to the damaged trunk.
    “But the bloodstains and claw scratch marks in the back seat are my responsibility,” I told her, stepping off my high horse. “I took the car without asking you because I needed one that could not be traced to me. Adam and I will foot the bill for repairs.”
    Asil and Honey came up to flank me.
    “No,” said Marsilia with a sigh. “You are right, this was vampire business.” She patted the trunk as if it were a living thing. “Especially this. Perhaps you can recommend a good repair shop.”
    She looked at my face and laughed. The subtle wrongness of the sound set the hair on the back of my neck rising. Marsilia was really old, and did not do emotions quite right. The effect was disturbing.
    “Really Mercy, what did you expect? I can be civilized, too. It is only a car. Come inside.” She waved her hand at the ruins of the winery behind her. “Come inside, and learn why your pack was targeted.”
    “Because someone saw us, saw the werewolves as your allies,” I told her. “They wanted you weakened.” The rest of the explanation hinged on that first part. “They hired mercenaries and dissatisfied Cantrip zealots so that Bran would go hunting for federal agents and hired guns—and miss the one who was behind it all. Personally, I think they underestimate Bran, but a lot of people do. He likes it that way. The bottom line, Marsilia, is that someone, some vampire, wants your seethe.”
    “Yes. And you, cunning little coyote,” she purred affectionately, so I knew that my accuracy had displeased her, “you have been so clever as not to die.” She reached out suddenly, and her face loosened with lust as she ran her fingers over Asil’s face. “And look what you brought me. A new toy.”
    Marsilia had a thing for werewolves.
    Asil smiled wickedly and deftly avoided her gaze—dominant werewolf instincts to stare down everyone they meet are all wrong when it comes to vampires. Vampires can capture most people’s minds with their gaze. That is what allows them to hunt people and not get caught. The Moor was apparently aware of vampire eye tricks.
    “I like you,” Marsilia said to him. “You are pretty.”
    “I like you, too,” said Asil. “Vampires are an acquired taste.” He smiled, with white teeth showing.
    She frowned.
    “Marsilia,” said Stefan, stepping out of the darkness. “You distract yourself.”
    She didn’t look at him, didn’t take her eyes off Asil, just angled her head a little toward Stefan. “And if I do? What is the harm?”
    “Mercy might kill you before anyone else gets a chance.” Stefan sounded bored.
    Marsilia flashed her fangs at me with sudden rage. “Do you think you can kill me, little coyote?” Her voice deepened, and her eyes no longer looked black. “Do you think I am so easy?”
    “Hey,” I told those brilliant red eyes. “I’m not the one making threats. But if you try to do something to my wolves, you’ll have to go through me to do it.”
    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Asil smile, just a little.
    “Your wolf would enjoy it,” Marsilia said, evidently dismissing Asil’s earlier remark as admiration rather than a threat. More fool her. “You should let him make his own choice.”
    I stepped between her and Asil. “Leave him alone, Marsilia.” Not