Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

a joke of it, he’d never realize how truthful I was being.
    A slow smile spread across her face and she quit looking like she was ready to bolt back into the house. “Dad’s kind of a stud, all right.”
    â€œJesse,” warned Adam, his voice muffled only a little by the mat. She giggled.
    â€œI have to agree,” I said in overly serious tones. “Maybe as high as a seven or eight, even.”
    â€œMercedes,” Adam thundered, surging to his feet.
    I winked at Jesse, held my gi top over my left shoulder with one finger, and strolled casually out the back door of the garage. I didn’t mean to, but when I turned to shut the door, I looked back and saw Adam’s face. His expression gave me cold chills.
    He wasn’t angry or hurt. He looked thoughtful, as if someone had just given him the answer to a question that had been bothering him. He knew .
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    I was still shaking as I gingerly climbed over the barbed wire fence between Adam’s land and mine.
    All my life I’d blended in with those around me. It is the gift of the coyote. It’s what helps us survive.
    I learned early how to imitate the wolves. I played by their rules as long as they did. If they pushed it beyond reasonable limits because they thought I was less than they, being coyote rather than wolf, or because they were jealous that I did not have to heed the moon’s call, then all bets were off. I played my strengths to their weaknesses. I lied with my body and eyes, licking their boots—then tormenting them in whatever way I could come up with.
    Wolf etiquette had become a game to me, a game with rules I understood. I thought I was immune to the stupid dominance/submission thing, immune to the Alpha’s power. I’d just had a very visceral lesson that I was not. I didn’t like it. Not at all.
    If Jesse hadn’t come in, I would have surrendered myself to Adam, like some heroine from a 1970s series romance, the kind my foster mother used to read all the time. Ick.
    I walked across my back field until I stood beside the decrepit Rabbit that served as my parts car, as well as my means of getting back at Adam when he got too dictatorial. If he looked out his back window, it sat right in the center of his field of view.
    I’d pushed it out of the garage several years ago when Adam had complained about my mobile home spoiling his view. Then, every time he bothered me, I made it uglier. Right now it was missing three wheels and the rear bumper, all stored safely in my garage. Big red letters across the hood said FOR A GOOD TIME CALL followed by Adam’s phone number. The graffiti had been Jesse’s suggestion.
    I dropped down in the dirt beside the Rabbit and leaned my head against the fender, trying to figure out why I’d suddenly been overwhelmed with the desire to submit to Adam. Why hadn’t I felt like this before—or had that been why I’d run so hard? I tried to think back, but all I remembered was worrying about getting so involved with another werewolf.
    Could he have made me submit to him on purpose? Was it physiological or parapsychological, science or magic? If I knew it was going to happen, could I resist it?
    Who could I ask?
    I looked at the car parked in the driveway. Samuel was home from his shift at the ER.
    Samuel would know, if anyone did. I’d just have to figure out how to ask him. It was a testimony to how shaken up I was that I got to my feet and headed home with the intention of asking one werewolf, who had made it plain that he was only waiting to make his move on me, about the way another werewolf had made me desire him. I’m not usually that dumb.
    I was already beginning to have doubts about the wisdom of my plans by the time I reached the front porch. I opened the door and was met by a frigid blast of air.
    My old wall unit had been able to keep my bedroom about ten degrees cooler than the outside, which was all right with me. I like hot weather, but most of the wolves had trouble with it, which is why Samuel had installed the new heat pump and paid for it. A considerate roommate, he usually left the temperature where I set it.
    I took a look at the thermostat and saw that Samuel had punched it down as far as it would go. It wasn’t forty-two degrees inside, but it was trying. Pretty decent effort considering it was over a hundred degrees outside and my trailer had been built in 1978 before the days of manufactured homes