Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

being so interesting, I’d forgotten about Honey. “No. Adam takes care of his own. Wolf, human or whatever.” She looked at me pointedly. “Even when they don’t want him to.”
    It felt weird to exchange a smile with Honey, so I stopped as soon as I could. I think she felt the same way because she turned her head to stare out the window.
    â€œOr when they don’t belong to him,” I told her. Then I turned to Black. “So tell me about your werewolves.”
    â€œThree years ago, my daughter survived an attack by a rogue werewolf,” he said, speaking quickly as if that would make it easier for him to handle. “She was ten.”
    â€œTen?” whispered Honey. “And she survived?”
    Like Honey, I’d never heard of someone attacked so young surviving—especially not a girl. Females don’t survive the change as well as males. That was why Adam’s pack only had three females and nearly ten times that many males.
    Lost in his tragic story, Black didn’t seem to hear Honey’s comment. “There was another werewolf. He killed her attacker before it could finish her off. He brought her back to us and told us what to do for her. He told me to hide her. He said that a young girl might…might have it rough in a pack.”
    â€œYes,” said Honey fervently. At my questioning look she said, “Unmated females belong to the Alpha. Your wolf instincts kick in, so it’s not terrible”—her eyes said differently—“even if you don’t particularly like the Alpha. But a girl so young…I’m not certain that an Alpha would spare her.” She took a deep breath and whispered, almost to herself, “I know some of them would even enjoy it.”
    Black nodded, as if this wasn’t news to him—though it was to me. I thought I knew all there was to know about werewolves.
    â€œWhat about when she first changed?” I asked. Humans are not equipped to deal with a new-made werewolf.
    â€œI built a cage in the basement,” he said. “And every full moon I chain her and lock her in.”
    Every full moon even after three years? I thought. She should have managed to gain control of her wolf by now.
    â€œTwo months ago she broke the chain to her collar.” Black looked ill. “I got a thicker chain, but this time…My wife told me that she gouged a hole in the cement. I was in Portland covering a trade conference. I called the werewolf. The one who saved her. He told me she was getting stronger, that I had to find a pack for her. He told me our local Alpha would be a poor choice. When he found out I was in Portland, he gave me Hauptman’s name—and yours.”
    I felt sorry for his daughter—and for him. Sorrier still because finding an Alpha who wouldn’t abuse her might be the least of his problems if she hadn’t managed to control her wolf yet. Wolves who are out of control are killed by their Alpha so they don’t hurt anyone else.
    I didn’t want to give Adam responsibility for a young girl’s death.
    â€œThere may be someone closer to where you live,” I said. “Let me make a phone call.”
    â€œNo,” said Black, taking two steps back. He might not be a werewolf, but he was fast. I never noticed the gun until it was in his hands. “It’s loaded with silver,” he said, the spike of fear I felt from him made me want to pat him on the back and tell him it would be all right—or it would if he didn’t shoot me and Honey didn’t kill him.
    I don’t think he was used to combat situations, because he ignored Honey and kept the gun on me.
    â€œHe’s not going to shoot anyone, Honey,” I told her as she started to move. “It’s all right, Mr. Black, I won’t mention your name. Has your contact told you anything about the Marrok?”
    He shook his head.
    Honey waited, her eyes locked on his gun.
    â€œOkay. The Marrok is like, the Alpha of all the Alphas.” That there was a head werewolf was kind of an open secret. Everyone knew that there was someone pulling the werewolves’ strings, and there was a lot of speculation about who it might be. So I hadn’t given away any great secret.
    Bran wasn’t out to the public—if things went badly, he wanted to make sure that the sanctuary he’d established in Montana remained a safe haven. Even if he had been out, no one