Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

V-12 open up.
    He didn’t beat me there, but I was still arguing with the idiot at the front door when he skidded to a stop, splattering gravel all over.
    I pulled out my cell phone and played Adam’s message for the door guard. “He’s expecting me,” I grated.
    The idiot shook his head. “My orders are no one but pack.”
    â€œShe is pack, Elliot, you moron,” said Honey, coming to the door behind the big man. “Adam’s claimed her as his mate—which you very well know. Let her in.” Honey’s hand clamped on Elliot’s arm and dragged him back from the door.
    I grabbed Kyle’s arm and pulled him past the obstreperous moron-guard. There were werewolves everywhere. I knew that there were only about thirty wolves in Adam’s pack, but I’d have sworn there were twice that in the living room.
    â€œThis is Kyle,” I told Honey, leading Kyle to the stairs.
    â€œHello, Kyle,” Honey said softly. “Warren’s told me about you.” I hadn’t realized she was a friend of Warren’s, but her smeared mascara told me she’d been crying.
    She didn’t follow us up the stairs—doubtless she’d have a few unhappy moments with Elliot before she could do anything else. Idiot or not, Elliot was a dominant, and so higher in the pack than Honey, who took her rank from her submissive husband. Have I mentioned that werewolf etiquette is stuck in another century? Honey had really put her neck out for us.
    Adam’s house has five bedrooms, but I didn’t have to guess where Warren was. I could smell the blood from the top of the stairs, and Darryl, Adam’s second, stood watch at the door like a Nubian guarding the Pharaoh.
    He frowned heavily at me. I was pretty sure it was for bringing a human into pack business. But I had no patience for it right now.
    â€œGo rescue Honey from that idiot who was trying to keep me out.”
    He hesitated.
    â€œGo.” I couldn’t see Adam, but it was his command that sent Darryl past us and down the stairs.
    Kyle entered the room first, then stopped abruptly, blocking my sight of the room. I had to duck under his arm and scoot past before I got a good look.
    It was bad.
    They’d stripped the bed down to its bottom sheet and Samuel was working furiously over the battered, bloody thing that was Warren. I didn’t blame Kyle for hesitating. If I hadn’t smelled him, I would never have known who the man on the bed was, there was so little left that was recognizable.
    Adam leaned against the wall, out of Samuel’s way. Sometimes, if a pack member is badly hurt, flesh and blood of the Alpha can help heal him. Adam’s left arm had a fresh bandage. He looked over at us, his gaze taking in Kyle. When he looked at me, he nodded once, in approval.
    Samuel saw Kyle and directed him over to the bed next to Warren’s head with a jerk of his chin.
    â€œTalk to him,” Samuel said. “He can make it if he wants to badly enough. You just need to give him a reason.” Then to me he said, “Stay out of my way unless I ask you for something.”
    Kyle, dressed in slacks that cost more than I made in a month, sat without hesitation on the bloodstained floor next to the bed and began talking quietly about baseball, of all things. I tuned him out and concentrated on Warren, as if I could hold him here by sheer force of will. His breath was shallow and unsteady.
    â€œSamuel thinks the damage was done last night,” Adam murmured to me. “I’ve got people out looking for Ben, who was with Warren, but there’s no sign of him yet.”
    â€œWhat about Stefan?” I asked.
    Adam’s eyes narrowed a bit, but I met his gaze anyway, too upset to worry about damned dominance or any other kind of games.
    â€œNo sign of any vampire,” he said finally. “Whoever hurt Warren, dropped him at Uncle Mike’s.” Uncle Mike’s was a bar of sorts in Pasco, a local hangout for the fae. “The man who opened today found him in the Dumpster when he was taking out the trash. He called Uncle Mike, who called me.”
    â€œIf it was done last night, why isn’t he healing better than this?” I asked, hugging myself tightly. Anything that could do this to Warren could have done the same or worse to Stefan. What if Warren died? What if Stefan were already dead—the never-to-rise-again dead—left somewhere else, in some