Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

tried to get out of bed and Kyle yelled at him. So Darryl went back up.”
    I’d have asked for more details—like why Warren and Darryl were arguing in the first place, assuming it wasn’t Kyle and Darryl—but there wasn’t time.
    The guest room door was open. I stopped just outside and took a deep breath. When you walk into a room with two angry werewolves (and I could hear two growls), it is a good idea to be calm. Anger just exacerbates the situation—and fear can make both of them attack you.
    I shoved the last thought to the back of my mind, tried to think serene thoughts, and walked in.
    Warren had shifted into his wolf form—and he looked no better than he had last night. Splatters of his blood crusted the sheets, the walls and the floor.
    Darryl was still in human form and was struggling with Warren. It looked like he was trying to hold him in the bed.
    â€œLie down,” he roared.
    In the pack, Darryl outranked Warren, he was Adam’s second and Warren, Adam’s third. That meant Warren had to do what Darryl told him to.
    But Warren, hurt and confused, his human half submerged under the wolf, had forgotten that he was supposed to submit to Darryl’s authority. It should have been an instinctive thing. That Warren wasn’t listening to Darryl meant one thing—Darryl wasn’t really more dominant, Warren had been faking it all along.
    Under these circumstances it was a very, very bad thing. A wounded werewolf is dangerous, the wolf nature superceding the human control—and a werewolf is a very nasty creature. Much, much nastier than his natural counterpart.
    The only reason Warren hadn’t killed everyone in the house was because he was half dead and Darryl was very, very strong.
    Kyle was standing against a wall, as far as he could get from the bed. His purple silk dress shirt was ripped and the skin under it torn and dripping blood. The expression on his face was worried, but he didn’t smell of fear or anger.
    â€œYou’re the highest ranking wolf,” Honey whispered. “I told Kyle to call you when Darryl just seemed to irritate Warren. He was all right with Kyle until a few minutes ago.”
    Hadn’t I just told Bran that I outranked Darryl? But Honey, like the rest of Adam’s wolves, knew I wasn’t really Adam’s mate—and even if I was, my authority would be law—not real. Not as real as it would take to help Warren control his wolf. But Honey watched me with faith in her eyes, so I had to try.
    â€œWarren,” I said firmly. “Lie down.”
    If I was the most surprised person in the room when Warren subsided immediately, Darryl was a close second. I’ve always thought it was stupid, the way female pack members take their rank from their mate. I thought it was one of those dumb things that the wolves’ human halves tacked onto nature to make life difficult, something the human part of the werewolves paid attention to, not the wolf.
    Darryl slowly let go of Warren and sat on the end of the bed. Warren lay limply where he’d been, his splendid brown coat ragged and coated with blood, some old, some fresh.
    â€œWell,” I said, to cover up my confusion. “It’s a good sign that he can shift—and he’ll heal faster in this form.” I looked at Kyle. “Did he say anything about why Samuel and Adam left?”
    â€œNo,” Kyle frowned at me. “What did you do?”
    I shrugged. “Werewolf politics,” I told him.
    â€œHow did you do this when I could not?” Darryl asked.
    I looked over and saw that his dark eyes had lightened to yellow—and he was staring at me.
    â€œNot my fault,” I told him. “Adam didn’t even ask me before he claimed me as mate before the pack—I certainly didn’t think it was anything more than a way to keep me from getting eaten. As far as dominance goes, you and Warren will have to sort things out when Adam gets back.” I looked back at Kyle and asked him again, “How badly are you hurt?”
    Kyle shook his head. “Just a scratch.” He raised his face to me. “Am I going to howl at the moon, too?”
    I shook my head. “It’s not that easy to become a werewolf. He’d have had to nearly kill you. A scratch wouldn’t do it.”
    Kyle was a lawyer—nothing showed on his face. I couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed. Maybe he