Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

pretty sure he wasn’t much older than he looked. There’s something about the older wolves, an air they carry of being not quite of this age of cars, cell phones, and TVs, that Darryl didn’t have.
    Peter was old enough to have been in the cavalry, but here and now he worked as a plumber. He was good at his job, and he had a half dozen people (human) on his payroll. But he walked to the right and behind Darryl because Darryl was very dominant and Peter was one of the few submissives in Adam’s pack.
    Darryl stopped at the foot of the porch. He didn’t like me much most of the time. I’d finally decided it was snobbery—he was a wolf and I a coyote. He was a Ph.D. working in a high-priced think tank, and I was a mechanic with dirt under my fingernails.
    And worst of all, if I was Adam’s mate, he had to follow my orders. Sometimes the chauvinism that permeates the rules by which the werewolves operate works backward. No matter how submissive the mate of the Alpha is, her commands are second only to his.
    When he didn’t say anything, I just opened the door and led Adam’s two wolves into my home.

2
    STEFAN WASN’T AMENABLE TO CHANGING DONORS, SO Peter and Darryl knelt, one on either side, and began to pry his grip loose. When I approached to help, Adam snarled at me.
    If he hadn’t snarled, I’d probably have let the wolves take care of it. After all, they all have awesome werewolf superstrength. But if Adam and I were going to have a relationship, something that was giving me butterflies already, it was going to be on an equal footing. I couldn’t afford to back down when Adam growled.
    Besides, I despised the cowardly part of me that flinched at his anger. Even if I was pretty sure it was the smart part.
    Peter and Darryl were working on Stefan’s hands, so I went to his head. I slipped my fingers into one side of his mouth, hoping that vampires had the same reaction to pressure points as the rest of us. But I didn’t need to use any nerve pinches, because as soon as my fingers touched his mouth, he shuddered and released Adam, his arms going limp at the same time as he pulled his fangs out.
    â€œWon’t,” Stefan said as I pulled my fingers out of his mouth. “Won’t.” It came out a whisper and faded eerily as he ran out of air.
    His head moved until he rested against my shoulder, his eyes closed. His face almost looked like his now, filled out and healing. The broken places on his skin, hands, and lips looked like wounds now. It said something about how bad he’d been that oozing wounds were an improvement.
    If his body hadn’t shook against me as if he were having an epileptic fit, I’d have been happier.
    â€œDo you know what’s wrong with him?” I asked Adam helplessly.
    â€œI do,” Peter said. He casually pulled a huge pocketknife out of its belt sheath and made a small cut in his wrist.
    He moved me out from under Stefan and moved him around until Stefan was lying down with his head on Peter’s lap, held steady by the werewolf’s unwounded hand. Peter held his bloody wrist in front of the vampire, who clamped his lips together and turned his head away.
    Adam, who had wrapped his hand around his own wrist to staunch the bleeding, leaned forward. “Stefan. It’s all right. It’s not Mercy. It’s not Mercy.”
    Red eyes slitted open, and the vampire made a sound I’d never heard before ... and wished I could still say that. It raised every hair on the back of my neck, high-pitched and thin like a dog whistle but harsher somehow. He struck and Peter jerked, gritting his teeth and hissing.
    I didn’t notice when my mother left us, but she must have at some point because she had Samuel’s big first-aid kit from the main bathroom open on the couch. She knelt by Adam, but he surged to his feet.
    Alpha werewolves don’t admit to any pain in public, and seldom in private. His wrist might look like it had been savaged, but he’d never let my mother do anything about it. I stood up, too.
    â€œHere,” I said, before he could say something to offend her or vice versa. “Let me see.”
    I tugged and pulled until I could see the wounds. “He’ll be all right,” I told Mom with satisfaction. “It’s scabbed over already. A half hour from now it’ll just be a few red marks.”
    That was good.
    My mother raised her eyebrow, and