Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

dripping bits of myself all over, I walked back to Sam. He was still where I’d left him, staring as hard as he could at something I could no longer see.
    It hadn’t been a hard bite, and I wouldn’t let myself be afraid of Sam. My foster father’s SIG was in its holster across my shoulder, full of regular ammunition that generally worked just fine on fae—and did nothing to werewolves but make them mad. I tuned out Charles’s warning voice and put the hand of my uninjured arm on Sam’s neck. I refused to believe he was regressing into a vicious killer. A bite did not a killer make.
    â€œDamn it all, Sam, why’d you bite me?” If I yelled at him, I couldn’t be afraid of him. So I yelled at him.
    Sam glanced at me, then knocked one of the fallen books aside with one paw. It was a cloth-bound copy of Felix Salten’s Bambi’s Children . In the glamour version of the shop, there had been no books on the floor. He’d bitten me on purpose—hadn’t I asked him if he could break the glamour, too? Evidently, the bite was his answer. My blood must have allowed him to see what I did, some sort of sympathetic magic or something.
    â€œCool,” I said. “That’s cool.” Pushing out of my head the knowledge that neither Samuel nor Sam, my friend, would have bitten me so casually, I turned my attention to the bookstore.
    I have a pretty good memory for scents, and I picked up Phin’s without any trouble. If I’d been looking for purely human assailants, I’d have been in trouble. This was a bookstore and had had a lot of people running through it. There weren’t many fae aside from Phin, who barely qualified to my nose. However, several of the fae had been here recently, without many people in to cover up their trail.
    â€œI’ve got Phin, the old woman from this afternoon, and three other fae,” I told Sam.
    Sam raised himself on the edge of one of the dominoed bookcases and put his nose against the back, moving and sniffing until he’d found what he wanted. He stepped back in obvious invitation.
    Without touching it, I bent until my nose was nearly touching the wood. I smelled it, too, right where someone had put their magic-laden hand on the wood and pushed the bookcase over.
    â€œThat’s one of them,” I told Sam. “Some kind of woodland fae, I think—air and growing things.”
    I followed Sam’s lead and sniffed and crawled and sniffed some more until we had a handle of sorts on what had happened here. I’d have done it easier if I took coyote form. But if someone came upon us, I’d have a better chance of explaining myself and keeping things calm if I was human. Calm was good, because I didn’t want Sam eating anyone he shouldn’t.
    I told myself all these good reasons to keep my human shape on because they were good reasons. But I knew the real reason was because that bite had made me concerned that Sam would forget that I was his friend if I were running around as a coyote instead of a human who could remind him of it.
    â€œSo,” I told him, my hand on my hips as I surveyed a patch of blood belonging to Phin. “They came in the door, and the last one locked it behind him. Let’s call him Fishy Boy, because he’s a water fae of some sort. He seems to be the one running the show because all the damage to the store was done by the other two.”
    Sam’s icy gaze speared me, and I looked down and away—like the salute of a fencer. Acknowledging his state as the big bad wolf without submitting to it. It must have been enough, because he didn’t act any more aggressive.
    Again with the dominance stuff, it wasn’t something Sam usually indulged in unless he was really upset or meeting a wolf for the first time. When you are the top dog for long enough, I guess you don’t feel like you have to rub people’s noses in it.
    If he hadn’t bitten me, I’d have just dropped my eyes, but that didn’t feel safe anymore. Not after he bit me. I needed to remind him that I was an Alpha’s mate, predator and not prey.
    A week, Charles had said, based on one example who had been a lot younger than Samuel was. I was starting to worry that he’d been optimistic—which is something I’ve never felt compelled to accuse Charles of being. How much time did Sam have?
    â€œSo Fishy Boy grabs Phin, and says, ‘We know youse got