Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

do easy.” He turned around and met my eyes. When he spoke again, it was in that gentle patronizing tone I thought I’d cured him of a long time ago. “You can’t save me, Mercy. Not when I don’t want to be saved.”
    â€œSamuel,” said Adam in a demanding tone, much stronger than his condition allowed. He raised himself up on his elbows and stared at the other wolf.
    Samuel met Adam’s eyes . . . and I saw shock in his face for just an instant before he began to shift to wolf. It was a dirty trick, something Alphas—strong Alphas—could do, forcing the change on another wolf. I suspected that if Adam hadn’t caught Samuel by surprise, it would never have worked. Adam held Samuel’s gaze while we waited with bated breath. Fifteen minutes is a long time to hold still. And at the end of it, Samuel was gone, leaving the white-eyed wolf in his place. The wolf smiled at Adam.
    â€œMight not be able to save you, old son,” Adam said, lying back again and closing his eyes. “But I can buy us a little time to kick you in the butt hard enough you stop thinking about ‘tomorrow and tomorrow’ and start thinking about how much your butt hurts.”
    â€œSometimes,” said Warren, “it’s real easy to see you were in the military, boss.”
    â€œButt kicking being part and parcel of the service, both on the giving and receiving end,” agreed Adam, without opening his eyes.
    Mary Jo had been staring at Sam. “His wolf is in control,” she said, horrified.
    â€œHas been for a couple of days,” agreed Adam. “No bodies yet.”
    He didn’t know about the fae at the bookstore . . . but I wasn’t sure the fae counted. It had been a defensive killing rather than an uncontrolled killing spree, though Sam had nearly taken me as dessert afterward.
    Sam met my eyes thoughtfully, and I realized that he seemed . . . different, more expressive, than he had in Phin’s bookstore—just as I was used to seeing Samuel’s wolf. I’d thought he was getting more aggressive earlier, but I could see that he’d also been becoming . . . less Samuel, even less Sam. Our little disaster might have bought us a little more time.
    â€œAh take it that the Marrok does not know about Samuel?” Warren broke the silence, sounding very cowboy, very laid-back—which was usually a sign that he wasn’t.
    â€œSort of,” I said. “I told him he didn’t want to know yet, and he believed me. But only on the condition that I’d talk to Charles. According to Charles, the good news is that if Samuel’s wolf was more independent of him, he’d have started causing mayhem right away. Bad news is that if we don’t get Samuel out of his funk soon, his wolf is going to fade, too.” As he had been doing. “And we’ll be left with a dead Samuel anyway, but only after a bonus of lots of other dead bodies.”
    â€œA regular Vikin’ funeral,” commented Warren.
    Mary Jo gave him a sharp look, which he returned.
    â€œAh can read, as long as they’s lotsa good pictures,” he said, speaking even slower than usual and using a lot more Texas-cowboy grammar.
    â€œThat’s my line,” I told Warren. “I resent your stealing it.”
    Ben laughed. But then asked, “How is fading different from just having the wolf in control?”
    Wolves are blunt creatures, mostly impatient with the softpedaling that the rest of the world considers politeness.
    â€œI gather Sam will turn all fang and no brain and will eventually just fall over dead,” I told them. “Probably less damage than what normally happens when the wolf is in charge. Especially since the wolf doesn’t stop until someone stops him. But not good.”
    â€œHe’ll be easier to kill if it comes to it,” said Warren, recognizing the advantages. Samuel was old, powerful, and clever—if his wolf was half as smart, it would take Bran or Charles to take him. This way, any of us with a silver-loaded gun could do it.
    Sam didn’t seem bothered by the conversation. He half closed his eyes and snapped his teeth at Warren with mock fierceness. His ears were up, showing that he was only playing.
    They hurt my heart with their fierce full- on acceptance of reality.
    â€œPack up, kids,” said Adam, with his eyes still closed. “It’s time to take this party