Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

faint popping sounds, and Mary Jo scrabbled at the mat frantically, her control shattered and the wolf fighting for survival.
    â€œGod damn it,” he said. “Yield. Don’t make me kill you.”
    For some reason at that moment I looked at Henry. The bastard was watching without any emotion on his face at all.
    â€œYield,” Adam roared. “Mary Jo. Yield.”
    Mary Jo hit the mat with her right hand, twice.
    â€œShe yields,” Paul said, looking at Darryl.
    â€œPaul wins,” said Darryl. “Do you accept her yield?”
    â€œYes, yes.”
    â€œIt is over,” declared Darryl.
    Paul jumped off of her and rolled her over. “Medic,” he said, sounding frantic. “Medic.”
    A few heads turned to Sam. He stayed where he was, but he all but vibrated with the need to help. He closed his eyes and finally turned his back to the scene. It was Warren who pulled up Mary Jo’s T-shirt, and Adam who grabbed the first-aid kit.
    I grabbed Jesse, and we both stayed back. Within a few seconds I couldn’t see what was happening for all the people who crowded closer.
    â€œGot to pull the rib out of her lung,” said Adam tightly. Then, “Just toss the broken bits. They’ll regrow.” Medicine among werewolves is, in many ways, much simpler—if more brutal—than for humans. “Hold her down, Paul. The more she struggles, the more this is going to hurt.” Then in a much softer voice, Adam crooned, “Just bear with us a bit, baby. We’ll get you so you can breathe better in just a second.”
    â€œI didn’t hit her in the ribs,” Paul said.
    â€œHenry knocked her across the kitchen,” said Auriele. “Here. Don’t get that Vaseline all over. Just a little around the wound to seal the Teflon pad, but you’ve got to tape three sides of the pad, and that will work better if you aren’t taping to Vaseline-covered skin.”
    There was a wave of relieved silence as whatever they’d managed to do seemed to work and Mary Jo could breathe again. People backed away, giving her space since she was out of immediate danger.
    The dojo came equipped with a stretcher—a very basic piece of equipment, just a metal frame with canvas stretched around it and a pair of grips on each end. Alec and Auriele picked Mary Jo up on it and carried her into the house. A human would be down for a long time with a punctured lung. With a few pounds of raw meat, Mary Jo’s lung would probably be fine in a few hours, if not sooner. The ribs would take longer, but she would be back to normal in a few days, a week at most. No worries about infections or secondary infections while missing pieces of rib or lung regrow.
    Henry hadn’t moved from his place. I noticed that he was getting looks from the rest of the pack. And when they started to move back off the mats in preparation for the final battle, there was a space around Henry—and there hadn’t been before.
    As a couple of wolves swabbed up the mess, Paul retreated to his corner of the mat and Adam to his.
    I kept my eye on Paul. That nerve strike of Mary Jo’s . . .
    At first I thought he’d just shrugged it off; his walk to his end of the mats had been pretty steady. But before Mary Jo’s blood was completely cleaned off the mat, Paul shook his head slowly and raised a hand to rub at his ear, avoiding the spot where he’d been struck. He blinked rapidly and seemed to be having trouble focusing.
    Then Paul blew out a long, even breath and found his center. His body stilled, and his breathing became deep and regular. He stood like a statue, bare chest coated with a light sheen of sweat. There was no fat on the man, and he looked like a cross between a Calvin Klein ad and an Army recruitment poster.
    After the wet spots on the mats were perfunctorily dried, Darryl stepped back into the center.
    â€œPaul, do you still want to continue with your challenge?”
    He looked at Henry. “You hit Mary Jo?”
    Was he still a little off balance? I couldn’t tell.
    â€œIt was an accident,” Henry said. “Mercy said . . .” He looked at me. “You know, something as fragile as you are should learn to keep your mouth shut, then other people wouldn’t have to take the fall for you.”
    â€œPeople with as much to lose as you have,” I said, “should control their tempers better.” As an insult it lacked . .