Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

just to keep it together.
    â€œHastily made in need, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” the Marrok said, “but that was compounded by rough handling by a bunch of idiots. Most of whom should have known better.”
    I could see that around the knotted places, the rope was worn, as if a dog . . . or a wolf had chewed on it until someone had tied it to keep it from breaking.
    â€œHenry isn’t in the pack anymore,” said Bran. “Just in case you hadn’t noticed. I’ve brought him to my pack for a little one-on-one. In a few months, I might let him go out on his own again. Most of that mess is his doing.”
    But I wasn’t worried about the chewed sections anymore.
    â€œIt’s broken,” I said, kneeling in the deep snow. In front of me the rope came to an abrupt ending, as if sliced by a sharp knife. I’d thought that the reason I hadn’t been able to feel Adam was still the overload from when he’d thought I was dead. Though it had been recovering from that, hadn’t it? When had I lost the connection?
    It hurt to know that it was broken.
    â€œNow, that,” Bran growled, “was cut by black magic.”
    His voice was so strong in my right ear that I turned—and got a glimpse of something huge and awful that didn’t look anything at all like Bran in any form I’d ever seen.
    â€œI couldn’t see how it would be possible until Samuel told me there was a witch involved. Between the witch and the queen, they found a weakness and broke it,” he told me. And then, in a curiously amused tone, he said, “And I don’t scare you a bit, do I?”
    â€œWhy would I be afraid of you?” I asked—but my focus was on the broken rope. Would I hurt Adam if I touched it?
    â€œGo ahead,” said Bran. “He would give anything for you to touch it again.”
    â€œMine,” I said. “Mine.”
    But I still didn’t touch it.
    With that superior humor he occasionally used, which made me want to hit him every time, Bran said, “I’m sure he can find someone else who wants it.”
    I grabbed it with both hands—and not because I was worried there would be someone else, no matter what Bran thought. But because we belonged together, Adam bound to me, me to him. I loved it when he let me make him laugh—he was a serious man by nature and weighed down by the responsibility he held. I knew he would never leave me, never let me down—because the man had never abandoned anything in his long life. If I hadn’t taken the gold rope of our bond, I knew Adam would have sat on me and hog-tied me with it. I liked that. A lot.
    â€œMercy!” This voice wasn’t Bran’s. This voice was demanding and half-crazed. A short pause, then much more controlled, Adam said, “About damned time. Found you. Mercy, we’re coming to get you. Just sit tight.”
    I wrapped his voice around me and held on tighter to the rope between us until it settled into my bones, and I didn’t have to hold on anymore. “Adam,” I said, happily. And then added, because he’d know I was teasing, “Took you long enough. You were waiting for me to get myself out?”
    I looked around my field of snow, by then littered with cheery garland and glowing rocks. I closed my eyes and wrapped the feel of pack around me like a warm cloak. I felt the fairy queen’s magic touch the golden rope I shared with Adam—and this time it was the queen’s magic that shattered.

    MY GAZE WAS LOCKED WITH THAT OF THE TRAPPED forest lord. He blinked, and I jerked my eyes down—and saw that my arm was still dripping blood. From the amount I’d lost, I hadn’t been out of it for more than a few seconds.
    â€œThere,” said the fairy queen. “Now you are mine.”
    I blinked at her and tried to mold my features into the stupid expression I’d seen on the other thralls as she cut the ropes that held me to the chair.
    â€œGo to the kitchens and get something to wipe the blood off the floor,” she told me.
    I stood up and started walking. She quit paying attention to me, because I wasn’t interesting anymore. I started walking a little faster because I saw my gun on the floor by one of the benches, where someone must have kicked it. I suppose that made sense. There weren’t many fae who could have picked it up without hurting themselves. None of the thralls