Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

was reacting—and I don’t care for other women that way as a rule.
    â€œThis would be a good time for your sheep, Mercy.” Stefan’s attention was so focused upon the other vampire it took me a moment to realize he was speaking to me.
    I’d been edging closer to Samuel. Five years of study in the martial arts had given me a purple belt, the muscles to heft car parts around almost as well as a man, and the understanding that my paltry skills weren’t worth a damn thing against a vampire.
    I’d debated the wisdom of knocking Samuel away from her, but something my senses had been trying to tell me for a while had finally kicked in: there were others here, other vampires I couldn’t see or hear—only scent.
    Stefan’s advice gave me something better to do. I pulled out my necklace. The chain was long enough that I could tug it over my head, and I let it dangle from my hand just as Marsilia moved.
    I grew up with werewolves who ran faster than greyhounds, and I am a little faster yet—but I never saw Marsilia move. One moment she was pressed against the front of Samuel’s jeans, and the next her legs were wrapped around his waist and her mouth was on his neck. Everything that followed seemed to happen slowly, although I suppose it was only a few seconds.
    The illusion hiding the other vampires dissipated in the frenzy of Marsilia’s feeding, and I saw them, six vampires lined up against the wall of the room. They were making no attempt to appear human, and I gathered a hurried impression of gray skin, hollow cheeks, and eyes glittering like backlit gemstones. None of them moved, though Stefan had wrapped himself around Marsilia and was trying to pull her off. Nor did they interfere when I closed the distance between Samuel and me, the silly necklace wrappedaround my wrist. I suppose they didn’t consider either of us a threat.
    Samuel’s eyes were closed, his head thrown back to give Marsilia better access. So scared I could barely breathe, I pressed the silver lamb against Marsilia’s forehead and said a hurried, but fervent prayer, that the lamb would work the same way a cross did.
    The little figure pressed into her forehead, but Marsilia, as absorbed in the feeding as Samuel, paid me no mind. Then several things happened almost at the same time—only afterward did I put them in their probable order.
    The sheep under my hand blazed up with the eerie blue flame of a well-adjusted Bunsen burner. Marsilia was suddenly crouched on the back of the couch, as far from my necklace—and Samuel—as she could get. She shrieked, a high-pitched noise just barely within the range of my hearing, and made a gesture with her hands.
    Everyone dropped to the floor, Samuel, Stefan, and Marsilia’s guards, leaving me standing, my little sheep aglow like an absurdly small blue neon sign, facing the Mistress of the nest. I thought at first that the others had fallen voluntarily, reacting to some secret sign I hadn’t seen. But Marsilia jerked her chin, a quick, inhuman motion, and screamed again. The bodies on the floor twisted a little, as if something hurt, but they could not move to alleviate it—and I finally realized that it was magic as well as fear that was stealing my breath. Marsilia was doing something to hurt them all.
    â€œStop it,” I said, with all the authority I could muster. My voice came out thin and shaky. Not impressive.
    I cleared my throat and tried again. Surely if I could face down Bran after the time I ran his Porsche into a tree without either a driver’s license or permission to drive it, I could steady my voice so it didn’t squeak. “Enough. No one has harmed you.”
    â€œNo harm?” she hissed, tossing her head so her mane of hair fell away from her forehead to reveal a nasty-looking burn vaguely in the shape of my necklace.
    â€œYou were feeding upon Samuel without his permission,” I said firmly, as if I knew that her action had given me the right to defend him—I wasn’t certain it was true, but bluffing worked with the wolves. And vampires seemed to be big on manners.
    She raised her chin but didn’t reply. She took a deep breath, and I realized she hadn’t been breathing since I’d driven her off Samuel. Her eyelids fluttered as she took in the smell of the room—I could smell it, too: fear, pain, blood, and something sweet and compelling brushed with the scents