Mercy Thompson 06 - River Marked

master, was very old and powerful, even then—and he did not voice an objection though she was the youngest of his get and dear to him.”
    “Is Schreck still alive?” Warren asked.
    “I don’t know,” said Stefan, and added, half under his breath, “I don’t want to know.”
    “Was he always that ugly, or did he get worse with age?” asked Kyle. Kyle was beautiful, and he knew it. I was never certain if he was really vain, or if it was one of a dozen things that he used to camouflage the sharp mind behind the pretty face. I suspected it was both.
    Stefan smiled. “That’s the question that haunts the older vampires. One doesn’t ask questions about age, but we can tell, more or less. Wulfe is probably the oldest vampire—other than Max—I’ve ever met. Wulfe is not ugly or monstrous.” He paused, then continued thoughtfully, “at least not on the outside.”
    “Maybe he was fae or part fae,” I ventured. “Some of them are very ... unusual-looking.”
    “I have never heard that about him,” said Stefan. “But who would know?”
    Warren hit the play button and, somehow, knowing that Max Schreck, who had played the original Count Orlok, had been a nightmare for vampires, made the movie a lot scarier—and it had had plenty of that going for it anyway. Only Warren seemed impervious to the effect.
    When the movie was over, he glanced at Stefan. “Vampire,” he said without insult, “why don’t you come down to the kitchen with me while these two look through Kyle’s amazing library of video wonder for something that will keep Mercy from speeding all the way home.”
    “Hey!” I said indignantly.
    He grinned at me as he rose from the floor to stretch, his lanky body reaching for the ceiling under Kyle’s admiring eyes. Warren wasn’t as pretty as Kyle, but he wasn’t Max Schreck, either, and he knew he was playing for an audience. Maybe Kyle wasn’t the only one who was vain.
    “Hey, yourself, Mercy,” Warren said. “How about we do a second movie? Stefan’s used to staying up late, and you have no Adam to go home to. You two find something else, and Stefan and I will refill the popcorn bowls.”
    Kyle waited until Warren and Stefan were downstairs before saying, “Stefan looks hungry. You think Warren is going to feed him before bringing him back?”
    “I think,” I said, “that might be a good idea. He already had a bite of me today and was starting to look at you like you might be dinner. I don’t think Warren would let Stefan feed from you if he asked, and you consented. Werewolves are possessive that way. Probably better if Warren does it. Being a werewolf with a pack, Warren won’t end up Stefan’s good friend Renfield.”
    Kyle grimaced.
    “Don’t start the conversation if you don’t want an honest answer,” I told him, hopping out of the chair and perusing one of the bookcases stuffed with Blu-rays, DVDs, and VHS tapes.
    When Warren and Stefan came upstairs, it was obvious to me that Stefan had fed again. He was moving with something close to his usual grace.
    “Don’t you have Bride of Frankenstein ?” he asked, when Kyle held up The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra as our pick for the second movie. “Or Father of the Bride ? Four Weddings and a Funeral ?” He glanced at me. “Maybe The Butterfly Effect ?” Yep, he was feeling better.
    I threw a pillow at him. “Just shut up. Shut. Up.”
    Stefan caught the pillow, tossed it back to me, and laughed.
    “What’s up?” asked Kyle.
    I buried my head in the pillow. “My mother has given up on doves for the wedding and—though I didn’t know they were in contention—apparently pigeons. She wants to release butterflies and balloons instead.”
    Warren looked properly appalled, but Kyle laughed.
    “It’s a new trend, Mercy,” he said. “Right up your alley because it’s supposed to be based on an Indian legend. The story is that if you catch a butterfly and whisper your wish to it, then let it go, that the butterfly will take your request to the Great Spirit. Since you released the butterfly, when you could have killed or captured it, the Great Spirit will be inclined to view your request favorably.”
    “I am doomed,” I told the pillow. “Doomed to butterflies and balloons.”
    “At least it isn’t pigeons,” observed Warren practically.

2

    “SO WHAT DID YOU DO TO DARRYL?” ADAM ASKED AS he shut the driver’s-side door of my Rabbit.
    Usually I drove the Rabbit, but Alpha wolves don’t deal well