Blood Bound (13 page)

There was no reply, though he had to have heard me. I walked through the kitchen area and into the hallway. Samuel's door was mostly shut, but he hadn't closed it all the way.

“Samuel?” I touched the door and it opened a foot or so, just enough that I could see Samuel stretched out on his bed, still in his hospital scrubs and smelling of cleanser and blood.

He had his arm over his eyes.

“Samuel?” I paused in the doorway to give my nose a chance to tell me what he was feeling. But I couldn't smell the usual suspects. He wasn't angry, or frightened. There was something…he smelled of pain.

“Samuel, are you all right?”

“You smell like Adam.” He took his arm down and looked at me with wolf eyes, pale as snow and ringed in ebony.

Samuel isn't here today
, I thought, trying not to panic or do any other stupid thing. I had played with Samuel's wolf as a child, along with all the other children in Aspen Springs. I hadn't realized how dangerous that would have been with any other wolf until I was much older. I would have felt better now, if those wolf eyes had been in the wolf body. Wolf eyes on a human face meant the wolf was in charge.

I'd seen new wolves lose control. If they did it very often, they were eliminated for the sake of the pack and everyone who came in contact with them. I'd only seen Samuel lose control once before—and that was after a vampire attack.

I sank down on the floor, making certain my head was lower than his. It was always an interesting feeling, making myself helpless in front of someone who might tear my throat out. Come to think of it, the last time I'd done this it had been with Samuel, too. At least I was acting out of self-preservation, not some buried compulsion to submit to a dominant wolf—I was faking it, not submitting because of some damn buried instinct.

After I told myself that, I realized it was true. I had no desire to cower before Samuel. Under other, less worrisome circumstances, I'd have been cheered up.

“Sorry,” Samuel whispered, putting his arm back over his eyes. “Bad day. There was an accident on 240 near where the old Y interchange was. Couple of kids in one car, eighteen and nineteen years old. Mother with an infant in the other. All of them still in critical condition. Maybe they'll make it.”

He'd been a doctor for a very long time. I didn't know what had set him off with this accident in particular. I made an encouraging sound.

“There was a lot of blood,” he said at last. “The baby got pretty cut up from the glass, took thirty stitches to plug the leaks. One of the ER nurses is new, just graduated from the community college. She had to leave in the middle—afterward she asked me how I learned to manage so well when the victims were babies.” His voice darkened with bitterness that I'd seldom heard from him before as he continued, “I almost told her that I'd seen worse—and eaten them, too. The baby would have only been a snack.”

I could have left, then. Samuel had enough control left not to come after me—probably. But I couldn't leave him like that.

I crawled cautiously across the floor, watching him for a twitch of muscle that would tell me he was ready to pounce. Slowly I raised my hand up until it touched his. He didn't react at all.

If he'd been a new wolf, I'd have known what to say. But helping new wolves through this kind of situation had been one of Samuel's jobs in the pack I'd grown up in. There was nothing I could say that he didn't already know.

“The wolf is a practical beast,” I told him, finally, thinking it might have been the thought of eating the baby that bothered him so much. “You're more careful what you eat. You aren't likely to pounce on the operating table and eat someone if you aren't hungry.” It was almost word for word the speech I'd heard him use with the new wolves.

“I'm so tired,” he said, raising the hair on the back of my neck. “Too tired. I think it is time to rest.” He wasn't talking about physically.

Werewolves aren't immortal, just immune to age. But time is their enemy anyway. After just so long, one wolf told me, nothing matters anymore and death looks better than living another day. Samuel was very old.

The Marrok, Samuel's father, had taken to calling me once a month to “check on things,” he said. For the first time it occurred to me that he hadn't been checking on me, but on his son.

“How long have you felt this way?” I asked, inching my way up onto his bed, slowly so I didn't startle him. “Did you leave Montana because you couldn't hide this from Bran?”

“No. I want you,” he said starkly moving his arm so I could see that his eyes had changed back to human grey-blue.

“Do you?” I asked, knowing that it wasn't completely true. “Your wolf might still want me, but I don't think you do. Why
did
you leave the Marrok to come here?”

He rolled away, giving his back to me. I didn't move, careful not to crowd him. I didn't back away either, just waited for his answer.

Eventually it came. “It was bad. After Texas. But when you came back to us, it went away. I was fine. Until the baby.”

“Did you talk to Bran about it?”
Whatever
it
was
. I put my face against the small of his back, warming him with my breath. Samuel would see suicide as cowardice, I tried to reassure myself, and Samuel hated cowards. I might not want to love Samuel—not after the way we'd once hurt each other—but I didn't want to lose him either.

“The Marrok knows,” he whispered. “He always does. Everyone else believed I was the same, just like always. My father knew something was wrong, that I wasn't right. I was going to leave—but then you came.”

If Bran couldn't fix him, what was I supposed to do?

“You left the pack for a long time,” I said, feeling my way. He'd left the pack shortly after I had, over fifteen years ago. He'd stayed away for most of those fifteen years. “Bran told me you went lone-wolf in Texas.” Wolves need their pack, or else they start to get a little strange. Lone wolves were, in general, an odd bunch, dangerous to themselves and others.

“Yes.” Every muscle in his body tensed, waiting for the blow to fall. I decided that meant I was on the right track.

“It's not easy being alone, not for years.” I scooted up a little until I could wrap myself around him, tucking my legs behind his. I slipped the arm I wasn't lying on around his side and pressed my hand over his stomach, showing him that he wasn't alone, not while he lived at my house.

He started to shake, vibrating the whole bed. I tightened my arm, but I didn't say anything. I'd gone as far as I was willing to go. Some wounds need to be pricked so they can drain, others just need to be left alone—I wasn't qualified to know the difference.

He wrapped both of his arms over the top of mine. “I hid myself from the wolves. I hid among the humans.” He paused. “Hid from myself. What I did to you was wrong, Mercedes. I told myself I couldn't wait, I couldn't take the chance that another would take you from me. I had to make you mine so my children would live, but I knew I was taking advantage of you. You weren't old enough to defend yourself from me.”

I rubbed my nose against his back in reassurance, but I didn't speak. He was right, and I respected him too much to lie.

“I violated your trust, and my father's, too. I couldn't live with it: I had to leave. I traveled to the far corner of the country and became someone else: Samuel Cornick, college freshman, fresh off the farm with a newly minted high school diploma. Only on the night of the full moon did I allow myself to remember what I was.”

The muscles under my hands convulsed twice. “In med school, I met a girl. She reminded me of you: quiet with a sneaky sense of humor. She looked a little like you, too. It felt like a second chance to me—a chance to do it right. Or maybe I just forgot. We were friends at first, in the same program at school. Then it became something more. We moved in together.”

I knew what was coming, because it was the worst thing I could think of that could have happened to Samuel. I could smell his tears, though his voice was carefully even.

“We took precautions, but we weren't careful enough. She got pregnant.” His voice was stark. “We were doing our internships. We were so busy we hardly had time to say ‘hello' to each other. She didn't notice until she was nearly three months pregnant because she assumed that the symptoms were from stress. I was so happy.”

Samuel loved children. Somewhere I had a picture of him wearing a baseball cap with Elise Smithers, age five, riding him as if he had been a pony. He'd thrown away everything he believed in because he thought I, unlike a human or werewolf, could give him children who would live.

I tried not to let him know I was crying, too.

“We were doing internships.” He was speaking quietly now. “It's time consuming and stressful. Long irregular hours. I was working with an orthopedic surgeon, nearly a two hour drive from our apartment. I came home one night and found a note.”

I hugged him harder, as if I could have stopped what happened.

“A baby would have interfered with her schooling,” he said. “We could try again, later. After…after she was established. After there was money. After…” He kept talking but he'd dropped into a foreign tongue, its liquid tone conveying his anguish better than the English words had.

The curse of a long life is that everyone around you dies. You have to be strong to survive, and stronger to want to do so. Bran had told me once that Samuel had seen too many of his children die.

“That infant tonight…”

“He'll live,” I said. “Because of you. He'll grow up strong and healthy.

“I lived like a student should, Mercy,” he told me. “Pretending to be poor like all the other students. I wonder if she knew that I had money, would she still have killed my baby? I would have quit school to take care of the child. Was it my fault?”

Samuel curled his whole body around my arm as if someone had punched him in the stomach. I just held him.

There was nothing I could say to make it better. He knew better than I what the chances of his baby being born healthy had been. It didn't matter, his child had never gotten any chance at all.

I held Samuel while the sun set, comforting him as best I could.

I left Samuel sleeping and made tuna fish sandwiches for dinner, something I could put in the fridge for him in case he awoke hungry, but he stayed in his room until past my bedtime.

I set my alarm clock for a couple of hours later than my usual wake-up. Tomorrow was Saturday when I was officially closed. I had work to do, but nothing urgent, and Gabriel wasn't scheduled to come in until ten.

When I knelt for prayer before bedtime, I asked God to help Warren and Stefan catch the demon, as had become my usual plea. This time I added a prayer for Samuel as well. After a moment's thought I prayed for Adam, too. I didn't
really
think it was his fault that he turned me into a submissive ninny.

Even though I was all set to wake up late (for me), I got up just before dawn because someone was tapping on my window. I pulled my pillow over my head.

“Mercy.” My window's assailant kept his voice down, but I knew it anyway. Stefan.

I rubbed my eyes. “Are you asking for quarter? I'm not in a particularly
merciful
mood.” I can make fun of my name, but no one else can. Unless I'm in a really good mood. Or if I start it first.

I heard him laugh. “For quarters, perhaps. But I have no need to yield, if you are not assaulting me.”

One of the nice things about Stefan was that he usually got my jokes, no matter how lame. Even better, he'd play along.

“You need money?” I asked in mock surprise. “I can write you a check, but I only have a couple of dollars in cash.”

“I need a place to sleep the day, love. Would you shelter me?”

“All right,” I threw back my covers and started for the front door. There went my plans to sleep in.

The sky was striped with the beginnings of sunrise when I opened the door.

“Left it a little late, Stefan.” I said adding his name so that Samuel—who would have heard me open the door—wasn't alarmed.

Stefan didn't appear to hurry, but neither did he waste much time standing on my doorstep.

I hadn't seen him since the night of his trial. He looked tired. His shoulders were slumped and he didn't move with his usual effervescent energy. “I sent Daniel home, but I had a tip I had to check out. I thought I'd have time, but my powers lessen as dawn approaches and I found myself on your doorstep”—he grinned—“begging for
mercy
.”

I escorted him to my bedroom door. “I thought Warren and Ben were working with you. Why didn't you have them check it out?”

“I sent them home earlier. They have jobs to do today, and even werewolves need sleep.”

“They're working on a Saturday?”

“Warren has a job for his lawyer friend, and Ben had things to do that he couldn't get done when everyone else was working.”

Ben was a computer geek working at the Pacific Northwest Nation Laboratory which was affiliated in some arcane manner with the Hanford Nuclear Site. Darryl, Adam's second, had gotten him the job—and from all accounts Ben was a pretty decent nerd. I think it surprised Darryl, who wasn't accustomed to being surprised.

I pulled open the closet door—Stefan's pillow and blanket were still there from the last time he'd spent the day. “Are you sure the sorcerer is still here? He could have moved on.”

Stefan looked grim. “Watch the news this morning,” was all he said before stepping into my closet and closing the door.

 

The car wreck that had so upset Samuel made the early news. So did the violent deaths of three young men who had gotten in an argument. We were two weeks into a heat wave that showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. There was another Arts festival in Howard Amon Park this weekend.

I assumed Littleton wouldn't have anything to do with the Arts festival or the weather (at least I hoped that a sorcerer wasn't powerful enough to affect the weather), so I paid close attention to the report on the dead men.

“Drugs are a growing problem,” the newscaster said, as EMTs carried black sheathed bodies out on stretchers behind him. “Especially meth. In the last six months the police have shut down three meth labs in the Tri-City area. According to witnesses, last night's violence apparently broke out in a meth lab when one man made a comment about another's girlfriend. All of the men were high, and the argument quickly escalated into violence that left three men dead. Two other men are in police custody in connection to the deaths.”

On the brighter side, all of Samuel's patients were apparently still alive, though the baby was in critical condition.

I turned off the TV, poured a bowl of cereal, then sat down at my computer desk in the spare bedroom while I ate breakfast and searched the Internet.

The online story had even fewer details than the morning news. On a whim I looked up Littleton's name and found his website offering online tarot readings for a mere $19.95, all major credit cards accepted. No checks. Not a trusting soul, our sorcerer.

On impulse, since Elizaveta wouldn't tell me anything, I Googled for demons and sorcerers and I found myself buried under a morass of contradictory garbage.

“Any idiot can put up a website,” I growled, shutting down the computer. Medea meowed in sympathy as she licked the last of the milk out of my cereal bowl and then cleaned her face with a paw.

Dirty bowl in hand, I checked in on Samuel, but his room was empty. When he hadn't gotten up at Stefan's arrival, I should have realized he was gone. He didn't have to work today.

It worried me, but I wasn't his mother. He didn't have to tell me where he was going anymore than I usually told him my plans. So I couldn't pry, no matter how worried I was. With that thought in mind I wrote him a note.

 

S sleeping in my closet.

I'm at work until ?

Stop by if you need anything.

Me

 

I left it on his bed then rinsed out my bowl and left it in the dishwasher. I started for the door, but the sight of the phone on the end table by the door stopped me.

Samuel had been in a bad way last night; I knew his father would want to know about it. I stared at the phone. I wasn't a snitch. If Samuel wanted the Marrok to know about his problems, he would have stayed in Aspen Creek. Samuel had his own cell phone—he could call Bran if he needed help. Which would be when Hell froze over. Samuel had taught me a lot about independence, which was actually an unusual trait for a werewolf.

Bran might be able to help. But it wouldn't be right for me to call him behind Samuel's back. I hesitated, then remembered that Samuel had called Zee to check up on me.

I picked up the phone and made the long-distance call to Montana.

“Yes?”

Unless he wanted it to, Bran's voice didn't sound like it belonged to the most powerful werewolf in North America. It sounded like it belonged to a nice young man. Bran was deceptive that way, all nice and polite. The act fooled a lot of wolves into stupidity. Me, I knew what the act hid.

“It's me,” I said. “About Samuel.”

He waited.

I started to say something and then guilt stopped my tongue. I knew darned well that what Samuel told me had been in confidence.

“Mercedes.” This time Bran didn't sound like a nice young man.

“He had a little trouble last night,” I said finally. “Do you know what happened to him in Texas?”

“He won't talk about Texas.”

I drummed my fingers against my kitchen counter and then stopped when it reminded me of the vampire's mistress.

“You need to ask him about Texas,” I said. Bran didn't ask people about the past as a rule. It had something to do with being very old, but more to do with being wolf. Wolves are very centered in the here and now.

“Is he all right?”

“I don't know.”

“Are there any bodies?” he said dryly.

“No. Nothing like that. I shouldn't have called.”

“Samuel is my son,” Bran said softly. “You did right to call. Mercy, living in a town with a sorcerer isn't going to make him the safest roommate if something is upsetting him. You might consider moving in with Adam until they find the demon-rider.”

“Demon-rider?” I asked, though I was thinking about what he'd said.

“Sorcerer, as opposed to demon-ridden, as the possessed are. Though there's not much to choose between them, except that the demon-ridden are easier to spot. They're in the middle of the carnage instead of on the sidelines.”

“You mean sorcerers attract violence?” I asked. I should have called Bran for information about the sorcerer earlier.

“Does sugar water attract hornets? Violence, blood and evil of all kinds. Do you think I had Adam send his wolves out to help the vampires with this hunt because I like vampires?” Actually, I had thought Warren and Ben volunteered. “If there's a sorcerer about, all the wolves will have to hold tight to their control. So don't go around pushing buttons, honey. Especially with the younger wolves. You'll get hurt—or killed.”

He'd been warning me about “pushing buttons” for as long as I could remember. I don't know why. I'm not stupid. I'm always careful when I torment werewolves…then I remembered Samuel's eyes last night.

“I won't,” I promised, meaning it.

But then he said, “Good girl,” and hung up.

As if he'd never doubted I'd do as he told me. Bran seldom had to worry about people not following his orders—except for me. I guess he'd forgotten about that.

It was a good thing there weren't any werewolves around to annoy. I'd like to think I was grown-up enough not to pick a fight just because Bran told me not to, but, still…I wouldn't have poked at Samuel, not in his current state, but it was probably a good thing Ben wasn't around.

 

Although it was not yet eight in the morning, there was a car waiting for me in the parking lot, a sky blue Miata convertible. Even after our talk last night, Adam had sent Honey out to babysit me again.

Sometimes you wonder what gets into parents when they name their children. I knew a girl named Helga who grew up to be five feet tall and weighed 95 pounds. Sometimes, though, sometimes, parents get it right.

Honey had waves of shimmering golden brown hair that fell over her shoulders to her hips. Her face was all soft curves and pouty lips, the kind of face you'd expect to see in a professional cheerleading outfit, though I've never seen Honey wear anything that wasn't classy.

“I've been waiting here for an hour and a half,” she said, sounding miffed as she got out of her car. Today she was wearing creamy linen shorts that would show every smudge of dirt—if she irritated me too much today, I could always get her with my grease gun.

“It's Saturday,” I told her amiably, cheered by my thoughts. “I work whatever hours I want to on Saturday. However, I believe in being fair. Since you had to wait for me, why don't you count that as a good effort and go on home?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Because Adam sent me here to watch you and make sure the boogeyman doesn't come and eat you. And as much as I'd like to see that happen, I don't disobey the Alpha.”

There were a lot of reasons I didn't like Honey.

 

The car I was working on needed a new starter. That's how it all began. Three hours later I was still sorting through unlabeled dusty boxes in the storage shed that predated Gabriel's reign of order on my parts supply.

“Somewhere in here there should be three starters that fit a 1987 Fox,” I told Gabriel, wiping my forehead off on my sleeve. I may not mind the heat usually, but the thermometer on the outside of the shed read 107 degrees.

“If you told me that somewhere in here you had Excalibur and the Holy Grail, I'd believe you.” He grinned at me. He'd only come out after he'd finished the parts supply order so he still had energy to be happy. “Are you sure you don't want me to run down to the parts store and pick one up?”

“Fine,” I said dropping a box of miscellaneous bolts on the floor of the shed. I shut the door and locked it, though if I'd left it open, maybe some nice thieves would come and clean it out for me. “Why don't you pick up some lunch for us while you're out? There's a good taco wagon by the car wash over on First.”

“Honey, too?”

I glanced over at her car where she was sitting in air-conditioned comfort as she had been since I came out here. I hoped she'd had her oil changed recently—idling for hours could be hard on an engine.

She saw me looking at her and smiled unpleasantly, still not a hair out of place. I'd been sweating in a dusty and greasy shed all morning and the bruises Littleton left on my face were a lovely shade of yellow today.

“Yeah,” I said reluctantly. “Take the lunch money out of petty cash. Use the business credit card for the starter.”