Moon Called (34 page)

It was a trick question. I could see the amusement in his eyes. I hesitated, but decided I wanted to know anyway. “Okay, I'll bite. Were you watching me for Bran?”

“Honey,” he drawled, pulling on his Southern roots. “When a wolf watches a lamb, he's not thinking about the lamb's mommy.”

I grinned. I couldn't help it. The idea of Bran as a lamb's mommy was too funny. “I'm not much of a lamb,” I said.

He just smiled.

Time to change the subject again, I thought, taking a quick sip of ice water. “Warren tells me you've accepted our favorite serial rapist as a permanent member of the pack.”

“He wasn't responsible for the rapes in London.”

He sounded certain, which meant that he'd asked Ben for the truth and gotten it. Still, I could hear the irritation in his voice and I couldn't help but push a little bit more. “They stopped when he left.”

“He came to the rescue twice, and the second time it was only chance that he intercepted a tranquilizer rather than a bullet. Gerry's men carried silver ammunition,” he snapped impatiently.

I smiled at him and he balled up his napkin in disgust. “Point to you,” he said.

“I bet you wouldn't let him date Jesse,” I told him smugly.

When he drove me home, he got out of the car and walked around to open the door for me. Maybe it was because I couldn't open the door with my broken arm, but I thought it might be the kind of thing that he always did.

He walked me to my front porch and cupped his hands around my face. He stood there for a moment, then glanced over his shoulder and up at the moon, which was nearly full. When he turned back, his eyes had yellow streaks running through the brown.

His lips were soft as they feathered over mine tentatively until I leaned against the pressure of his hands, trying to get closer. Then he laughed, a low, chest-deep sound, and really kissed me.

With my broken arm strapped between us, there was no body language involved, just mouth and hands. He wore cologne. Something rich and subtle that blended with his exotic scent.

When he drew away from me, I left my hand on his cheek, enjoying the faint scratchiness of his beard and the pounding of my heart. Silence grew between us, silence and something tentative and new.

Then the door opened and my new roommate looked out with a grin. “Hey, guys, are you through yet? I made some hot cocoa because I figured Mercy wasn't wearing much—but I guess you took care of any chill from the weather.”

Samuel had been savage when I came home from the garage and told him that I was going out to dinner with Adam. I'd had to remind him forcefully that he had no claim on me, not anymore. He was staying with me until he could find an apartment of his own, and that didn't give him the right to dictate who I went to dinner with.

If I'd realized that it was going to be a real date, I'd have been kinder. I knew that Samuel was still interested in me—and part of me still loved him.

When Jesse the Matchmaker called me to tell me that
her father was on his way over, and not to worry about her because she was just fine, Samuel'd stalked off to sulk in his room, the bigger of my spare bedrooms. But when I'd started trying to put on my dress, he barged into my room to help. I could have done it myself. I wasn't making pained noises, no matter what he said. But, I had to admit, maneuvering clothes, the myriad of mysterious, but businesslike, Velcro straps that grew off the brace the hospital doctor had given me to keep my arm immobilized, and my broken arm was easier with three hands rather than only one.

He hadn't been happy when I left, but I refused to let guilt decide who I would date. I don't play games with people I care about, and I won't let them play games with me. I promised him that I wouldn't have sex with Adam any more than I'd have sex with Samuel. Not until I knew what I felt and what they felt. But that was as far as I was willing to go.

I'd known that giving him the evening to think about it had been a mistake. I probably should have told Adam that Samuel was still staying with me as soon as I realized he didn't know—but what we'd been experiencing tonight had still been too fragile for that.

So Adam got blindsided by Samuel The Live-in Lover.

“Not kind, Samuel,” I said, then turned to Adam. “He is staying here until he gets an apartment.” I looked at Samuel. “It should be really soon now.”

“I thought you had a practice in Montana, Dr. Cornick,” said Adam. He'd released me when the door opened, but then he'd put a hand low on my back—one of those staking-claim gestures that guys do around other guys.

Samuel nodded and stepped back, holding the door so that we'd all come inside. As soon as they were both in the enclosed space of my living room, I could smell the power rising from both of them.

“I was working at a clinic in rotation with three other doctors,” he said, leading the way into the kitchen. “They won't suffer. I left Aspen Creek a while ago, and I've found now that I've returned I can't settle in. So I thought I'd try someplace closer than Texas.”

Adam accepted a steaming cup and blew on it thoughtfully. “You mean you are petitioning to join my pack?”

Samuel's smile, which hadn't left his face since he opened the door, widened even farther. “I wouldn't dream of it. I'm going lone wolf—you'll probably get the official letter informing you of that from Bran sometime this week.”

I left them to it. They weren't paying any attention to me anyway. I couldn't get the dress off easily without help, but I pulled a pair of sweats on over the top of it. A loose sweatshirt covered my broken arm, strap-bearing torture device and all. Shoes were harder, but I found an old pair of tennis shoes that I hadn't untied and pulled them on my feet over a pair of ankle socks.

When I went back out to the living room, both men were still involved in one of those pleasant but deadly conversations that usually ended up badly. They stopped speaking when I opened the front door, but as soon as I closed it behind me, I heard them start up again.

I was driving the van, because my Rabbit didn't have power steering. I had to pull over a few miles from home so I could use the cell phone.

“Stefan,” I said. “Your parts are here. I've got a broken arm, so you'll have to do all the work—but I can talk you through it.”

“How did you break your arm, Mercy?” he asked.

“A werewolf tossed me against a giant packing crate while I was trying to rescue a frightened young girl who'd been kidnapped by an evil witch and a drug lord.”

“It sounds interesting,” Stefan said. “I'll meet you at your garage.”

See. Some people believe me.

PATRICIA BRIGGS
lived a fairly normal life until she learned to read. After that she spent lazy afternoons flying dragonback and looking for magic swords when she wasn't horseback riding in the Rocky Mountains.

Once she graduated from Montana State University with degrees in history and German, she spent her time substitute teaching and writing. She and her family live in the Pacific Northwest, where she is hard at work on her newest project.

Visit her website at
www.patriciabriggs.com
.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

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