Soul Taken (Mercy Thompson 13)

To someone who had not understood what Adam had spent the last quarter of an hour saying, Sherwood’s leaving would be an easy solution.

Adam met his gaze and held it this time. The possibility of violence sharpened, the smell of it like ozone in the air before a lightning strike.

“No,” Adam said into that waiting maelstrom. “You were a gift from the Marrok to my pack. I don’t throw away gifts.”

Sherwood gave a sudden, fierce smile that changed the waiting violence, gave it pause, as he said, “A gift from Bran Cornick and you didn’t run? Maybe I was intended as punishment.”

I hadn’t ever seen quite that expression on Sherwood’s face, but I’d seen it somewhere.

It was gone in a moment, but his hazel eyes were still crinkled at the corners as he continued softly, “Or maybe this whole situation was intended to be punishment for me instead.”

Adam gave him a wry smile in return. “I am absolutely sure that all three could be true at once. This is Bran Cornick at work. He is good at that kind of planning.” After a second, he added, “Or taking credit for planning when the whole situation is a total accident.”

Sherwood gave a crack of laughter and quaffed the water in his glass with the flair of a pirate downing a mug of ale, complete with slamming the empty glass on the table. He did not break either glass or table, though it was a near thing.

“If Bran planned this,” I said grimly, “I’m going to make sure he regrets it.”

Sherwood gave me a sardonic look. “This is beyond raw eggs and peanut-buttered seats.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “It is.”

“You know I can’t let you leave,” Adam said. “We are just barely managing our part of the balance the fae have constructed here. If the pack fails, the whole house of cards falls down and this chance of peace will be gone. The pack cannot afford for you to leave.”

“Let.” Sherwood showed his teeth.

It was Adam’s turn to shrug. “Leaving is a choice you might have. If you wanted to leave, I would fight to keep you—for the good of our pack.” His eyes flashed yellow. “The wolf requires it of me because you might be the key to the pack’s survival. I—my wolf would fight to the death to keep you.”

The words rang in the air, and Adam let them hang for a moment. The pause wasn’t on purpose. He was fighting his wolf to form words. Adam’s control was very good, but the wolf he carried—even not considering Elizaveta’s parting gift—was uncommonly wild.

I squeezed his leg. He put his hand on mine. When I turned my palm up, he gripped my hand so tightly it verged on pain.

Sherwood spoke, soft-voiced, into the silence. “For those very same reasons, I could not leave.”

Adam nodded. I knew that he had not really expected Sherwood to be able to leave. If he had been able to leave his pack when it was in trouble, he would not be the level of dominant that could challenge Adam.

“If my wolf could be persuaded that the best thing for the pack was for me to leave...” Adam’s voice was deeper, even though his eyes were almost entirely human.

“I couldn’t do that,” Sherwood admitted.

Adam nodded. “We need every wolf. If you need me to stay—and you do—you will have to defeat me in combat or my wolf won’t accept you as Alpha. And because you need me to stay, your wolf won’t let me leave, either.”

“And you couldn’t go any more than I could,” Sherwood said wryly.

Maybe, Adam had said to me as we drove to Uncle Mike’s, Sherwood will see something I don’t. Maybe he’ll see a way through this. Maybe he can bring something to the table that will change the situation.

Adam had said that Sherwood felt to him as though he was a Power on par with some of the more ancient wolves in Bran’s pack. Maybe with Bran himself.

I hoped so. I hoped that Sherwood was the greatest, most powerful warrior the werewolves had ever had. Because maybe, maybe if he was better than Adam by more than a little, Sherwood could beat Adam without killing him.

Adam was a very, very good fighter, and he did not think that he could beat the Sherwood Post he now shared a pack bond with. For the first time ever, I wished that I didn’t trust his judgment.

“If you want the pack,” Adam said, “tell me. It won’t change how hard I fight... but it might change some of my choices when we battle.”

Zack leaned across the table to put a hand on my arm, though I was pretty sure I hadn’t made a sound.

What had happened to my tidy life where the most dangerous thing I did was tinker with old cars?

Adam’s hand, still clasped tightly with mine, reminded me that I knew exactly what had happened to my contented, safe life. I inhaled his rich scent and thought, Worth it. Worth every bruise, every moment of terror, to be Adam Hauptman’s mate. Even if it ends tonight.