Adam relaxed.
“Of course,” I said, “not letting me know how badly the initial treatment of your broken shoulder had gone, that might get you in real trouble. But you would never try to keep something from me, like having to break your shoulder twice because the first time didn’t work, would you? Because you know that I would be really, really ticked off about that.”
He looked at me.
I held my hand up at hip height. “Here’s my irritation level when someone jumps in to protect me when I don’t need it.” I thought about it and bent down until my hand was at my knee. “Nope. This is where my irritation level is. My irritation level is here”—back at my hip—“when he does it without warning me. My irritation . . . anger level is here”—I held my hand up to my eyes—“when you keep me out of something that is my concern. When I landed in the hospital after your ex-wife’s stalker tried to kill me”—he’d been an insane volcano god, the same one who’d destroyed my shop and turned my friend Joel into a tibicena—“I wasn’t trying to make everyone keep you away because the sight of me all beaten up might make you feel bad.”
“You were dying,” Adam said. “You had no choice.” But his face was tight. He didn’t like to be reminded about how close I’d come to dying.
“Yes,” I snapped. “And if you keep me away again, you only hope you’ll be dead when I find out about it.”
I was absolutely serious. The force of my anger took me by surprise. Adam was mine. I’d belonged at his side, not setting up a stupid barbecue. He’d sent me away—and I’d let him because I’d felt guilty for setting the pack up to face off with the fae, the vampires, and a host of other people and not-people who might take offense at my declaration that the Tri-Cities was our territory. It was probably myself I was maddest at, but Adam was a good substitute.
The computer chimed.
I marched around and saw that Skype was up, and hit the ANSWER button.
Bran appeared, his eyes half-lidded in the way they were when he was furious.
“Not now,” I told him. “Adam and I are having a fight about stupid wolves who don’t tell their mates when some damned iron-kissed fae has to break his shoulder because your son the doctor is running around Europe. We have some competent EMTs, but EMTs are not up to bone work—which they proved by breaking his shoulder wrong. Excuse us. I’ll call you back when we are done here.”
“Mer—”
I hit the button to hang up, turned to Adam—who was laughing. Laughing. It was going to be the last thing that he ever did.
“That might be the last thing either of us ever do,” he answered, and I realized I must have said that last thing out loud. “Bran doesn’t really appreciate being hung up on.” He sobered. “I plead stupid,” he said. “And prideful. In my defense, I was pretty badly hurt, and no one wants to get their shoulder broken. Three times today, actually, if you count the first one.”
“Four,” I said, hopping up to sit on his desk. “Because Warren said the reason their attempt failed was because you also had a hairline crack they didn’t know about. For it to be a hairline crack an hour later, it was a break at first.”
“Four,” he said. He moved his keyboard and mouse aside, then slid me sideways across the desk until I was sitting directly in front of him, one leg on either side of his. “And I was worried about what I had to do tonight. I couldn’t make everything work—my shoulder included—if I didn’t think. And if you were in that room, I wasn’t going to be thinking very clearly.”
“And getting Zee down into medical would let you talk him into letting someone take a look at his wounds, too,” I said thoughtfully. “Did you?”
“I can’t say,” he said. “I promised someone something as long as he wasn’t so bad that we couldn’t help.”
I didn’t say anything.
“He’s a tough old smith,” Adam said. “But they had a real go at him.” Bad, I thought, but not bad enough he needed more help than Darryl and Warren could provide. “For what it’s worth, they left Tad alone. Zee managed to convince them that Tad was fragile, and they don’t know enough about humans to torture without killing him.” Adam smiled coldly. “But what they did to Zee—one of their own—puts me squarely behind your offer of sanctuary for Aiden.”
“Good to know that you are both on the same side of this disaster,” said a voice.
I wiggled and ended up on Adam’s lap. He caught me and helped me manage a not-very-dignified pose across his lap that was still better than the floor, where I’d been headed.
“Good evening, Mercy. Adam,” said Bran from Adam’s computer screen. There was none of the usual Skype screen stuff—just Bran’s face. “Courtesy is for the courteous.”
“Thanks, Charles,” I said. “Always nice to know that your computer skills are still cutting-edge. And good evening, Bran.” I wrinkled my nose. “Courtesy is for the courteous? Really? Did you find that in a fortune cookie?” I felt awkward on Adam’s lap in front of Bran and Charles, but when I started to slide off, Adam held me where I was.
“You’re welcome,” said Charles’s voice from somewhere on the other side of the computer screen. Impossible to tell from his voice, but I think I’d amused him.