Broken (Otherworld 6)

I kept walking, but slower. By the time I neared the wall, he was already vaulting over it. He caught my gaze and lifted his finger to his lips. As if I needed the warning. He crept up behind the gunman, paused, making sure he hadn't been heard, then crouched and sprang.

Jeremy sidestepped without even turning around. Clay hit the wall and yelped.

Jeremy shook his head. "Serves you right. You're lucky I didn't shoot you."

Clay bounced back, grinning as he brushed himself off. "Live dangerously, that's my motto."

"It'll be your epitaph too."

Jeremy Danvers, our Pack Alpha and owner of Stonehaven, where he, Clay and I lived and would doubtless stay for the rest of our lives. Part of that was because Clay was Jeremy's bodyguard and had to keep close, but mostly it was because Clay would never consider leaving.

Clay had been no more than five or six when he'd been bitten. When other kids were heading off to kindergarten, he'd been living as a child werewolf in the Louisiana bayou. Jeremy had rescued him, brought him to Stonehaven and raised him, and this was where Clay would stay.

Now it was my home too, really had been since the day Clay had bitten me. It's no sacrifice. I'm happy here, with my family. Besides, without Jeremy to mediate, Clay and I would have killed each other years ago.

Jeremy watched as Clay bounded back to me. As he glanced my way, relief sparked in his eyes. If Clay was in such a good mood, my Change must have gone well. I knew they'd both been worried, though they'd tried to hide it, knowing I'd been panicked enough and that the alternative--not Changing--would be even more dangerous.

I handed Clay his shoes. Jeremy's gaze slid down to Clay's bare feet. He sighed.

"I'll find the socks next time," Clay said. "And look, Elena found her top."

I held up a sweater I'd "misplaced" in the woods a few months ago. Jeremy's nose wrinkled as the smell wafted his way.

"Toss it out," he said.

"It's a little funky," I said. "But I'm sure a good washing, maybe some bleach..."

"In the garbage. The outside garbage. Please."

"We're going into town for ice cream," Clay said. "Wanna come?"

Jeremy shook his head. "You two go. You can pick up steaks at the butcher. I thought we'd have a barbecue, take advantage of the warm day. It may still be early in the season, but since you seem so energetic, perhaps I can persuade you to cart out the lawn furniture and we'll eat outside tonight."

"Let's do that now," I said, swinging toward the shed. "Build up an appetite for those banana splits."

Clay caught my arm. "No lifting, remember?"

I was reasonably sure you couldn't damage a fetus the size of a pea by lifting a patio chair, especially not when werewolf strength made it the equivalent of picking up a plate. Yet when I looked over at Jeremy, he busied himself unloading his revolvers.

Since I'd first decided to try for a baby, Jeremy had read just about every book ever written on pregnancy. The problem was that no matter how many books Jeremy read, he couldn't be sure they applied to me. Female werewolves were very rare. For one to bear a child, even to a human father, was a thing of legend. Two werewolves reproducing? Never happened. Or, if it had, there was no record of it, and certainly no maternity guides.

So we were being careful. Some of us more than others. Not that I disagreed. Not...really. After all, it was only nine months. I could handle not picking up lawn chairs for a while. It was the "not doing anything at all" part that was driving me nuts.

I could argue that I'd just Changed into a wolf--surely lifting chairs wasn't any more strenuous than that. But I knew what they'd say--that Changing was a necessary stress, and all the more reason for me to reduce all other physical activity to compensate. Remind them what I'd just done, and Jeremy would probably cancel our trip to town and replace it with an afternoon of bed rest.

"You can grab the lanterns," Clay said finally. "But I'll get them down."

"Are you sure?" I said. "They are oil lamps, you know. I could set myself on fire."

Clay hesitated.

I bit back a growl, but not before the first note escaped.

"I'm thinking of the oil," he said. "Is it okay for you to breathe that stuff in?"

"Hmmm, you have a point. And what about the air? I caught a whiff of manure out there today. God knows what kind of drugs they're feeding cows these days."

"I'm just saying--"