Bone Crossed

“Aurielle answered,” reported Ben from the hallway. “She says Darryl is fine. Warren’s not picking up, so I called his boy toy’s cell. Boy will check up and call me back.”

“I bet you didn’t call him a boy toy to his face,” I said.

“You can effing believe I did,” answered Ben with injured dignity. “You should have heard what he called me.”

Kyle, Warren’s human boyfriend, who in his day job was a barracuda divorce lawyer, had a tongue that could be as razor-sharp as his mind. I’d bet money on the outcome of any verbal skirmish between Kyle and Ben, and it wouldn’t be on Ben.

“Is Dad all right?” asked Jesse. The wolves moved aside almost sheepishly to let her through—and I realized they must have kept her away while the matter was still in doubt. Judging by Adam’s eyes, he held on to control by a gnat’s hair—so keeping his vulnerable human daughter away had been a good idea. But I knew Jesse—I wouldn’t have wanted to have been the one keeping her back.

Adam got hastily to his feet and almost didn’t lean on Mary Jo—who’d put her hand out when he swayed.

“I’m just fine,” he told his daughter, and gave her a quick hug.

“Jesse’s the one who called Samuel,” Mary Jo told him. “We didn’t even think of it. He told us what to do.”

“Jesse’s the bomb,” I said with conviction. She gave me a shaky grin.

“The trick,” Samuel said to me, “is to join with the pack and with Adam—without losing yourself in them. It’s instinctive for the werewolves, but I expect you’re going to have to work on it.”

IN THE END, I WENT HOME FOR DINNER, SLIPPING OUT ALMOST unnoticed in the gathering that followed our close call. I needed some time alone. Adam saw me leave, but made no move to stop me—he knew I’d be back.

There was a bowl of tuna fish, pickles, and mayo in the fridge, so I made a sandwich and fed what was left to the cat. As she ate with delicate haste, I called Kyle’s cell phone.

“Uhmm?”

The sound was so relaxed, I pulled the phone away from my ears to make sure it was Kyle’s phone I’d gotten. But there it was on the little screen-KYLE’s CELL.

“Kyle? I was calling to see how Warren was.”

“Sorry, Mercy,” Kyle laughed, and I heard water splash. “We’re in the hot tub. He’s fine. How are you? Ben said you were all right.”

“Fine. Warren?”

“Was passed out in the hallway, where he’d evidently been headed to the kitchen with an empty glass.”

“Wasn’t empty when I was carrying it,” Warren’s warm Southern-touched voice sounded amused.

“Ah,” said Kyle, “I didn’t notice much besides Warren. But he woke up in a few minutes—”

“Cold water in your face does that,” observed Warren, amused.

“But he was stiff and sore—thus the hot tub.”

“Tell him I’m sorry,” I told Kyle.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” said Warren. “Pack magic can be tricky sometimes. That’s what Adam, Darryl, and I are for, sweetheart. I don’t feel you in the pack anymore. Problems?”

“Probably not,” I told him. “Samuel says I just burned out the circuit for a while. It should come back on line soon.”

“Apparently it wasn’t necessary that I pass anything on,” said Kyle dryly.

A car pulled into the driveway—a Mercedes, I thought. But I didn’t recognize the individual car. “Give Warren a hug from me, instead,” I said. “And enjoy the hot tub.”

I hung up before Kyle could say something outrageous in response and went to the door to see who was there.

Corban, Amber’s husband was just coming up the steps. He looked disconcerted when I opened the door before he knocked. He also looked upset, his tie askew, his cheeks unshaven.

“Corban?” I said. I couldn’t imagine why he was here when a phone was so much easier. “What’s wrong?”

He recovered from his momentary hesitation and all but hopped up the last step. He put out a hand, and I noticed he was wearing leather driving gloves—and holding something odd-looking. That’s all I had time to notice before he hit me with the Taser.

Tasers are becoming commonplace among police departments, though I’d never actually seen one in the flesh before. Somewhere on YouTube there is a cameraphone video showing what happened to a student who broke some rule or other in a university library. He was Tasered, then Tasered again because he wouldn’t get up when they told him to.

It hurt. It hurt like ... I didn’t know what. I dropped to the ground and lay there frozen while Corban frisked me. He went through my pockets, dropping my cell phone to the porch. He grabbed my shoulders and knees and tried to jerk lift me.

I’m a lot heavier than I look—muscle will do that—and he was no werewolf, just a desperate man whispering, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

I’d make sure he was sorry, I thought through the haze of pain. “I don’t get mad I get even” was more of a credo than a cliché to me.

The people I’d seen Tasered were only knocked out of commission for a few seconds. Even the kid in the library had been able to make noise. I was absolutely helpless, and I didn’t know why.