Winter Lost

“That dog won’t hunt,” Adam told him. “Settle down.” And then, because the smell of fear was still tugging at Adam’s control, he said, “Easy now. You’re safe, you’re safe here.”

If it had been Mercy he was holding down, Adam figured that would have set her into a fit of sarcastic laughter. Gary was trapped, face down, under a werewolf—in human form—on six inches of freshly fallen snow, not something that screamed “safe.” Adam glanced over his shoulder and saw, by the disturbed snow, that they had gone right over the top of the house. Adam didn’t remember going over the roof. It had been years, decades, since he’d let the wolf out far enough that he didn’t remember what the wolf did.

His chest gave a familiar zing of pain, and he hastily took a deep breath to expand his rib cage. Happily, the bone moved just a little as the lupine power that kept his body and face young, when his youngest brother was an old man, healed the broken rib.

“I promise, you are safe,” Adam said. And this time he could hear the truth ringing in his words.

Gary’s body gave one convulsive jerk, went totally limp again, then began shaking like a man kept out in the cold too long. Possibly because he was face down in the snow. The shaking stopped.

Adam released him cautiously, finally getting off him altogether. When Mercy’s brother didn’t move, Adam put a hand to his shoulder and rolled him over.

He was unconscious.

“Is he dead?” asked Jesse tightly.

“No,” Adam said. “Go find a blanket. Let’s get him inside and warm him up.”

Abruptly, Gary clenched into a fetal position. Adam had to check an instinctive urge to land on him again. But Gary didn’t move after that. Adam thought Gary’s ability to curl that tightly probably meant that his spine was okay, but before Adam picked him up, he did a quick exploration anyway.

He hefted Gary carefully, but apparently there was nothing painful enough to make him struggle. Also a good sign. Adam’s wolf hadn’t wanted to hurt Gary any more than Adam did.

Jesse brought the big comforter from her bed out onto the porch, but didn’t approach farther than that. “I have the blanket.”

“Not out here,” Adam said, starting toward the house. “Let’s get him inside.”

Mercy’s brother was a little taller than Adam, but he didn’t feel much heavier than Mercy did, maybe twenty pounds more. The steps were icy—he’d shoveled them a few hours ago, but the snow had been falling ever since—so Adam was careful to keep his weight centered.

“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him,” Jesse said, holding the door wide so Adam could maneuver through without slamming Gary against the frame. “What’s wrong with him? Why did he attack you?”

“I don’t know.”

In the distance, a coyote sang. The coincidence made Adam pause.

Jesse’s eyes widened. “Do you think…?”

“Let’s get him warmed up and maybe he can tell us,” Adam said.

Jesse threw the comforter on one of the big recliners in the living room. Adam set him in it and bundled him in the fluffy thing like a baby. He would have taken off Gary’s boots if he’d been awake. But Adam didn’t want to have his head down around the semiconscious Gary’s feet—the man kicked like a mule, and he’d already demonstrated that he was prone to panic.

Jesse frowned. “He’s soaking wet. I’ll go downstairs and get him some dry clothes.”

They kept clothing on hand, both in the basement and packed in the vehicles. Mostly a mix of unisex sweats and T-shirts. She should be able to find something that would fit.

“I’ll call Mercy,” Adam said.

Interlude

Coyote

Coyote watched in satisfaction as his daughter’s mate carried the limp body inside the house. He’d been worried, for a moment, that he might have to stop the fight.

It had not previously been his habit to save his children. He wasn’t sure when that urge had first come upon him—but it also wasn’t his habit to examine his own motivations too closely.

3

Mercy

“Why did I marry Adam?” I asked, a little incredulously.

“Yes,” said Mary Jo.

“Because I love him.”

Mary Jo shook her head and waved a hand, casually (and maybe a little drunkenly still) dismissing the thing that lay at the heart of a couple of years of bitter resentment on her part.

“I get that. But you were already mates and had been taking all sorts of crap from the pack. We are werewolves, not coyotes—you were an interloper trying to take our Alpha from us. And we were pretty convinced you were a weakness that was going to bring us down.”

She paused, her mouth finding a frown. “A coyote. And not a supercoyote, or one brimming with Native American magics. A coyote who is even easier to kill than your human form. Which is as easy to kill as a normal human.”

Yep. That was who I was.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why aren’t you dead?”

I raised my eyebrows at her. “Is that a question or a wish?”