Winter Lost

I’d had to force the words out through a throat that wanted to close. I deliberately tried to ignore Mary Jo at my feet because looking at her was making me worse. I understood what it felt like when someone stole your will. Maybe we couldn’t trust Ymir’s information, but I intended to make him talk as long as I could.

“My brother is the only one who can free yours,” Ymir told me, then he gave a slight grimace. “I am bound not to tell you where or how he can be found.”

“I’d expect it is somewhere near where Gary was living,” said Adam.

I’m sure he meant his tone to be dry, but the rasp of his wolf was in it. He knew I was fighting off a panic attack, and he was doing his best not to add to it. I could feel the support he sent through our mating bond. Not calmness—we’d learned from experience that he could not be calm when I was freaking out. But strength and the knowledge I wasn’t alone.

When a panic attack hit me when he and I were alone, sometimes his physical touch helped. But if he touched me right now, I’d lose the battle I was fighting to seem normal in front of the stranger in our house.

Gary released his hold on my wrist—I was thankful because that hold was making me feel trapped—and dropped to the floor next to Mary Jo. He felt her limp body with careful hands, then focused his attention on our guest.

“Is there anything more that you can tell us that would be useful?” Zee asked.

Ymir shook his head.

“Then go,” Zee said. “And cause no more trouble for your hosts.”

“Remember my name, old friend,” Ymir said pleasantly. He looked at Adam. “I’ll tell my brother to expect you.”

Ymir bowed his head—but even in my distracted state, I could see that something raw and violent flared in his eyes as he glanced at Zee and away.

As soon as the front door closed behind the Jötunn, I gave Adam a frantic look.

“I’ve got this,” he said.

I bolted for the stairs as Zee rumbled something. Before he finished, I was at our bedroom door.

I heard Adam say, “Leave her be,” as I shut the door behind me and sprinted to the bathroom just in time to lose Uncle Mike’s excellent stew. Nausea only hit me sometimes in a panic attack, but this one was a doozy. I stayed in the bathroom for a while.

Sounds traveled up. I heard Warren’s voice. Then Mary Jo’s. She sounded agitated, but she wasn’t dead, so that was a win. Jesse came upstairs, walked past her room, and paused in front of our door.

She tapped lightly on the door. “Headed to bed, Mercy. Hope you feel better soon.”

“I’m good,” I croaked.

“Okay,” she said wryly. “As long as you’re good.”

“Yes,” I told her. And then more truthfully, “I’ll be good in the morning.”

She tapped the door twice and then I heard her bedroom door shut, leaving me to the unhappy task of making my breathing even out.

Interlude

Six Weeks Earlier Adam

The house looked empty, but Adam knew better. His wolf knew there was someone dangerous inside.

He knocked on the door.

When it opened, Zee scowled at him. “What do you want?”

It didn’t sound friendly, but Zee was only friendly around Mercy.

“We need to speak,” Adam told him. “I’d prefer not to do it where we could be overheard.”

The old fae opened the door and stepped back in invitation.

“Kitchen,” Zee said, leading the way, though Adam had been here before and didn’t need guidance.

He took the seat Zee indicated and waited in silence while Zee brewed a fresh pot of coffee. Adam had dealt with old creatures before. He knew it didn’t do to try to hurry them.

Eventually Zee set a cup of black sludge in front of Adam and sat down opposite him with his own cup. Adam drank the rich bitter stuff without grimacing. He was an Alpha werewolf; he knew a challenge when he saw one.

Zee’s face softened in brief amusement, and he sipped from his own cup.

“Two things,” Adam said.

Zee nodded.

“Mercy isn’t as bad off now that you’ve destroyed the Soul Taker,” he said. “But—”

“She stares into space for up to three minutes at a time,” Zee said. “And she doesn’t notice she’s doing it.”

“Twice today,” said Adam.

“Three times at the garage.”

“She has a constant headache, but she won’t tell you that,” Adam told Zee.

“She doesn’t like to admit there is something wrong,” Zee groused. “Stupid child. She doesn’t think we know?”

Adam gave him a grim smile.

“I do not know how to help her,” Zee said. “I have tried. I can do a little with body hurts, but this…this is damage to her soul and to her magic. I have asked for help—but Baba Yaga is unreliable. And…”

“And?”

“And she is a healer of rare ability; she can bring back the dead as long as they aren’t very dead. But I don’t know if she can fix what’s wrong with Mercy.”

“I called Bran,” Adam said. “But he told me that if Sherwood can’t fix her, he has no chance.”

“And Sherwood?” asked Zee.

Adam shook his head. Then to this being who loved Mercy, too, he asked the question that had been haunting him. “If she can’t be fixed?”

“It is early days yet,” Zee said.

“If she can’t be fixed?” Adam asked again, his throat dry. “What then?”