My people, apparently, among them.
As I took the on-ramp onto the highway to Richland, I remembered something my mother once told me. She hadn't known my father very well. In my mostly empty jewelry box was a silver belt buckle he'd won in a rodeo and given her. She told me his eyes were the color of sunlit root beer, and that he snored if he slept on his back. The only other thing I knew about him was that if someone had found his wrecked truck sooner, he might have lived. The wreck hadn't killed him outright. Something sharp had sliced open a big vein, and he bled to death.
There was a noise from the back of the van. I jerked the rearview mirror around until I could see the backseat. Samuel's eyes were open, and he was shaking violently.
Stefan hadn't told me what the bad reaction to the Kiss might be, but I was pretty sure I was about to find out. I was already passing the exit for Columbia Park, but I managed to take it without getting rear-ended.
I drove until I came to a small parking lot next to a maintenance shed. I parked, killed the lights, then slipped between the seats of the van and approached Samuel cautiously.
"Sam?" I said, and for a heartbeat his struggles slowed down.
His eyes gleamed in the shadows of the van's depths. I smelled adrenaline, terror, sweat, and blood.
I had to fight not to flee. Part of me knew that so much fear must have a cause. The rest of me figured out why some werewolves had a bad reaction to the vampire's Kiss-waking up unable to move, his last memory being something sucking his blood was bound to hit every panic button in a werewolf's arsenal.
"Shhh," I said, crouching in the space between the second seat and the sliding door. "The vampires are gone. What you are feeling is something they can do with their bite. It makes their victims passive so they can feed without drawing attention. It's wearing off now-Stefan said it will leave no ill effects."
He was beginning to listen to me. I could see it in the softening of his shoulders-then my cell phone rang.
I answered it, but the sudden noise had been too much. The van bumped and bobbed as Samuel scrambled over the backseat and into the luggage space behind the seat.
"Hey," I said, keeping my voice soft.
"Mercy." It was Warren, his voice urgent. "You need to come here as soon as you can-and bring Samuel."
Samuel was making harsh noises behind the seat. Changing was painful for the wolves at the best of times-when they are comfortable and eager to hunt. Changing when the air is thick with fear and blood would not be good. Not good at all.
"Samuel is indisposed," I said, as he screamed, a roar of agony and despair. He was fighting the change.
Warren swore. "Tell me this then. Is Adam afraid someone in the pack betrayed him?"
"That's my fault," I said. "Warren, is the pack coming to your house?"
He grunted. I assumed it was a yes.
"Tell Adam."
"I made steaks and fed him about an hour ago, and he's sleeping it off. I tried to wake him up before I called, but he's shut down hard in a healing sleep. I don't know what it would take to wake him up."
"Dr. Cornick would," I muttered, wincing at the noises Sam was making in the back of the van. "But he's not available to come to the phone right now."
"It's all right, Mercy." He sounded suddenly calm. "I'll take care of it. If that's Samuel in the middle of an involuntary change, you need to get away from there and give him time to calm down."
"What? And leave Samuel to go hunting in the middle of Kennewick? I don't think so."
"He won't know you, not if he's changing like that. It won't be Samuel Bran's son, it will be only the wolf."
The sounds behind the seat were becoming more canid and less human.
"Mercy, get out of there."
"It's all right, Warren," I said, hoping I was right.
Wolves, the real wolves, are not usually vicious animals unless they are frightened, hurt, or cornered. Werewolves are always vicious, always ready for the kill.
"If this doesn't work-tell him the vampires got me," I said. "I don't think he'll remember. It'll be true enough. The vampires are what forced this change. You tell him that." I hung up the phone.
It was already too late to run, but I wouldn't have anyway. Leave Samuel to deal with the aftermath of his wolf's rampage? Samuel was a healer, a defender of the weak. I wasn't certain that he would live with innocent blood on his hands.
I'd deserted him once, a long time ago. I wouldn't do it again.
The sounds died down until all I could hear was the harsh panting of his breath, but I could smell his rage. I didn't bother undressing before I shifted-it would have taken too long. When Samuel's white head appeared over the top of the seat, I was backing out of my T-shirt and bra.
I stopped what I was doing and crouched on the floor of the van, tail tucked between my legs. I didn't look up, but I felt the springs give way as he climbed slowly over the back and stood on the seat.
I was so scared it was hard to breathe. I knew what I had to do next, but I wasn't certain I could manage it. If some part of me weren't absolutely convinced that Sam, my Sam, could never hurt me, I wouldn't have been able to do the next part.
He was utterly silent. In Montana, on a hunt, the wolves howl and cry, but in the city all hunting is done soundlessly. Growls, whines, and barks are all bluffing tools-it is the quiet wolf that will kill you.
With Samuel perched silently on the backseat, I rolled over onto my back and exposed my belly to his jaws. I stretched my chin so that my neck was vulnerable to him as well. It was one of the hardest things I'd ever done. It wasn't as if he couldn't kill me as easily if I were lying on my belly, but there was something worse about exposing my unprotected underside. Being submissive is a bitch.