"You aren't the government," said Adam.
"I assure you, Mr. Hauptman, I work for the US government. You saw my ID."
I wrinkled my nose. He was lying with the truth - I recognized the smugness of his scent. Adam considered my conclusion.
"It will be an easy kill," Jones told Adam. "In and out, then you and yours will be free to leave."
"I have not killed for the government in a long time," Adam told him. He should have stopped there, but I could feel when the quivery I-am-prey feeling emanating from Jones and the burn of the silver that was sharpening his temper drove him further. He gave Jones a feral smile, leaned forward, and said, "Now I only kill people who deserve it, Mr. Smith."
Mr. Jones jerked back, and the smell of his fear made my nose wrinkle. Then he raised a Glock he'd hidden behind the desk.
Adam, slowed by silver and forgotten shackles, stumbled to his knees when he tried to move to respond. A shot rang out and the smell of gunpowder, blood, and death filled the air an instant before the earthquake in the pack bonds tried to throw me back to my own body.
I clung to Adam as tears and helpless anger wracked me, his and mine, while Honey's agonized cry rang in my ears. I didn't need to see it with my eyes because the pack bond and Adam told me who it was, told me it was fatal. By accident or design, Jones had killed Peter, with a clean bullet between his eyes, killed the heart of the pack, our sole submissive wolf, Honey's mate.
Adam's head was bowed as he absorbed the blow - Peter's death and Adam's failure to prevent it. All the other wolves in the pack were rivals, dominants who would move against the others should the wolf above them in the pack show weakness. But Peter was safe. Submissive wolves, rare, as precious as rubies, were not driven to be on top, so they could be trusted absolutely - cherished and protected from all harm.
Not your fault, I told Adam urgently. Not your fault they brought us here. Not your fault they shot Peter. Not his fault that he'd been hampered by the tranquilizer, the silver, and the shackles.
Adam didn't care what I thought. He was the Alpha, it was his duty to protect the pack, and Peter most of all had been his to keep safe. I could feel Adam's wild rage, Adam's desire to kill - balanced by the clear understanding that he had the rest of the pack to protect.
He swayed a little on his knees, as if his rage were a physical thing that tugged on his shoulders. I tightened my grip and felt his gratitude at my presence as he fought and bargained with his anger - and I felt his shame for the way he craved Jones's flesh between his teeth.
Jones is dead, I promised. He just doesn't know it yet. But we are patient, we can wait until the time is ripe.
Adam went still. He forgets sometimes, does Adam, that I am as much a predator as he is.
Adam looked up, and we saw that Jones looked smug, the gun still in his hand. He thought that Adam's bowed head and the way he'd not regained his feet meant that he was broken. The soldier who stood beside Jones's desk was blank-faced but more wary.
Adam sorted through possibilities before he decided that Jones needed to be a little more afraid because that fear would slow him down if he decided a second example might be needed. And if that fear made him try something, Adam would kill him sooner rather than later and deal with the soldier instead.
Adam stood slowly, which was a lot more difficult than he made it look since his hands were chained behind his back and his ankles shackled together. It required strength and balance, and he used the movement to center himself.
He let his wolf meet Mr. Jones's eyes, tensed his shoulders, and twisted the cuff on his left wrist. Metal screamed. I felt the burn as steel cut into his wrist before the joint of the cuff broke. He continued to watch Jones, daring him to do something, anything, as he repeated the procedure on his right wrist. He didn't bother moving quickly, even after the handcuffs fell to the ground. As he brought his freed hands forward, Jones jerked the gun up, but the soldier slammed it down on the desk, unfired.
"You want to shoot them all and try again, Mr. Jones?" he said. "You aren't going to be able to get another pack the same way - and Hauptman was specifically required."
Jones fought for the gun, but the other pulled it away with contemptuous ease.
"Shut up," the soldier gritted. "You've made a proper cluster of this. Just sit there and keep your mouth closed. I told him you were the wrong choice for this."
Adam turned his attention to the manacles at his ankles. His deliberate inattention was an insult, a power play - and it scared me. I wanted to watch Jones and company to make sure that they didn't shoot Adam.
They won't, he assured me as he pried the manacle off his right ankle with a sharp twist of his hands. They have gone to too much trouble to get me to kill me right now. They will wait until I kill their senator and prove that the werewolves need to be eliminated. Bran warned me that I was becoming too well-known, that someone would try to make some sort of play against me.
And when you don't kill Senator Campbell? I asked. Adam would not do their bidding, there was no question in my mind about that.
I will do anything to keep my pack safe, Adam corrected me gently as he pulled the second ankle restraint into two separate pieces before twisting them together. Even kill Campbell. Make sure Bran understands that when you tell him about this, so he's not taken by surprise.
That's what Bran failed to see when he'd been worried that Adam's temper meant that he should be kept out of the public's eye. Adam had a hot temper, but he was always, always in control because he needed to protect the ones he cared about - even if it destroyed him instead.
"Understand this," Adam said in a guttural voice, staring at the soldier, though I knew his attention was also on Jones. "If another of my pack is harmed, all bets are off. You might be able to kill me, but not before I have taken care of 'Jones,' you, and a fair swath of the rest of your men."
"Understood."
Mercy, get Samuel, get Bran. Find out where they have us. Get the pack free before I have to do what they want, Adam told me, then sent me away from him and back to my own body in Samuel's guest bedroom.
I opened my own eyes and realized that there was noise downstairs - a wolf growling and a woman's singsong voice. Magic, fae magic, shivered over my skin in a rising tide.
I bolted to my feet and down the stairs, taking them six or eight at a time. Ben would have felt Peter's death. Wounded and scared, that couldn't have been a good thing.
Ariana was curled up in a corner of the room crooning in a language that sounded vaguely like Welsh but wasn't because I couldn't understand a word. Ben, in the middle of his change, was crouched on the couch, all of his attention on the stranger in the room.
Jesse and Gabriel were both standing between Ben and Ariana. Gabriel was bleeding - neither of them would be a match for Ben, three-quarters changed and raging because of the drugs in his system, the mess of the pack, Adam's rage, and Peter's death.
All of this I saw as I took the last leap that would have taken me to the floor if I hadn't altered my trajectory. I twisted in the air and hit Ben instead, and we both hit the floor.
I pinned him like my mother had taught me to pin calves or goats when I was ten years old, and she decided that I should follow her footsteps as a rodeo queen. Her efforts were doomed - I didn't like horses, not like she did, and she only had two weeks to visit before she had to go back to her own life. But goat tying had been fun, and I'd practiced for most of a summer. I hadn't thought about it for a decade or two, but the motions came right back to me as soon as my hands were on the enraged werewolf. Desperation is a really good way to inspire muscle memory.
"Ben, stop," I said, holding his head twisted and pressing a knee on his shoulder. "Ariana is not an enemy." I glanced at her, and added, "Not unless you scare her into doing something horrible to one of us. We need to get Jesse and Gabriel safe, then find the pack. I need you, so suck it up." He was still struggling, and I put my mouth right next to his ear.
"They killed Peter, Ben." I whispered, but I let him hear my own grief.
Peter had once charged out with a sword and saved the pack from an enraged fae that I'd brought to their doorstep. He was a great big sweetie who loved his mate and played video games with a devastating intensity and a love of planning that led his team to victory more than once, despite his disinterest in winning or losing. He left a gaping hole in the pack that had us all reeling.
"They killed Peter," I told Ben. "And we need to make them pay."
Ben stilled beneath me and started to shake. I released my hold but stayed on top of him, burying my face in his fur so I could hide my tears. It wasn't only my grief that wracked me, but Ben's, Adam's, Honey's, and that of the whole pack. We had failed to protect our heart, and now he was dead.
It wasn't fair. Ben wasn't through his change yet, maybe halfway, and at that stage, I had been assured, his skin would hurt if someone breathed on it. But I clung to him and let the wave of emotion hit me and waited for it to ebb.
"Mercy?" asked Jesse. "Mercy, what happened? Is Dad okay? Mercy?"
There was controlled panic in her voice, and it pulled me back to myself. I had no time to wait for anything.
"Ben?" I asked. "Can I let you up?"
In answer, he stood up, on four paws, shedding me as he did so. So much for my mother's tactics. He avoided looking at Ariana - I could smell her panic, too - and stared at the blinds that blocked the darkness from the room. I rolled the rest of the way to my feet and rubbed my face to clear my eyes.
I'd forgotten about the damned wreck again and yelped when I put pressure on my cheekbone. The EMTs had sworn it was okay, but it sure felt as though it might be broken to me. Bruises shouldn't hurt so much.
My left shoulder ached, along with the opposite hip and knee, but worst of all was the ache in my heart. I glanced at Ariana, who wasn't looking at any of us. She was still muttering to herself, and the smell of fae magic was growing uncomfortably strong.