Bone Crossed

"They would have had to die anyway. They knew about us."

"There we disagree," I told him. "What about your vaunted power over human minds?"

"It only works if the contact with us is very short—a feeding, no more than that."

"They were living, breathing people who were murdered. By you."

"How did you know that Mercy was at Andre's?" Warren's calm voice broke between us like a wave of ice water as he came down the stairs. He walked past me and used the key to open the cage door. "I've been wondering about that for a while."

"What do you mean?" asked Stefan.

"I mean that we knew she'd found Andre because she told Ben, thinking he couldn't tell anyone else because he'd not changed back from his wolf in all the time since the demon-possessed died. Ben changed so he could tell us, but we still couldn't go after her because we didn't know where Andre was. You had no way to know what she was doing. How did you know she was off killing Andre, just in time to cover up the crime?"

Stefan made no move to come out of the cage. He folded his arms and leaned a shoulder against the bars instead as he considered Warren's question.

"It was Wulfe, wasn't it?" I said. "He knew what I was doing because one of the homes I found was his."

"Wulfe," said Warren slowly, after Stefan didn't answer. "Is he the kind of man who would be outraged that Marsilia would call down a demon to infest a vampire? Would he want it stopped at the cost of Andre's destruction? Go to you for help doing it?"

Stefan closed his eyes. "He came to me. Told me Mercy was in trouble and needed help. It was only later that I wondered why he'd done it."

"You've had these thoughts already," Warren said. "So what did you decide?"

"Does it matter?"

"It's always a good thing to know your enemies," answered Warren in his lazy Texas drawl. "Who are yours?"

Stefan gave him the look of a baited bear, all frustration and ferocity. "I don't know." He gritted out. Warren smiled coolly, his eyes sharp. "Oh, I think you do. You aren't stupid; you aren't a child. You know how these things work."

"Wulfe used me to get to you," I said. "Then he told Marsilia what you'd done."

Stefan just looked at me.

"With you and Andre out of the way, there is Wulfe, Bernard, and Estelle." I rubbed my hands together and wondered if knowing what had happened would do Stefan any good. It wouldn't change things, and knowing that he'd fallen into Wulfe's trap wasn't going to help Stefan now. Still, as Warren had said, it is a good thing to know your enemies. "And Bernard and Estelle, Marsilia already doesn't trust them, right?"

Stefan nodded. "They work against her where they can, and she knows it. They are of another's making, given as gifts by a vampire not easily refused. She must take care of them, as she would any such gifts—but that doesn't mean she has to trust them. Wulfe… Wulfe is a mystery even to himself, I think.

You believe Wulfe engineered this as a rise to power?" He looked away and didn't speak for a minute, obviously thinking about what I'd said.

Finally, he wrapped his hands around the bars of the open cage. "Wulfe already has power… if he wanted more, it was his for the asking. But it looks like he had a part in my downfall for whatever reason suited him."

"If Marsilia knows that you helped when Mercy killed Andre, why isn't Mercy dead?" Warren asked.

"She was supposed to be," Stefan said savagely. "Why do you think Marsilia starved me until I was no more than a ravening beast, then dropped me into Mercy's living room? You didn't think I did it myself, did you?"

I nodded. "So she thought she'd get it all without cost to her or the seethe? If you'd killed me, she could have claimed you'd escaped while she was punishing you. Too bad you showed up in my house and killed me. But she underestimated you."

"She did not underestimate me," said Stefan. "She knows me." He gave me a look that let me know that my earlier dig about not knowing him had stung. "She just did not plan on you having the Alpha werewolf in your home to spoil her plans."

I'd been there—and I didn't think he would have done it.

Stefan sneered at me when he saw my face. "Don't waste your time on romantic notions about me. I am vampire, and I would have killed you."

"He's cute when he's mad," observed Warren dryly.

Stefan turned his back on us both.

"She's all by herself, and she doesn't even know it," he said in soft anguish.

He wasn't talking about me.

He'd been hurt a lot recently, and I thought he deserved a rest. So I turned to Warren, and asked, "Why aren't you upstairs at the meeting?"

Warren shrugged, his eyes veiled. "The boss will do better without me to rock the boat."

"Paul hates me more than he hates you," I told him smugly.

He threw his head back and laughed—which is what I'd intended. "Wa

"You're a wolf. I'm a coyote—there's no comparison."

"Hey," said Warren in mock offense. "You're no threat to his masculinity."

"I'm polluting the pack," I told him. "You're just an aberration."

"That's because you called him a… Stefan?"

I looked around, but the vampire was gone. I hadn't gotten a chance to ask him about the crossed bones on my door.

"Shee-it," exclaimed Warren. "Shee-it."

"DID YOU CALL BRAN?" I ASKED ADAM THE NEXT EVENING, tugging down the short skirt of my favorite green-blue dress until it was as good a barrier between Adam's SUV's leather seats and my naked skin as it was going to be.

He hadn't told me where we were going on our date, but Jesse had called me as soon as he left and described what he was wearing—so I knew I'd need the big guns. Though we share a back fence, the distance by car is significantly longer, and I'd had time to skim into the correct dress before he pulled up at my door.

Adam does suits. He wears suits to work, to pack meetings, to political meetings. Since his hours are about the same as mine, that means six days a week. Still there was a difference between his usual work suits and the one he was wearing tonight. The first were made to a

"There's no need to call Bran," he told me irritably as he swung the big vehicle onto the highway. "Half the pack probably called Bran as soon as they got home. He'll call me when he's ready."

He was probably right. I hadn't asked, but his grim face when Warren and I emerged from the basement last night—after everyone had left except for Samuel—had told its own story.

Samuel had kissed me on the lips to irritate Adam and ruffled my hair, "There you are, Little Wolf. Still naturally talented at causing trouble, I see."

That was unfair. It had been Stefan and Adam who'd caused this. I informed Samuel of that, but only after he'd escorted me back home.

Adam called me once, earlier in the afternoon, to make sure I remembered he was taking me out. I'd promptly called Jesse with orders to let me know what her father was wearing. I owed her five bucks, but it was worth it to see Adam smiling when I hopped into his SUV.

But my mouth had soon taken care of that. His Explorer still had a heck of a dent on the fender from where one of the wolves had hit it—after being thrown by an angry fae. My fault. So I'd asked him if he had an estimate yet, and he'd growled at me. Then I'd asked about Bran.

So far our date was working out just spiffy.

I went back to playing with my skirt.

"Mercy," Adam said, his voice even more growly than it had been.

"What?" If I snapped at him, it was his own fault for getting grumpy at me first.

"If you don't stop playing with that dress, I'm going to rip it right off you, and we won't be heading for di