"Who would know?" he asked. "I would know," I told him, pulling my head out from under the bed only to see that he had my bright blue panties dangling from a finger.
"They were under the pillow," he said with an innocent smile.
I snatched them and put them on. Then I hopped up and went to the bathroom, where the rest of my clothes were. I dressed, took a step toward the bathroom, and had a flashback.
I'd been here, unworthy, soiled… stained. I couldn't face them, couldn't look into their faces because they all knew…
"Shh, shh," Adam crooned in my ear. "That's over. It's over and done with."
He held me, sitting on the bathroom floor with me on his lap, while I shook and the flashback faded. When I could breathe normally again, I sat up with an attempt at dignity. "Sorry," I said.
I'd thought that last night would have taken care of the flashbacks, the panic attacks—I was cured, right? I reached up and grabbed a hand towel and wiped my wet face—and found that it just kept getting wet.
I'd been so sure everything would be back to normal now.
"It takes longer than a week to get over something like that," Adam told me, as if he could read my mind.
"But I can help, if you'll let me."
I looked at him, and he ran a thumb under my eyes. "You'll have to open up, though, and let the pack in."
He smiled, a sad smile. "You've been blocking pretty ferociously since sometime on the trip back from Spokane. If I were to guess, I expect it was when you let Stefan bite you."
I had no idea what he was talking about, and I guessed it showed.
"Not on purpose?" he said.
Somehow, I'd slid off his lap and was leaning against the opposite wall. "Not that I know."
"You had a panic attack on the way home," he told me.
I nodded and remembered the warmth of the pack that had pulled me out of it. Remarkable, awesome—and buried under the rest of the events of the past two nights.
His lids lowered. "That's better… a bit better." He looked up from the floor and focused on me, yellow highlights dancing in his irises. He reached out and touched me just under my ear.
It was a light touch, just barely skin to skin. It should have been casual.
He laughed a little, sounding just a bit giddy. "Just like Medea, Mercy," he said, dropping his hand and drawing a breath that sounded just a little ragged. "Let me try this again." He held out his hand.
When I put mine in it, he closed his eyes and… I felt a trickle of life, warmth, and health dribbling from his hand to mine. It felt like a hug on a summer's day, laughter, and sweet honey.
I spread out into it through him, sliding into something I just knew were warm depths that would surround me with—
But the pack didn't want me. And the minute the thought crossed my mind, the trickle dried up—and Adam jerked his hand back with a hiss of pain that brought me up to my knees. I reached out to touch him, then pulled my hand back so I didn't hurt him again.
"Adam?"
"Stubborn," he said with an appraising look. "I got bits and pieces from you, though. We don't love you, so you won't take anything from us?" The question in his voice was self-addressed, as if he weren't quite sure of his analysis.
I sat back down on my heels, caught by the accuracy of his reading.
"Instincts drive the wolf… coyote, too, I imagine," he told me after a moment. He looked relaxed, one knee up and the other stretched out just to the side of me. "Truth is without flourishes or manners and runs with a logic all its own. You can't let the pack give without giving in return, and if we don't want your gift…"
I didn't say anything. I didn't understand how the pack worked, but the last part was right. After a bit, he said, "It's inconvenient sometimes to be a part of the pack. When the pack magic is in full swing—like now with the moon close to her zenith—there's no hiding everything from each other all the time like we do as humans. Some things, yes, but we can't chose which ones stay safely secret. Paul knows I'm still angry with him over his attack on Warren, and it makes him cringe—which just makes me angrier because it's not remorse for trying to attack Warren when he was hurt but fear of my anger."
I stared at him.
"It's not all bad," he told me. "It's knowing who they are, what's important to them, what makes them different. What strengths they each contribute to the pack."
He hesitated. "I'm not sure how much you'll get. If I want to, at full moon in wolf form, I can read everyone almost always—that's part of being Alpha. It allows me to use the individuals to build a pack. Most of the pack get bits and pieces, mostly things that concern them or big things." He gave me a little smile. "I didn't know that bringing you into the pack would work at all, you know. I couldn't have done it with a human mate, but you are always an unknown." He looked at me intently. "You knew Mary Jo had been hurt."
I shook my head. "No. I knew someone had been hurt—but I didn't know it was Mary Jo until I saw her."
"Okay," he said, encouraged by my answer. "It shouldn't be bad for you then. Unless you need them, or they need you, the pack will just be… a shield at your back, warmth in the storm. Our mate bond—when it settles down—will probably add a little oddity to it."
"What do you mean 'when it settles down'?" I asked him.
He shrugged. "Hard to explain." He gave me an amused look. "When I was learning how to be a wolf, I asked my teacher what mating felt like. He told me it was different for different couples—and being Alpha adds a twist to it as well."
"So you don't know?" Because that wasn't an answer—and Adam didn't evade questions. He answered or told you he wasn't going to.
"I do now," he said. "Our bond" — he made a gesture with his hand indicating something in the small space in the bathroom that lay between us—"feels to me like a bridge, like the suspension bridge over the Columbia. It has foundations and the cables and all that it needs to be a bridge, but it doesn't span the river yet." He looked at my face and grinned. "I know it sounds stupid, but you asked. Anyway, if all you felt when Mary Jo was dying was that someone was hurt, that you caught the few who don't welcome you as part of our pack is my fault. You felt them through me. On your own, you won't even be aware of it unless certain conditions are met. Things like proximity, how open you are to the pack, and if the moon is full." He grinned. "Or how grumpy you are with them."
"So if I don't feel it, it shouldn't matter if they don't want me?"
He gave me a neutral look. "Of course it matters—but it won't be shoved down your throat every minute of the day. Mostly, I expect you'll know the ones who don't want a coyote in the pack. As Warren knows the wolves who hate what he is more than what he does." Briefly, sorrow lit his eyes for Warren's trials, but he kept speaking. "Just as Darryl knows the wolves who resent being given orders by a black man made uppity by a good education." He smiled, just a little. "You aren't alone, most people are prejudiced about something. But you know, after a while the edges wear down. You know who hated Darryl the most when he joined us, way back when we were still in New Mexico?"
I raised my eyebrows in inquiry.
"Aurielle. She thought he was an arrogant, self-important snob."
"Which he is," I observed. "But he's also smart, quick, and given to small kindnesses when no one is watching."
"So," he nodded. "We are none of us perfect, and as pack, we learn to take these imperfections and make them only a small part of who we are. Let us bring you truly into our shelter, Mercedes. And the wolves who resent you will deal with it as you will deal with the ones you don't like, for whatever reason.