Bitch. "You knew. You set this up." My voice still growled.
She shrugged, just a bit. "I wanted to see for myself."
"Let me go. Please let Ben and me go," I said softly, well aware that Carl and Meg stood between us and the door, that we'd have to get past them to escape.
Mercedes didn't speak, and the tableau didn't change. We stood like statues, waiting for someone to cough. For someone to break.
"You're playing games," I said, my panic rising.
"Oh, no, this isn't a game, this is politics. Rough politics," she said.
Arturo, bless his undead heart, sounded as irate as I felt. "Mercedes, she's right. You're playing games, and keeping leashes on a pack of werewolves is not how I'd planned on spending my evening. Meg!"
The alpha female—nemesis, rival, chief bitch of my nightmares—had crept around her mate. Carefully, she stood in front of Carl and held herself straight. She didn't attack, didn't make the least sign of aggression. She just studied me. Me and Ben both. Ben's shoulders tensed, like hackles rising.
Meg had long, straight black hair, deeply tanned skin, unidentifiably ethnic features. She had a wild and exotic look about her, and a slim and powerful build. She was dressed for an evening downtown—a rust-colored blouse, dark slacks, high-heeled sandals, jewelry. I'd been used to seeing her in the outdoors, in a T-shirt and jeans. Carl, wearing shirt and slacks, hadn't changed much—he was tall, six-five or so, and broad to match, all muscles and quivering temper. You didn't challenge Carl. You just didn't.
Unless you were my best friend T.J. T.J. had challenged, and Carl had killed him for it.
For the moment Meg had taken up her old role of instigator. She'd poke and prod until I lashed out, then let Carl take me down. Now Ben, the newcomer, the unknown in the room from her perspective, occupied her attention. She took a long moment to stare at him. I willed Ben to stay calm, to stay quiet. I didn't want him reacting—either aggressively or submissively. I didn't want him to give her any points by admitting, however inadvertently, that she was stronger.
When Meg spoke to me, it was like glass shattering. "You really did it. You went and made yourself a mate so you could come back here and take over."
Gah, same old Meg. Some things never changed, and my next few breaths were calmer. "No, Meg. That's what you would have done."
Carl said, "I told you not to come back. I told you I'd kill you."
I argued. Maybe they'd see reason. Maybe they'd be reasonable. "I'm not here to make trouble, I promise I don't want any trouble. My mom's sick, Carl. I had to come back, just until she's better." I'd slipped into the old pattern, groveling before him, begging, head bowed, slouching. I'd fought hard so I wouldn't have to do that anymore. T. J. died so I wouldn't have to do that. I consciously straightened my back, straining against tense muscles. Made myself as tall as I could. Didn't tremble. I met Carl's gaze. Didn't quite offer a challenge, but I had to face him as an equal. No—I had to believe I was better.
"If you don't want trouble then who is he?" Carl nodded at Ben.
Ben stood close enough, just behind my shoulder, that I could feel his body heat. He hadn't cowered before Carl's and Meg's bluster. I sensed some tension, some anxiety in him. But his back was straight, and his gaze steady. I was glad to have him at my side.
"He's a friend. He's only here because of me. You can leave him alone."
Carl didn't like him. He didn't like the presence of a competent, self-assured male who didn't owe him loyalty. Ben could stand there without flinching and Carl would take it as a challenge.
But Ben didn't just stand there. Oh, no.
"So you're Carl," Ben said, taking a couple of slow steps forward and studiously looking Carl up and down. "I thought you'd be taller."
I mentally slapped my forehead. But I had to admit, Ben always knew just what to say.
Snarling, Carl sprang forward, hands outstretched, fingers clawed. I braced, preparing to dodge, then run like hell. Ben, damn him, didn't flinch at all because he must have guessed what was coming next.
Again, Arturo stopped Carl. In a flash of movement, he grabbed Carl's arm and twisted it, using the bigger man's momentum to divert him and drop him to his knees. His breath heaving, Carl struggled, his eyes gleaming with animal ferocity, ready to rip out of the vampire's grip. But with his hand on Carl's shoulder, Arturo only had to squeeze once to quiet him. I didn't know where the strength came from—Arturo seemed to exert no effort.
Arturo said, "Let it go."
"They're a threat—"
"They've made no challenge. Let it go, Carl."
Carl knelt there for a moment, panting, then shrugged away from Arturo's grip.
Mercedes said, "This is utterly fascinating." She continued to play the gracious hostess. "Come, sit. I've already poured the wine. To let it breathe."
I had backed toward the wall, keeping hold of Ben's sleeve, letting Rick stand between us and the others. "I'll stay right here, thanks," I murmured.
Carl started to move forward, but Arturo stepped in front of him. "No, you two are staying right there. I won't have you dogs messing up the carpet."
Arturo never lost his composure, his offhand manner and focused gaze. His apparent age was late twenties, but he had the weight of centuries behind his eyes. He had golden hair pulled back in a short tail, and an aristocratic face.
He and Rick exchanged a look, and I couldn't read it. The two were close in age—both apparent and actual, from what I could gather. Age meant power among vampires, and the two should have been rivals, but they'd coexisted in some kind of alliance for years. Arturo was the Master in Denver, but Rick had some amount of autonomy within that territory.
Did Arturo suspect that Rick wanted to change the situation?
For now, they only seemed to want to coordinate their efforts at keeping the wolves under control.
Mercedes sat back and observed the drama she'd orchestrated. "Hmm, maybe the situation here isn't as chaotic as I'd been led to believe. You boys seem to have things well in hand."
"No thanks to you," Arturo spat in his refined accent. "What's your business here, Mercedes? Is it anything more than poking a stick in the burrow to see what strikes?"
"Isn't that enough?" she said.
"More than enough," he said, wearing a tight smile. "How long will you be here?"
"Oh, a few more days. Maybe a week. Or two." She lifted her hand and studied her fingernails, a contrived gesture worthy of the stage.
This was Arturo's territory as far as vampires were concerned, and he controlled it the same way Carl controlled it among the werewolves. He could tell her to leave. He could make threats and carry them out. So why didn't he? What was her power here?
"Don't look so put out," she said to Arturo. "I'm only here out of curiosity. I heard some rumblings and I thought I'd come and make some observations."
Arturo's gaze narrowed, sizing her up. "For whom? Who are you working for these days, Mercedes?"
The question chilled me.
Everyone looked at her. But she was used to being the center of attention and didn't wilt.
"I'm scheduled to start rehearsals next month for a revival of Anything Goes. I suppose you could say I'll be working for the production company."
Arturo rolled his eyes and turned away.
Mercedes said, "If you tell me straight out, well and truly, that all is calm here, that the rumors that your Family is unstable are unfounded, I'll smile sweetly and believe you. I can see that the wolves have some problems, but don't they always? Tell me, Arturo, that you are the Master here and that you have no rivals."
Arturo glanced at Rick. I would have wilted under that glance. For his part, Rick didn't flinch. He met it square and didn't say a word.