Patricia Briggs - River Marked

In the interest of privacy, he told them, he couldn’t reveal who called him in.

One of the sheriff’s men murmured, “When I first met him, he was with Jim Alvin and Calvin Seeker.” From his words, I was pretty sure he was the one who’d given us a ride back to our campground when we’d found Benny, but I could only look out of one eye at this point, the other having swollen shut.

At the sound of Jim’s name, the local cops all looked wise and quit asking questions. One of them murmured, “Native American medicine man,” to the FBI agents, and suddenly no one asked Adam any more questions about why we were here. Apparently, no one wanted to create an incident with the Yakama Nation.

The less the officials knew about magic, fae otterkin, and Coyote, the more likely they would be to attribute all the deaths to a prehistoric creature—I’d heard one of the FBI say that phrase when talking on his cell phone to someone—and go home. More important to me at this point, they would let me go home, too.

I closed my good eye, and when I opened it, Adam had a cup of hot cocoa and was making me drink it. I fussed at him for waking me up until I got the first mouthful down. It tasted really good, and it was hot.

“Where’s everyone else?” I asked when I was done because it looked as though we were alone.

“Down staring at the river devil.” Adam set the mug aside and kissed me gently on the forehead. “They got pretty excited when they realized it was still just lying there. They have about three minutes before I take you to the emergency room.”

He was holding on to civilization by the skin of his teeth. A proper mate would be meek and subservient until he recovered.

“I don’t want to go to the hospital,” I whined. I didn’t want to move for at least a hundred years now that I was finally warm. If I didn’t move, I didn’t hurt. Much.

“You don’t get a choice.” His voice was oh-so-calm, but I could feel the huge storm that lay behind all that control.

“I killed the nasty monster. I think I should get to say no,” I told him. To my embarrassment, tears welled in my eyes. I had to blink fast to make them go away. I was done, no reserves left at all. I just couldn’t bear any more tonight.

“You are in shock,” he said grimly. “You need stitches in half a dozen places, and your leg is broken. Where do you think you should be going?”

“Home?”

He sighed, leaned forward, and rested his forehead on mine for a moment. “I’ll take you home tomorrow,” he promised. “Tonight, you’re going to the emergency room.”

THEY CUT MY OLD SWIMMING SUIT OFF ME AT THE hospital, where a tired-eyed female doctor and a pair of nurses (one of them a man) scrubbed, stitched, stapled, and otherwise abused my body. I made them leave Adam’s dog tags on my neck. The doctor and both nurses flirted shamelessly with Adam even though he was now wearing a shirt and shoes with his jeans. But Adam didn’t seem to notice, so that was okay.

By the time the sun rose, I had a bright pink cast on my leg and orders to have it checked over by an orthopedic doctor ASAP. The tibia was certainly broken, so was my kneecap, and the X-rays also showed a suspicious-looking shadow on my ankle. I had more stitches than a Raggedy Ann doll and hands wrapped up like mummies. Not only was my right hand broken, but both hands were sliced, diced, and burned. I had two black eyes. The first was the remnant of the fight in Wal-Mart. I had no idea when the second one happened. Maybe it was when the river devil landed on me after she was dead, or before that, when she was flopping around. I didn’t feel it when it happened, and I wasn’t feeling it anymore because I also had the best drugs in the known universe. I was very happy and didn’t care much that my leg still ached. It wasn’t just the drugs that made me happy; the river devil’s mark was gone.

Once I quit hurting, Adam lost the soft edge in his voice that worried me so much, and his eyes darkened until they approached their usual color. Of course, once I quit hurting, I also quit worrying about Adam losing control and killing someone he’d feel bad about later.

“Hey,” I asked Adam, as he took the paperwork the nurse handed him, “is this the hospital they took Benny to?”

So Adam rolled me through the hospital in a wheelchair to go visit Benny. When we got to his room, Benny was sleeping deeply in his bed, a tired-looking woman was drowsing in a tired-looking chair, and Calvin was sitting in the wide windowsill staring out at the dawn.

One of the wheels on the chair had a squeak; it caught Calvin’s attention. He turned his head, then darn near fell off the window.

“What happened to you?” he asked. Then, his expression lightening, he said fiercely, “Did you do it?”

“We are minus one monster,” I said, accidentally waking the woman in the chair—and Benny, too.

“Pain meds,” murmured Adam in explanation of something. I think it was the giggling. “As you can see, taking out the monster was a close-run thing.”

“Tell me,” said Benny.

So I did. At some point—near where I was trying to climb up the river devil, I think—Adam sat on the floor next to the chair and leaned his forehead against my thigh. There was another chair in the room, so I wasn’t quite sure why he was sitting on the floor. The drugs had fuzzed our bond, so it took me a moment to feel the sick fear that racked him.

“Walking stick?” asked Calvin, distracting me from Adam’s distress.

I blinked at him. I couldn’t remember if the walking stick was supposed to be a secret or not.

“It’s an old fae artifact that attached itself to her while she was risking her neck to save a fae she knows,” Adam muttered, and I could tell he wasn’t happy about remembering me trying to save Zee, either.

“He was a friend,” I reminded him.

“She does stuff like this all the time?” asked Calvin, looking at Adam with respect.

Adam lifted his head, and his eyes were yellow again—but his voice was only a little rough. “To be fair, it’s usually not her fault. She doesn’t start things.”

“But it looks like she finishes them,” said the woman holding Benny’s hand. I was going to jump out on a long limb and assume that she was his wife. I must have said that aloud because she nodded. “Yes. I am. I have to thank you and your husband for saving Benny.”

“He saved himself,” I said in surprise. “Didn’t someone tell you the story? He was smart.”

“And lucky,” said Benny. “If you hadn’t found me when you did, I’d have died.”

I leaned forward. “Did they tell you what your sister said to me?”

“Jim did,” said Calvin.

“Did she want me to put flowers from her to Mom on the grave, or from me to Fai . . . to my sister?” Benny’s voice was a little fuzzy. Maybe they were giving him painkillers, too.

“I don’t know,” I told him. “Maybe you should do both.”

“Would you finish the story?” Calvin asked, a little plaintively. “You’d just dropped the last knife and stabbed the river devil with a fae artifact that turned into a spear.”

“Right.” So I told them how its heart had turned to ice, and the walking stick burned my hand. “And then I swam back to shore.”

“With a broken leg?” asked Adam.

“Pretty neat trick, huh,” I said smugly.

“Really good drugs.” Calvin’s voice was dry.

Adam’s face was hidden against my leg again. This time he had one hand wrapped around my good ankle. The other hand dug into the tile on the floor. The tile cracked with a pop.

“You’re going to cut yourself,” I chided him.

He lifted his head. “ You are going to be the death of me.”