Patricia Briggs - Iron Kissed

The angle was bad, so I didn't try anything fancy. I just shoved the silver end of the walking stick into his face, visualizing it going through his eye and out the back of his skull.

It didn't, of course. I didn't have the strength of giants, or even of werewolves. There is only so much force you can gather when you are flat on your back hitting someone who is on top of you. But I hurt him.

He reared back and I scrambled away, dropping the stick as I moved. I knew where there was a better weapon. I ran to the counter, where my big crowbar sat right where I'd put it after prying the engine I was replacing this afternoon that extra quarter of an inch.

I could have run away. I could have shifted into my coyote form and run while he was distracted. But I had nowhere to run. No one could love me after tonight. I was all alone.

I'd learned to make the strange noises that seem to go along with all the martial arts—though part of me had always winced away at the stupid sounds. As I raised the crowbar as if it were a spear, the sound I made came from the depths of my anger and despair. Somehow it didn't sound stupid at all.

He was strong, but I was faster. When I closed with him, he grabbed my right arm, the one he'd already injured, and squeezed.

I screamed, but not in pain. I was too far gone to feel something as finite as physical pain. I shoved the end of the pry bar into his stomach with my left hand.

He dropped, vomiting and wheezing, to the ground. Even with only my left hand to guide it, the pry bar was heavy enough to crush his skull when I brought it down on his head.

Part of me wanted to beat his head in until there was nothing left but splinters of bone. Part of me knew I loved him. But I didn't give in to love. Not with Samuel so long ago, not with Adam, and not with Tim.

I didn't bring the pry bar back down on his head—I had something more important to do.

But no matter how hard I hit it, the iron bar did nothing to the cup. It didn't make sense because the cup was clearly made of pottery and iron broke through most fae enchantments. I chipped up cement, but I couldn't so much as put a smudge on that damned cup with the pry bar.

I was searching for a sledgehammer, tracking blood and other stuff all over my garage, when I heard a car engine being revved hard as it peeled around a corner.

I knew that engine.

It was Adam, but he was too late. He couldn't love me anymore.

He would be so angry with me.

I had to hide. He didn't love me so he might hurt me when he was angry. When he calmed down, that would hurt him. I didn't want him hurting because of me.

There was nowhere for a person to hide. So I wouldn't be a person. My eyes fell on the shelves that lined the far back corner. A coyote could hide there.

I changed, and on three legs scrambled up the shelves and slipped behind a couple of big boxes of belts. The shadows were dark.

There was a crash from the office as Adam proved that a deadbolt lock is no protection against an angry werewolf. I cowered a little lower.

"Mercy." He didn't shout. He didn't need to.

The voice carried and swept me up in its liquid rage. It didn't sound like Adam, but it was. I pulled back from the boxes just a little so that they would quit shaking.

What came through the door into the garage was like nothing I'd ever seen before. The closest I'd seen was one of the between forms a werewolf takes on when he's changing. But this one was more complete than that, as if the between form had become finished and useful. He was covered from top to tail with black fur and his hands looked very functional—as did his teeth-laden muzzle. He stood upright, but not like a man. His legs were caught halfway between human and wolf.

Adam.

I had only an instant to take it in, because Adam caught sight of Tim's body. With a roar that hurt my ears, he was upon him, ripping and tearing with those huge claws. It was horrifying, terrifying…and part of me wished it was I who was being torn to shreds.

It would only hurt for an instant and then it would be over. I panted with pain and fear, but stayed where I was because Tim had told me that I was to find the river instead. And I didn't want to hurt Adam.

Werewolves filtered in cautiously from the office. Ben and Honey, both still in human form—I wondered how they did that with Adam in a frenzy. Maybe something about this halfway form protected them…but then Darryl followed. He had a grimace on his face and sweat glistened on his forehead and darkened his rib-knit shirt. His control was allowing the others to keep from being caught up in Adam's rage.

They looked around the garage though they stayed near the door and away from Adam.

"Do you see her?" Darryl asked softly.

"No," said Ben. "I'm not sure she's still here—do you smell…"

His voice stopped because Adam dropped an arm (not one of his) and focused on Ben.

"Obviously," Darryl said in a strained voice, "we all smell her terror." He knelt on one knee, like a man proposing to his beloved.

Ben dropped to both knees and bowed his head. Honey did the same, and their attention was all for Adam.

"Where is she?" His voice was guttural and oddly accented from speaking out of a mouth meant for howling rather than talking.

"We will look, sir." Darryl's voice was very quiet.

"She's here," said Ben in a rush. "She's hiding from us."

Adam's great mouth opened and he roared, more like a bear at that moment than a wolf. He dropped to all fours—and I expected him to complete the change, to become all wolf. But he didn't. I could feel him pull on the power of the pack and they gave it to him. Either it was easier to change from a transitional stage, or the pack sped his way, but it wasn't five minutes before Adam stood naked and human in the harsh fluorescent light.

He took a deep breath and stretched out his neck, the crack of his vertebrae loud in the silent garage. When he was finished, all that was left of the wolf was the scent of his anger and the amber of his eyes.

"She's still here?" he asked. "You can tell?"

"Her scent is all over," Ben answered. "I can't track her. But she'd have found a corner to hide in. She wouldn't have run." He said the last sentence absently as his eyes drifted over the shop.

"Why not?" asked Darryl, his voice surprisingly gentle.

Ben inhaled as if the question startled him. "Because you only run if you have hope. You saw what he did, heard what he told her. She's here."

They'd watched, I thought, remembering the technician telling me that Adam was recording from the cameras, too. They'd seen it: I was so ashamed I wanted to die. Then I remembered that I was going to and took comfort from the thought of the river, so cool and inviting.

"Mercy?" Adam turned in a slow circle. I tucked my nose into my tail and held very still, closing my eyes and trusting my ears to tell me if they got too close. "Everything is all right, now. You can come out."

He was wrong. Nothing was all right. He didn't love me, nobody loved me, and I would be all alone.

"You could call her," suggested Darryl.

There was a thud and a choking sound. Unable to resist, I looked.

Adam held Darryl against the wall, his forearm across his throat.

"You saw," he whispered. "You saw what he did to her. And now you suggest I do the same? Bring her to me with magic that she cannot resist?"

I knew the drink from the fae goblet was still affecting me: my stomach was burning, my body shaking like a meth addict's. But something bothered me. I still should have been able to understand Adam's reactions, right? He'd been so concerned…angry for me. But if he'd seen…

He'd know I'd been unfaithful.

Adam had declared me his mate before his pack. And if I was just learning that there were other, paranormal results, I did understand the politics involved.