Iron Kissed (23 page)

He did more than that. He washed them in hot water in the sink and scrubbed them with a brush he pulled out of a drawer that would have been uncomfortable even if my feet hadn't been all cut up.

To my yips, he purred a little, but it didn't slow down his scrub brush. Nor did I have a chance of pulling a foot out of his hand because he kept a firm grip on my ankle as he worked. He doused my feet in hydrogen peroxide and then dried them off with a dark towel.

“You're going to end up with bleached spots on the towel,” I told him, pulling my feet away.

“Shut up, Mercy,” he said, catching an ankle and dragging me over until he could hold the foot with one hand and use the towel to wipe my foot off with the other.

“Dad?” Jesse peered carefully around the door. When she got a good look at us, she trotted through the door and held out a cordless phone. “You have a phone call from Uncle Mike.”

“Thanks,” he said and took the phone and tucked it against his ear. “Could you finish up here, Jesse? She just needs drying off, bandaging, and something on her feet before we let her out of here.”

I waited until he took the phone out of the room and down the stairs before I grabbed the towel from Jesse, who was giggling.

“If you could just see your face,” she told me. “You look like a cat in a bathtub.”

I dried my feet and then opened the box of bandages Adam had set on the counter next to me. “I can dry my own damn feet,” I snarled. “Sit here, stay here.”

I was sitting between the sinks so there was room on the far side of the one nearest the door for Jesse to hitch a hip on it and half sit. “So why did you listen to his orders?”

“Because he just saved my bacon and I don't need to rile him more than he already is.” There were only three cuts that needed bandages, all of them on my left foot.

“Come on,” she said. “Admit it, you enjoyed him fussing over you just a little bit.”

I gave her a look. When she didn't back down, I turned my attention to peeling the paper off a bandage so I could stick it on my foot. I wasn't going to admit to anything. Not with Adam just downstairs where he might overhear something I didn't want him to hear.

“How come you're wearing a towel?” she asked.

I showed her and she giggled. “Whoops. I forgot you wouldn't have a bra. I'll get a sweatshirt for you to wear over that.”

When she was safely gone, I smiled to myself. She was right. There is something about having someone take care of you, even when you don't need it—maybe especially when you don't need it.

Something else made me happier, though. Even though Adam was on edge, even though he'd been issuing orders left and right, I hadn't felt that desire to do whatever he asked me that was part of his magic as the Alpha. If he could manage that under these circumstances…Perhaps I could be his mate and keep myself at the same time.

Jesse's shoes, which Adam had brought in for me, were too small, but in addition to the sweatshirt, she managed to scrounge up a pair of flip-flops that worked.

Honey's husband walked in the door as I came down the stairs, Honey, as gorgeous in wolf form as she was in human, at his side. He gave me a friendly smile when he saw me.

“I didn't find the Porsche, but your Rabbit was off the side of the road with the keys in the ignition. I couldn't start it, so I locked it up.” He handed me the keys.

“Thanks, Peter. Fideal must have gone back for his car. That means he wasn't badly hurt.” I'd been going to head over to my house, but with Fideal running around, it didn't sound like such a good idea.

Peter obviously shared my displeasure at the fae's state of health. “I'm sorry,” he said. “The steel would have done it, I think, but I couldn't find his body under all the fronds.”

“How is it that you're so comfortable with the sword?” I asked. “And why did Adam have a sword here anyway?”

“It's my sword,” Jesse said. “I got it at the Renaissance Faire last year and Peter's been teaching me how to use it.”

He smiled. “I was a calvary officer before I Changed,” he explained. “We used guns, of course, but they weren't accurate. The sword was still our first weapon.” He sounded as he always had, his Midwest accent firmly back in place.

He'd been Changed during the Revolutionary War era or a little before, I thought, to use guns but rely on swords. That would make him, other than maybe Samuel and the Marrok himself, the oldest werewolf I'd ever met. Werewolves might not die of old age, but violence was part and parcel of their way of life.

He saw my surprise. “I'm not a dominant, Mercy. We tend to last a little longer.” Honey pushed her face under his hand and he rubbed her gently behind her ears.

“Cool,” I said.

“Fideal is in safe hands,” said Adam from behind me.

I turned to see him replacing the phone in its base on the kitchen counter.

“Uncle Mike assures me that it was a mistake—an overeagerness on the part of Fideal to carry out the Gray Lords' orders.”

I raised my eyebrows. “He told me he was hungry for human flesh. I guess that could be overeagerness.”

He looked at me and I couldn't read his face or his scent. “I talked to Samuel earlier. He's sorry to have missed the excitement, but he's at home now. If Fideal follows you home, he'll have Samuel to contend with.” He waved his hand around. “And there are plenty of us here to come to your aid.”

“Are you sending me home?” Was I flirting? Damn it, I was.

He smiled, first with his eyes and then his lips, just a little, just enough to turn his face into something that made my pulse pick up. “You can stay if you'd like,” he said, flirting right back. Then, a wicked light gleaming in his eyes, he went one step too far. “But I think there are too many people around for what I'd like you to stay for.”

I dodged around Honey's husband and out the door, the flip-flops making little snapping sounds that didn't cover up Adam's final comment. “I like your tattoo, Mercy.”

I made sure that my shoulders were stiff as I stalked away. He couldn't see the grin on my face…and it faded soon enough.

From the porch I could see the damage the fight had done to both the house and the SUV. That dent in the side of the shiny black vehicle was going to be expensive to fix. The side of the house had taken some damage, too, and I didn't know how much it would cost to repair. When I'd had to have the siding replaced on my trailer, the vampires had picked up the tab.

I started adding up the cost of the fight. I didn't know exactly what Fideal had done to my car, but it was going to take hours to fix, even if I could scrounge all the parts off the dead Rabbit presently annoying Adam in my back field. And somewhere I was going to have to come up with money to pay off Zee (and I really didn't want to borrow it from Samuel)—unless Zee had been playing some elaborate game to keep me from investigating the murder.

I rubbed my face, suddenly tired. I'd kept mostly to myself since I left the Marrok's pack when I was sixteen. The only problems I'd stuck my nose into had been my own. I stayed out of werewolf business and Zee kept me out of his. Somehow in the past year all that careful management had gone to hell.

I wasn't sure that there was a way back to my old peaceful existence, or if I even wanted it. But my new lifestyle was starting to get expensive.

A piece of gravel slid between the flip-flop and my sore foot and I yelped. It was getting painful, too.

 

Samuel was waiting for me on the porch with a mug of hot chocolate and an expert glance that checked for wounds.

“I'm fine,” I told him, scooting past the open screen door and snagging the cocoa on the way. It was instant, but the marshmallows were just what I needed. “Ben's the one who got hurt, and I think I saw Darryl limping.”

“Adam didn't ask me to come over, so neither of them must have been hurt very badly,” he said, shutting the door. When I sat on a chair in the living room, he sat on the couch across from me. “Why don't you tell me about tonight. Like how you happened to get chased by the Fideal.”

“
The
Fideal?”

“It used to live in a bog and eat straying children,” he told me. “You're a little older than its usual fare. So what did you do to tick it off?”

“Nothing. Not a darn thing.”

He made one of those sounds he used to let me know he wasn't buying my story.

I took a long drink. Maybe another viewpoint would notice something I had missed. So I told him most of it—leaving out only what had gone on between Adam and me after I'd gotten into the shower.

As I talked, I noticed that Samuel looked tired. He loved working in the emergency room, but it took a toll. Not just the odd hours, though they could be bad enough. Mostly it was the stress of keeping control when surrounded by blood and fear and death.

By the time I finished my story, he looked better. “So you went to a Bright Future meeting, hoping to find someone else who might have killed this guard, and ran into a bunch of college kids—and a fae who decided that eating you would be fun.”

I nodded. “That's about it.”

“Could the fae have been the killer?”

I closed my eyes and pictured Fideal's fight with the werewolves. Could he have ripped a man's head off his shoulders? “Maybe. But he didn't seem concerned about the investigation.”

“You said that he was angry you were at the meeting. Could he have been worried that you were closing in on him?”

“That might have been it,” I said. “I'll call Uncle Mike and see if there's any reason Fideal might have wanted the other fae dead. He certainly knew O'Donnell—and the more I find out about him, the odder it seems that someone hadn't killed him years ago.”

Samuel smiled a little. “But you're not convinced the Fideal did it.”

I shook my head. “He's put himself on the top of my list, but…”

“But what?”

“He was so hungry. Not for sustenance, though that was part of it, but for the hunt.” Samuel the werewolf would understand what I meant. “I think that if Fideal had killed the guard, O'Donnell's death would have been different. He'd have been found drowned, or eaten, or never found at all.” Putting it into words made it more than a suspicion. “I'll call Uncle Mike and see what he thinks, but I don't believe it was Fideal.”

I remembered that I had something else to talk to Uncle Mike about, too. “And that walking stick showed up in my car tonight, again.”

I started to get up to get the phone, but my legs had had enough and I fell back. “Darn it.”

“What's wrong?” The tired relaxation left Samuel between one heartbeat and the next—I gave him an exasperated glance.

“I told you, I'm fine. Nothing some stretches, Icy Hot, and a good night of sleep won't cure.” I thought of all the little cuts and decided to do without the Icy Hot. “Can you throw me the phone?”

He plucked it off its base on the table next to the couch and tossed it to me.

“Thanks.” I'd been calling him so often the past few days that I had Uncle Mike's number memorized. It took me a few minutes of wading through minions before Uncle Mike himself got on the phone.

“Could Fideal have killed O'Donnell?” I asked without ceremony.

“Could have, but didn't,” answered Uncle Mike. “O'Donnell's body was still twitching when Zee and I found him. Whoever killed him did it while we were still standing on the doorstep. The Fideal's glamour isn't good enough to hide himself from me if he were that close. And he'd have bitten O'Donnell's head off and eaten it, not just torn it off.”

I swallowed. “So what was Fideal doing at the Bright Future meeting and why wasn't his scent at O'Donnell's?”

“The Fideal went to a couple of meetings so he could keep an eye on them. He told us that they were more talk than action and mostly quit attending meetings. When O'Donnell was killed, he was asked to take another look. And he found himself a nosy coyote with a death sentence on her head—a nice evening snack.” Uncle Mike sounded irritated, and not with Fideal.

“And when did the coyote end up with a price on her head and why didn't you warn me?” I asked, feeling indignant.

“I told you to leave it alone,” he said, his voice suddenly cold with power. “You know too much and you talk too much. You need to do as you are told.”

Maybe if he'd been in the room, I'd have felt intimidated. But he wasn't, so I said, “And Zee would be convicted of murder.”

There was a long pause, which I broke. “And then he'd be summarily executed as called for by the fae laws.”

Samuel, whose sharp ears had no trouble hearing both sides of the phone conversation, growled. “Don't try throwing this on Mercy, Uncle Mike. You knew she wouldn't leave it alone—especially if you told her to.
Contrary
is her middle name and you played her into looking further than you could. What did the Gray Lords do? Did they order you and the rest of the fae to stop looking for the real killer? Excepting only Zee's capture, they really have no quarrel with the person who killed O'Donnell, do they? He was the one killing the fae and got killed in return. Justice is served.”

“Zee was cooperating with the Gray Lords,” said Uncle Mike. The apology that had replaced the anger told me not only was Samuel right—Uncle Mike had wanted me to continue investigating—but also Uncle Mike's ears were as sharp as the werewolf's. “I didn't think they would send anyone else to enforce the punishment and the fae here I have some control over. If I'd known they were sending Nemane, I'd have warned you. But she's issued a stay of execution.”

“She's an assassin,” growled Samuel.

“You wolves have your own assassin, don't they, Samuel Marrokson?” snapped Uncle Mike. “How many wolves has your brother killed to keep your people safe? Do you begrudge us the same necessity?”