Dead as a doornail - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,108

a chaotic collage. I finally spotted Alcide pounding his hands against the metal in futile agitation. I had never felt so sorry for anyone in my life. I wondered if he’d try to break into the combat cage. But another look told me that even if Alcide’s respect for pack rules broke down and he attempted to go to his father’s aid, Quinn was blocking the door. That was why the pack had brought in an outsider, of course.

Abruptly, the fight was over. The lighter wolf had the darker one by the throat. He was gripping, but not biting. Maybe Jackson would have gone on struggling if he hadn’t been so severely wounded, but his strength was exhausted. He lay whining, quite unable to defend himself, disabled. The room fell completely silent.

“Patrick Furnan is declared the winner,” said Quinn, his voice neutral.

And then Patrick Furnan bit down on Jackson Herveaux’s throat and killed him.

16

QUINN TOOK OVER the cleanup with the sure authority of one who’s supervised such things before. Though I was dull and stupid with shock, I noticed he gave clear, concise directions as to the dispersal of the testing materials. Pack members dismantled the cage into sections and took apart the agility arena with efficient dispatch. A cleanup crew took care of mopping up the blood and other fluids.

Soon the building was empty of all but the people. Patrick Furnan had reverted to his human form, and Dr. Ludwig was attending his many wounds. I was glad he had every one of them. I was only sorry they weren’t worse. But the pack had accepted Furnan’s choice. If they would not protest such unnecessary brutality, I couldn’t.

Alcide was being comforted by Maria-Star Cooper, a young Were I knew slightly.

Maria-Star held him and stroked his back, providing support by her sheer closeness. He didn’t have to tell me that on this occasion, he preferred another Were’s companionship to mine. I’d gone to hug him, but when I’d neared him and met his eyes, I’d known. That hurt, and it hurt bad; but today wasn’t about me and my feelings.

Claudine was crying in her brother’s arms. “She’s so tenderhearted,” I whispered to Claude, feeling a bit abashed that I wasn’t crying myself. My concern was for Alcide; I’d hardly known Jackson Herveaux.

“She went through the second elf war in Iowa fighting with the best of them,” Claude said, shaking his head. “I’ve seen a decapitated goblin stick its tongue out at her in its death throes, and she laughed. But as she gets closer to the light, she becomes more sensitive.”

That effectively shut me up. I was not about to ask for any explanation of yet another arcane supernatural rule. I’d had a bellyful this day.

Now that all the mess was cleared away (that mess included Jackson’s body, which Dr. Ludwig had taken somewhere to be altered, to make the story of how he’d met his death more plausible), all the pack members present gathered in front of Patrick Furnan, who hadn’t resumed clothes. According to his body, victory had made him feel manly. Ick.

He was standing on a blanket; it was a red plaid stadium blanket, like you’d take to a football game. I felt my lips twitch, but I became completely sober when the new packmaster’s wife led a young woman to him, a brown-haired girl who seemed to be in her late teens. The girl was as bare as the packmaster, though she looked considerably better in that state.

What the hell?

Suddenly I remembered the last part of the ceremony, and I realized Patrick Furman was going to fuck this girl in front of us. No. No way was I going to watch this. I tried to turn to walk out. But Claude hissed, “You can’t leave.” He covered my mouth and picked me up bodily to move me to the back of the crowd. Claudine moved with us and stood in front of me, but with her back to me, so I wouldn’t have to see. I made a furious sound into Claude’s hand.

“Shut up,” the fairy said grimly, his voice as concentrated with sincerity as he could manage. “You’ll land us all in trouble. If it makes you feel any better, this is traditional. The girl volunteered. After this, Patrick’ll be a faithful husband once more. But he’s already bred his whelp by his wife, and he has to make the ceremonial gesture of breeding another one. May take, may not, but it has to be