I stepped back before I had to do something more forceful in reaction to the aversion to touch that Tim had left me with.
Only when I was no longer pressed against Adam did I notice we were surrounded by pack.
Okay, four wolves doesn't a pack make.
But I hadn't heard them come, and, believe me, when there are five werewolves (including Adam) about, you feel surrounded and overmatched.
Ben was there, a cheerful expression that looked just wrong on his fine-featured face, which was more often angry or bitter than happy.
Warren, Adam's third, looked like a cat in the cream.
Aurielle, Darryl's mate, appeared neutral, but there was something in her stance that told me she was pretty shaken up.
The fourth wolf was Paul, whom I didn't know very well--but I didn't like what I did know.
Paul, the leader of the "I hate Warren because he's gay" faction of Adam's pack, looked like he'd been sucker punched.
I thought I'd just given him a new most-hated person in the pack.
Behind me, Adam laid his hands on my shoulders.
"My children," he said formally, "I give you Mercedes Athena Thompson, our newest member." Much awkwardness ensued.
IF I HADN'T FELT HIM EARLIER, I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT Stefan was still unconscious or dead or whatever from the sun.
He lay stiffly on the bed in the cage, like a corpse on a bier.
I turned the light on so I could see him better.
Feeding had healed most of the visible damage, though there were still red marks on his cheeks.
He looked fifty pounds lighter than he'd been the last time I'd seen him--too much like a concentration camp victim for my peace of mind.
He'd been given new clothes to replace his filthy, torn, and stained ones, the ubiquitous replacement clothing every wolf den had lying around--sweats.
The ones he wore were gray and hung off his bones.
Adam was conducting what was rapidly developing into a full pack meeting in his living room upstairs.
He'd looked relieved when I'd excused myself to see Stefan--I thought he was worried someone would say something that might hurt my feelings.
In that he underestimated the thickness of my hide.
People I cared about could hurt my feelings, but almost complete strangers? I could care less about what they thought.
Wolf packs were dictatorships, but when you're dealing with a bunch of Americans brought up on the Bill of Rights, you still had to step a little carefully.
New members were generally announced as prospective rather than as faits accomplis.
A little care would have been especially appropriate when he was doing something as outrageous as bringing a nonwerewolf into the pack.
I'd never heard of anyone doing that.
Nonwerewolf mates weren't part of the pack, not really.
They had status, as the mates of wolves, but they weren't pack.
Couldn't be made into pack with fifty flesh- and-blood ceremonies--the magic just wouldn't let a human in.