I wasn't worried.
The vampires, except Stefan, wouldn't have been able to cross the threshold of my home.
Most anyone else would have woken Samuel.
The air told me nothing, which was odd--even Stefan had a scent.
Restlessly, I rolled onto my side and right up against the walking stick, which had taken to sleeping with me every night.
Mostly it gave me the creeps when it did that--walking sticks shouldn't be able to move about on their own.
But tonight the warm wood under my hand felt reassuring.
I closed my hand around it.
"There's no need for violence, Mercy." I must have jumped because I was on my feet, stick in hand, before it registered just whose voice I was hearing.
"Bran?" And suddenly I could smell him, mint and musk that told me werewolf combined with the certain sweet saltiness that was his own scent.
"Don't you have something more important to do?" I asked him, flipping on the light.
"Like ruling the world or something?" He didn't move from his spot on the floor, leaning against a wall, except to put his forearm over his eyes as light flooded the room.
"I came here last weekend," he said.
"But you were asleep, and I didn't let them wake you up." I'd forgotten.
In the hubbub of Baba Yaga, Mary Jo, the snow elf, and the vampires, I'd forgotten why he would have come to visit me personally.
Suddenly I was suspicious of the arm he'd thrown over his eyes.
That Alphas are protective of their packs is an understatement--and Bran was the Marrok, the most Alpha wolf around.
I might belong to Adam's pack just now, but Bran had raised me.
"I already talked it all over with Mom," I said defensively.
And Bran grinned hugely, his arm coming down to reveal hazel eyes, which looked almost green in the artificial light.
"I bet you did.
Are my Samuel and your Adam hovering over you and giving you a bad time?" His voice was full of (false) sympathy.
Bran is better than anyone I know, including the fae, at hiding what he is.
He looked like a teenager--there was a rip in his jeans, just over the knee, and some ironic person had used a marker to draw an anarchy symbol just over his thigh.
His hair was ruffled.
He was perfectly capable of sitting around with an innocent smile on his face--and then ripping someone's head off.
"You're frowning at me," he said.
"Is it such a puzzle that I'm here?" I dropped to the middle of the floor.
It is uncomfortable for me to be in the same room for very long with Bran if my head is higher than his.
Part of it is habit, and part of it is the magic that makes Bran the leader of all the wolves.