"I thought I'd be practicing again by now," Dr. Wallace said. "But Bran says not yet." He rocked a little on his heels and closed his eyes as if he could see something I didn't. "It's the smell of blood and meat. I'm all right as long as nothing is bleeding." He whispered the last sentence and I heard the desire in his voice.
He gathered himself together with a deep breath, then looked at me with eyes only a shade darker than the snow. "You know, for years I've said that werewolves aren't much different from other wild predators." Like the great white, he'd told me, or the grizzly bear.
"I remember," I said.
"Grizzly bears don't attack their families, Mercy. They don't crave violence and blood." He closed his eyes. "I almost killed my daughter a few days ago because she said something I disagreed with. If Bran hadn't stopped by . . ." He shook his head. "I've become a monster, not an animal. I'll never be able to be a vet again. My family never will be safe, not while I'm alive."
The last two words echoed between us.
Damn, damn, and damn some more, I thought. He should have had more control by now. If he'd been a wolf for a full year and still couldn't control himself when he was angry, he'd never have the control he needed to survive. Wolves who can't control themselves are eliminated for the safety of the pack. The only question, really, was why Bran hadn't already taken care of it--but I knew the answer to that. Dr. Wallace had been one of the few humans Bran considered a friend.
"I wish Gerry could make it back for Thanksgiving," Dr. Wallace told me. "But I'm glad I got a chance to see you before you left again."
"Why isn't Gerry here?" I asked. Gerry had always traveled on business for Bran, but surely he could come back to see his father before . . .
Dr. Wallace brushed his hand over my cheek, and I realized I was crying.
"He's on business. He's in charge of keeping an eye on the lone wolves who live where there is no pack to watch them. It's important."
It was. But since Dr. Wallace was going to die soon, Gerry should be here.
"Livin's easier than dyin' most times, Mercy girl," he said kindly, repeating my foster father's favorite saying. "Dance when the moon sings, and don't cry about troubles that haven't yet come."
His smile softened, and for a minute I could see the man he used to be quite clearly. "It's cold out here, Mercy, and that coat isn't helping you much. Go get warm, girl."
I didn't know how to say good-bye, so I didn't. I just turned and walked away.
When the clock in the motel room ticked over to noon, I walked out to the van, which Charles--or Carl--had parked just outside the door to number one. If Adam isn't ready to go, he'll just have to find another ride. I can't stand another minute here. I opened the back to check my antifreeze because the van had a small leak I hadn't fixed yet. When I shut the back hatch, Samuel was just there, holding a bulging canvas bag.
"What are you doing?" I asked warily.
"Didn't my father tell you?" He gave me the lazy grin that had always had the power to make my heart beat faster. I was dismayed to see that it still worked. "He's sending me with you. Someone's got to take care of the rogues who attacked Adam, and he's barely mobile."
I turned on my heel, but stopped because I had no idea where to find Bran. And because Samuel was right, damn him. We needed help.
Happily, before I had to come up with something suitable to say in apology for my too-obvious dismay, the door to room one opened.
Adam looked as though he'd lost twenty pounds in the last twenty- four hours. He was wearing borrowed sweatpants and an unzipped jacket over the bare skin of his chest. Most of the visible skin was bruised, mottled technicolor with purple, blue, and black touched with lighter spots of red, but there were no open wounds. Adam was always meticulous in his dress and grooming, but his cheeks were dark with stubble, and his hair was uncombed. He limped slowly onto the sidewalk and kept a tight grip on a cane.
I hadn't expected him to be walking this soon, and my surprise must have shown on my face because he smiled faintly.
"Motivation aids healing," he said. "I need to find Jesse."
"Motivation aids stupidity," muttered Samuel beside me, and Adam's smile widened, though it wasn't a happy smile anymore.
"I have to find Jesse," was all that Adam said in reply to Samuel's obvious disapproval. "Mercy, if you hadn't arrived when you did, I'd have been a dead man. Thank you." I hadn't figured out yet exactly what our relationship was, and knowing that Bran had told him to look after me hadn't helped. Even so, I couldn't resist the urge to tease him--he took life so seriously.
"Always happy to come to your rescue," I told him lightly, and was pleased at the temper that flashed in his eyes before he laughed.
He had to stop moving and catch his breath. "Damn it," he told me, with his eyes shut. "Don't make me do that."
Samuel had stepped unobtrusively closer, but relaxed when Adam resumed his forward progress without toppling over. I opened the sliding door behind the passenger seat.
"Do you want to lie down?" I asked him. "Or would you rather sit up on the bench seat? Sitting shotgun is out--you need something easier to get in and out of."
"I'll sit up," Adam grunted. "Ribs still aren't happy about lying down."
When he got close to the van, I backed out of the way and let Samuel help him up.