I'd spent the previous two years living with my mother and pretending to be perfect, afraid that if I weren't, I'd lose my place in my second home as abruptly as I had the first. It would never have occurred to me to do something as outrageous as getting a tattoo.
My mother still blames Karen for my switching my major from engineering to history--which makes her directly responsible for my current occupation, fixing old cars. My mother is probably right, but I am much happier as I am than I would have been as a mechanical engineer.
"She handed me a book of tattoos that she had done and about halfway through was a guy who'd had wolf tracks tattooed across his back from one hip to the opposite shoulder. I wanted something smaller, so we settled on a single pawprint."
My mother and her family had known what I was, but they'd asked no questions, and I'd hidden my coyote self from them, becoming someone who fit their lives better. It had been my own choice. Coyotes are very adaptable.
I remember staring at the man's back and understanding that, although I must hide from everyone else, I could not hide from myself anymore. So I had Karen put the tattoo on the center of my body, where I could protect my secret and it could keep me whole. I'd finally started to enjoy being who I was instead of wishing that I were a werewolf or human so I'd fit in better.
"It's a coyote pawprint," I said firmly. "Not a wolf's."
He grinned at me and stuck his head out the window again; this time his shoulders followed.
"You're going to fall out," I told him.
chapter 12
"The pack is coming," I told Samuel, as we cruised slowly by Warren's house for a look-see. "I don't know how much you remember from while you were changing, but Warren called for help. Adam was sleeping and couldn't be woken up--" With Samuel safe, I could worry about Adam. "Is that normal?"
Samuel nodded, and I felt a wave of relief. Clearing my throat, I continued, "Since we can't trust the pack, I think Warren is going to try to keep them away from Adam--which would be fine except that Darryl is Adam's second." Which meant a fight.
Samuel told me once that, despite all the physical benefits they gain, the average life span of a werewolf from his first Change until his death is ten years. People, like my old friend Dr. Wallace, who had to be eliminated within their first year, accounted for some of that. But most werewolves died in dominance fights with other wolves. I didn't want Warren or even Darryl to die tonight--and if one of them did, it would be my fault. Without my flash of intuition or paranoia that there was something wrong with the pack, Warren wouldn't have been trying to keep Darryl away from Adam.
Richland was quiet, but both sides of the street on Warren's block were solid with parked cars. I recognized Darryl's '67 Mustang as I passed it: the pack was already here. I parked a block away and jogged back with Samuel at my side.
A woman stood under the porch overhang in front of Warren's door. Her black, black hair was pulled back into a waist-length ponytail. She folded her sleekly muscled arms and widened her stance when she saw me. She was a chemistry teacher at Richland High and Darryl's mate.
"Auriele," I said, climbing up the stairs until I shared the porch with her.
She frowned at me. "I told him that you wouldn't do anything to hurt Adam, and he believed me. I told him you would not act against the pack. You have some explanations to give."
As Darryl's mate, Auriele ranked high in the pack. Normally I'd have discussed the matter with her politely--but I needed to get past her and into Warren's home before someone got hurt.
"Fine," I said. "But I need to explain myself to Darryl, not you, and not right now."
"Darryl is busy," she said, not buying my argument. I'd noticed before that teaching classrooms of teenagers made Auriele hard to bluff.
I opened my mouth to try again, when she said, "We keep the Silence."
Wolves have little magic, as most people think of it. Sometimes there will be one, like Charles, who has a gift, but for the most part they are limited to the change itself, and a few magics that allow them to stay hidden. One of those is Silence.
I glanced around and saw four people (doubtless there were others if I cared to look) standing unobtrusively around Warren's duplex, their eyes closed and their mouths moving in the chant that brought Silence upon all that stood within their circle.
It was to keep the battle inside from disturbing anyone. It meant that the fight had already begun; the pack would not willingly break the Silence and let me through.
"This fight is without merit," I told her urgently. "There is no need for it."
Her eyes widened. "There is every need, Mercy. Darryl is second, and Warren defies him. It cannot go without answer. You can talk after he is through disciplining that one." Her mobile brows drew together as she stared at Samuel. In a completely different voice, she asked, "Who is that? There were strange wolves dead at Adam's house."
"This is Samuel," I said impatiently starting up the stairs. "I'm going in."
She'd started forward to intercept me, then hesitated as she took in Samuel's unusual coloration. "Samuel who?" she asked.
Twice a year the Alphas met with Bran in Bran's corporate headquarters in Colorado. They sometimes brought their seconds or thirds--but never the women. Part of that was practicality. Alphas are uncomfortable outside their own territory, and they interact badly with other Alphas. With their mates beside them, all of that discomfort and territorialism had a greater tendency to turn toward violence.
That meant Auriele had never met Samuel, but she'd heard of him. White wolves named Samuel are not very common.
"This is Dr. Samuel Cornick," I told her firmly. "Let us through. I've got information about the people who attacked Adam." I was tired and worried about Warren--and Darryl; otherwise, I wouldn't have made such an obvious misstep: I doubt she heard anything except my command.