.
.
Sam knew it, too.
But I'd give him what time I could--assuming he didn't go on a rampage and start eating people.
That meant keeping him out of sight of Adam and his pack.
My pack.
My mate and my pack.
It felt wrong to hide things from him.
But I knew Adam, and one thing he was very good at was honor and duty.
It was one of the reasons I'd grown to love him--he was a man who could make the hard choice.
Duty and honor would force him to call Bran.
Duty and honor would force Bran to execute Samuel.
Samuel would be dead, and two good men would suffer as well.
Luckily for all of them, my sense of duty and honor was more flexible.
I got out of the car and turned in a slow circle.
I caught Ben's scent, fading.
Otherwise, we were alone with the more mundane creatures of the night: bats, mice, and mosquitoes.
The light was on in Adam's bedroom, but it went dark as I was watching.
Tomorrow, I'd need to come up with a better place for Sam.
Or a good reason to avoid the pack.
I opened the back door of the Rabbit, keeping it between Sam and me in case he came out of the change in a bad mood.
The pain of the change does not make for a happy wolf--and Sam was already hurt when he started.
But he seemed okay.
When he hopped out, he waited politely for me to close up the car, then followed me to the door.
He slept on the foot of my bed.
When I suggested he might be more comfortable in his room, he regarded me steadily with ice-colored eyes.
Where does a werewolf sleep? Anywhere he wants to.
I thought it would bother me, thought it would scare me.
It ought to have bothered me.
But somehow I couldn't work up the energy to be too worried about the big wolf curled up on my feet.