Night Broken (Mercy Thompson 8)

“Zack,” I said. “Let me introduce my husband, Adam Hauptman, and his second, Darryl Zao. Gentlemen, this is Zack Drummond.”

“Hi,” he said warily. He still looked tired and too thin. “Come in. Let’s get this over with.” Enthusiasm was notable by its absence.

Zack turned and walked through the open door of the motel room. Adam followed Zack, and Darryl gestured for me to go ahead. I stepped in and had to fight not to gag.

Maybe a human’s nose wouldn’t have picked up the odors in that motel room, or maybe it wouldn’t have picked up all the odors. Maybe. But I didn’t think even an asthma patient who hadn’t smelled a scent in months could have stayed in that room for longer than ten minutes without being nauseated.

Cigar, cigarette, pipe, and every other substance anyone could smoke permeated the room, along with the smell of sex, urine, feces, and old alcohol. I’ve heard people complain that there is nothing worse than the smell of stale beer, but that room proved them wrong. Stale beer was the least unpleasant scent in the room. There was also mold, mildew, and mouse. All it needed was a skunk.

Neither Adam nor Darryl showed any sign of distress. Zack looked at me and gave me a faint smile. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“You can move in with us for a few weeks,” I said. “As it happens, we have a freshly cleaned bedroom suite that no one is using.”

“No,” he said gently. “I’m sorry, but I’d rather put up with this than … Your house don’t sound like a safe place to be at the moment. I don’t like pack politics—them and me don’t get along.”

Darryl would have said something—submissive wolves usually do fine in pack politics because, like Christy, no one wants to hurt them—but Adam made a subtle hand gesture that meant “stop.”

“That’s fine,” said Adam. “Welcome to the Tri-Cities, Zack Drummond. Usually, we would throw a party to welcome you—and we will—but the constraints of your schedule means that cannot happen this week. We have vampires in this town and half fae and a host of other denizens of the Forgotten and Hiding, many of which would love to find an unaffiliated werewolf to hunt.”

“I understand,” said Zack when Adam stopped speaking.

“Okay. My full name is Adam Alexander Hauptman. What is yours?”

“Zachary Edwin Drummond.”

Adam shut his eyes and took in three deep breaths—under the circumstances in that room, it was a braver act than it usually was. Every time he breathed in, I could feel the pull of pack magic and felt it gather to his need.

My mate opened his eyes and focused his full attention on Zack. “Look me in the eyes with no offense taken or meant, Zachary Edwin Drummond.”

Zack raised his chin and met Adam’s gaze. “I see you, Adam Alexander Hauptman, Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack.”

“Will you join with us, to hunt, to fight, to live and run?”

“Under the moon,” Zack said. “I will hunt, fight, live and run with you and yours who shall be mine.”

“We claim you,” Darryl said, and pulled out a pocketknife and opened it one-handed.

“We claim you,” I said when Adam glanced at me.

“I claim you,” said Adam, and he took Darryl’s knife and cut a chunk of meat the size of the tip of my little finger off his forearm with practiced ease. “Alpha’s flesh and blood you shall be.”

He offered the bloody bit to Zack, who ate it off his fingers. Blood welled up from the wound on Adam’s arm. Four fat drops fell to the carpet, and then the gouge scabbed over. In less than an hour, there would be no sign of the wound at all. A simple cut would have healed even faster.

“From this day forward,” Adam said. “Mine to me and mine. Pack.”

“Yours to you, mine to me,” answered Zack. The smoothness of his answer told me how often he’d done this.

Magic sizzled and zipped between us, burning in my chest as if someone had set a match there. But I shared that power with the whole pack, who received Zack along with me. Zack got the whole of his end, and he cried out and wrapped his arms around his chest and sank down on the bedspread.

It would have taken more than a jolt of pack magic to make me touch that bedspread.

Darryl was made of sterner stuff. He sat down beside Zack and wrapped one of his long arms around the other man’s shoulders.

“Breathe through it,” he advised. “I know it burns like freaking nitrous. But it will be over before you know it.”

“Better joining than leaving,” said Zack in a tight voice. But the worst was over, and his muscles started to relax. Until he noticed that Darryl was holding him.

Darryl saw it, too, and released him immediately. “All done,” he said, standing up.

“Now,” said Adam. “Tell me about this job you have.”

“I’m washing dishes at a restaurant,” he said. “It’s fine. I’ve done a lot of dishwashing jobs.”

“Under the table or over the table?” asked Adam.

Zack heaved an impatient sigh. “You’re one of those Alphas,” he said in a long-suffering voice. “It’s safe. I’m legal, and the job is legitimate. Not quite full-time, so I’ll have to find another job to get out of this dump. But I can do that. I’m good at finding jobs. I need a pack, not a parent.”

Mildly, Adam said, “It’s my job to make sure all the members of my pack are safe and well fed, so they don’t get desperate.”

“I’ve been a werewolf a very long time,” said Zack. “A hundred and thirty years give or take a couple. I’m not going to go out and start eating children.”

“Good to know,” Adam murmured. “But you aren’t sleeping here, anyway. Who knows who will break in here and force you to defend yourself? The Marrok has been very clear that he doesn’t want any wolf put in that sort of situation if it can be helped.” He pulled out his phone and hit a button.

“Hey, boss,” said Warren in long-suffering tones. “No killer stalkers or arsonists here yet. But I’m thinking that it might be a good idea to up the number of guards tomorrow. Just to make sure Christy is safe.”

Maybe Christy hadn’t been complaining to Warren about how no one was taking her plight seriously. Maybe Warren really felt that they needed more werewolf guards to protect Christy from her stalker, who was, after all, only human. Maybe.