Across the room, the mirror showed gold flooding Adam’s eyes, and he bit back a growl.
“I know exactly where she is,” Adam said carefully. “I will come for her shortly. It would be useful to have a quiet place for her to rest until I can come.” There. He’d backed down from “need” to “it would be useful to.”
“I need more detail than what you have given me,” Libor said. “I have to protect my pack first.”
So Adam went through the whole scenario from the moment the vampires had hit Mercy in his car right up to their current situation. Edited, but still most of the story.
“I see,” said Libor, when Adam had finished. There was a long silence, presumably as Libor weighed what Adam had told him. Then he said, “You managed to let your mate get kidnapped by the most ruthless vampire on the planet, and now you need my help.”
Yes. That “need” had been a mistake. Hard to judge words when he wasn’t face-to-face with the other werewolf. If it had been Bran he’d been talking to, “need” would have been the key word. Bran didn’t turn away werewolves who needed him.
Libor had just downgraded himself in Adam’s book of evaluation. But Adam hadn’t spent his formative years in the Army Rangers for nothing: he knew how to manipulate arrogant asses even better than he could manipulate competent commanders—the former having been much more common in his experience than the latter.
“If you are afraid of the vampires,” Adam said, “I understand. Mercy can take care of herself just fine.” He fiercely believed that. It was the only reason he was still here, doing his duty and protecting those who’d trusted him enough to follow him into the den of the boogeyman of the vampires, instead of grabbing one of the pilots and making a beeline for Prague. “She got away from Bonarata with nothing more than her brains and determination. She won’t have any trouble surviving your streets for a day. I’m not so sure if your streets will survive, though.”
He thought of Marsilia’s rubbing Mercy’s escape in Bonarata’s face and said, “My mate hit Bonarata’s pet werewolf with a bus. I wonder what she’ll do to your territory on her own?”
The other werewolf growled and bit out, “I do not fear the vampires. Bonarata was a child when I was an old, old wolf, and his territory is far from here. Very well, we will protect her from Bonarata’s vampires until you come for her. Where shall I find your mate?”
“Mercy will find you,” Adam said, satisfied at having goaded the other into defending himself. They were both aware that whatever the limits of Bonarata’s territory, his fingers were in the business of every town in Europe. Libor’s words were hollow, and they both knew it. Anyone within a thousand miles of Bonarata should feel a healthy amount of fear. But Adam chose to be conciliatory. “I appreciate your aid in this situation.”
Libor disconnected without further words.
Adam stared at the phone. For two cents, he’d drop everything and go find Mercy. Now.
Mercy could take care of herself. She’d survived just fine before he’d married her. Afterward, both he and she had done all that they could to ensure that continued to be true. He could trust her to take care of herself. But when he started to make another call, he knew the wolf was in his eyes again. He didn’t bother trying to calm down.
“David,” he said as soon as the other side of the phone call was picked up. “I need to land a private jet in or very near Prague. Do you know somewhere I can do that?”
David Christiansen, the werewolf on the other side of the conversation, was a mercenary with contacts all over the world. He was also one of Adam’s oldest friends.
“How are you, Adam?” David said with mock cheer. “It’s good to talk to you. Even ‘hi, hello, how’s it going’ would have been okay.”
“Mercy’s loose in Prague. I’m in Milan, and I need to get to Prague tomorrow morning. Very early. Money is no problem, but if the price is too high, we might need to wire some.”
David wasn’t stupid. He heard “Milan” and that Mercy and Adam were separated. He added those two together and came up with Bonarata because he said, “Messing in vampire business isn’t for wusses. Try to look unimportant, Sarge; maybe they’ll be low on ammo.”
“Too late,” Adam said with an involuntary grin. He hadn’t heard that phrase since ’Nam, when officers were favorite targets of the enemy. “But there aren’t any bullets flying right now.” In the background, he could hear the scratch scratch as David wrote something on a piece of paper.
“What kind of plane?”
Adam gave him the specs, and David wrote those down, too.
“Give me a minute, my people are on it,” David said. “If you kill that old bastard in Milan, I’ll treat you to the biggest steak in Chicago. Or Seattle, if you don’t want to come my way.”
“Doesn’t look like murdering vampires is in my near future,” admitted Adam. “Much as I’d enjoy it.”
David murmured something to someone else, then was back on the phone. “Got it. Do you have something to write with or do you want me to text you?”
“Text me,” said Adam. “Thanks.”
“I still owe you, I figure,” David responded. “Do you need some backup? I can be in Prague with a crew or two in about seventeen hours.”
Adam considered it. But if the people he had with him weren’t enough, he reckoned he’d need a nuclear strike and not more people to die trying to rescue him and Mercy.
“I think it’s handled,” he said. Though he’d have been happier if Libor had been the same kind of polite liar that Bonarata was—odd that he trusted the vampire further than his own kind. But he’d met Bonarata, and he figured he had his measure. No telling whether Libor was just being a pain for the sake of annoyance—or if he was a problem.
“Let me know if that changes,” said David. “Keep your head down.”
“You, too.”
They disconnected, and Adam was left with a whole day to get through and nothing to do. Sleeping was out of the question.
Honey was awake and watching him. She’d have heard everything. She wagged her tail and smiled hopefully.
Adam ran his hands through his hair. “Right. This is good news. Mercy is safe. I’m pretty sure Bonarata believed me about Bran—and put a call out to his hunters before he went down for the day. He isn’t interested in the kind of war Bran would bring him.” The kind where everyone loses. He smiled at Honey, because he knew she’d understand. “It’s just that now that I know where she is, I’m not sure I can find the patience to wait. And talk and talk and talk without killing someone.”
Honey’s ears flattened with amused agreement. She wasn’t fond of talk and talk and talk, either.
“I’m going to go notify the pilots that we’re flying to Prague before morning tomorrow,” Adam said, because it would give him something to do besides pace restlessly. He’d wake them up when they should be getting sleep—but he was paying them enough money that he didn’t feel too bad about that.
“Stay alert,” he told Honey.
She put her nose down on the couch and watched as he put his shoulder holster back on and resettled his suit. He took a good look at himself in the mirror to check for wrinkles, lopsided tie, or the gun printing too obviously.
Satisfied that he was as put together as he was likely to get, he left the room. He couldn’t lock it behind him without locking himself out—they hadn’t been issued keys. He opened the door again and looked at Honey.
“Remember the door won’t be locked until I get back. Keep an ear out,” he said.
Then he left his chicks safe in her care. His mouth turned up as he thought about what any of the people in that suite would think of his considering them in need of his care. Except for Elizaveta, of course—she would accept his concern as her due, if only a small part of her considerable defenses.
Adam climbed briskly up the hardwood stairs, turned the corner, and knocked on the door. Movement exploded within.