Zee’s eyelids lowered. “You don’t know as much as you think you do,” he said. “Boy.”
Nope, I thought. If this boy was as young as he looked, I’d eat my hat—but he didn’t smell like fae. I was close enough, and the wind was right; if he were fae, I should be able to scent it.
The boy held up his hand, still ruddy with heat. “One,” he said, displaying a finger. “You will introduce me to the Alpha of the pack.” He held up a second finger. “Two. You will ask them, as a person friendly to the pack, if they will protect me—even if it is only temporary.” He held up a third finger. “Three—you will do your best to see that they agree.”
“Snotty,” I observed to Zee.
He pursed his lips. Which wasn’t actually an agreement. He didn’t like many people, my old friend, but he was soft on this boy, and I couldn’t see much reason for it. Most people wouldn’t be able to tell that Zee liked him, but I’d known the grumpy old man for a long time.
“What did he promise in return?” I asked him curiously.
“He got Dad and me out of Fairyland,” Tad said, and when his dad grunted, he added, “Out of the Walla Walla reservation, then. And when he could have left us behind and escaped free without going back on his word, he stayed to help.”
The boy had been following the conversation; now he narrowed his eyes at me. “Who are you?”
“She’s our Alpha’s mate,” said Darryl in a very unfriendly voice. “That means that right this moment, she’s in charge of the Columbia Basin Pack.” Then he raised his voice without looking away from Aiden the Fire Touched. “One of you bring some sweats for Joel.” Apparently, we were going to step down the threat level so we could take care of our own.
“Got it,” called Warren. I’d thought he was still down talking to the police. But there was no mistaking the sound of his voice or the rhythm of his footsteps as he ran back down to the base of the bridge.
I could leave Joel’s care to Warren and Darryl. That left me to deal with Aiden.
“You aren’t a werewolf,” he said, but I could tell he wasn’t sure.
“No,” I agreed. “But I am in charge right this minute.”
Aiden made an angry noise.
“If Zee promised to do his best to see that we protected you,” I told him, “he’s fulfilled his word to you.” I smiled grimly. “If he’d come singing your praises, we’d have killed you where you stood. The only way Zee would sing anyone’s praises is if someone had managed to hit him with some kind of nasty magic when he had his back turned.”
Joel moaned and rose to hands and knees just about the time Warren came up with a pair of sweats in his hand bearing the letters KPD. He must have gotten them from Tony. Warren walked through the invisible no-man’s-land between me and Aiden without apparent effect on his usual loose-limbed, big-strided walk. Ignoring Aiden altogether, Warren knelt and began helping Joel. If it weren’t for Adam resting against my leg, I’d have run over to help—leaving Aiden until I was sure that our people were okay. I was worried that Ben wasn’t back with Zack, yet.
Darryl stayed where he was—to guard me from Aiden, I realized, guarding Adam and me. He didn’t look down at Adam, but I could feel his awareness and worry.
Warren helped Joel, now modestly covered in Kennewick Police Department sweats, to his feet. Without ever quite looking at the boy, Warren kept himself between Aiden and Joel. That told me that Warren still viewed the boy as a threat.
Joel shivered as if he were cold. Warren started to put an arm around him, then stopped.
Warren was the only gay werewolf in our pack, in any pack that I knew of. The older werewolves were largely male and largely intolerant of homosexual leanings. Gay werewolves didn’t last very long unless they were extraordinarily tough or lucky. Warren was tough. He was also careful not to push any of the pack members unless he intended to bother them. It wasn’t fear, it was courtesy. He glanced at Darryl.
Darryl looked at me, then Aiden, deciding how much of a threat he still was. Then he walked over and wrapped a big arm over the much smaller Joel. “You have this, Mercy?” he asked me. “I’ll get him home.”
I nodded. “Joel? Are you okay?”
“It doesn’t burn inside,” he said, his voice husky and a little helpless. “It’s gone.”
“It’ll be back,” the boy said dispassionately. “I robbed the spirit of its heat, but it is still there.”
“Are you okay, Joel?” I asked again.
This time he nodded. “I think so.” He took a deep breath. “I would have killed you.”
I shook my head. “We’re pack, Joel, even the tibicena knows it. He was just ticked because he got a chance to get out and strut his stuff, and we were cutting short his playtime.”
Joel huffed a shaky laugh. “Maybe. But it didn’t feel like that from the inside.”