He flushed a little. “I only said that because—”
“Because you were afraid if you jumped in between the pack and me, I would run,” I said.
He folded his arms and looked unhappy.
That was okay. I was unhappy with him, too.
“Because,” I said with fierce irony, “you can’t count on me not to take off when the chips are down. Because every time we fight, I run away and lick my wounds. Because if you do something I don’t agree with—and we’ll get back to that—I’ll desert you and go looking to find myself like your ex-wife did.”
“Because,” Adam said carefully, “Bran told me that if I treated you the way I did Christy, you’d leave me, too. Maybe not that day, or the one after that, but eventually you’d burst free of any chains I tried to wrap you in, even if it was for your protection.”
I froze. Raised an eyebrow. “Did Bran really compare me to your ex-wife, or are you just saying that so I’ll be mad at him instead of you?”
“Would I do that?” he asked.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “In a heartbeat, you would.”
He laughed.
“Okay,” he said. “I deserved that. But those were his exact words.”
I took a deep breath. “There are two of us in this relationship, Adam. I love you. If you need to establish a rule I disagree with, but it is necessary for you—I can compromise.” I took a deep breath because I really, really didn’t like the gag order he’d issued. “I can live with the law you laid down on the pack tonight—I don’t like it. But I can deal—and so will they.” Just like Bran’s pack dealt with his wife, Leah. I hated her when I lived with Bran’s pack. But I’d never disrespected her to her face.
Adam relaxed.
“Of course,” I said, “not letting me know how badly the initial treatment of your broken shoulder had gone, that might get you in real trouble. But you would never try to keep something from me, like having to break your shoulder twice because the first time didn’t work, would you? Because you know that I would be really, really ticked off about that.”
He looked at me.
I held my hand up at hip height. “Here’s my irritation level when someone jumps in to protect me when I don’t need it.” I thought about it and bent down until my hand was at my knee. “Nope. This is where my irritation level is. My irritation level is here”—back at my hip—“when he does it without warning me. My irritation . . . anger level is here”—I held my hand up to my eyes—“when you keep me out of something that is my concern. When I landed in the hospital after your ex-wife’s stalker tried to kill me”—he’d been an insane volcano god, the same one who’d destroyed my shop and turned my friend Joel into a tibicena—“I wasn’t trying to make everyone keep you away because the sight of me all beaten up might make you feel bad.”
“You were dying,” Adam said. “You had no choice.” But his face was tight. He didn’t like to be reminded about how close I’d come to dying.
“Yes,” I snapped. “And if you keep me away again, you only hope you’ll be dead when I find out about it.”
I was absolutely serious. The force of my anger took me by surprise. Adam was mine. I’d belonged at his side, not setting up a stupid barbecue. He’d sent me away—and I’d let him because I’d felt guilty for setting the pack up to face off with the fae, the vampires, and a host of other people and not-people who might take offense at my declaration that the Tri-Cities was our territory. It was probably myself I was maddest at, but Adam was a good substitute.
The computer chimed.
I marched around and saw that Skype was up, and hit the ANSWER button.
Bran appeared, his eyes half-lidded in the way they were when he was furious.
“Not now,” I told him. “Adam and I are having a fight about stupid wolves who don’t tell their mates when some damned iron-kissed fae has to break his shoulder because your son the doctor is running around Europe. We have some competent EMTs, but EMTs are not up to bone work—which they proved by breaking his shoulder wrong. Excuse us. I’ll call you back when we are done here.”
“Mer—”
I hit the button to hang up, turned to Adam—who was laughing. Laughing. It was going to be the last thing that he ever did.
“That might be the last thing either of us ever do,” he answered, and I realized I must have said that last thing out loud. “Bran doesn’t really appreciate being hung up on.” He sobered. “I plead stupid,” he said. “And prideful. In my defense, I was pretty badly hurt, and no one wants to get their shoulder broken. Three times today, actually, if you count the first one.”