I gripped Adam’s wrist, leaving my gun in my left hand. I could shoot left-handed, though not as well as with my right or in a proper two-handed grip. Sometimes I could extend my limited immunity to vampire magic to someone by touching them. And keeping Adam free of Marsilia’s influence was more important than whether or not I could hit the side of a barn.
Adam growled, a low rumbling in his chest. He twisted his hand until it closed over mine, so we stood hand in hand.
Marsilia didn’t seem to notice.
“If you do not find Wulfe, all will know what happened to him,” she said, sounding suddenly tired. Her next words were rushed, a little more like her usual self, though the word choice was still off. “All will know that you prey upon your allies. Upon those who count upon your support. There will be war between your pack and the vampires.”
She disappeared, smoke and all, with the suddenness that I was more used to from her. Almost in the same breath, Uncle Mike opened the door, taking three quick steps into the room with the attitude of a sheepdog scenting wolves. I thought I caught a glimpse of a blade in his right hand, but his body blocked my line of sight. When he turned to us, there was no sword in sight except for the cutlass hanging from my belt.
“My apologies, Adam,” Uncle Mike said. “I’d not have thought any enemy could have trespassed my wards here in the heart of my home.”
“Marsilia isn’t our enemy,” said Adam in a thoughtful voice, holstering his gun. “Not yet, anyway.”
—
When we exited the building, I heard Uncle Mike turn the lock. The big new sign had been turned off, along with the rest of the building’s exterior lights. There was a staff lot on the other side of the building, so our vehicles were the only ones left in the main parking lot. I checked my phone—and yes, it was that late.
We didn’t discuss Marsilia’s visit. We were on Uncle Mike’s ground; whatever we said would probably be overheard. Adam hadn’t told Uncle Mike much about Marsilia’s visit—just that she had brought us a message. If that message turned out to have larger implications, Adam would share it with Uncle Mike.
Uncle Mike hadn’t pushed the issue.
Sherwood was parked near the entrance. The parking lot had been mostly full when Adam and I had arrived, so we were parked near the back of the lot, the black SUV blending in with the shadows where the parking lot lights didn’t extend. A maroon Subaru Outback was parked near us, presumably Warren’s new car.
We were almost to the SUV when Sherwood, who’d stopped by his car, said, “Adam.”
We—Adam, Zack, and I—turned to look at him.
Sherwood stood with one big hand on the top of his car and the other on the open door. He was not looking at us, his gaze turned back toward Uncle Mike’s.
“I know who and what I was,” he said heavily. “But there are a lot of holes in my memory. Zack is correct that for the better part of two years, six hundred years ago in Northumberland, I ran as second in a pack with an Alpha who was not as strong as Warren is. But I do not remember why it was necessary or how I did it.”
A train rolled by on tracks that were less than a half mile away.
“It can be done,” Adam said. “Are you willing to try?”
“It can be done,” Sherwood agreed. He gave Adam a half smile. “I don’t want to fight you for the pack. I am not convinced I would win—but I think that we would damage each other and our fight would damage the pack. I will see what I can do. But in the meantime, you should help me keep clear of Darryl and Warren—because the pack sense is that I am the fourth male in the pack.”
He had been steadily rising in the ranks, without violence, since he’d joined us. As an old wolf, he should be tradition-bound, but he still chose to add “male” into his statement—a recognition that our females held rank, too. And furthermore, that their ranking was complicated, caught as it was between tradition and reality.
“Yes,” Adam acknowledged.
“That will only last until Darryl, Warren, and I are in the same room for an extended period of time. Changing the organization of the pack without purpose is not a good idea.”
Adam and Sherwood exchanged a brief, rueful glance.
The stability of the pack was the key to werewolf survival. A stable pack helped the individual pack members stay in control of their wolves. Unstable packs resulted in wolf and human casualties. Human casualties scared people. Frightened people came hunting with pitchforks, guns—and in our modern era, more lethal weapons. Weapons that could kill even werewolves.
Our pack needed to be more stable than most to survive the pressures we were putting on it. Which is why Sherwood had to stay away from Darryl and Warren—to avert running into a situation when the confusion about where he belonged in the pack might force a fight.
“You don’t need to avoid me?” Adam asked.
Sherwood considered it. Then he shook his head. “You know,” he said. “Our talk tonight seems to have made a difference.” He glanced at me with a frown. “Or something did, anyway.” He made a fist and touched his own chest. “The beast is willing to bide its time. I think that we can work together safely. For now.”
He got into his car and the rest of us watched him drive away. Only when his taillights were a block down the road did Zack take out the Subaru fob and unlock Warren’s new car with a beep.
Adam caught the driver side door before Zack could close it. “Is there anything I should know about Sherwood that you know?”
Zack said, “Most people think that wolf in Northumberland was Samuel, you know? But Samuel’s a white wolf and the wolf in my friend’s stories was gray.”