"Raina backs up Marcus's orders. She's his lupa. He uses her to do things he doesn't approve of, like torture."
"So I set myself up as your lupa."
"Yes, I'm the Fenrir. Normally, I'd already have a lupa picked out. The pack is divided, Anita. I've given my protection to my followers so that if Marcus tries to hurt them, I come after him, or my followers will act to protect each other with my blessing. Without a Fenrir or a pack leader to back you up, it's a sort of mutiny to go against the pack leader's orders."
"What's the penalty for mutiny?"
"Death or mutilation."
"I thought you guys could heal anything short of a death wound."
"Not if you shove burning metal into it. Fire purifies and stops the healing process, unless you reopen the wound."
"It works that way with vampires, too," I said.
"I didn't know that," he said, but not like he really cared.
"How have you risen to next in line to lead and not killed anyone? You had to fight a lot of duels to get to the top of the heap."
"Only the fight for Ulfric has to be to the death. All I had to do was beat them all."
"Which is why you take karate and lift weights, so you'll be good enough to beat them." We'd had this discussion before when I asked if lifting weights when you could bench press a small car was redundant. He'd replied, not if everyone you're fighting can lift a car, too. He had a point.
"Yes."
"But if you won't kill, then your threat doesn't have much bite, no pun intended."
"We're not animals, Anita. Just because this is the way it's always been in the pack doesn't mean things can't change. We are still people, and that means we can control ourselves. Dammit, there has to be a better way than slaughtering each other."
I shook my head. "Don't blame it on the animals. Real wolves don't kill each other for dominance."
"Only werewolves," he said. He sounded tired.
"I admire your goals, Richard."
"But you don't agree."
"No, I don't agree."
His voice came from the darkness out of the backseat. "Stephen doesn't have any wounds. Why was he screaming?"
My shoulders hunched, and I made myself sit up straight. I turned onto Old Highway 21, and tried to think of a delicate way to tell him, but there was nothing delicate about rape. I told him what I'd seen.
The silence from the backseat lasted a very long time. I was almost to the turnoff for his house when he said, "And you think if I'd killed a few people along the way, this wouldn't have happened?"
"I think they're more afraid of Raina and Marcus than they are of you, so yeah."
"If you back my threat with killing, it undermines everything I've tried to do."
"I love you, Richard, and I admire what you're trying to do. I don't want to undermine you, but if they touch Stephen again, I'll do what I said I'd do. I'll kill them."
"They're my people, Anita. I don't want them dead."
"They're not your people, Richard. They're just a bunch of strangers that happen to share your disease. Stephen is your people. Every shapeshifter who threw their support to you and risked Marcus's anger, they're your people. They've risked everything for you, Richard."
"When Stephen joined the pack, I was the one who told Raina she couldn't have him. I've always stood by him."
"Your intentions are good, Richard, but they didn't keep him safe tonight."
"If I let you kill for me, Anita, it's the same as doing it myself."
"I didn't ask your permission, Richard."
He leaned on the back of the seat, and I realized he wasn't wearing his seat belt. I started to tell him to put it on, but didn't. It was his car, and he could survive a trip through the windshield. "You mean if they take Stephen again, you'll kill them because you said you'd kill them, not for me."
"A threat's not worth anything if you aren't willing to back it up," I said.
"You'd kill for Stephen. Why? Because he saved your life?"
I shook my head. It was hard to explain. "Not just that. When I saw him tonight, what they were doing to him . . . He was crying, Richard. He was . . . Oh, hell, Richard, he's mine now. There are a handful of people that I'd kill for, kill to keep safe, kill to revenge. Stephen's name got added to the list tonight."
"Is my name on the list?" he asked. He rested his chin on my shoulder over the seat. He rubbed his cheek on my face and I could feel a faint beard stubble, scratchy and real.
"You know it is."
"I don't understand how you can talk about killing so casually."
"I know."
"My bid for Ulfric would be stronger if I were willing to kill, but I'm not sure it would be worth it."
"If you want to martyr yourself for high ideals, fine. I don't like it, but fine. But don't martyr the people who trust you. They're worth more than any set of ideals. You nearly got yourself killed tonight."
"You don't just believe in something when it's easy, Anita. Killing is wrong."
"Fine," I said, "but you also nearly got me killed tonight. Do you understand that? If they had rushed us, I wouldn't have made it out. I will not go down in flames because you want to play Gandhi."
"You can stay home next time."
"Dammit, that isn't what I'm saying, and you know it. You're trying to live in some Ozzie and Harriet world, Richard. Maybe life used to work like that, but it doesn't anymore. If you don't give up on this, you're going to get killed."
"If I really thought I had to become a murderer to survive, I think I'd rather not survive."
I glanced at him. His expression was peaceful, like a saint. But you only got to be a saint if you died. I looked back at the road. I could give Richard up, but if I left him, he was going to end up dead. He'd have gone in there tonight without anyone, and he wouldn't have made it out.
Tears burned at the back of my eyes. "I don't know if I'd survive it if you died on me, Richard. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
He kissed my cheek, and something warm and liquid seeped down my neck. "I love you, too."
They were only words. He was going to get killed on me. He was going to do everything short of suicide. "You're bleeding on me," I said.
He sighed and leaned back into the darkness. "I'm bleeding a lot. Too bad Jean-Claude isn't here to lick it up." He made a bitter sound low in his throat.
"Do you need a doctor?"
"Get me home, Anita. If I need a doctor, I know a wererat that makes house calls." He sounded tired, weary, as if he didn't want to talk anymore. Not about the wounds, or the pack, or his high ideals. I let the silence grow and didn't know how to break it. A soft sound filled the quiet dark, and I realized that Richard was crying. He whispered, "I'm sorry, Stephen. I am so sorry."
I didn't say anything because I didn't have anything good to say. Just lately I had noticed that I could kill people and not blink. No attack of conscience, no nightmares, nothing. It was like some part of me had turned off. It didn't bother me that I was able to kill so easily. It did bother me that it didn't bother me. But it had its uses, like tonight. I think every last furry one of them had believed I'd do it. Sometimes, it was good to be scary.
9
It was 4:40 in the morning when Richard carried the still unconscious Stephen into his bedroom. Blood had dried the back of Richard's shirt to his skin. "Go to bed, Anita. I'll take care of Stephen."
"I need to look at your wounds," I said.
"I'm all right."
"Richard..."
He looked at me, half of his face covered in dried blood, his eyes almost wild. "No, Anita, I don't want your help. I don't need it."
I took in a deep breath through my nose and let it out. "Okay, have it your way."
I expected him to apologize for snapping at me, but he didn't. He just walked into the other room and closed the door. I stood there in the living room for a minute, not sure what to do. I'd hurt his feelings, maybe even offended his sense of male honor. Fuck it. If he couldn't take the truth, f**k him. People's lives were at stake. I couldn't give Richard comforting lies when it could get people killed.
I went into the guest room, locked the door, and went to bed. I put on an oversized T-shirt with a caricature of Arthur Conan Doyle on it. I'd packed something a little sexier. Yes, I admit it. I could have saved myself the trouble. The Firestar was lumpy under the pillow. The machine gun went under the bed within reach. I laid an extra clip beside it. Never thought I'd need that much firepower, but between assassination attempts and packs of werewolves, I was beginning to feel a little insecure.