Page 97 of Winter Lost

He tucked his head between her neck and shoulder, just below her ear, and breathed in. “You come back safely,” he said. “I don’t want to live in a world without you in it.”

“Don’t worry,” she told him. “If I die, I’ll be like Jack and come back to haunt you.”

He bet she would, his stubborn love. Oddly, that reassured him enough that he could let her go—though not before he kissed her bare shoulder.

Standing, he said, “Get a move on. How can I miss you if you don’t go?”

“Way to ruin a tender moment,” she mock-complained, tightening the compression straps so the pack was dense instead of puffy and sloppy.

Then she shifted to coyote.

He put the pack on her, making sure the straps around her shoulders and belly were just right—too tight and she wouldn’t be able to get out of it or shift safely back to human, too loose and it would hinder her travel. She could have put it on and then shifted, but she let him do that for her.

He understood her, and tried very hard to give her what she needed. She tried very hard to do the same for him.

He opened a window and she hopped out and was away. He stood, the winter blowing into the room, until he couldn’t see her for the woods and the flying snow. Then, very quietly, he said, “Come back to me, love.”

—

The scene in the dining room was very much as it had been at breakfast. Adam contemplated the goblins, who were carefully not looking at him, and the Heddars—and sat down at the table with Elyna’s people.

Peter was a little twitchy, but Adam had been getting a lot of practice at dealing with hyperdominant people. He had no trouble finding common ground at a table filled with those who dealt with humanity at their worst and best moments.

Peter and one of the other men had served in the marines. When Adam admitted to his ranger background, they exchanged the kind of ribbing the branches of military reserved for their allies. His security career was enough like police work that it gave him an entry with the rest of Peter’s pack—as Mercy had dubbed them after breakfast.

By the time the teenager—Emily—came in with glasses, a pitcher of ice water, and sandwiches, they were exchanging absurd work stories. When it was his turn, he told them about how four of his men, responding to an alarm, chased the suspect down into a back office—and encountered a skunk. The skunk won handily.

Tammy came in late, picking up her food in the kitchen. She looked unhappy, and when she sat down, she said, “I tried calling Zane, but it looks like the phones are still down.”

Adam’s sat phone still wasn’t working, but he didn’t think it would be useful to tell them that.

The table looked grim.

“What happens if he doesn’t make it?” asked Peter.

She glanced at Adam and said, “The end of my world.”

That was so obvious that Adam decided to clear the air a bit. So he nodded at Tammy and said, “The end of the world.”

The whole table looked at him with a fair bit of hostility.

What had Liam said? Something about how the wedding guests would come to an understanding about what the wedding was and their part in it. He wondered how that had happened. Had they just woken up knowing about the Great Spell and accepting it and everything that it implied?

“I’m here to help,” Adam told them. “Or maybe to play some harp. Or is it a lyre?” He flapped his hands to imitate little wings on his shoulders.

“You’re an angel?” asked Peter sardonically. “You don’t look like one.”

No one at the table had a reaction when he said either “harp” or “lyre.” That confirmed that none of these people had the harp—and that Elyna hadn’t told them why Adam and Mercy were here. Mercy had asked her not to, until they had a better handle on what was going on. But Tammy and her people for damn sure knew about the Great Spell now.

“You’re right,” Adam agreed. “I’m a werewolf. We did come here to help Mercy’s brother. I’d prefer that we not participate in the end of the world.”

Peter sat back. “Fair enough.”

“How did you get caught up in a marriage that decides the fate of the world?” Adam asked the bride-to-be, deciding to take down the temperature a bit.

“For the money,” Tammy said instantly. “Why not?”

She was a good liar. The blue eyes she’d inherited from her father helped that innocent look along. Police officers learned to be good at deception, too. Blandness spread around the table like butter on warm bread.