Page 39 of Winter Lost

Then, with Warren left on guard duty, Adam was finally free to go to his mate.

—

The room was dark and quiet except for Mercy’s ragged breathing. She’d found a corner and wrapped herself in a blanket that didn’t do enough to warm her, judging by the way she was shivering.

Adam left the lights off and sat on the floor beside her, his back to the wall. He left a little space between them. If she wanted touch, he was there.

“Fat lot of use I am,” she said, struggling to get the words out around the vibrations of her jaw. “If we had had to fight him, all I would have been able to do is collapse in a corner.”

He didn’t tell her that if Zee and he hadn’t been able to take care of Ymir, she didn’t stand a chance. He didn’t say it because no matter how much that looked true, Mercy had proven it wasn’t. She could face off with volcano gods and come out of it with nothing more than a scar on her cheek.

He considered his words.

“Nah,” he said.

He’d tried to make it playful, a contrast to what she was feeling. But his monsters, roused by his mate’s condition, lent their darkness, so the casual word came out rich with…something not playful.

He waited and tried again, and this time he sounded more normal. “You pushed this off until the enemy was gone. You’d have held out until you did what you had to do.”

She shook her head fiercely. And for a moment he hoped she’d argue with him—arguing was sometimes useful in her battle with her panic attacks. But when she spoke, it was to direct the conversation away from herself.

“Ymir is a problem,” she said raggedly, “if he can take our wolves.”

She was absolutely right.

“Sherwood is on his way over,” Adam told her. “I don’t know if he’ll have suggestions, but he’s our best bet.”

Mercy tried to say something, but it didn’t come out. Adam fought back the urge to look at her, because she preferred not to be stared at. This was a bad attack. He’d expected her to be mostly done with it by the time he’d been able to come up.

If he’d only gotten to Tim sooner—

He wound that thought up tight and shoved it down where it belonged before one of his beasts got even more stirred up. The important thing was not yesterday—the important thing was tomorrow.

Mercy thumped the back of her head against the wall. “Six weeks.” She growled. “Six weeks without a panic attack. Anxiety attack. Stupid attack. Whatever. Not since Stefan—”

Her voice broke off and she quit breathing.

Every muscle in Adam’s body locked up with the need to help her. There was nothing he could do—not unless he was willing to use the pack bonds to force her recovery. In a life-or-death circumstance, he might do something like that. But she wasn’t going to die today.

And he wouldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability like that.

After a few seconds, she caught a breath. Then another. She scooted over an inch and leaned against him, resting her forehead on his arm.

“Mary Jo?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

“She’s pretty scared,” he admitted. “She’s going home with Honey and Gary. The women don’t seem to fret Gary as much as the men do.”

Mercy gave a hiccup of laughter. “No surprise there.”

But Adam didn’t think it was like that. He’d gotten the impression that Gary didn’t care about the sex of the people he took to his bed—or flirted with. But women felt safer. Or maybe it was just Honey and Mary Jo.

Mary Jo. That reminded him he had a few questions.

“Warren was trying to get permission from Mary Jo to call Renny and get him over there, too. Something happened between them?”

“He proposed to her, so she broke up with him,” she told him.

“That makes sense,” he told her, because it didn’t.

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