My cell rang, and, with both of my hands available to me, I took the time to check the number: Darryl. Okay, there might be

repercussions to letting Stefan feed from me, but they would have more to do with Darryl tattling on me to Adam than they did with Stefan. I hit a button on the side of my phone, so it quit ringing.

“I’ve gotten you into trouble,” said Stefan.

“With Darryl?” I asked. “I can get myself into trouble with Darryl on my own just fine—and hand his butt to him if he steps too far out of line.” Stefan came to his feet, tilted his head, and gave me a little smile—suddenly looking much more like himself. “You? Miss Coyote versus the big bad wolf? I don’t think so.”

He was probably right.

“Darryl isn’t my keeper,” I told him stoutly.

He snorted. “No. But if something happens to you while Adam is away, it is Darryl who will bear the blame.”

“Adam isn’t that stupid,” I said.

He waited.

“Jeez Louise,” I told him, and called Darryl back.

“I’m fine,” I said to him. “I thought Stefan might need a night out and stopped by to pick him up.

I’ll call you from Kyle’s driveway, then you can call Adam and tell him I made it safely. You can also tell him that as long as I don’t have crazy fairy queens, swamp monsters, or rapists with delusions of grandeur after me, I can take care of myself.”

Darryl sucked in his breath. I supposed it was the rapist remark, but I was done flinching about it. The man was dead, and I’d killed him. The nightmares had mostly stopped, and when they emerged, I had Adam to fight them with me. Adam is a very good man to have beside you in a fight, even if all you are fighting is a bad memory.

“You forgot demon-possessed vampires,” said Stefan into the silence. Vampires, like werewolves, can hear private phone

conversations—so can I, actually. I’ve become quite fond of text messaging since I moved into Pack HQ.

“So she did,” said Darryl. His voice had softened to molasses and gravel. “We try to give you the air you need to breathe, Mercy. But it is hard. You are so fragile and—”

“Rash?” I offered. “Stupid?” I have a newly minted brown belt in karate, and I fix cars for a living. Only in comparison to a werewolf am I fragile.

“Not at all,” he disagreed, though I’ve heard him call me both rash and stupid as well as a number of other unflattering things. “Your ability to survive anything that gets thrown at you sometimes leaves the rest of us swallowing ulcer medication for days afterward. I don’t like the taste of Maalox.”