"After Uncle Mike called," he continued blandly, "I knew they wanted us here for some reason. I could have refused--I had reservations in San Diego--but I thought you'd enjoy this more than a hotel, and I knew I would."
I frowned at him.
"I didn't promise him anything," Adam said with exaggerated patience. "You need to remember who you are now. They can't just f--" He stopped speaking for a moment, then swallowed his temper with an effort--and not as much effect as he probably wanted because the bland tone deserted him entirely.
"Mercy, they can't mess with you without messing with me and the whole pack--and Samuel--and Bran--and Zee--and Stefan probably, for that matter. I don't know what they want. Maybe they needed us to not go to San Diego--Uncle Mike mentioned San Diego specifically though I hadn't told anyone where I was taking you. Maybe they needed us to stick closer to home. We werewolves are a potential ally against political attacks now since we are the only other supernatural group who admits its existence to the general public. Maybe there is something here--" He waved his hands to indicate the general area upon which the trailer sat. "It could be something as easy as using us as a deterrent to another fae who plans on destroying what Edythe has built here."
Edythe must be the fae who owned the place. Of course it was a fae who had set up this campground, with its big trees and supergreen grass.
Adam was right. I'd forgotten that if the fae screwed with me, they were taking on the whole pack and then some. I was more than just a mechanic who fixed VWs and turned into a coyote because I had Adam, and I had friends. What a difference a year or two could make.
If he'd stopped there, I wouldn't have gotten mad. Maybe I'd even have conceded that he'd been right, and I shouldn't have worried. But he didn't leave it alone--because Adam might be gorgeous and smart, but he wasn't perfect.
"I suppose I could have driven myself crazy--" he bit out because our peculiar bond apparently wasn't doing its thing. He didn't know that I agreed with him. That he'd won. "Or more to the point," he said, "I could have let you drive both of us crazy for the past few days speculating what nefarious plot Uncle Mike has hatched up--Uncle Mike, who has proved himself to be, at least, a valuable ally if you don't consider him to be a friend. Or I could keep it to myself until your curiosity got the best of you and you asked so we could at least enjoy a couple days of our honeymoon before we started worrying about what the fu--" He was breathing harder now and had almost let that four-letter word all the way out.
I leaned forward, kissed the white line on his cheek that came out like war paint whenever he clenched his jaw, and said lightly, "All you ever had to do was tell me you had it under control, dear." I batted my eyes demurely. "I'm just the wife. I don't have to strain my poor weak brain worrying about the fae because you are here to protect me."
Yep, I was ticked, too. He was patronizing me.
I could still, however, admit when he was right: the fae certainly weren't the ones he had to worry about.
He narrowed his eyes at me. "That is not what I said. Don't put words in my mouth."
I reached around him, popped the door of the trailer open, and changed into a coyote before he finished his sentence--and I was off and running.
It would take a while before he could follow because werewolves take a lot longer to change. I supposed he could have chased after me in human form--but on two feet he'd never catch me, werewolf or not. Besides that, he was naked. The campground was rendered mostly private by topography and greenery, but it wasn't completely private. Pack magic wouldn't do anything to hide a naked man running across the campground.
I took advantage of him and left before he could continue the argument.
"DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU ARE DOING, MARRYING an Alpha werewolf?" my mother had said a few months ago, as I drove us to yet another wedding-dress outlet in Portland. Who knew there were so many white dresses? Who knew there were so many horrible white dresses? The oddest thing was that it seemed like the worse the dress, the more expensive it was.
"Yes, Mom," I said, narrowly avoiding a brownish '77 LTD being driven by a grandmother who could barely see over the dash. "I've known Adam for a long time. I know just what I'm getting myself into."
As if I hadn't said anything, my mother said, "Any kind of alpha takes some serious managing. Werewolves are controlling bastards--and Alpha werewolves are worse than that. If you don't watch it, you find that you are doing exactly what they tell you to."
There was an interesting snap in her voice, and I wondered how often Bran had gotten her to do what he wanted her to. Not as often as he wanted, I'd bet, but evidently more than she was happy about.
"I know how to take care of myself." I wasn't worried. Adam was dominant--that was certainly true. But I'd more than proved to myself that I could hold my own against him if I needed to.
"I know you do," Mom said with satisfaction. "But remember, confrontations aren't productive with an Alpha. You'll just lose--or worse, make him lose control."
"He won't hurt me, Mom."
"Of course not," she said. "But a man like Adam, if he loses control, he'll feel terrible. He'll worry that he might have hurt you. Making him feel horrible isn't what you want." She paused, considered what she said, then modified it. "Unless it is useful for him to feel horrible, of course. Mostly, though, I've found that isn't productive. Men who are miserable can be unpredictable."