"You don't have a heart," I told him. "Just a gaping hole where it should have been."
"All the more reason for you to give me yours."
I pounded my forehead against Warren's back. "Tell me Ben's not flirting with me."
"Hey," said Ben sounding hurt. "I was talking cannibalism, not romance."
He was almost funny.
Hell, that is funny!!
We'd spent years as adversaries, two predators sharing territory and a certain, unwelcome attraction. Somehow, during all those years I spent outwardly acquiescing to his demands while making sure I held my own, I'd won his respect. I'd had werewolves love me and hate me, but I'd never had one respect me before. Not even Samuel.
Adam respected me enough to act on my suspicions. It meant a lot.
I do think Mercy is wrong - in that she never had a werewolf's respect before, but I still love this.
Samuel curled his whole body around my arm as if someone had punched him in the stomach. I just held him.
Gah! Break my heart!!!
But then he said, "Good girl," and hung up.
As if he'd never doubted I'd do as he told me. Bran seldom had to worry about people not following his orders--except for me. I guess he'd forgotten about that.
It was a good thing there weren't any werewolves around to annoy. I'd like to think I was grown-up enough not to pick a fight just because Bran told me not to, but, still...
"If you were a real Indian, you could do a rain dance."
I shook my head solemnly. "In Montana, the Indians don't have a rain dance, they have a Stop-this-Damned-Wind-and-Snow dance. If you've ever been to Browning, Montana, in the winter, you'll know it doesn't work."
"You're angry with me," he said.
"You're yelling at me," I told him. "Of course I'm mad."