I remembered that the werewolves were fond of top-secret-emergency-code-word things. Nothing to do with being a werewolf and everything to do with just how many werewolves found themselves in the military at some time or other, and how that left them a particular kind of paranoid. Boy Scouts had nothing on the "be preparedness" of werewolves.
It was like triage. Decision one--preserve those who were safe. Decision two--retrieve the rest. Decision three--make the ones who took them regret it.
[He] is dead, I promised. He just doesn't know it yet. But we are patient, we can wait until the time is ripe.
I love how Mercy is just as protective and predatory as Adam and the rest of the wolves - hers may manifest itself differently, but she still demands justice.
I put my foot down and hoped the cops were out watching Walmart, the mall, and the interstate routes. The big Mercedes engine gave a satisfied purr and ate up the miles through the desert back to West Richland. The speedometer said 110, but it felt more like 60. I patted the dash, and said, "Good girl."