Night Broken (Mercy Thompson, #8)

by Patricia Briggs

“Look me in the eyes with no offense taken or meant, Zachary Edwin Drummond.” Zack raised his chin and met Adam’s gaze. “I see you, Adam Alexander Hauptman, Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack.” “Will you join with us, to hunt, to fight, to live and run?” “Under the moon,” Zack said. “I will hunt, fight, live and run with you and yours who shall be mine.” “We claim you,” Darryl said, and pulled out a pocketknife and opened it one-handed. “We claim you,” I said when Adam glanced at me. “I claim you,” said Adam, and he took Darryl’s knife and cut a chunk of meat the size of the tip of my little finger off his forearm with practiced ease. “Alpha’s flesh and blood you shall be.” He offered the bloody bit to Zack, who ate it off his fingers. Blood welled up from the wound on Adam’s arm. Four fat drops fell to the carpet, and then the gouge scabbed over. In less than an hour, there would be no sign of the wound at all. A simple cut would have healed even faster. “From this day forward,” Adam said. “Mine to me and mine. Pack.” “Yours to you, mine to me,” answered Zack. The smoothness of his answer told me how often he’d done this.