Shifting Shadows: Stories from the World of Mercy Thompson

by Patricia Briggs

Ben went out and bought a knife, and he did as he’d been ordered. Terry went hunting with Ben as observer; sometimes it was one of the other wolves, but mostly it was Ben—and Terry liked that part of it, too—and so did some dark part of Ben. At first it had only been once every couple of months, but by the end it was weekly. Terry liked those black, high-heeled boots. He’d follow women who wore them home and wait until the lights went out, then he and Ben would break in, muffling the sound of violence with the magic of the pack. When Ben got home from those nights, he spent the next hour or so in the bathroom until there was nothing more to throw up. It hadn’t escaped his notice that he’d taken on the role of his mother, which was bad enough. But the thing that made it nigh unbearable was that he liked it. When the woman screamed, it was his mother’s voice he heard. And he craved it as much as Terry did.