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He heard the command and stiffened, raising his eyes to meet mine.
This poor boy lol. I forgot how much I love Mac
MS. THOMPSON, it said in heavy block letters, PLEASE KEEP YOUR FELINE OFF MY PROPERTY. IF I SEE IT AGAIN, I WILL EAT IT.
Puh-lease. We all know you adore Madea Adam. You'd never eat her
Why the Alpha werewolf had chosen to buy land right next to me, I suspect, had as much to do with the werewolf’s urge to dominate those they see as lesser beings as it did with the superb riverfront view.
And also Bran being Bran
My mother, Margi, is vivacious and cheerfully flaky. It’s not difficult at all envisioning her getting involved with a rodeo rider (like my father) any more than it would be difficult imagining her running off to join the circus. That she is president of her local PTA is far more surprising.
I adore Margi. She cracks me up hard sometimes. Her and her tiny pink gun
I love them, but I love them better at a distance.
There’s a lot of truth in the adage that all cars named after animals are lemons.
I smiled at him, thanked him for the service, and wished him well. Love thy enemies, it says in the scriptures. My foster mother always added, “At the very least, you will be polite to them.”
For all his German last name, his face and coloring were Slavic: dusky skin, dark hair—though not as dark as mine—wide cheekbones, and a narrow but sensual mouth. He wasn’t tall or bulky, and a human might wonder why all eyes turned to him when he walked into a room. Then they’d see his face and assume, wrongly, that it was the attraction. Adam was an Alpha, and if he’d been ugly he would have held the attention of anyone who happened to be nearby, wolf or human—but the masculine beauty he carried so unself-consciously didn’t hurt.
“Hey, Mercy. Dad sent me over to give you this and to get me out of the way while he dealt with some pack business.” She rolled her eyes as she handed me the camera. “He acts like I don’t know enough to stay out of the way of strange werewolves.” “Hey, Jesse,” I said and waved her inside. “Besides,” she continued as she came in and toed off her shoes, “this wolf was cute. With a little stripe here—” She ran her finger down her nose. “He wasn’t going to hurt me. I was just rubbing his belly and my father came in and had a cow—oh yum, cookie dough! Can I have some?” Jesse was Adam’s daughter,
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Ok, but if this doesn't sum up Jesse to a fuckin tee lol. She's a menace to society and I adore her
“He’s a snark—even if he has that cool British accent.”
Yea, that's pretty accurate for Ben. He's a dick, but he's likely one of my favorite Mercy Thompson characters
Ben pursed his lips thoughtfully, then smiled, an expression that made a remarkable difference to his face. Only for an instant, he looked boyishly charming. “No fuss. Just telling a pretty lady good night. Good night, sweet Mercedes. Dream of me.” I opened my mouth to make a smart comment, but Darryl caught my eye and made a cutoff gesture with his hand. If I’d had a really good comeback, I’d have said it anyway, but I didn’t, so I kept my mouth shut. Darryl waited until Ben started off, before saying brusquely, “Good night, Mercy. Lock your doors.” Then he strode off toward Adam’s.
I fucking adore the posturing that happens in the first couple books. Because Mercy has no bleedin clue what's goin on, and the Pack are pushin every limit they can. Also, again, I fucking adore Ben. He's a prig, and a misogynistic one to boot, but he's still a gem
I knew where one was, though.
I know she means Bran. But my brain immediately goes to Sammy. I can't wait for Snowball to make his appearance lol
“Ja,” said a gruff male voice.
Spicy grandpa Fae! I adore Zee with everything I have. He's grumpy and kinda spicy, but he's my favorite and I adore him
Charles’s mother had been a Salish woman, the daughter of a medicine man. She had been dying when Bran came across her, shortly after he arrived in Montana. According to my foster mother, who told me the story, Bran had been so struck with her beauty that he couldn’t just let her die, so he Changed her and made her his mate. I never could wrap my imagination around the thought of Bran being overcome by love at first sight, but maybe he had been different two hundred years ago.
I always forget how old the wolves can live. And that Bran is at least 300 years old. It makes me uncomfy
Despite his condition, Adam growled, swiveling his head to look at Samuel.
Adam gonna get you Sammy boy. Leave his girl alone. It's not Mercy's fault that she's a deeply suspicious creature. She was raised in a pack that didn't like her, she's allowed to be suspicious
His voice was soft and sweet as molasses; but my mother once told me that you had to trust that the first thing out of a person’s mouth was truth. After they have a chance to think about it, they’ll change what they say to be more socially acceptable, something they think you’ll be happier with, something that will get the results they want.
She aint wrong. Once people get to thinkin about their nonsense, they start back pedalin and lyin
His body was lovely, but I don’t know if anyone else would have called him handsome. He certainly didn’t have Adam’s strikingly beautiful features. Sam’s eyes were deeply set, his nose was too long, his mouth too wide. His coloring in human form was much less striking than his wolf: light blue-gray eyes and brown hair, streaked just a bit from the sun.
A sandy-haired young man with a nondescript face
I love Bran, I really do. But he makes me so uncomfy sometimes. Because he's fucking ancient, and he looks like he's in his twenties in my mind, and it's disconcerting
“Never starve a werewolf, or he might ask you to join him for lunch.”
He sighed heavily and leaned back in the chair, balancing it on two legs, his own legs dangling in the air. “People don’t do that,” I told him. He raised an eyebrow. “Do what?” “Balance like that—not unless they’re teenage boys showing off for their girlfriends.” He brought all four legs back on the floor abruptly. “Thank you.” Bran liked to appear as human as possible, but his gratitude was a little sharp. I took a hasty sip of cocoa so he wouldn’t see my amusement.
He leaned forward. “It’s not your fault, Mercy.” I spilled the cocoa all down the front of my T-shirt. “Sh—” I bit off the word. Bran didn’t approve of swearing. “You can read minds.”
“Some of the pack would have told you that Bryan had an accident.” Bran’s voice was contemplative. “They told me that fourteen was too young to deal with a suicide, especially on top of the death of Bryan’s mate.” “Her name was Evelyn,” I told him. Bran had a tendency to dismiss the humans around him as if they didn’t exist. Samuel once told me that it was because humans were so fragile, and Bran had seen too many of them die. I thought that if I could handle Evelyn’s death when I was fourteen, then, by hang, Bran could, too. He gave me a quelling look. When I didn’t look down as protocol
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Mercedes Thompson does in fact have more guts than sense sometimes, but I do love watching her snap at the wolves
“Sure as moonlight, Mercedes Thompson, sure as moonlight.”
“Livin’s easier than dyin’ most times, Mercy girl,” he said kindly, repeating my foster father’s favorite saying. “Dance when the moon sings, and don’t cry about troubles that haven’t yet come.”
“Don’t touch her,” whispered Adam. There was a shadow of threat in his voice, and he must have heard it, too, because he added, “Please.”
His poor wolf is losin his fuckin shit. Poor thing. That's his mate, but also not because he hasn't properly claimed her, and her ex boyfriend/almost mate is maybe not movin in, but he's def not keepin his space. Sam is such a fuckin jerk sometimes lol
Samuel’s hand turned until his fingers spanned the top of my thigh, and he squeezed. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt. I’m not certain Adam would have even noticed except that Samuel accompanied it by a throaty half growl of challenge. I didn’t wait to see what Adam would do. I yanked the wheel to the right and slammed on the brakes as soon as the van was on the shoulder of the road. I unsnapped my seat belt and twisted around to meet Adam’s yellow gaze. He was breathing heavily, his reaction to Samuel’s taunt tempered by the pain my jerky driving had caused. “You,” I said firmly, pointing at
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Again, he's such a fuckin jerk sometimes. He knows that Adam is hurt, and that he views Merc as at least a friend, if not pack. Why poke at the already hurt wolf? Asshole
“Excuse me,” I said. “But this is my phone call. Would you all please pretend that it is a private conversation? That includes you, Warren. Quit listening to the other people in my van.”
“You manipulative bastard,” I said, with a tinge of awe. That was it, three tires were going to come off that old Rabbit.
“I’m not a minion,” I objected hotly. “Minions have to be followers.” He laughed, pleased at having gotten my goat again.
“Don’t play dominance games with vampires,” said Samuel. “I remember.” The second half of that old wolf aphorism is “just kill them.” I was happy that he’d left it out.
She laughed, and I realized finally what it was that bothered me. There was something off about her expressions and her gestures, as if she were only aping humans. As if, without us here to perform for, she would not appear human at all.
An actual living creature giving uncanny valley? Interesting. I mean, it makes sense since she's old as shit. Like old old. But it's still interesting
My style of karate, Shi Sei Kai Kan, was designed for soldiers who would be encountering multiple opponents—which
“You don’t leave your men behind,” said Connor. “You don’t attack the innocents,” John-Julian told me. It sounded like a creed.
“Mercy,” he mumbled. “What the hell did you do to my French Roast?”
“Power words. Without which mechanics the world over would be lost.” Warren’s tone was light, but his hands were gentle as they helped me extract myself from the cab. He handed me my gun and, when I fumbled, took it back and made sure it was at half-cock before he handed it to me again.
“I think I’ve found Tad’s replacement,” I told him. “I gave him my paperwork, and he didn’t even growl at me.” Zee raised his eyebrows. “Tad never growled at you.” “ ‘Damn it, Mercy, can’t you remember to give me the bills the day you get them?’ ” I quoted in my best crabby-Tad voice.
“So,” he said, as I finished the last bit, “I’m forgiven?” “You are arrogant and overstep your bounds,” I told him, pointing my cleaned fork at him.
“Honey,” he drawled, pulling on his Southern roots. “When a wolf watches a lamb, he’s not thinking about the lamb’s mommy.” I grinned. I couldn’t help it. The idea of Bran as a lamb’s mommy was too funny. “I’m not much of a lamb,” I said.
I was driving the van, because my Rabbit didn’t have power steering. I had to pull over a few miles from home so I could use the cell phone. “Stefan,” I said. “Your parts are here. I’ve got a broken arm, so you’ll have to do all the work—but I can talk you through it.” “How did you break your arm, Mercy?” he asked. “A werewolf tossed me against a giant packing crate while I was trying to rescue a frightened young girl who’d been kidnapped by an evil witch and a drug lord.” “It sounds interesting,” Stefan said. “I’ll meet you at your garage.” See. Some people believe me.
