“Good Lord,” Holden observed.
I lifted my head, easing my grip on Desmond’s hand. Grandmere held up the fragmented bits of a slug in her hand, angling them so I could see before she dumped them into a nearby glass of water where another cluster of metal had already been deposited.
Guess removing the first bullet was what brought me back from the dead.
My body responded immediately to the removal of the silver. It wasn’t like an instant fix, but the holes cut through
me by the bullets started pulling themselves back together, letting the healing process begin. I wiggled my jaw, and the responding thrum of pain in my cheek told me the bone was still plenty broken.
Twenty-one hours.
Having someone put their fingers under my skin brought back a flood of memories, even though Grandmere had been saving me. I doubted I’d ever be able to have someone put their hands on me without having to chase back my demons first.
I tugged down the hem of my shirt, which was already ruined by bullet holes and blood, but I didn’t feel like exposing my skin any longer. Everyone in the room had seen me naked, but I hated feeling…bare.
“Thank you.” I hoped I was completely covered. I was sitting on the dining room table in Grandmere’s house. The shades on the window were drawn tight, but there wasn’t yet any sign of light peeking around them. Between that and Holden’s presence in the room, I had to assume it was still night. “Where is she?”
My whole body demanded I stay put, but I braced myself on Desmond’s shoulder and slid off the table. Standing on two feet, I felt woozy, but managed to keep myself upright.
Concussed and injured, I still noticed no one had answered my question.
“Where is she?”
Desmond guided me to a nearby chair and forced me to sit. I braced myself for some terrible announcement that, defying all reason, Mercy had survived being stabbed in the throat. I didn’t know how she could, but leave it to my mother to find a way to stay—
“Her body is in the shed. We couldn’t leave her in the woods. There was too much risk of exposure.” Desmond glanced at Grandmere, then back to me. “There’s more, but I’m not sure you’re ready.”
“Try me.”
“We got Ben and Fairfax locked up in the other garden shed. It should hold them for now, but there’s no sign of them shifting back. A few of Mercy’s men got away while we were trying to secure Callum’s wolves.”
“I don’t care.” I’d gotten who I came for. Let the parasites vanish back under whatever rock Mercy had kicked over to find them. Given Desmond’s expression, he wasn’t quite done with the news yet. “What else?”
“Callum called.”
“Callum called,” I repeated.
“The phone was ringing off the hook when we got you back here. We couldn’t ignore him. He insisted on speaking to Vivienne.”
“Charming temper on my children,” Grandmere huffed.
“He wanted to know she was alive,” Desmond explained. “And she told him about you, about Mercy, the whole situation with Ben and Fairfax. She couldn’t give him all the details about the shift, but apparently he already knew something about it from you?”
I nodded. “I called him when I couldn’t figure out how to fix you.”
Desmond squeezed my hand. “He wants us to come see him immediately. He’s asked us to return his wolves safely and…” He glanced to Holden, and it was the vampire who finished the sentence.
“He wants your mother’s head.”
“Her head?” Surely he must be using a metaphor. I shifted my attention to Grandmere, hoping she would clarify things. Instead she had sat down in a chair with her face cradled in her hands. I hadn’t once stopped to consider what Mercy’s death would mean to her. I kept the two women totally separate in my mind, usually forgetting entirely that Mercy was Grandmere’s daughter.
I’d killed her child.
“What?” I asked Holden, still unable to process the request.
Desmond answered for him. “Because of what Mercy did to you, Ben and Fairfax, she has been deemed a sworn enemy of the pack. Beyond her standing excommunication, she has been sentenced to death on sight. Since you’ve…well, since that’s not an issue anymore, Callum needs proof.”
But Callum had already given me his blessing to kill her. When we’d spoken from Paris, he hadn’t mentioned anything about needing her head. Did he assume I would fail and skipped saying anything because of that? Or was this some bonus punishment he’d cooked up at the last minute? “Can’t I just send him a picture?”