Free Moon Called by Patricia Briggs

who sent her to me. “I killed a man tonight. Your father found out who he was.”
    â€œReally? And he was a hit man? Cool.” She dropped the spoon in the sink next to the first one, then boosted herself up to sit on my counter and conducted a rapid question and answer session all by herself. “Was that what you called him about earlier? He was fit to be tied. How come you called Dad? No wait. The man you killed was a werewolf, too, wasn’t he? That’s why Dad took off so fast. Who is the wolf he came back with?” She paused. “ You killed a werewolf? Did you have a gun?”
    Several. But I hadn’t brought one with me to the garage.
    She had paused, so I answered her last two questions. “Yep and nope.”
    â€œAwesome.” She grinned. “Hey, how’dja do it?”
    â€œIt wasn’t on purpose,” I told her repressively. I might as well have tried holding back a tidal wave with my bare hands, it would have had as much effect.
    â€œOf course not,” she said. “Not unless you were really pi—” I raised an eyebrow and she changed the word without slowing down. “—ticked off. Did you have a knife? Or was it a crowbar?”
    â€œMy teeth,” I told her.
    â€œEwwe—” She grimaced briefly. “Nasty. Oh, I see. You mean that you took him on while you were a coyote?”
    Most humans only know about the fae—and there are still a lot of people who think that the fae are just a hoax perpetrated by the government or on the government, take your pick. Jesse, however, as the daughter of a werewolf, human though she was, was quite aware of the “Wild Things” as she called them. Part of that was my fault. The first time I met her, shortly after the Alpha had moved his family next to my home, she’d asked me if I were a werewolf like her father. I told her what I was, and she nagged me until I showed her what it looked like when I took my other form. I think she was nine and already a practiced steamroller.
    â€œYep. I was just trying to get his attention so he’d chase me and leave Mac—that’s the striped werewolf—” I imitated her finger-down-the-nose gesture. “He is pretty nice,”I told her. Then, feeling I had to play adult in fairness to her father, I said, “But he’s a newbie, and his control isn’t terrific yet. So listen to your father about him, okay? If Mac bit you or hurt you, it would make him feel awful, and he’s had a bad enough time of it already.” I hesitated. It really wasn’t my business, but I liked Jesse. “There are a few of your father’s wolves that you really do need to stay away from.”
    She nodded, but said confidently, “They won’t hurt me, not with my father. But you mean Ben, don’t you? Dad told me to stay out of his way. I met him yesterday when he stopped by.” She wrinkled her nose. “He’s a snark—even if he has that cool British accent.”
    I wasn’t certain what a snark was, but I was certain Ben qualified.
    We ate the cookies as they came out of the oven, and I gave her a loaded plate covered with tinfoil to take back with her. I went out to the porch with her and saw a sales-lot of cars parked at Adam’s house. He must have called in the pack.
    â€œI’ll walk you home,” I said, slipping on the shoes I kept on the porch for when it was muddy.
    She rolled her eyes, but waited for me. “Really, Mercy, what’ll you do if one of the pack decides to bother us?”
    â€œI can scream really loud,” I said. “That’s if I don’t decide to use my newly patented technique and kill him, too.”
    â€œThat’s right,” she said. “But I’d stick to screaming. I don’t think that Dad would like it if you started killing his wolves.”
    Probably none of them would harm a hair of her head, just as she thought. I was