SPOILER WARNING: Read Silence Fallen FIRST.

CHAPTER ONE

(Takes place during Silence Fallen)

Bran felt his beast rage to the surface with shocking force. Momentarily caught off guard, he braced against the kitchen counter as he fought to regain the upper hand. Pain . . . fear . . . rage pulsed through every part of him – both man and beast. The knife he had been using to prepare the steaks for dinner sliced into his hand as the feelings intensified. The beast was frantic in a way Bran had never experienced. Then . . . nothing.

Nothing was worse. The beast went crazy – the man did not feel too far behind. Bran needed to convince the wolf who lived within to cede control to the man so he could discover what had happened. He pushed against the beast, sweat breaking out as the beast pushed back.

Kill! Tear! Maim! Make them pay! Make them ALL pay!

You are not helping. This is not helping – whom shall we kill? Where are they? Allow me to discover who has wronged us.

The beast struggled against Bran's words for a moment before they seemed to break through its frantic behavior. The beast seemed to consider Bran's words. After a moment, it stilled.

Find them. Kill them.

Bran dropped the knife onto the counter and took a deep breath. He reached out through his pack bounds, first checking on Aspen Creek. His pack was stressed (apparently, some portion of the pain/fear/rage had swept out from him to his people) but they were not the source and were already calming. He closed his eyes and stretched – stretched through the pack bounds to his people throughout the United States, looking for signs of distress.

You waste time! You KNOW who is hurt! You KNOW who needs us!

Bran opened his eyes in surprise. Did he? His heart was racing, sweat was running down his back. Every muscle in his body was stressed to the point of snapping.

When did we last feel this distressed? Who leaves us frantic and crazy?

Suddenly, with a sick feeling in his gut, Bran knew the answer – because there was only ever one who could make him lose control in such a fashion. Not even his sons could make him this wild. They were werewolves, old and strong in their own right. No, only one was weak and fragile and breakable. He had not felt this level of distress (the beast snorted at the use of such a weak word for what he was feeling) since his Porsche had been wrapped around tree in what seemed like another lifetime.

Mercy.

Mercy, the beast repeated. She HURT and then she was GONE.

Bran staggered into the chair at the kitchen table, his legs collapsing beneath him as the weight of the beast's words hit him like a blow. He remembered the pain that had seared through him only moments ago. He didn't think a tiny coyote girl could have survived whatever had caused such agony. That he could no longer sense her at all only strengthened the idea that she was gone.

No, the beast stated emphatically, not dead. Death has a different feel – you know this. They are using witchcraft to keep her from us. Kill them.

Bran allowed the beast's assurance to flow through him. His beast was sure Mercy lived still. Bran had long gotten used to his beast having knowledge Bran did not. If the beast did not doubt she lived, then Mercy was alive.

Bran closed his eyes and breathed in the certainty . . . Mercy lives . . . Mercy lives . . . Mercy lives . . . the words pulsed through his body with every beat of his heart . . . Mercy lives . . . Mercy lives . . . Mercy lives . . .

"Da?"

Bran's eyes remained closed for another heartbeat. He opened them to look at his son. He'd known Charles and Anna would come. As soon as Bran realized the pack had not been insulated from the intense shockwave of pain and fear, he'd known they would come.

"Mercy is in trouble." Bran was shocked at how calm his voice sounded.

"Did she finally manage to get herself killed?"

Sometimes Bran's mate did not have any sense of survival at all. Bran turned to look at her where she stood, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen. At the same moment his wolf drove her to her knees with violent force. She yelped in surprise and fear. Bran might have had more self-control if Leah had managed to hide the glee the idea of Mercy's death put into her voice. But he had not completely recovered from his own grief at the thought, and he had no patience or kindness to spare for one who had always openly hated Mercy, who had actively sought her death.

Bran slowly stalked over to Leah, a snarl on his lips. Baring his teeth, he grouched down next to her so they were face to face. Leah stared hard at the floor, Bran's powerful anger causing her to pant in distress.

"Enough," Bran spoke so quietly, a human ear would not have heard him. "Mercy is mine. She will always be mine." And because the beast was equally angry with Leah and wished to punish her – and the beast was far crueler than Bran – the beast added, "Mercy is mine in a way you will never be able to claim. We have use for you and so you remain. That may not always be true."

Leah shook with stress and fear, tears pooling in her eyes. Bran could feel her despair and pain, but he did not have the patience or time to care.

Later, his wolf counseled, she will keep.

Bran stood up and looked down at his mate, not for the first time, regretting the reality which made her presence necessary to his life. Who that regret was aimed at – himself or Leah – he could not be sure.

"Leave. Leave this house. Go visit friends, go for a run, go shopping . . . I cannot care. Just go."

Leah bolted to her feet and was gone out the front door as if the devil himself were chasing her. He could hear the front door swinging lightly as the wind caught it. Leah had not bothered to close it – an act of minor, petty defiance. Charles followed her out of the kitchen to see to the door.

"You'll feel badly about that later, you know."

Bran sighed and turned to look at his daughter-in-law. She was casually leaning against the kitchen counter, staring at him with reproach.

"You always do," she added chidingly. Anna tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, examining him thoughtfully. "What is going on?"

Charles returned at this point, walked over to the kitchen table and pointedly took a seat. Anna shrugged and joined him. Bran gave his shoulders one last stretch and grabbed the seat across from his son. He knew Anna was right, but he had no energy to spare for future regrets.

"Mercy." He choked on her name. Bran took a deep breath and tried again. "Mercy is hurt."

"How do you know that?" Anna asked, her voice filled with curiosity, "I thought you severed your bond with Adam's pack."

Charles made a chuffing sound which was close to a scoff. "Da's bond with Mercy has nothing to do with pack. She is his – both man and wolf claim her."

Anna looked at Charles and then back to Bran, her expression confused. "I get that you love Mercy and claim rights over her – though we all know what Mercy would say about that if she knew – I don't understand how that allows you to connect with her. She is not a werewolf and Charles told me magic responds strangely to her."

Bran shrugged, "I don't know that I have a clear answer – 'who knows' works as good as any other. I do not feel her like pack – she is not pack. She is something more. She lives in a place no one else – no man or animal – touches." Suddenly energized by fury and fear, Bran bounded out of the chair and began pacing. "I am not always aware of her. I cannot call her up as I can those who are pack. But when she is injured . . ." He had to pause to regain control of his wolf who roared to the forefront in a rage. "When she is seriously injured and in pain, when she is in need, Mercy is present."

Charles watched his father pace for a moment before speaking. "Can you feel her now? I assume the pain that leaked through to the rest of us was much less than what you were receiving. What I felt was pretty intense." Charles paused, wondering how his father would react to his next question. Surely his father had already thought of the possibilities? "I'm not sure a human – or a mostly human (like Mercy went unsaid) could survive the injuries caused by that amount of pain."

Charles and Anna both braced themselves for Bran's reaction. Charles placed his weight on his feet, flat on the floor, ready to jump up and restrain his father if the wolf took control. Anna breathed in, collecting calm around her so she could 'zap' Bran with it if needed.

Both reactions were unnecessary. Bran shook his head. "She lives." He smiled wryly, "My wolf has his uses. He is convinced of her survival. In this, I trust the wolf; he has a better grasp on such things."

This knowledge allowed Bran to retake his seat at the table. "The pain . . . the pain was alarming – is alarming, but what has me . . . concerned (that word was carefully chosen above other words, such as enraged, berserk, struggling for self-control) . . . is what followed."

Charles and Anna patiently waited as Bran thought through what had occurred. "I was momentarily paralyzed by the pain – it was a blinding, intense agony that filled my body." He took a deep breath and continued, "She wasn't just hurt. Mercy was scared and angry too . . . I felt it all . . . and then I felt nothing, like her existence was severed from me."

Charles say up in alarm. "Nothing? And you are sure she lives still?"

Bran waved his question away with an impatient hand. "Someone is intentionally blocking Mercy – my guess is with witchcraft. The question is why?"

"You should call Adam," Anna said decisively, "find out what he knows. Find out how we can help."

Bran and Charles were shaking their heads before Anna was done speaking.

"We cannot contact Adam," Charles responded. "He and his pack are no longer our concern. Da cannot break with that decision. The ripple effect could be disastrous."

Anna huffed impatiently. "Mercy is obviously in trouble. She's alive – but for how long? Are you really going to stand back and do nothing? If she dies, you will never forgive yourself."

If she dies, Charles thought, we are in serious trouble from Da and his beast.

"We have to be seen as impartial. It doesn't mean we will sit back and do nothing," Charles answered before his father could speak and say something impolitic. "Someone in Adam's pack will call us." At this statement, Charles turned and looked at his father.

"Chris - Chris Rockland."

"Chris Rockland," Charles continued, "will contact Da and let him know what is going on. Once we know the details, we can decide the best way to assist. Until then, we wait."

Anna made another impatient sound but otherwise kept her thoughts to herself. She stood and walked over to the steaks that Bran had been preparing.

"Might as well keep busy while we wait," she said with false cheerfulness, as she took over getting dinner ready.

Bran and Charles settled themselves at the table to wait for the phone to ring with news.