River Marked by Patricia Briggs Read Free Book Online Page B

the ones in the restrooms over there are a lot bigger.”
    I looked around the campground, where tall oaks and maples gave shade to the graveled RV spaces. The big trees weren’t natural for this part of the state, any more than the green, green grass—someone had spent a lot of time tending them.
    Adam pulled into a spot halfway between the gray stone restroom and the river. I found myself frowning at one of the trees. It must have been sixty feet tall, its roots buried deep in the earth where it wouldn’t disturb the groomed campground.
    “Ten days,” I said.
    He knew how my mind worked. “Zee has the shop,” he said. “Darryl and his mate are watching Jesse, who told me before we left that she didn’t need a babysitter.”
    “To which you answered that they were bodyguards, not babysitters,” I said. “But she argued that bodyguards usually didn’t get to tell the people they are guarding what time they have to be home.”
    “And you weren’t even there for the argument,” marveled Adam. “Darryl broke in, and said, ‘Family does.’ And that was the end of that. So what else are you worried about?”
    “Stefan,” I said. “I asked Warren to look in on him, but ...”
    “I had a talk with Stefan,” said Adam. “Unlike you, my conscience didn’t prevent me from telling him he needed to fill out his menagerie. One of his problems is that he doesn’t want to hunt in his backyard, and he can’t leave his menagerie alone. Ben offered to watch his people, and Warren should leave for Portland tomorrow with Stefan. Anything else?”
    “Ten days,” I said, giving him a broad smile. “Ten days of vacation with you. No interruptions.”
    Adam leaned over and kissed me—and that was the last time I worried about anything for some time.

3

    WE SWAM IN THE RIVER—OR RATHER I SWAM AND ADAM waded in chest high because werewolves can’t swim. Their muscle mass is too dense to be buoyant, so they sink to the bottom like anchors.
    The campground was built around a fair-sized backwater that was fast enough not to be stagnant but slow enough to be really good swimming. Strategic growths of Russian Olive and a selection of shrub-sized plant life I couldn’t name, as well as a ten- or fifteen-foot drop just before the river, gave the swimming area a feeling of privacy. The temperature had risen to somewhere around a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, so the water felt really good.
    We splashed and dunked each other like a pair of kids, and I laughed until I had to go out and sit on the shore to catch my breath.
    “Coward,” Adam said from the river, his hands just below the surface where he could gather ammunition to splash me.
    “Not a coward,” I vowed, panting as the sun tried to bake the water out of my hair, skin, and swimming suit all at once.
    “Then what are you doing up there?” he asked.
    I opened my eyes wide and batted them at him. “Watching the wildlife.” I lowered my gaze to his midsection, where all sorts of lovely muscles were displaying themselves. Werewolves are seldom out of shape, but Adam was a little more ripped even than the average werewolf. “Some nice scenery around here,” I purred.
    He made a soft sound, and when I raised my gaze, his eyes were hot. “I have to agree,” he said, stalking out of the water with purpose.
    I squealed and came to my feet, laughing—and something out in the water beyond him caught my eye. He spun around to see what I’d noticed, but it was gone. A log maybe, I thought, floating a little below the surface. Hard to judge the size at this distance, but it had been too big for a fish.
    Before the dams went in, some of the sturgeon got pretty darn big, upward of twelve feet if I believed Zee. Whatever I’d seen had been bigger than that. But it was gone now, and I’d distracted Adam from his hunt.
    He was looking behind him. I took advantage of his momentary distraction and bolted toward the trailer.
    Werewolves are quick. Not cheetah fast, maybe, but