Page 51 of Winter Lost

Not a freaking clue.

“I am Mercedes Hauptman, daughter of Coyote and mate to Adam Hauptman, who is the Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack.” I didn’t try to match his proclamation-of-greatness tone, but a little hubris was necessary. “This is my mate, Adam Hauptman, who took our wolf back from your brother when he would have claimed her for himself.”

“Daughter of Coyote?”

I had thought that might get his attention.

“As my brother is son.” I wasn’t sure it was smart to bring my brother back into the conversation, but it also seemed counterproductive to leave him out. He was the reason I was here—I dug my fingers into Adam’s fur—the reason we were here.

Hrímnir rocked back on his heels a moment, then said in a completely different voice that had lost the German or Germanic accent entirely, “Gary is your brother?”

“Half brother.” It didn’t seem smart to say anything that he might read as a lie.

“Is Gary Coyote’s son?”

His voice was still not a frost giant’s voice.

I thought of my brother, living up here all alone. He wasn’t the type to enjoy being alone. I thought of the way I had been able to taste the frost giant’s magic in the storm. Would my brother have chased that down? Had they been friends? Acquaintances? But an acquaintance would not have engendered the complicated emotions I sensed in this…well, not a man. Being.

“Yes,” I said.

Slowly the frost giant nodded. “That explains…” Then he shook his head and drew in a breath. When he spoke again it was in that soft voice designed to make gods tremble, accent firmly back in place. “He stole from me.”

Adam ghosted in front of me, standing between me and the frost giant.

“Are you certain?” I asked, risking his temper.

He looked at me. “Can you lie? Can your brother?”

The answer was yes, of course. I didn’t want to tell him that.

“I am not fae,” I told him as a compromise, quickly following it with a question of my own. “What was stolen from you?”

But Hrímnir had turned away from me again and was pacing in his circle. Talking to himself.

“He was my friend. Our friend. He couldn’t have taken it. Taken him. He lied. They wouldn’t. He is our friend,” he muttered, then followed it with a louder and more heated statement. “He lied. He is a liar. He took it and lied.”

He seemed to be stuck there.

I loved being faced with a being of godlike powers who might be in the middle of a psychotic break, complete with vague pronouns. I didn’t know if I should interrupt or hope he forgot about us entirely.

His voice dropped again. “He hurt us. Hurt me. Did they do it together?” He stopped and looked up at the sky, where the stars were hiding behind the clouds.

“What was taken?” I asked.

He turned to me, face lighting with rage. “My harp. He took my harp.”

“I don’t know if he took it,” I told him. “He can’t tell me because of your magic. But he came to my home, a day’s journey by car. He did not bring a harp with him.”

I’d looked in his truck to see if Gary had brought any clothes—which he hadn’t. I was pretty sure I’d have noticed anything as big as a harp.

“He got away,” Hrímnir growled. “But he didn’t take it with him. It’s here. I can feel it, but I can’t get to it because he has taken refuge.”

“Someone took your harp,” I said, parsing through his words. I couldn’t tell if he was certain it had been my brother who took it or not. Maybe that’s what the argument he’d had with himself had been about. Maybe not. “You know where it is?”

His eyes narrowed on me suspiciously. “I do.”

“And it is not with my brother.”