Wild Things

Chapter Two UPSTAIRS, DOWNSTAIRS

That the Breckenridges had money was undeniable when one was facing down their palatial estate in Loring Park. Chicago was a metropolis bounded by water on one side and farmland on the other. Loring Park managed to fit itself just outside the latter, a fancy suburb of rolling green hills a simple train ride away from the hustle of the Second City.

Loring Park itself was a small and tidy town, with a central square and pretty shopping centers, the area newly developed and decorated with dark iron streetlights and lots of landscaping. A winter carnival had even set up shop in a parking lot, and residents undoubtedly sick of winter were trundling around amid the games and handful of rides. It would be months before green would peek through the flattened brown grass, but the snow was nearly gone. It had been a strange winter in northeastern Illinois—the weather veering back and forth between frigidly cold and practically balmy.

The estate was located a few miles outside the city center on the crest of a long, rolling hill. The house, with turrets and windows and several wings of rooms, was modeled after Biltmore and was surrounded by rolling hills of neatly manicured grass; the back lawn sloped gently down into a forest.

As hidey-holes went, it wasn’t a bad option.

We pulled the car up to the door, covered by a stone arch, and got out, gravel crunching beneath our feet. The night was dark and moonless; the air was thick with wood smoke and magic.

“Is that what you think?” A tall, dark-haired man burst through the door, and a wave of prickly, irritated magic followed him like a cresting wave. He was broad shouldered, and he came out with arm raised, pointing an accusing finger at us. “You want to let those bloodsuckers stay here? In our home?”

The accusing gaze and shoulders belonged to Michael Breckenridge, Jr., the oldest of Papa Breck’s sons. He was in his thirties now, but he’d been a football player in his youth, and he hadn’t lost the muscle, or apparently the testosterone. He was the expected heir of Breckenridge Industries and the family fortune, and he evidently had a temper. Papa Breck was going to need to keep an eye on that.

Michael Breckenridge, Jr., I silently told Ethan, using the telepathic connection between us.

Charming, was his reply. He was even sarcastic telepathically.

“Be polite to the guests,” said another voice in the doorway.

The man who stood there was tall and lean, with dark hair that waved over his forehead and a glint in his steely eyes. This was Finley Breckenridge, the second oldest of the Breck boys. There were two others—Nick, the one I’d dated, now a journalist, and Jamie, the youngest.

I guessed Finley and Michael had been in the middle of a disagreement regarding their father’s decision to let us stay.

“Go back inside, Finn,” Michael said. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Finley took another step outside, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his trousers, but his eyes were cool, his body taut, ready for action.

“It concerns the family,” Finley said. “And it concerns Pop, who’s already made his position clear.”

Michael stalked toward us. Being good security, I shifted to block his path to Ethan. He stopped, glared down at me. “Get out of my way.”

His tone was laced with hatred, and the magic that spilled off his body was downright contemptuous. The threat began to speed my blood, but I kept my voice calm. We were guests, after all. Welcome or otherwise.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” I said, forcing a light smile. “It’s good to see you again, Michael.”

His jaw twitched, but he took a step back. “Fine,” he said, lifting his hands in the air like a cornered criminal. “But when they fuck up everything, I won’t hear a word from you.”

He stepped around me and stalked off around the house, leaving the scent of expensive cologne in his wake.

Ethan glanced back at Finley, brow raised.

“Apologies,” Finley said, walking forward with a hand outstretched, ready to play peacemaker. He and Ethan shook hands, both of them obviously appraising the other.

“Finley Breckenridge.”

“Ethan Sullivan.”

“The vampire who made Merit,” Finley said. The statement was a challenge, poorly disguised by curiosity and a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I initiated the change,” Ethan confirmed. “I saved her from an attack, and I made her immortal. I find she has no complaints.” His tone was mild, his expression unperturbed. If he was irritated by the question, he wasn’t going to let Finley see it.

Finn flicked a glance at me. “It’s good to see you, Merit. If not under these circumstances.”

I nodded, the most I was willing to offer considering the attitudes. “I take it Michael’s not thrilled we’re staying here?”

“Michael and the old man disagree on various things,” Finn said, gaze falling on the point where Michael had disappeared into the darkness. “Including having vampires in residence.”

Their timing impeccable, liveried staff in dark pants and short jackets emerged silently from the house, took our bags and keys, and whisked Moneypenny down the driveway.

How very upstairs/downstairs, Ethan said.

My father would be jealous, I agreed. Although my grandfather had been a cop, my father was obsessed with money. Perhaps not surprisingly, he was very good friends with Papa Breck.

“Where will we be staying?” I asked.

“The carriage house. You got permission from the big man to stay, but he drew the line at your being in the house.” Finn gestured toward the gravel walk, which led around the house to a series of secondary buildings.

Ethan looked unimpressed with our demotion from the main house, which did ring of supernatural pettiness. But we were here because we didn’t have a better option. I thought it was best not to look that particular gift horse (shifter?) in the mouth.

The carriage house was a small brick building, its sides marked by dark green shutters around the windows that had once been doors for cars or carriages. The building was just behind the main house, completely invisible from the road and the driveway. The carriage house might have felt like an insult to Ethan, but it would be a secure location to spend a few quiet nights on the lam.

Finn pushed a key into the lock and opened the door. “Please come in.”

The invitation wasn’t strictly necessary—that particular bit of vampire myth was actually myth—but we preferred not to trespass.

The carriage house had been outfitted like a small apartment, with hardwood floors, colorful furnishings and décor, and a ceiling striped by large oak beams. There was a sitting area and a small kitchenette, and a door that led to what I guessed was a bedroom. The Brecks hadn’t spared any expense on the décor. Books and orchids were arranged just so on a coffee table, knickknacks placed here and there, one wall covered in a mix of line drawings and paintings in gilded frames.

“Pop uses the place for visiting board members,” Finn said, stepping inside and surveying the living room, hands on his hips. “Kitchen’s stocked with blood and food, so you should find everything you need here.”

He pointed to a keypad beside the door. “The entire house is rigged to the security system, which is hooked up to the main house. There’s also an intercom in case you run into trouble.”

I glanced around, didn’t see a back door. “Is this the only door in and out?”

Finn smirked. “Yes. And I see Nick wasn’t kidding—you really are a vampire fighter now.”

“All night long,” I said, gesturing toward the windows. “What about those?”

“Ah.” Finn pressed a button on the keypad. Segmented plates descended across the windows, covering them completely. With those guards in place, we’d be safe from sunlight and marauders.

“Thank you, Finley,” Ethan said. “We appreciate your family’s thoughtfulness.”

“It was Nick’s idea.”

“In that case,” Ethan tightly said, “we appreciate his thoughtfulness. And with all due respect, as we have amply demonstrated, your family has no reason to be hostile toward us.”

Finn’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not hostile toward Merit. I’m hostile toward you. I don’t know you, except that you’ve embroiled her in a world that’s worrying her father and put her grandfather in the hospital.”

The attitude was irritating, as the facts were wrong. My grandfather had been Ombudsman before I’d become a vampire, and I wouldn’t have become a vampire without my father’s meddling. Not that Finley needed the details.

“We all make our own choices,” Ethan said, his smile thin and dangerous.

“So we do. A suggestion?”

Ethan lifted his brows, as Finley slid his glance to the sheathed katanas in our hands.

“You might want to leave the weapons here. They don’t exactly scream ‘friendship.’”

He walked back to me, concern in his eyes. He held out the set of keys, which I took, our fingers brushing. He might have played polite, but he was as angry as Michael. He spilled magic into the air, sending an electric thrill across my fingers.

“Be careful,” he said.

I nodded, not sure what to say.

With that, he opened the door and disappeared into the night.

“Well, they are just delightful,” Ethan said.

I snorted, then walked over and locked the front door. I was responsible for Ethan’s safety, after all. Not that a dead bolt would do much good against a sustained attack. I didn’t think SWAT teams, paranormal or otherwise, would drop down on us during the daylight, but I suppose that was a risk we’d have to take.

“Has Michael always been that aggressive?”

I glanced back at Ethan, who’d pulled off his suit coat and draped it on the back of a nearby chair. “Actually, yes. When we were younger and I spent summers here, Nick and I, sometimes Finn, would play together in the woods. Michael never played at anything. I mean, he participated in football, but it wasn’t a game to him. It was a battle. He’s always had a very serious demeanor. And it doesn’t seem like he’s loosening up with old age.”

“Times are challenging for everyone,” Ethan said. “But it’s taken some supernaturals longer than others to realize and accept that. It’s easier, I think, for them to name us enemies rather than consider the possibility they’re surrounded by millions of humans who’d easily wish them dead.”

I grimaced. “That’s not exactly a comforting thought. Especially since it’s undoubtedly true.” I was sure we had human allies—those who didn’t judge, those who were fascinated by our differentness, those who longed for our fame. But we’d been coming face-to-face with mostly the haters recently.

Ethan glanced around the apartment, gestured toward the open doorway. “Bedroom?”

“I actually have no idea.” I’d spent a lot of time at the Breck estate as a child, but I’d never ventured into the carriage house. Why bother, when there was an entire mansion to explore?

I followed him through the door, found he was right. It was a small bedroom, with tall, exposed-brick walls. A bed covered in white linens and a buffet of pillows in shades of blue and green sat in the middle of the room, the head covered by a canopy of wispy tulle that draped romantically over the sides.

“Like the world’s weirdest bed and breakfast,” I muttered, dropping my bag onto the bed. There was an old-fashioned alarm clock on the bedside table and a copy of Cosmo. I hoped it had been left by a former guest and not a member of the Breck family who hoped to give me and Ethan a particularly exciting evening.

There was a small bathroom on the other side of the room. Pedestal sink, black-and-white-checkered floor, shower large enough for three. Very pretty, down to the monogrammed guest towels.

When I peeked back into the bedroom, Ethan stood with one hand on his hip, the other holding his phone as he reviewed his messages with a narrowed gaze. He looked more like the head of a Fortune 500 company than a Master vampire on the lam, but I wasn’t complaining. Ethan might have been cunning, funny, brave, and generous . . . but he was also undeniably eye candy.

Tall, lean, and imperious, he’d been my enemy, and he was the opposite of the man I’d thought I’d grow to love. I’d expected to fall for a dreamer, a thinker, an artist. Someone I’d meet in the coffeehouse on a weekend with a satchel full of books, a pair of hipster glasses, and a tendency to quote Fitzgerald.

Ethan preferred Italian suits, vintage wine, and expensive cars. He also knew how to wield a sword, or two of them. He Mastered the House, and he’d killed vampires by his own hand. He was infinitely more complex and difficult than anyone I might have imagined.

And I was more in love with him than I’d imagined was possible. Not just infatuation. Not just lust. But love—complex and awe inspiring and utterly frustrating.

Nearly a year ago, I thought my life was over. In reality, it was just beginning.

Ethan looked up at me, frustration fading to curiosity.

“Sentinel?” he asked.

I smiled at him. “Go back to your domineering. I’m just thinking.”

“I hardly domineer.”

“You made several lifetimes of domineering.” I gestured toward his phone. “Any news from Chicago?”

“All is quiet on the eastern front,” he said. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

We could hope all we wanted. Unfortunately, hope rarely deterred humans with a grudge against vampires.

• • •

Much like he had in the rest of the building, Papa Breck hadn’t spared any expense in the bedroom. The bed was soft and undoubtedly expensive. The linens were silk soft—and probably just as expensive. Not that a twin-sized bed in a cold room was bad when you got to fall asleep beside a very sexy blond vampire.

We unpacked and undressed and prepared for the day ahead. I ensured the windows were covered, then messaged Catcher to check my grandfather’s condition.

ASLEEP, Catcher responded. AND WELL CARED FOR. YOUR FATHER SPARED NO EXPENSE.

He rarely did. If I couldn’t be with my grandfather, at least I knew he was getting the care he needed.

I also messaged Jonah, my RG partner, to let him know we’d made it safely to the Brecks’ house.

YOU’RE RUINING ALL OUR RG FUN BY HANDLING THESE THINGS.

IT’S NOT BY CHOICE, I assured him. DRAMA FINDS CADOGAN HOUSE.

SO I SEE.

I made him promise to tag me if there was trouble.

YOU’LL BE IN THE FIRST FIVE, he cheekily promised.

“Business?” Ethan asked, as I sat on the edge of the bed, one leg curled beneath me, the phone in hand.

“Jonah,” I said, fingers finishing my equally snarky good-bye.

Ethan growled, a manly display meant to remind me he still wasn’t thrilled about my ties to the tall, auburn-haired, and handsome guard captain.

“He’s my partner,” I reminded him. “And you’ve already consented to that.”

“I’m aware of what he is, Sentinel. Just as I’m aware of what you are to me.”

The sun peeked above the horizon only seconds before Ethan’s hands were on me, stripping me of clothing and inciting my body to flame. His mouth enveloped mine, then my neck, my breasts, my bare stomach, before he extended the length of his body over mine and chained my wrists above my head with his hands.

“You are mine,” he said, with a wicked spark in his eyes that sent a thrill down my spine.

“You don’t own me,” I reminded him, arcing my body just enough to prove the point.

“No,” he agreed, his lips so soft, playing at the edges of my breast. “We own each other. I am your Master. And you are my Sentinel.”

He wasted no time; I hadn’t needed any. “Mine,” he said, plunging inside me, plundering my body, demanding everything I had to offer, and then more.

“Mine,” he growled, as pleasure bloomed across my body like a living thing, as cold as ice and as hot as fire, emptying my mind and soul of anything but Ethan. His mind, his soul, his body, and the word he murmured over and over again.

“Mine,” he said, each word a promise, a declaration, a thrust. “Mine,” he said through gritted teeth, passion riding him as it had me.

“Mine,” he said, kissing me with such ferocity I tasted blood, the magic rising between us as he thrust fiercely and groaned like an animal as pleasure swamped him.

“Mine,” he said, softly now, and pulled my body into his. The sun rose, and there in the darkness of a borrowed room, we slept.

• • •

We awoke to riotous noise—pounding on the front door that had both of us shooting upright. The sun had only just dipped below the horizon again, but not quite far enough along to pull us from sleep.

“What in God’s name?” Ethan asked, his voice still slumber slurred, his hair more surfer than moderately pretentious Master vampire.

The pounding sounded again. Someone was in a hurry.

Ethan moved to climb off the bed, but I stopped him with a hand. “Get dressed. I’ll see who’s there first. Luc will kick my ass if I let yours get kicked.” I had a bad feeling this was going to be one of those nights on which I really, really wished I could sleep in and defer being an adult for a few more hours.

I pulled on Ethan’s shirt from the night before and buttoned it up. It wouldn’t do as protective armor, but there weren’t enemies at the door, at least not of the CPD variety. I’d tempered my own katana with blood and magic, which left me sensitive to the presence of steel and guns. I didn’t sense any outside.

Now draped in tailored and expensive menswear—only the best for our Master—I trundled back into the living room. Ethan’s katana was propped beside the door; I’d taken mine to bed, just in case. I picked it up and took a cautionary peek through the peephole . . . and found a shifter on our stoop.

“Open up, Kitten. I know you’re there.”

I opened the door; a cold breeze lifted goose bumps on my bare legs.

He stood in the doorway, six feet and some-odd inches, all muscle and wolfish energy. His hair was tawny and gold tipped, and it reached his shoulders in shaggy waves. His eyes were amber colored and, at the moment, swirled with amusement.

“Kitten,” said Gabriel Keene, the Apex of the North American Pack. He gave me an up-and-down perusal. “I trust I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Sleeping,” I managed, crossing my arms over my chest. “We were sleeping.”

Ethan stepped behind me, chest bare, buttoning jeans. “I’m fairly certain you know precisely what you were interrupting.”

Gabe smiled broadly, revealing straight, white teeth. “Doesn’t matter now, since you’re both awake. Get your asses dressed. We’ve got business to attend to.”

Ethan arched an eyebrow, his favorite move. “What business? What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for the Pack, just as you are.”

Ethan grunted. “We’re here because Papa Breck made us pay for the privilege.”

I slid Ethan a glance. He hadn’t mentioned a payment to the Brecks. And that information would have been good to know before we put our fate—before I put his fate—in their hands.

“He made you pay,” Gabriel said, “but not for the privilege you think. That money was an admission fee.”

“For what?” Ethan asked.

“For the Greatest Show on Earth,” Gabriel said with a smile that could only be described as wolfish. “It’s the first night of Lupercalia.”

“What’s Lupercalia?” I asked, in spite of myself. I should have been ducking back inside, but I found the name—and Gabe’s appearance at our door—intriguing.

“Our annual NAC festival,” Gabe said, “and has been since Rome’s founding. Three nights in late winter to call spring to rise, to celebrate our animals, our connections to the woods, to the world.”

That explains Michael’s animus, Ethan silently said. He wouldn’t want us here for that.

Part of it, maybe. But I’d bet Michael hadn’t cared for vampires before we’d arrived, and wouldn’t like us any more when the festival was over.

“Tonight,” Gabe said, “you’re our guests. Among others.” He stepped aside, revealing two sorcerers and a shifter behind him. The sorcerers were my best friend, Mallory Carmichael, and Catcher, her boyfriend. Mallory had been disgraced by bad deeds, but Gabe had adopted her for rehabilitation.

Mallory and Catcher were bundled against the cold in jeans and boots. Hers were fawn colored and knee high over skinny jeans. Her blue hair, darker at the tips, lay straight on her shoulders.

Catcher stood beside her, wearing his typically dour expression. His hair was shaved, his eyes sparkling green, his mouth lush. He was partial to snarky T-shirts, but I couldn’t tell if he wore one beneath his coat.

Jeff was the final member of the trio, my grandfather’s employee and favorite white-hat hacker. Granted, he was the only computer hacker I actually knew in person, but I’m pretty sure he’d have been my favorite anyway. Tonight he’d traded in his usual uniform—khakis and a button-down shirt—for jeans, boots, and a rugged outdoor jacket. His light brown hair was tucked behind his ears, and he wore his usual smile—friendly, with touches of bashful and goofball.

“Sullivan,” Catcher said with a bob of the head, then answered Ethan’s unspoken question. “We’re here for Lupercalia.”

“I’m here to participate,” Jeff said, a blush in his cheeks as he dutifully managed not to stare at my legs.

It was great to see them, but if they were here, my grandfather was down two guardians.

They must have seen the worry in my eyes. “Your mother and father limited your grandfather’s visitors today,” Catcher said. “They want him to rest. So we’re out of a job there.”

Jeff wiggled his phone. “Although we did manage to sneak in a panic button, just in case. He can reach us immediately if there’s any problem.”

“Good idea,” I said with a smile, relieved that they’d thought of it.

Of course, I was still standing half naked in the doorway of a shifter’s carriage house, my hair undoubtedly ruffled by sleep and sex. Throw in a college math class I’d somehow forgotten to attend, and I was revisiting my recurring nightmare.

“And what are you doing here?” I asked Mallory, smoothing a hand down the front of Ethan’s shirt to ensure no important parts were leaked to the public.

“I’m here to practice,” Mallory said.

Part of Mal’s rehab was figuring out how she could use magic productively. A little more Luke, a little less Anakin. She’d made progress during our anti-McKetrick brigade, and it looked like the Pack was giving her another opportunity to try.

“She’s expanding her understanding of magic,” Gabriel added. “What it is, what it isn’t, what it can be.”

Mallory smiled prettily and held up two bottles of Blood4You, the bottled blood that most vampires drank for convenience, and a bag from Dirigible Donuts, one of my favorite Chicago foodstuffs. (To be fair, it was a long and distinguished list.) “I have a consolation prize for your humiliation.” She gave me an up-and-down look. “I’d say two to three raspberry-filled donuts should do it.”

I stood there for a moment, cheeks flushed in embarrassment, toes freezing from exposure to the cold, my friends confident I’d be mollified with nothing more than a bag of jelly donuts.

“Just give me the damn thing,” I said, bowing to their expectations and snatching breakfast. But I gave them all a deadly look before stalking back to the bedroom.

“And now that we’ve satisfied your bodyguard,” Gabe said to Ethan behind me, “we’ll just come in and make ourselves comfortable.”

• • •

As it turned out, raspberry-filled donuts were an exceptional way to soothe humiliation.

I’d emptied a bottle of blood and devoured two of the donuts before Ethan came back inside, a bundle of red fabric in hand.

“I don’t suppose you saved one of those for me?” he asked.

“I better have,” I said. “She bought a dozen.”

“I stand by what I said.”

“You won’t get any with that attitude. What’s that?” I asked, gesturing toward the fabric.

“Apparently someone in the Pack decided they wanted swag,” Ethan said, unrolling two T-shirts, cardinal red with what looked like a retro ad for a bar called Lupercalia, the name in old-fashioned letters above two wolves toasting with beer steins at a pub table.

“They actually made T-shirts,” I said. “Gabriel okayed that? It seems very . . . public.” The public knew shape-shifters existed, but the Packs still tended to keep to themselves.

“I’d guess this was a do-it-and-apologize-after-the-fact scenario,” Ethan said. “These are for us to wear. Gifts from the Pack.”

“Chilly for February.”

“I’m sure they’ll allow you to layer, Sentinel.” He held out a hand for the bag of donuts, but I didn’t budge.

“Were you going to tell me we had to pay the Brecks?”

His gaze flattened. “I’m perfectly capable of managing the House’s financial affairs, Sentinel.”

“I didn’t suggest you weren’t. But I also don’t like being blindsided.”

“It was a business transaction.”

“It was protection money,” I insisted, and from the flash in his eyes, he knew it, too.

“And I don’t care to advertise that fact, Sentinel. But I’d have told you.”

He must have seen the doubt in my eyes, because he stepped forward. “I’d have told you,” he said again. “When we had a moment to discuss it. As you’ll recall”—he tugged gently at the first button on the shirt I wore—“you were very distracting last night.”

Ethan was still shirtless, and he stood at the edge of the bed, washboard abs and a trail of blond fuzz peeking above his jeans’ top button. Heat rushed me as he moved in for a kiss, and my eyes drifted shut.

But he sidestepped me, grabbed the bag, and pulled out a donut.

“Distracting?” I asked him, offering a dubious look.

“All’s fair in love and pastry,” he said, swiping a drop of raspberry jam from the edge of his mouth. The urge to lick it away nearly silvered my eyes.

He rolled down the top of the bag and placed it on a side table, then pulled on his Lupercalia T-shirt. The flat plane of his abdomen rippled as he moved, and I didn’t even bother to pretend not to look.

When he was done dressing, he cocked an eyebrow at me.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just enjoying the show.”

He snorted, snatched up the second T-shirt, and swatted me with it. “Go get dressed, or Catcher, Jeff, Mallory, and Gabe are going to suspect more than dressing is going on in here. Again.” He put his hands on the bed on each side of my body and leaned in. “And although I have definitive plans for you, Sentinel, they do not involve the lascivious imaginations of the sorcerers and shifters presently outside that door.”

He touched his mouth to mine—soft and promising, his lips berry sweet.

• • •

Ten minutes later, I was dressed in my Lupercalia T-shirt, a long-sleeved T-shirt beneath it for warmth. I wore two pair of socks against the cold, boots, and jeans, and put my long, dark hair into a high ponytail. I pulled on my leather jacket, a gift from Ethan to replace the one torched in the fire that injured my grandfather, and tucked a small and sleek dagger into my boot. The Pack wasn’t likely to appreciate my bringing a katana to a shifter festival, so I’d have to rely on the dagger if anything went amiss. And since I was heading out with a refugee vampire, two rogue sorcerers, and a family of shifters who hated vampires, I presumed “amiss” was pretty likely.

I was dressed and ready for action. But before I turned my attention to the Pack, I had one final bit of business. I’d missed checking in on my grandfather yesterday, so I dialed the hospital and requested his room.

“This is Chuck,” he answered.

I smiled just from the sound of his voice. “Hey, Grandpa.”

“Baby girl! It’s good to hear your voice. I understand you’re in a bit of a pinch.”

Relief swamped me. I hadn’t realized how much I’d wanted to talk to him—or how much guilt had settled in when I hadn’t been able to make it happen.

“A misunderstanding. I’m sure Mayor Kowalcyzk will come around eventually.” And if she didn’t, hopefully Malik could convince the governor to intervene. “How are you feeling?”

“Broken. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“I don’t believe that,” I cheerily said, but I had to push back the memory of my grandfather huddled beneath debris. I made sure my voice was steady before I spoke again. “I’m sorry I can’t be there.”

“You know, I always thought you’d be a teacher. You love books and knowledge. Always did. And then your life changed, and you became part of something bigger. That’s your job, Merit. That something bigger. And it’s okay that you have to do it.”

“I love you, Grandpa.”

“I love you, baby girl.”

There was mumbling in the background. “It’s time for what they generously refer to as ‘dinner’ around here,” he said after a moment. “Call me when you’ve got things in hand. Because I know you’ll get there eventually.”

• • •

I found the crew in the living room, chatting collegially.

“Merit,” Catcher said, sitting beside Mallory on the couch, an arm around her shoulders. Their relationship had hit the rocks when Mallory turned to the dark side, so the casual affection was a pleasant development. “It’s nice to see you clothed again.”

“And now that she is,” Gabriel said, standing, “we should get moving.”

“Where are we going, exactly?” Catcher asked.

“To a land beyond space and time,” Jeff said drawing an arc in the air. “Where the rules of mortals have no meaning.”

Gabriel looked up at the ceiling as if he might find patience there. “We’re going to the Brecks’ backyard. Into the woods, right here in Illinois, where most of us are quite mortal.”

“Illi-noise,” Jeff said with cheeky enthusiasm. “Because the wolves will howl.”

Gabriel shook his head but clapped Jeff on the back good-naturedly. “Settle yourself, whelp. We haven’t even gotten started yet.”

I had a sense they weren’t going to settle themselves anytime soon. And since I was playing bodyguard, I took it upon myself to act like one. If we’d be staying on the Brecks’ property, we’d be as safe (as we’d ever been) from Mayor Kowalcyzk’s troops. But that didn’t necessarily mean we’d be safe around the Pack. Not if they shared the Brecks’ attitude.

“Does the Brecks’ protection extend to the woods? And the rest of the shifters?”

Gabriel smiled at me. Keenly. “If you’re here, Kitten, you’re safe. That goes for both of you. Frankly, most Pack members don’t give a rat’s ass about politics in Chicago. And even if they did, they aren’t going to choose a bullying politician over friends of the Pack.”

“And I’ve got your back, Mer,” Jeff said with a wink, earning a dark look from Ethan.

The shifters and sorcerers filed into the night, but Ethan stopped me with a hand. “Dagger?” he quietly asked.

“In my boot,” I said. Vampires usually preferred not to employ hidden weapons, but these were special circumstances. “You don’t share Gabe’s confidence?”

“Gabe knows what he has planned. I do not. We have allies, certainly. Him, Jeff, Nick. A Pack member would have to be, as you might say, wicked ballsy to commit treachery under Gabriel’s nose.” We’d seen it before, and with unpleasant consequences. “But clearly many of the shifters aren’t fans of vampires, and like Michael, they won’t be glad to see us here.”

“I would never say ‘wicked ballsy.’ But I take your point.” And I hoped we hadn’t escaped Diane Kowalcyzk only to fall into a new kind of drama. But in case we did: “You’re armed, too?”

Ethan nodded. “A blade, like yours. A matched set,” he added with a smile, tugging on the end of my ponytail. “And we’ll see what we’ll see.”

He slipped his hand into mine but, when we started toward the door, glanced down at my booted feet.

“Color me surprised, Sentinel. Your shoes appear to be appropriate.”

I rolled my eyes. “It was icy that night, so I wore galoshes.”

“With couture. Very expensive couture.”

“It was Chicago in February. I made a practical decision. And I pulled it off.”

Only to have him carry me to my parents’ threshold and fake a marriage proposal on one knee. So I’d managed to avoid falling in stilettos—but had still nearly had a heart attack.

“Children,” Mallory said, peeking into the doorway. “I believe we’re waiting on you.”

“Sorry,” I said, stepping outside as Ethan followed behind me. “Just debating the finer points of fashion.”

“Only vampires,” Gabriel muttered, and moved forward into the darkness.