by Neill, Chloe
Papa Breck shook his head, looked away. He’d already decided we were guilty, and rational arguments weren’t going to sway him now.
Ethan looked at Gabriel. “I’ll ask the obvious question: Has the Pack made any new enemies lately? Or incited any old ones?”
“We always have enemies,” Gabe said. “And I don’t know of any new ones.”
“Then what about old ones?” Michael asked, looking at Mallory. “How did you know to use magic?”
I didn’t think sorcerers and shifters had been enemies, but Michael didn’t seem the type to be concerned with fact.
Still, Mallory stepped forward, shoulders squared against the doubt in their eyes and the fear in the room. I liked this Mallory.
“Their magic was too uniform,” she said. “Not even a hint of personality or distinctiveness. And their eyes were blank. Empty. We guessed—correctly as it turned out—that someone wound the magic to create them. Layered magic to create the harpies,” she said, when the shifters looked confused. “We unwound it. That’s what blew them apart.”
Gabriel bobbed his head, considering. “That was good work.”
But Michael snorted. “If they knew how to stop it, why didn’t they stop it earlier?”
“Are you kidding?” All eyes turned to Catcher, whose loathing was barely masked. “Are you seriously suggesting we knew what was going on and just let it continue?”
“Does it matter?” Michael asked, pleading with Gabe. It wouldn’t have surprised me to see him drop to his knees in supplication. “This was magic, and they have magic.”
“So what?” Gabriel challenged, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “What, precisely, would you have me do, Michael? String them up for coincidentally having magic? And even if they didn’t stop it soon enough, would you have me kill them for that? As far as I’m aware, you didn’t fight at all.”
Michael paled. “I was protecting the house.”
“You were protecting your own ass,” Gabe said, giving him a dismissive look and his father a warning one. “The two who are missing—who are they?”
Papa Breck’s eyes fairly bulged with shock. “You can’t possibly think they were involved.”
“What I think is irrelevant. What matters is the truth. Who’s missing?”
“Rowan and Aline,” Nick said.
Ethan’s eyebrows perked with interest. “Aline, who doesn’t like your father or your siblings?”
“The very same,” Gabriel said. The look in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t dismissing the coincidence.
“Shifters wouldn’t do this,” Papa Breck spat. But his voice was quiet. He disagreed with the Apex, but he wasn’t going to be overly loud about it.
“Frankly, we don’t know anything about who did this, except that they used complicated magic.” He offered Ethan an appraising glance. “Fortunately, we have right in our presence a group that’s pretty good at figuring those things out.”
Ethan’s magic spiked alarmingly, but he stayed silent.
“The vampires and sorcerers maintain they’re not responsible for what happened here. Considering their unique skills, they should be able to identify who is.”
“And if they can’t uncover who did this?” Papa Breck asked, as if we weren’t in the room and couldn’t hear the doubt that stained his voice.
Gabriel steepled his fingers, gazed at us through hooded eyes. “Then we’ll just continue to wonder.”
• • •
The sun would soon be on the rise. Gabriel dismissed us, and three shifters I didn’t recognize escorted us back to the carriage house like prisoners returning to their cells. Considering the implicit threat in his final words, maybe we were.
We’d come to Loring Park to avoid prison; instead, we’d found a different one.
Since we were still dirty from battle, the four of us agreed to take turns in the shower. Mallory, then Catcher, then me, and Ethan was last. They hadn’t planned to stay at the Brecks’ and hadn’t packed bags, so I let Mallory borrow clothes, and Ethan offered replacements for Catcher.
I emerged from my turn in the bath wrapped in a towel, my skin blissfully clean of gore and dirt and probably worse, hair damp around my shoulders.
Ethan stood in the bedroom, naked from the waist up, bare toes peeking beneath his jeans. His hand was on his hip, his dirty hair framing his face. His phone was in his free hand, brow furrowed. That expression was easy enough for me to read.
“What’s wrong?”
He glanced up at me, male appreciation in his eyes as he took in the towel. But exhaustion quickly replaced interest. I didn’t take it personally; it had been a long night.
“I advised Luc of tonight’s events and asked him about the CPD. He said there’s been no contact, either from the CPD or Kowalcyzk.”
I moved to my duffel bag to pick out sleepwear. “Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe she’s realized how ridiculous she’s being.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Luc has given her a copy of the House’s security tapes, which quite clearly show the intrusion and Monmonth’s threats.”
I glanced back at him. I wasn’t normally one to play the optimist, but we’d already gone on the lam. There wasn’t much else to do but wait and hope.
“That could have been enough. Maybe Detective Jacobs convinced her that pursuing you would be completely illogical.”
“As much as I appreciate Detective Jacobs, your premise requires her to use rational thought and logic. I’m not certain she’s capable.”
I found a tank and pajama bottoms, zipped up the duffel again. “Well, if she intends to push, she isn’t showing it now. We’ll just have to wait until she relents or our other plans work. What about my grandfather? Any word from Luc?”
“He’s stable,” Ethan said with a smile. “And he despises hospital food. You have the appetite in common.”
My grandmother had been an amazing cook—a whiz with vegetables and salt pork—and she’d undoubtedly sparked the appreciation of it in both of us.
“Good.” I frowned. “I’m not sure if it’s better or worse to tell him what went on tonight. He won’t need the stress.”
“Then you must give him constant fits.”
“Your material is usually better than that, Sullivan.”
“Perhaps you’d like to see just how good my material is.” Ethan put the phone on a bureau and moved toward me, arms outstretched for a hug and a grin on his face.
But he was filthy, so I hustled out of reach and pointed a warning finger at him.
“You’re still disgusting, and for the first time in hours, I’m not. Shower first. Then affection.”
“You’re a cruel mistress,” he said, but disappeared into the bathroom.
• • •
I dressed while Ethan showered, grateful for a few minutes of privacy and silence. I checked in with Jonah, advised him what was up, and wasn’t at all surprised by the cursing that followed.
LEADS? he asked when he’d exhausted his phone’s symbol keys.
NOT YET, I advised, BUT GABE HAS ASSIGNED US TO INVESTIGATE. WE FIND ATTACKERS, OR WE ARE ATTACKERS.
YOU GET ALL THE FUN JOBS, he advised. CALL IF YOU NEED HELP.
ROGER THAT. KEEP CHICAGO SAFE.
THAT WILL BE EASY, he messaged. ALL THE TROUBLEMAKERS ARE IN LORING PARK TONIGHT.
I couldn’t argue much with that.
Ethan had emerged from the bathroom—clad only in perfectly fitting jeans and scrubbing a towel through his hair—when the carriage house’s front door opened and closed.
My gaze on Ethan’s chest, it took me a moment to recognize the sound and turn my head toward the shuffling in the other room.
“I’ll just check that out,” I said, moving toward it while Ethan searched for a T-shirt.
Gabriel stood in the living room in front of the
coffee table, arms crossed, watching as Berna and several shifters, her apparent helpers, carried in aluminum trays of food. My stomach, empty and roiling, rejoiced.
“I have brought dinner,” Berna pronounced, eyeing me nastily, as if there was a chance I’d decline free food. My patience for shifters was growing shorter by the moment.
“Honestly, Berna, when have you ever known me not to eat?”
She didn’t seem entirely satisfied with the answer, but I was saved by distraction.
Ethan walked into the room, hair still damp but fully dressed. Berna’s eyes lit with feminine appreciation.
“Berna brought us dinner,” I said.
“That was very thoughtful of you, Berna,” Ethan said.
“Is for health,” she said, squeezing her knotted fingers around Ethan’s biceps. “For muscles and teeth. Good, strong muscle. Strong. Good.”
“I think they’ve got it.” Gabriel smirked.
She humphed and herded her crew back to the door, but not before snapping a towel in his direction.
“I’ll meet you outside,” Gabriel said, closing the door when he was the only shifter left in the room.
“Chow time for the prisoners?” Ethan asked. His voice was low, threatening, and very, very alpha.
Gabriel grunted and headed for the kitchen. While Ethan, Mallory, Catcher, and I exchanged glances, the refrigerator door opened and closed again, and the clink of glass sounded.
He walked back in with a bottle of beer in hand and looked, I realized for the first time, utterly exhausted. He’d probably been playing Apex all evening, and for the festival he’d planned for. Here, finally, he was with people who weren’t his subjects. For a brief moment—a rare moment—he shook off the mantle of power and sprawled onto the couch.
“The Pack is pissed,” he said, taking a drink of the beer. “No,” he amended, gesturing with the bottle. “They’re scared. And that’s infinitely worse.”
Ethan considered the admission for a moment, then took a seat on the couch across from Gabe. If you hadn’t known they were Apex and Master, you might have thought them athletes relaxing after a game. Or A-list actors between scenes on a movie set. There was just something about the supernatural that brought out the best in male genetics.
Taking cues from the alphas, Mallory and I took seats as well, and Catcher followed. I sat beside Ethan, comforted by the closeness of his body and the smell of his cologne, the familiar things that brought comfort in unusual times.
That, I thought, was one of the best parts of being in a relationship. No matter how foreign the world, the landmarks, the customs, I’d never be a stranger beside Ethan. Love bred the best kind of familiarity.
If, down the road, Ethan was leaving dirty socks on the floor, I might not find the familiarity so charming. But for now, it soothed with a depth that surprised me.
“We are not their enemy,” Ethan said.
“No,” Gabe said, taking another drink, the bottle slung between two fingers. “But trouble arrived shortly after you did. That coincidence isn’t going unnoticed.” He looked up, smiled wolfishly. “It would go a long way toward mending fences if you could figure out what happened.”
“You haven’t given us much choice,” Ethan said. “You’ve made it sound like we’re guilty if we don’t figure it out.”
“Added incentive,” Gabriel said with a smile.
I didn’t smile back. I, for one, was sick of being manipulated by shape-shifters. In addition to being slammed in the face. At the moment, those two things were at the top of my shit list.
Gabe sat forward. “Look. You’re not cops, and you’re certainly not on the Pack payroll. It’s not your job to solve our problems. I get that. But you know how to do this.” He glanced at me. “You and your team have a way of figuring these things out. You’re better at it than I am, even if I had the time. But I’ve got colleagues to mourn, a Pack to watch over.” He paused. “I need the help, Sullivan. And I’m asking for it.”
Ethan watched him silently, jaw clenched. He didn’t like being manipulated. But he was a vampire and a Master at that, and honor was everything to him.
“All right,” Ethan said, resignation in his voice. “But we’ll need information, starting with your theory about who orchestrated this attack.”
“I don’t know of anyone with the skills to build a hoard of harpies,” Gabriel said.
“Magic can be bought,” Catcher said. “But animosity like we saw tonight grows naturally.”
“Our enemy list hasn’t grown any deeper recently,” Gabriel said. “Yes, there are people who don’t like the family, don’t like the Pack, don’t like shifters. But there haven’t been any catalysts—nothing that would have set off a night like this.”
“What about Aline?” I asked. “You said she butted heads with your father. What’s the story there?”
Gabe nodded, glanced at me. “She had relatives—cousins—in the Atlantic Pack. They got into trouble—got drunk, roughed up a clerk at a bodega, and stole some money. Afterward, they wanted shelter and turned to us. Aline was in favor of it, said the kids were set up. But my father didn’t buy it and wouldn’t allow it. He didn’t want to shelter troublemakers. He told Aline about his decision, and they had a very public disagreement. She backed down, but she didn’t forgive him.”
“And the cousins?” Ethan asked.
“Killed,” Gabe said. “The robbery wasn’t the first time they got into trouble, and it wasn’t the last. They tried grift, a short con, and got caught. The vic wasn’t amused, and made an example of them.”
I grimaced. “That couldn’t have engendered any better feelings in Aline.”
“It didn’t,” Gabriel said. “When my father died, she rallied for another alpha to take over the Pack.” He smiled, with teeth. “That particular whelp was not successful.”
“And now Aline is missing,” Catcher said.
“Or she left,” I said. “It sounds like her anger’s been simmering for a long time.”
Gabriel nodded. “I think that’s accurate. But I wouldn’t say there’s been anything recently. And I don’t know of any connections she’d have to magic like this.”
“What about Rowan?” Mallory asked.
“He’s a good man,” Gabe said, with obvious regret. “Employed by the Brecks, works on the property. Keeps to himself, is a hard worker. I don’t know of any reason he’d organize something this violent.” He rubbed his jaw contemplatively. “All that said, they’re still missing. If they don’t return by sunset—or we don’t find evidence they were victims—I’ll have to question them myself.”
There seemed little doubt the Apex of the North American Central Pack would find the answers.
“What will you do about the rest of Lupercalia?” Mallory asked.
“That’s a rock and a hard place,” Gabe admitted. “We cancel, we show weakness. We continue, we put shifters at risk of round two of whatever this is.” He looked at Ethan. “I imagine you’ve faced similar dilemmas.”
Ethan nodded. “To stand or to protect. It is the perennial dilemma of the Master of any house.”
Gabe nodded. “Truth. I’m mulling over our options, but I’m leaning toward letting the party continue. When the mourning’s done, the Pack will need a release.”
“And what about us?” Catcher asked.
Gabriel’s eyebrows lifted. “You’re part of the mystery-solving gang, aren’t you?”
Catcher muttered something unflattering, and Mallory nudged him. “I presume you want us to stay here tonight?” she asked.
“It would make things easier,” Gabe said.
“So we’ll sleep on the couch,” Catcher said, “like we’re twelve-year-olds at a slumber party.”
“In fairness,” Ethan said, “we don’t all have to sleep on the couch.”
“In fairness,” Catcher
said, “you can kiss my ass.”
“Ladies,” Mallory said. “Let’s put on our big-girl panties. Merit and Ethan are already sleeping in the bedroom, and there’s no point in making them move. Catcher and I can take the couch. The shifters will feel better if we make this work, and it’s no great loss to any of us.”
We all stared at her for a moment, at her implacable tone and reasonable words. If this was Mallory 2.0, I thoroughly approved.
“She’s right,” I said. “We can make this work.”
“We’re going to run out of clothes, though,” she said.
Gabriel nodded, looked over the sorcerers. “I’ll talk to Fallon, Nick. They should be about your size, might have something to offer.” He grimaced. “And there will be plenty of Lupercalia shirts to go around. I doubt most will want the souvenirs.”
“We’d appreciate whatever you can find.”
“I actually have a small request,” I said, and Gabriel angled his head toward me.
“Yes, Kitten?”
“We didn’t have our swords tonight. Finley basically told us not to wear them, that they’d piss off the family. But if we’re looking for monsters—especially monsters with magic—I want steel.”
He chuckled, sharing an appreciative glance with Ethan. “I’ll talk to them.”
Gabriel then gestured toward the food still untouched on the coffee table. “Sun will be up soon. I’ll let you eat and get some rest.”
I was seated closest to the door, so I rose, too, intending to fix the locks after he’d gone. But when we met at the door, Gabriel stopped to turn his gaze on me. His eyes, the color of warm amber, swirled like tempests.
“Thank you for saving them.”
I nodded, smiled. “You’re welcome. I was glad to help.”
But his expression stayed serious, his eyes deep and fathomless, the sight of them enough to raise goose bumps on my arms.
“As in much of life,” he quietly said, “it could have gone the other way.”
My chest tightened. Like sorcerers, shifters had the gift of prophecy. Did he mean Tanya might have died? That he might have lost her and Connor in the battle?
