Howling For You: A Chicagoland Vampires Novella (A Penguin Special from New American Library)

by Chloe Neill

  The sitting room checked, I walked to the door of the bedroom.

  Jeff had pulled the sheets, pillow, and duvet from the bed and was methodically checking them.

  “Nightstands?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” he said, without looking up.

  I walked to the far side of the bed, pulled open the drawer. The usual Bible was there, and a small notepad. Nothing else. Ditto the nightstand on the other side.

  When I’d checked both, I stood up, put my hands on my hips, and surveyed the room. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected to find; it wasn’t like he’d have forgotten to take the crown with him, or left crown crumbs in a Hansel and Gretel–style trail.

  “Fallon.”

  I looked up. Jeff stood on the other side of the bed, motioned me to approach. The bed had four short posters. And in the corner of the poster at the foot of the bed, on the side closest to the door, was a scrap of dark fabric.

  It was wedged tightly, caught on the end of a bedspring that had poked through the cover. I carefully lifted it, held it up.

  It was purple velvet, the same fabric used on the cushion that protected the crown.

  “Jesus,” Jeff said. “I was hoping it was a coincidence. That really sucks.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “It really, really sucks.”

  I ignored the flickers of humiliation, sat down on the bed, pulled out my phone, and sent a picture of the fabric to Gabe and a status report. While we waited for a response, I tucked the fabric in my pocket, evidence of the crime.

  Jeff sat down beside me. “I can kick his ass if you’d like.”

  I smiled mirthlessly. “I’d like. But I still think it’s weird. I mean, I know don’t know him very well, but I wouldn’t have suspected this. Breaking into the house? Stealing the crown?” I shook my head. “He was so mild mannered.”

  “If your date didn’t go well, maybe he thought it was his only other option. Did he say anything that suggested he had a plan?”

  I shrugged. “He asked about the initiation. Wondered if it bothered me that Connor gets the crown instead of me.”

  Jeff snorted. “I’m surprised you didn’t kick his ass for that. Or maybe you just gave him your ‘most displeased’ look.”

  “My ‘most displeased’ look?”

  “Yeah, you know.” He adjusted to face me, dipped his chin, and gave me a good stiff stare.

  “I do not do that.”

  “Oh, you do,” he assured. “You’re very opinionated.”

  “I’m not opinionated. I’m just right. Frequently.”

  “And most displeased when you’re wrong. Especially if I’m right.”

  A headache was beginning to throb behind my eyes, and his word games weren’t helping. I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. “What a crappy day.”

  “Royally,” Jeff said, snickering at the pun. “But I can make it better.”

  I nearly laughed at the bravado in his voice, but Jeff moved too quickly. Before I could protest, his lips met mine, cutting off argument. He leaned forward, his mouth insistent, a hand against my cheek. He kissed me hungrily, greedily, like a man long denied.

  I let him kiss me. I let him seduce me with bites and kisses, and the hand that caressed my cheek. And then I kissed him back, my fingers stealing into his hair, pulling him toward me.

  His magic rushed forward. Where Patrick’s magic had mingled with mine, Jeff’s danced, teased, and enticed. It rose to envelope both of us, hinting at the fire we could so easily start . . .

  Until I remembered where we were, and what we were doing there.

  The spark banked.

  I stood up, knees shaking, and moved away from him, my heart beating against my chest like a timpani drum. “Jeff, we can’t. I can’t.”

  “You can,” Jeff said, rubbing his hands over his face in obvious frustration. “But you won’t.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  He looked up at me, grief in his eyes. “None of this is fair, Fallon. For either of us.”

  My phone rang.

  We stared at each other until the third ring, when I forced myself to check the screen. It was Gabriel. “Hello?”

  “I spoke with Richard. He knows nothing about the crown or the initiation. I think he was being honest. But he admitted he’s been concerned about Patrick.”

  “I’m putting you on speakerphone,” I warned. “What do you mean, he’s concerned about Patrick?”

  “I’m not entirely sure. I’m also not sure how clearly he sees things.”

  “Because of the illness?”

  “Yeah. He doesn’t have the strength he used to. I’m not sure he’s got the memory, either. He knows he’s fading, and he’s worried how Patrick will handle it.”

  “If we’re right and he took the crown, he’s not handling it well,” Jeff said. “We need to figure out where he’ll go next.”

  “Richard said he was coming home.”

  “Which one?” I asked, thinking of our conversation. “He’s got two—family place in Wausau, and a cabin near Sheboygan.”

  “You’re closer to Sheboygan,” Gabriel said. “You go there. I’ll send Damien to Wausau.”

  Damien Garza was one of Gabriel’s go-to Pack members, a quiet man with a penchant for solving messy Pack problems.

  I looked at Jeff, who nodded.

  “We’re on our way.”

  Patrick hadn’t given me his address, but I had Jeff for that. In addition to his gaming skills, he was a master of the Web. He could find a needle in a binary haystack and did, in this case, offering up Patrick’s address and prepping the GPS.

  Jeff and I didn’t speak a word about the kiss, and didn’t say much of anything for the drive north. But the tension in the air was unmistakable. I knew we were going to have to talk about it sooner or later, but not right now. Business first.

  The cabin was part of a woodsy neighborhood beside the lake, a cluster of houses and cabins probably used by Chicagoans to escape the city in the summer. But this was winter and the lake was frozen; most of the houses looked empty, the snow still in drifts around their doors.

  Patrick York’s house, a log cabin A-frame, was easy to spot—the drive was shoveled, and smoke rose from the chimney.

  We parked a hundred feet down the road, got out of the car, and looked at each other.

  “If he’s got the crown, he’ll want to keep it. We should be prepared for a fight.”

  Jeff nodded. “You bring a weapon?”

  “I am the weapon.”

  He gave me a cutting look.

  “Blades,” I said. “Just in case, I have my blades.” I had two daggers, engraved and gorgeous, tucked inside my boots. “You?”

  “Same.” He zipped up his leather jacket, nodded, and we trekked back to the cabin in the woods. As we walked, snow began to fall, large and beautiful flakes that quickly covered the ground in a fluffy white quilt.

  We reached the end of the driveway and paused at the mailbox.

  “I don’t see a backdoor,” Jeff said. “Either he’s going through a window, or he’s coming with us.”

  I nodded and turned to walk toward the door, but Jeff grabbed my hand before I could move. A bolt of lust and magic speared through me, followed immediately by a wave of regret.

  “Be careful,” he whispered, releasing my hand and falling into step beside me.

  Patrick York opened the door in a T-shirt and jeans, a white kitchen towel in hand. The smell of breakfast—bacon, eggs, cheese—wafted through the room.

  It took my brain a moment to catch up. What kind of thief started cooking after stealing a crown?

  Patrick beamed at me, surprise in his eyes that faded to suspicion when he caught sight of Jeff.

  “Fallon. What are you doing here?”

  “Patrick, this is Jeff Christopher. He’s a member of the NAC and a friend of the family’s. Can we come in? We need to talk. It’s Pack business.”

  He looked confused, and rubbed his hands on his towel before moving aside
to let us in. “Sure.”

  We stepped inside, and Jeff closed the door behind us. The interior of the cabin was pretty, the hewn-wood walls exposed, the furniture made of logs and covered in plaid fabrics. Fishing equipment hung on the walls beside antique posters advertising vacations on the Great Lakes.

  Patrick put the towel on a table and crossed his arms. “What’s this about, exactly?”

  “We don’t have time to be subtle, so I’m going to get to it. The crown is missing. The evidence suggests you took it.”

  The weight of the accusation seemed to actually push him, and he took a step backward, his gaze switching between me and Jeff. “I’m sorry—you think I stole the crown? The Pack’s crown?”

  “Did you?” Jeff asked, with hostility he hadn’t bothered to mask.

  “No, I didn’t.” He looked at me. “I told you I had no interest in the crown. And I sure as shit wouldn’t steal something that didn’t belong to me. Is this because we talked about the initiation?”

  “It’s because we have video of you coming back to the house. Breaking in, and then leaving again.”

  Patrick closed his eyes and was quiet for a very long moment. “Damn it,” he finally said. “I knew that was going to cause trouble. Knew it, and ignored my instincts.”

  He gestured toward a set of coats and jackets that hung on the opposite wall, and at my nod, walked to the black jacket he’d worn last night. He reached into the pocket, and pulled out a pair of leather gloves.

  The same leather gloves he’d taken off when he’d first arrived at the house.

  “I must have dropped one, and didn’t realize it until we’d nearly gotten into the city. They were my father’s, and I didn’t just want to leave it there.” He looked at me apologetically. “I just thought it would be easier if I didn’t wake anyone.”

  So he didn’t have to see me again, he meant.

  Jeff didn’t care about the reason; he wasn’t buying the excuse. “So you maintain you came back to the house and broke in to retrieve a leather glove.”

  Patrick glared at Jeff. “I don’t maintain it. That’s exactly what I did.”

  “According to our video, you’re the only one who came into the house or left,” I said.

  “And you have cameras on every door and window?”

  I glanced at Jeff, who shook his head. “Just the front door.”

  “There you go. I may have been the only one in and out of the front door, but clearly someone else came in and out of the house. Look, I’m sorry the crown’s missing. I’m sure that creates a political shit-storm for your family. But you’ve got the wrong guy.” He gestured to the room. “Do I look like I’m getting ready to take over the Pack? Does this look like I’m getting ready for a coup d’etat? I’ve got food in the oven, for god’s sake.”

  “What about this?” I pulled the scrap of velvet from my pocket, held it in my outstretched palm.

  He leaned forward to look at it. “I don’t know what that is.”

  “It’s from the cushion that held the crown,” Jeff said.

  “And what’s that’s got to do with me?”

  “It was in your hotel room at the Meridian.”

  “My hotel”—he began, then trailed off. A flush darkened his cheeks. “Ah. This is . . . awkward.” He cleared his throat, looked at me apologetically. “When I got back to the hotel, I had a drink at the bar. I met someone. I didn’t plan on meeting someone, but it happened.” He paused. “I didn’t go back to my room, if you know what I mean.”

  I was going to start referring to the last twenty-four hours as the Night of a Thousand Humiliations.

  Jeff, however, wasn’t humiliated. He was pissed. “You reject Fallon Keene and then go off with some bar skank?”

  We both turned to stare at Jeff.

  “Jeff.”

  “What? I don’t care if he’s a York or Keene or Old McDonald. He needs to learn some damned chivalry.”

  Patrick had at least eighty pounds on Jeff, but that didn’t stop Jeff from taking a menacing step forward.

  “Whoa,” Patrick said, lifting his hands. “You’ve got the wrong idea. Fallon’s the one who wasn’t interested, not me.”

  Jeff’s brows perked up. “Oh?”

  “Hey, idiots, we have a missing crown,” I reminded them, ignoring the sudden grin on Jeff’s face. “Can we get back to that?”

  Patrick looked at me. “The point is, I wasn’t in the room.”

  “It was booked under your name,” Jeff said. “They knew you’d checked in and out. If you didn’t stay there, who did?”

  Emotions cycled across Patrick’s face, from denial to confusion to anger. “Tom,” he finally said. “I gave the room to Tom.”

  “Who’s Tom?” Jeff asked.

  “The driver,” I said, as the weight of truth settled around us.

  Patrick shook his head. “He wouldn’t do that to the family. Put us in that kind of position. Create that kind of danger for us.”

  “Maybe he isn’t doing it to the family,” Jeff quietly said. “Maybe he’s doing it for the family. To get the Yorks into power.”

  Patrick shook his head. “My father’s sick. He doesn’t have the energy, and he’s not interested in the crown.”

  “He doesn’t have to be interested,” I said. “Maybe Tom is interested enough for the both of you.”

  Patrick wanted to deny it; that was clear in his face. But he worked it out, considered, and ultimately nodded.

  “I told him he didn’t need to go to the city with me. But he offered, wanted to come. It was a big deal, he said, for me to have an opportunity to meet Fallon Keene. I guess it was an opportunity for him.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “He went into town for supplies.”

  As if on cue, a car door closed outside.

  “How do you want to handle it?” Patrick asked.

  “Get him into the house. We’ll have an easier time handling him in here than if he’s tramping around Wisconsin.”

  Patrick nodded. I slipped into the kitchen, and Jeff stayed in the living room, backing into a corner on the far side to block any effort for Tom to slip outside again.

  The door opened and Tom stepped inside, a bag of groceries in hand, fresh snow on his cap and shoulders. “Got the goods, boss.”

  He looked up like prey scenting predator, probably recognizing the foreign magic that permeated the cabin.

  Patrick stepped into the room. Jeff moved to the front door, blocking it with his body.

  Tom took one look at the room, and his eyes went cold.

  “Tom,” Patrick said. “They’re here to talk to you. They say you have the crown.”

  Tom’s eyes flattened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I stepped into the room. “Let’s not make this more complicated than it should be.”

  He looked at me dismissively, then turned his gaze to Patrick again. “That crown should be yours. You deserve it. Should have it. Your family’s older. Worked harder. Got more to show for it.”

  Patrick looked completely bewildered. I didn’t think anyone could fake that kind of surprise, so I scratched him off as a potential accomplice.

  “You’re talking about treason,” Patrick said.

  “I’m talking about what’s right,” Tom insisted, jabbing his index finger into the air like it punctuated his words. “You know who should be ruling the Pack? You. Not Gabriel fucking Keene.”

  I moved closer to him. “Where is it, Tom? Where did you put the crown?”

  He looked at me, lip curled. “What, Gabriel can’t fight his own battles? Has to send his little whore to do it?”

  Light and magic burst through the room.

  Jeff shifted, a tiger emerging from the cloud of magic where a man had stood, twelve feet of white and black fur and muscle. He opened his mouth and roared, ivory teeth bared, the sound vibrating the glass in the windows.

  I took another step forward. “Here’s the thing, Tom. That’s Jeff Ch
ristopher, one of Gabriel’s favorite shifters. He’s a good friend, and he doesn’t really care for insults. And I don’t think he’s eaten in a few hours.” I glanced at Jeff. “Hungry much?”

  He growled ominously.

  Tom glanced between us, then grabbed the nearest piece of furniture—a tall shelf—and pushed it over toward us. Glass and wood and knick-knacks hit the floor with a crack, as Patrick and I jumped back to avoid the fall.

  Tom bolted, running back out the door and down the driveway. Another flash of light and he shifted into a lean, black wolf, then took off into the darkness.

  “Go!” I told Jeff, who burst through the door after him.

  I glanced back at Patrick. “Stay here in case he comes back. And call Gabriel—tell him what’s happened.”

  Patrick nodded and pulled out his phone, glancing carefully away when I yanked off my clothes and threw them into a pile. The magic of shifting, unfortunately, didn’t do much for clothing. You wanted to keep it, you took it off first.

  Naked in the doorway, snow biting at my skin, I jumped . . . and let the magic cover me. By the time I hit the ground, I was in my animal form. A gray wolf, eyes the same amber as my own. My mind stayed human, but my senses were animal. The world opened into smells and sounds that I couldn’t have detected in my human form, including the trail of scent and magic that now led into the woods in front of us.

  I dashed forward, snow crunching beneath my paws, and moved into the woods. There was no path but the one they’d cut through the snowy underbrush, limbs snapped and bent from the force of their bodies. I pushed for speed, ears straining for the sound of them . . . and heard nothing until a feline roar

  Jeff, I thought with panic, paws pounding faster and faster across snow, my heart tripping like snare drum. A few feet more and I found them on the ground in a tangle, white and black fur against the newly fallen snow. Blood spattered the ground beneath them as they rolled. Jeff was considerably larger, but Tom was smaller, more agile.

  They rolled, Tom biting at Jeff’s back haunch until Jeff shook him off. Tom bounced and rolled, while Jeff bared his teeth and screamed his frustration into the night.

  My turn, I thought. Head down, I paced forward, teeth bared. Tom rose, shook off the fall, and showed his teeth again, daring me to attack. His muzzle was bloodied, which only infuriated me more.