by Chloe Neill
He held up a beer. “I’m good.”
“I’ll be back,” she said, then kissed him lavishly and slunk toward the bar.
“She is . . . really beautiful,” I said. It was the only compliment I could think of, and I didn’t think “She seems super comfy with PDA” would come off very well. Not that it would have been intended to.
“She is,” Connor said, and we watched as the waiter offered her a short glass of amber alcohol.
She downed it, held the glass out for another. And when a vampire approached the bar for a drink, she snapped her teeth at him in a show of . . . ferocity?
Beautiful. But maybe not very classy.
“That’s not leather.”
I shifted my gaze back to Connor. “What?”
“Your dress. It’s not leather, but I still like it. Green’s a good color on you.”
“Thank you,” I said slowly, suspicious at the compliment. “I like the tux.”
He shifted his shoulders with obvious discomfort. “Suits are for humans and vampires.”
“You’re pulling if off just fine. And you know you look good in it.”
The words were out before I knew I’d said them, and the surprised look on his face said he’d noticed.
“I should probably dial that back or your ego will be out of control. Let’s say you look acceptable for a shifter.”
“But not quite as good as a vampire.”
I just grinned at him. “I don’t want to insult you at my ancestral home.”
He snorted. “This is a good shindig for a vampire party.”
“It is nice,” I agreed. “What would a shifter party look like?”
“Leather, like you said. Muscles. Cleavage. Thrashing guitar. Broken beer bottles, supernaturals thrown through plate glass windows, axe-throwing contests.”
“That was a thing?”
He squinted as he remembered. “Couple of years ago. Berna decided the bar tables looked too new. They pulled a few off the bases, hung the tabletops, and threw axes at them.” He took a drink. “They did look better afterward. She has a good eye.”
“The bar looks good,” I said. “But the floor’s too clean.”
“If you only knew how many conversations we’ve had about that. I keep threatening to roll Thelma out there, change the oil right in the bar floor.”
“But you don’t, because Berna terrifies you?”
“I admit nothing.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
He was in a better mood now than he had been earlier today. Maybe it was the date or the booze, or just the fact that he was at a party instead of thinking about the Pack’s future and the enemies he might meet on the way to Alaska. Whatever the reason, I liked seeing him like this.
“What?” he asked, eyes narrowed.
“Nothing. Just thinking that you’re in a good mood.”
“Am I not usually?”
“Not in my direction,” I said with a grin.
Connor cocked an eyebrow at something behind me.
I looked back, found Riley grinning as he carried a three-foot-high stack of aluminum trays toward a buffet table. He’d also worn a tuxedo, and it was working just as hard as Connor’s to hold in the muscle and magic. He’d pulled his hair back into a man bun, and it showed off the interesting lines and angles of his face.
“You’re staring,” Connor said.
“He’s worth it,” I said, and grinned back at him. “Does it bother you that you’re the second-prettiest shifter these days?”
His gaze narrowed dangerously, and that made my blood race a little harder. Probably some ancient vampire reaction to shifters. “I’m neither pretty nor second place for anything.”
“Mmm-hmm. You’re plain and retiring, as every man in want of a wife should be.”
This time, he grunted. “I’m not in want of a wife.”
“All Tabby to the contrary. Doesn’t the Pack want you have a partner?” I frowned, trying to remember. “Isn’t there something in the code about the Apex being married?”
They might have liked the rock-and-roll lifestyle, but shifters had pretty conservative opinions about relationships. It was related, or so Connor said, to their relationship to the earth and the belief that even an alpha occasionally needed a second opinion. Shifters partnered with shifters, and generally of the same animal variety, although Gabriel’s aunt Fallon had loosened that rule when she’d married a shifter who transformed into a white tiger.
“I’m not Apex,” he said. “Yet.”
There was a high whistle, then a ringing of silver against crystal. All eyes turned to my father, who stood beside my mother (also in sleek Cadogan black—an off-the shoulder column that skimmed the ground, with long, fitted sleeves of black lace on tulle) on the brick patio at the edge of the House. The crowd quieted, turned to face him.
“I don’t want to interrupt the party,” he said. “I just wanted to take this opportunity to express our gratitude for the steps you’ve taken tonight toward a lasting peace. The road to that peace will not be easy. It will not be smooth. But it is worth the effort.” He lifted his glass. “To peace.”
“To peace!” the crowd echoed.
“And I’d be remiss,” he continued, “if I didn’t mention how proud we are to have our daughter home once again, even if for a little while.”
I smiled politely at the supernaturals who all turned to stare at me.
“Just imagine the rest of the crowd is naked,” Connor murmured behind me. “It’ll help.”
Spoiler alert: It didn’t.
NINE
Eventually my father moved on, and the guests’ attention went back to the food and drinks and other guests.
Theo walked toward us with a woman in a long-sleeved dress of emerald green. Her skin was tan, her hair dark and straight with golden highlights, her eyes wide and dark under long, dark brows.
“Hey, Elisa,” Theo said.
“Hey. Theo, do you know Connor Keene?”
“Sure,” Theo said, and stuck out his free hand. “I mean, I don’t think we’ve met officially, but I know who you are. Good to meet you.”
“Theo works for the Ombudsman’s office,” I said.
I glanced at the woman he was with, and memories fired. She seemed familiar, but it wasn’t until I saw she wore satin gloves in the same shade as the dress that I realized why.
“Oh, my god!” I said. “Petra!”
She smiled and held up a hand. “Hey, Elisa.”
“I barely recognized you!”
“Yeah, I got a lot taller,” she said with a smile. “My dad’s six-two. And it’s been like”—she lifted her gaze, counting to herself—“eight years?”
“About that,” I said, then looked at Theo and Connor. “Petra and I were tutored together until she moved. Wyoming, wasn’t it?”
“Wisconsin,” she said. “Dad’s an accountant with a big firm. We got transferred.”
And we hadn’t done a very good job of keeping in touch with each other. “Are you back in Chicago now?”
“Have been for about a year.”
“That’s great. How’s the aeromancy gig?”
“Aeromancy?” Connor asked, brows lifted.
Petra turned her wide smile to him. “I can commune with the weather. Hear it, influence it a little. Lightning and I have a unique relationship.”
“Thus the gloves,” I said, and she nodded.
“That’s . . . frightening and impressive,” Connor said, which I figured was about the correct reaction. “Can I see?”
“Sure,” Petra said, and pulled off a glove. “Hold out your hand, palm up.”
It made me smile that our brave and muscled shifter hesitated before offering his right hand.
She put her ungloved fingers over his, then blew out a slow brea
th. And a brilliant blue spark sizzled between their hands.
“Shit,” Connor said, eyes widening as he was literally shocked by power.
“How cool is that?” Theo asked enthusiastically.
“It’s pretty fucking cool,” Connor said, looking at the palm of his hand, then rubbing the skin.
“Injuries?” Petra asked, putting her glove back on.
“No, not at all,” he said, lifting his gaze to hers. “It was a little like shifting—the same sizzling power. But concentrated.”
“And that’s one of the reasons why Dearborn hired her,” Theo said. “She’s also an Assistant Ombudsman. Head of the tech crew.”
“Small world,” I said. Although it had been a long time since I’d known Petra, she’d been smart, funny, and kind. That she worked for the OMB, as Theo called it, made me feel a lot better about Dearborn being in charge.
“Speaking of small worlds,” Theo said, “did you get a load of the panther?” He gestured toward the woman currently draped on William Dearborn. “Or maybe a cougar would have been more accurate.”
I just managed not to choke, given the woman was Tabby. “That’s Connor’s date,” I said with a very forced smile.
“Well, she seems . . .” Theo faltered, obviously grasping for a compliment. Then he shook his head, apparently giving up. “Like something you could improve upon?” he offered to Connor.
“She’s vivacious.”
“She’s vivating all over the Ombudsman,” Petra said dryly.
“It’s fine,” Connor said. His voice had tightened, and I wasn’t sure if that was because he was irritated by the activity, or our questions about it. And it wasn’t, frankly, any of our business—any more than Tabby’s sex life was.
“You’re a good-looking man,” Theo said appraisingly. “I go for chicks, but I’m sure there are plenty of ladies who’d be interested in you and have a little more to offer in terms of loyalty.” He looked at me speculatively. “You’re single, aren’t you, Elisa?”
“No,” Connor and I said simultaneously, and with just as much emphasis. Which wasn’t flattering to either of us.
“Not my type,” I said with a mirthless smile.
“Not even in the same universe,” Connor agreed. “And I have a girlfriend.” He sipped his drink.
“Oh, okay,” Theo said. “Your protestations are totally convincing.” He looked at me with a grin. “Do you have any hobbies, Elisa? What do you do for fun?”
“She doesn’t,” Connor said.
“Sick burn, puppy,” I said. “Just because I don’t party twenty-four/seven doesn’t mean I don’t have hobbies.”
“Is it stamp collecting?”
“No.”
“Do you literally watch grass grow?”
As my irritation grew, my eyes silvered, and I let him see it.
“Come at me, brat.”
“Seriously,” Petra said with a nod, “you two are very cute.”
Connor actually growled.
And it was time to change the topic. “I have hobbies. Yoga. And there’s martial arts training, katana practice, blah, blah, blah. It’s hard to find time to just do things. I think I’d like to learn calligraphy.”
Connor blinked. “That is not what I’d have expected you to say.”
I shrugged. “I like letters. They’re very . . .”
“Orderly?” he asked with a grin.
“When you’re facing down immortality,” I said, “order is important. Rules are comforting.”
“Rules are constricting,” he countered.
“My parents are aeromancers,” Petra said. “And hobbies are hard when you’re the kid of a sup. There are expectations.”
I thought of the discussion I’d had with Lulu, how our parents’ abilities had affected us. “No disagreement here.”
“I played baseball as a kid,” Connor said. “Third base, and had a fantastic arm.” He flexed his biceps, and the muscle strained against the slick fabric. “But the old man wanted me at Little Red, at the House, at wherever the Pack happened to be. So that was the end of that. Pack comes first. Always.”
“I don’t understand the point of baseball.”
Theo looked at me, blinked. “What do you mean, you don’t understand the point of it? What’s to understand? It’s a sport.”
“If there’s time for the players to have snacks, it’s not a sport. It’s recess.”
Connor rolled his eyes. “Seeds aren’t a snack.”
“Agree to disagree,” I said, holding up a hand, and was glad to finally speak my truth about baseball. My mother was Cubs fan, so dissent had not been allowed in Cadogan House. “But I understand your point. I took piano lessons until it was time to take katana lessons.”
“Didn’t you hate piano lessons?” Petra asked.
“I did,” I said with a smile, impressed that she’d remembered. “With a passion. I like music, but I can’t make it. And my teacher—Mrs. Vilichnik. God, I hated her. She was like the villain from a Victorian orphan story.”
“They just wanted us to be prepared,” Connor said. “For, you know, Juilliard or supernatural warfare.”
“I know.”
“I’m actually feeling moderately better about growing up human,” Theo said. “I’d figured it was boring—homework, anime, baseball and basketball, trips to Challengers Comics to grab the new releases. Maybe I had it easy.”
“I wouldn’t say human is easy, either,” Connor said. “Mortality, illness, bullies. Being a sup makes those things easier, at least some of the time. Except when it doesn’t. Except when it makes life harder.”
I froze, shocked into silence by the possibility that he was going to say it aloud, talk about my monster, the evidence he’d seen.
But he didn’t even look at me. Just brushed his shoulder against mine. It was so light, so casual, that I wasn’t sure if he’d done it on purpose—an acknowledgment that he’d felt the magic that accompanied my fear—or if it was accidental.
“Well, if it isn’t Elisa Sullivan.”
I turned back. The vampire behind me was handsome, with wavy blond-brown hair that nearly reached his shoulders and was tucked behind his ears. Tall and muscular, with broad shoulders that narrowed to a tapered waist. He wore a pale gray suit over a white button-down, and he’d skipped the tie.
“Welcome back to Chicago, Elisa,” he said, and pressed a kiss to my cheek.
His accent was British, and his name was . . . something with a D. Darren? David?
“Dane,” he said. “Grey House.”
I made the introductions, ending with Connor.
“Of course.” Dane smiled. “The prince of wolves.”
“Not exactly,” he said. He sipped his drink, watching me over the rim. “How do you two know each other?”
“We met before I went to Paris,” I said.
“You wound me, Elisa,” Dane said with a grin, putting a hand over his heart. “We had dinner shortly before she left.”
The memory, or what there was of it, clicked into place. There’d been a dinner I didn’t much remember. I’d liked his accent and his sarcasm, and hadn’t given anything else much thought. I’d also been focused on Paris, and not especially interested in dating a vampire who looked my age but was decades older.
“How did you find Paris?” he asked.
“Halfway between X and Y.”
Connor grinned. Dane’s smile was a little more forced.
“It was lovely and complicated,” I said.
“Sounds like Chicago,” Dane said, then looked at Connor. “I understand the Pack’s leaving us soon. Heading back to Alaska, are you?”
“Some of us,” Connor said.
“Of course. Shame to leave now when things are getting interesting.”
“Interesting?” Connor asked.
/>
“After years of peace, I mean. The fairies’ bursting into the peace talks. The violence in Europe.” He looked at me. “There are many videos of your heroism at the Eiffel Tower. You handled yourself well. It was impressive.”
The sudden flash of interest in his eyes, that deeper ring in his voice, didn’t win him the points he probably thought they would. I hadn’t been trying to play hero. I hadn’t been playing at all, and neither had the vampires who’d attacked.
“It was what needed to be done.”
Dane seemed surprised I hadn’t taken the bait, hadn’t been flattered by his approval. And Connor looked pleased by my answer.
As if looking for an exit, Dane waved at someone across the yard. “Well, I should make the rounds. Good seeing you again, Lis.”
He squeezed my hand, making me think I’d been downgraded from a kiss on the cheek, and walked away.
“I think I just got dumped.”
“Good riddance,” Petra said. “He seems like an ass.”
“I don’t think he’s an ass. He’s just . . . a vampire.”
Connor made a grumbling sound of agreement I wasn’t sure was flattering. “And what about that vampire?” he asked, gesturing with his glass toward Seri. She was standing on the lawn near the pool, a semicircle of supernaturals around her, watching as she posed like a model in an old Vogue ad. One foot forward, hands on her slender hips, shoulders tilted back.
“Vain or insecure?” Connor asked.
“Neither,” I said with a smile. “She just really likes that dress.” For reasons that still eluded me.
“Maybe you should give Dane a shove in her direction,” Petra suggested.
“No, thank you. I’m not playing matchmaker,” I said. And I didn’t need to, since Dane walked to her and made a courtly bow before pressing his lips to the back of her hand, which put a glowing smile on her face.
“Solves that problem,” Connor murmured, and took a drink.
“Four years, and your jokes aren’t any better. You should have practiced in the interim.”
“My jokes are just fine. But I have to work with the material I’m given.”
I rolled my eyes, and Petra and Theo shared a look.
