Wild Hunger (An Heirs of Chicagoland Novel)

by Chloe Neill

  There was a hot burst of magic as insult spread around the room. They might have obeyed Ruadan, protected him, but Claudia was their still queen.

  Ruadan’s lip curled, his fingers fisted so tightly, his knuckles were white. But he didn’t make a move. It probably wasn’t a coincidence that he hadn’t made any moves except when I’d been bound.

  He murmured something softly, the sounds shifting between soft vowels and hard consonants, the language old and powerful.

  Whatever he said, his fairies got the point. The tension of their bodies, their stances, loosened. But their eyes grew no kinder. They were angry, partly because of the intrusion, partly because Ruadan had leashed them again. He’d riled them to a fight, and they wanted the satisfaction.

  “We’re leaving,” I said, and Connor stepped closer to me, his fur—so soft—brushing against my fingers like a whisper.

  I picked up my sword and turned Lulu so she went first, so my back was to the fairies. Connor padded behind us, and we ran down the path toward the car.

  FOURTEEN

  Thelma, low and menacing in a spear of moonlight, sat beside Lulu’s car. The wolf padded onto the road behind us, then circled around to face us, lips curled back over gleaming teeth.

  Connor was still a wolf, and he was pissed.

  “I don’t recall inviting you along on this little adventure,” Lulu said to him. “So we aren’t the only ones who have explaining to do.”

  It was the driest look I’d ever seen on an animal.

  Maybe that’s why he didn’t warn us before light filled the darkness, searing across my retinas as magic engulfed him. It whirled around his body, sending energy and the scents of pine needles and fur into the air. I’d never stood in the sun, never felt sunshine on my bare skin. But the scent of him made me think of those things.

  The light spun like a cyclone and dissipated just as suddenly, lights streaking into darkness and leaving Connor Keene completely, utterly naked.

  “Clothes are on my bike,” he said, running a hand through his hair, and walked toward Thelma.

  I’d never seen Connor with so much as a shirt off—and that had been my loss entirely. His body was perfection. Wide shoulders that led to a flat stomach and narrow waist, strong arms and legs, every inch of him toned from hard work and activity.

  I couldn’t look away . . . and didn’t want to. Muscle rippled and shifted as he moved, and I had to fight back against the instinct to reach out and touch, run fingers down the taut skin that covered his abdomen or the sleek curve of his back.

  Connor glanced back at me, and there was plenty of ego in the look.

  Having seen the product, I couldn’t argue with the ego. But the realization that I’d just fantasized about Connor unsettled me. Who was I?

  Lulu gave him a two-fingered whistle. “The ensemble is fantastic.”

  He flipped her off.

  “I mean, he is just delectable,” Lulu said quietly.

  “He’s not bad,” was all I was willing to give him. I was still too disturbed by the fact that I found him attractive.

  “You could bounce a quarter off his ass.”

  “I can hear you, Lulu,” he called back, pulling on jeans and a T-shirt. He glanced back, and there was no hiding the masculine pride in his eyes. “Wolf hearing, remember?”

  “Yes, I know,” Lulu said with a thin smile.

  Connor sat on the edge of the bike to pull on his boots, then ran a hand through his hair. I figured his transformation was complete enough for us to talk again.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I said when we walked toward him.

  “Saving your ass, apparently. What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be the good one.”

  “The good one?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re supposed to be smart enough to do the right thing, to follow the rules. And not walk into a fight.”

  “I did the right thing,” I told him with barely veiled fury. “We didn’t come to argue. We came to ask questions. To help Riley. We didn’t ask you to barge in.”

  Boot laces still hanging, his shirt not quite snugged down to cover the strapping muscle over his hips, he glared at me. “The rules don’t say anything about barging into a fairy castle.”

  “They opened the damn doors,” I gritted out. “And since when do you come riding to vampires’ rescue?” I asked, brow arched as high as I could make it. “I thought shifters stayed out of politics.”

  “You’d better be glad I made an exception.”

  “We were handling ourselves,” I said.

  “Oh, good,” Lulu muttered. “Connor and Elisa are fighting. Shock. Surprise.”

  “Can it, Bell,” Connor said, but didn’t spare her a glance.

  “How’d you know we were here?” I asked, gaze narrowed.

  “I followed you from the loft.”

  “You did not,” Lulu said.

  “I did. Need to learn to spot a tail, witch.”

  “Don’t call me witch, puppy.”

  Connor’s lip curled.

  “Focus,” I said, and looked at Connor. “Why were you at the loft?”

  His jaw worked. “Because you seem to think you’re Sherlock Holmes.”

  “I’m Holmes,” Lulu said. “She’s Watson.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering patience. “If you’re willing to dig in the dirt at Cadogan House,” he said, opening them again and arrowing in on me, “I thought you might do something else stupid.” He gestured toward the castle.

  “Riley wouldn’t have done this,” I said. “But we’re the only ones who seem to understand that. And until we prove it, the real killer goes free.”

  “He’s my friend, too,” Connor said. “He’s my friend, my Pack mate. He’s family. And my responsibility.”

  “You aren’t Apex yet,” I said.

  “Yet,” he said, his gaze so intense it might have bored into me.

  “Here’s an idea,” Lulu said. “Let’s get the hell out of here, and you two can continue arguing somewhere else.” She looked back at the tower. “I don’t think we’re guaranteed they won’t try for round two.”

  Connor nodded. “There’s a diner up the road. The Carpathian.”

  “The Carpathian, as in the mountains in the Ukraine?” I wondered. The Pack had strong connections to the Ukraine.

  His smile was wolfish. “The mountains are in the Ukraine, and the restaurant is here. It’s one of ours. Meet me there.” He pointed a finger at each of us. “And no detours.”

  He pulled on his helmet, climbed onto his bike, kick-started the engine. The bike growled to life, and it sounded as sexy as it looked. With one last glance at me, he drove off into darkness.

  “Is it irritating that he expects us to follow him?” Lulu asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  But it was our best option.

  “On the way, can we discuss in detail how good he looks naked? Almost makes it worth his testy teenage years.”

  Shaking my head—and more than a little flustered to find I agreed with her—I followed her back to the car.

  * * *

  • • •

  I checked my injuries in the car. The cut at my neck was nearly invisible, the slice along my shin deeper, but knitting together nicely. My cheekbone was bruised, and the mark would take longer to disappear. Bruises always did.

  The Carpathian wasn’t the typical shifter hang, if there was such a thing, given that the NAC Industries building probably blew the curve on what was typical. It was a train car, long and silvery blue, its metal gleaming in the moonlight. The roof was curved, the sides pinstriped, the narrow windows glowing between crisp white curtains. Hydrangeas with white clouds of flowers lined the metal staircase that led into the entrance door.

  The bike wa
s already there when we pulled into the gravel lot. Connor leaned against it, helmet propped on the seat, screen in hand. He put it away when we walked toward him, then reached out, ran a thumb lightly across my cheekbone.

  “You’re hurt,” he said, tilting my chin into the light. “Your father will see that.”

  I ignored the frisson of heat from his touch. “I’ll heal.”

  “I’m sure you will. Make sure he doesn’t do anything rash.”

  “He never does,” I said. My father was the most controlled person I knew.

  We walked inside, found a dozen narrow booths lining the walls and a kitchen at the other end. Four of the tables were occupied. One by a single, three by couples old and young, who talked quietly and clearly enjoyed their food. There was a small stand at the other end of the train car, nestled between the wall and the door to the kitchen, where a turntable spun a violin concerto that rolled softly through the air.

  “It’s . . . intimate,” Lulu whispered.

  “And friendly,” Connor said, watching a woman walk toward us. She was slender, with pale skin, dark hair, and enormous eyes set in a heart-shaped face. She wore a white apron over trim, dark pants and a dark shirt, and kept her gaze on Connor.

  “Keene,” she said when she reached us, then looked us over.

  “Natalia.”

  She said something in what I guessed was Ukrainian. He responded in the same language. More talking, and a glance at the smears of grime on Lulu’s clothes, the bruise on my cheek. Her eyes narrowed.

  “There will be no trouble here,” she said, voice thickly accented.

  “None,” Connor agreed. “The trouble was left behind.”

  Another moment of hesitation, and she relented, pointed to a booth, asked another question.

  “Tak,” Connor said with a nod. Natalia walked to the bar, and he put out a hand, gestured us into the booth.

  Lulu slid in, and I slid beside her. Connor took the other bench.

  “It’s been a long time since we’ve done a late night in a diner,” Lulu said, gaze tracking across the restaurant’s interior.

  “I’m sure that was entertaining for everyone,” Connor said.

  I crossed one leg over the other. “We didn’t have money, so we’d order black coffee and eat the free crackers and jelly.”

  “How did you not have money? Your parents are Cadogan House.”

  “Not a lot of part-time jobs for teenagers who could only work at night. I did chores in the House, but that money only went so far.”

  His smile was dubious. “Because you had a staff to pay?”

  “Because she has a coffee habit,” Lulu said, and pulled a paper menu from the holder at the edge of the table, handed one to me. Only a few items were on the menu, and all of them had at least one indecipherable ingredient. There were four kinds of artisanal water.

  “You still picky?” Connor asked.

  With a vampire metabolism, I’d wanted nothing but blood, grilled cheeses, and chocolate chip cookies growing up. Thankfully, I’d grown out of that stage.

  “I usually eat what’s available,” I said, giving him a thin smile. “No one likes a hangry vampire.”

  Natalia came back, put glasses of water—artisanal status undetermined—in front of us on the table. Then she looked at Connor expectantly. Because he’s the shifter, I wondered, or the only one she trusts to order from their very particular menu?

  “Three burgers,” Connor said. “Set us up.”

  “Of course.” She nodded, then turned and walked back to the kitchen.

  “Are you under the impression we can’t order for ourselves?” Lulu asked testily.

  “Shifter place, shifter rules. If I order, they think I’m in charge. Makes it easier for everyone.”

  “Because you’re you?” I wondered. “Or because I’m a vampire?” The incident at Little Red had made it clear that antivamp prejudices still ran through the Pack.

  He watched me for a moment, as if carefully considering his answer. “Both,” he finally said. “And the burgers are good.”

  Lulu crossed her arms. “We’ll see.”

  “He’s a wolf,” I pointed out. “Probably knows good meat from bad.”

  “One of my many skills. And now that we’re out of danger, please explain to me why you two decided to start a war by storming a literal fairy castle in the middle of the night.”

  “The pin belonged to one of the fairies,” I said. “The one I found near the Cadogan House patio.”

  Connor’s brows lifted. “How do you know?”

  “She took video of the reception,” Lulu said. “We reviewed the evidence and reached a conclusion based on the same.”

  “Thank you, CSI.” His tone was dry as dust.

  Lulu saluted. “And bee-tee-dubs, your girlfriend is a firecracker. That panther routine?” She mimicked wiping sweat from her brow. “Impressive.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend. We aren’t together anymore.”

  “Oh, well, damn,” Lulu said. “I will cease harassing you on that topic, and congratulate your good decision making.”

  Connor rolled his eyes, shifted his gaze to me. “So, the pin belonged to a fairy. Was the fairy at the party?”

  “I don’t know. If he was, I didn’t see him.” We’d have to talk to Kelley—or maybe Theo—about that. See if the Cadogan surveillance video revealed anything else.

  “Why did they let us go?” I asked, working that over.

  “Because they’re smart?” Lulu said. “They realized they don’t want the wrath of Cadogan House and the Pack raining down upon them.”

  Maybe, I thought. They had backed down after Connor had arrived. But that look in Ruadan’s eyes, that interest, made me wonder if we’d been allowed to leave because he had something else planned. I had no idea what that might be, but I had a sinking feeling—after that talk about power—it had something to do with me.

  Didn’t matter. I’d handle it, just like I’d handled the fight.

  Natalia returned, put plates of food in front of us. A waiter behind her added glasses of beer.

  “Diakuju,” Connor said, and she nodded, left to check on the other patrons. Her expression changed completely when she reached them. She smiled, which softened her features, put a hand on their shoulders, chatted with them quietly. It took me a minute to realize why, to recognize the magic that lingered in the air.

  I looked at Connor. “Are we the only non-shifters in the restaurant?”

  He pulled pickles, onions, tomatoes, lettuce off his burger, piled them on the side of his plate. They barely had time to settle before Lulu grabbed them, piled them onto hers.

  “Yes,” he said, then took a bite. “And the salad is unnecessary.”

  “Textures,” Lulu said, then sawed at the entire pile to cut it in half, then in quarters. Then she picked up a wedge, bit off the pointed end.

  “You still do that.”

  She looked at Connor, chewed. “I don’t like putting my face into food. I’d rather bring the food to my face.”

  “You’re an odd duck, Bell.”

  “At least I’m not literally a duck, Keene.”

  “You’re well aware what I am, Bell.”

  “True,” she said, winging up her eyebrows.

  I hadn’t yet tasted the food, so I grabbed a fry from Connor’s plate, chewed.

  He stopped chewing midbite. “What the hell, Sullivan?”

  Lulu smiled, shook her head. “You think I’m a weird eater? She prefers to eat other people’s food. Freaking fry thief.”

  “Fries from someone else’s plate always taste better,” I said, finishing off the one I’d stolen. “You can have some of mine.”

  “That is empirically false,” Connor said. “And I don’t want your fries. I want my own fries.”

  I shrugg
ed, reached unapologetically for a fry from Lulu’s plate. She slapped my hand away. “Bad vampire. Eat your own food.”

  “Fine.” I gathered up the burger, took a bite. “Not bad,” I said, and took another. “I’m surprised this place doesn’t make the Chicago top-ten list.”

  “It does,” Connor said. “Just not the human list. Riley eats four of these at a time.” His smile fell away with the memory.

  “Maybe the Ombudsman would let you bring him one?”

  “I doubt it,” he said sourly. “Dearborn’s a dick. If he wasn’t, Riley wouldn’t be in prison right now.”

  “It’s because he looks big and dangerous,” Lulu said. “He has plenty of muscle and power to back that up. But he has an enormous heart.”

  “So why did you break up with him?” Connor asked.

  Her gaze lifted. “He didn’t tell you?”

  Connor shook his head. “I know it wasn’t what he wanted, but he didn’t talk about it. Riley’s easygoing, but he’s not one for talking about his emotions.”

  She looked up at the ceiling, as if wishing for strength to get to it. “We were getting serious. And it was getting harder for me to, I guess, avoid his magic.”

  “To avoid it?” Connor asked.

  “I made a conscious decision not to do magic. Dating a shifter is like . . . being ensconced in it. A lot.” She looked at me. “More than just vampire magic, because with vampires, the magic is mostly driven by emotions. You get nervous or excited or really hungry, and you throw off a little magic. But with shifters, it’s all the time. It’s in the air.”

  “And the ground,” Connor said. “It’s part of our connection to the natural world—or the result of it.”

  Lulu swirled the beer in the glass, watching the liquid spin. “It was becoming more difficult to be around him and still say no to using my magic. I loved him,” she said. “It just wasn’t right for me.”

  “I’m sorry, Lulu,” Connor said, and I saw only compassion in his eyes. Maybe for Lulu, maybe for his friend, maybe for a relationship broken because love hadn’t been enough.

  “It’s all right,” she said with a smile she was obviously fighting to keep in place. “It was hard. It sucked. And we both lived through it.”