Wicked Hour

by Chloe Neill

  On the walk, I considered the possibility Traeger was behind Loren’s murder. Maybe the fact that he and Paisley were dating hadn’t been common knowledge, but that seemed odd in a community this small. On the other hand, the clan did seem to have an obliviousness problem.

  I crossed a lawn with a sandpit for horseshoes, a handful of rusting chaise lounges, and a swing set for children. And then they stepped in front of me.

  “Well, well, well,” Miranda said. “Looks like we found her.”

  Maeve and Jae—the women who’d helped Beth after she’d been attacked—stood behind her. All three wore their anger like battle armor. All three looked ready for a fight.

  And what kind of fight? I wondered, and gently tested the magic in the air. Not as strong as Connor’s, I gauged, but healthy and whole. No broken magic among them.

  “Hello, Miranda.”

  “What are you doing out here, vamp?” Miranda asked. “Sneaking around our compound? Poking into things that aren’t your business?”

  My blood fired, began to heat. Miranda had picked the wrong night to bait me. And I wasn’t the only one irritated. The monster shifted, stirred, offered almost lazily to join in, take care of the problem. Reminded me of the promise I’d made. The release I’d promised.

  Not yet your turn, I told it.

  “It’s not your compound,” I said. “And as you’re well aware, I’m here with permission, so I don’t need to sneak around.”

  “What were you doing at Dante’s house?” Jae asked, and I shifted my gaze to her.

  I wanted to throw out a sarcastic answer, but realized that wasn’t the wisest course of action. And at least one of us needed to think through our decisions. “He agreed to talk to me about Paisley’s death.”

  “What about it?” Miranda asked.

  I considered what Connor had said about evidence, keeping information close to the vest. “Figure it out,” I said darkly.

  Her gaze narrowed, and she tacked, shifted. “That was quite a show you put on in the lodge. Quite a little performance.”

  “I don’t consider kissing Connor a performance,” I said mildly, but of course it had been. And it had apparently touched a nerve, confirming my theory that Miranda didn’t just want the Pack—she wanted him, too.

  “Okay, so it’s a ploy, right?”

  I watched her for a moment, taking in the haughty tilt of her chin, the prickle of irritated magic, the fight in her eyes.

  “A ploy?” I asked.

  Her eyes gleamed. “For more celebrity. For the thrill of it. To piss off daddy. Dating a shifter. So risqué. So dangerous.”

  I couldn’t help it; I burst out laughing, which just put more sourness in her expression and had Maeve and Jae moving closer.

  “You think my father—who orchestrated an alliance between Cadogan House and the Pack, and was chosen by the Pack as a bodyguard for convocation—would be mad I’m dating a shifter?”

  Her eyes didn’t change, stayed hard and cold as glass. “Hanging all over him, more like. His little princess, wasting all that magic. Wasting all those political opportunities.”

  That one hit deeper, and I didn’t like it.

  Miranda moved forward. “You’re not going to end up with him, you know; you can’t. And you know he can’t be with a vampire. Not if he wants the Pack, which he does. Which means you’re just wasting his time.”

  She didn’t know anything about my family, about vampires. Probably didn’t know that much about Connor, frankly. But she’d managed to land another blow in a spot I hadn’t even realized was weak.

  I didn’t think I’d flinched, but her smile said otherwise. “You know he’s just having a little fun, right? A little rebellion, because he can’t afford you. That means you’re temporary. A distraction. So why don’t you take yourself back to Chicago and your fancy little house and quit putting your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

  If she was so certain that my being a vampire mattered, I might as well give back a little of my own. I let my eyes silver—and had to hold back the red that wanted to shine through, that wanted the fight on its own, thought it deserved the fight—and watched her throat work as she swallowed. Her own magic filled the air, the paranormal equivalent of fur lifting at the back of her spine. A reaction to a threat.

  Good. Better a threat than a joke.

  “I’m no princess,” I said, voice low and dangerous. “Maybe you’re used to prey that slinks around in the dark or humans who avoid you because, deep down, they know what you are.” I leaned forward, stared into her eyes. “I’m not human, and I’m not prey, and I know exactly who you are and what I am.”

  “You want to fight me?” Miranda said, each word bitten off like something foul. Something rotten.

  “If you need to see me in action to believe I’ve got skills, I’m open to that. If you think I’m going to back off just because you can grow claws, you’d be dangerously wrong. Frankly, I don’t really think it’s a good use of your time, given the clan is apparently being stalked by a killer.”

  “No one is stalking the clan.”

  “Loren would disagree with you,” I said. Harsh words, but true. “If you really want to test me, you can pick the time and place. If you have thoughts about Connor’s choices, you should take them up with him. I’m not his keeper, and I’m not trying to run his life. You might try that strategy, too. Because the one you’re currently trying is pretty dumb.”

  Her eyes went hot. “What did you say to me?”

  “You’ve told Connor you wanted the Pack,” I said, and let my gaze slip to Maeve and Jae, watched uncertainty creep into their eyes. “If that’s really true, and you think Connor can’t win Apex while he’s dating me, shouldn’t you want him to date me?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Because that would give you a clear path to Apex, right?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Because you want the Pack,” I said, “but you want him more. This isn’t about me, Miranda, and it’s not about the Pack. You’re just pissed off because he’s not interested in you.” I kept my gaze on her, but could see Jae and Maeve shifting uncomfortably. She’d probably lured them on this little errand by explaining how I was using Connor, using the Pack. They hadn’t known her well enough to guess it was all sour grapes.

  “I deserve him,” she said, voice high and a little panicked. “Me. I’m Pack. I’m wolf. And I’ve been by his side for years. Where the fuck were you? In freaking Paris, living it up.”

  I’d been in Paris, trying to hide the monster while I bled from katana and Krav Maga training, not that she cared about the truth. But I was nearly out of patience.

  “Here’s the thing, Miranda. Nobody owes you anything. Not Connor, not the Pack, not the world. You want to fight him for the Pack? Then fight. Quit sniping at me, at him, and fight. Maybe you’ll get lucky, and maybe you’ll win. Maybe the Pack will select you. But even if you win, it doesn’t end with the two of you on the throne together. You don’t get to pick his partners for him.”

  Miranda seethed for a minute before Jae touched her arm. “Come on, Miranda. Let’s go.”

  But Miranda wasn’t quite done. “Mark my words,” she said through bared teeth. “The Pack belongs to shifters. And I’ll do whatever I have to do to ensure you’ll have no part in it.”

  With that, she turned on her heel and walked away.

  “Game on,” I muttered into darkness. “Game on.”

  * * *

  * * *

  I wanted to hit something—technically, both of us did—from the frustration of dealing with Miranda. I wasn’t afraid of her; she talked too much, and did too little, for fear to take hold. But she knew just where to strike to do maximum damage. If she put that cleverness to good use—helping the Pack—instead of fixating on Connor, she could probably do a lot of good.

 
“Maybe the Beast of Owatonna could find her,” I muttered, and strode toward Traeger’s cabin. “She’s plenty wicked.”

  Still fuming, I knocked on his door.

  It took a few seconds, and the door opened, Traeger sneering at me through the crack. “You at the wrong cabin, vamp?”

  “Thank you for acknowledging my biology,” I said, and enjoyed the irritation that flashed in his eyes. “And no. I’m here to talk to you.”

  “I don’t have anything to say to you or anyone else.”

  “Charming attitude.”

  “I’m not here to charm anyone, much less a vampire.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned that. You were dating Paisley when she was killed.”

  “So what?”

  “So, I bet you knew her better than anyone else.”

  “Yeah, I did. Why do you care? She’s gone now.”

  “She is. And I’m wondering about that.”

  Pain crossed his eyes, as sharp and brutal as the pain I’d seen in Dante’s. But it changed, mutated into anger, hot and bitter.

  He turned and walked into the cabin, leaving me in the doorway, then sprawled onto the sofa, stared into the dark window beyond. “Ask your questions and get out. Like it matters, anyway. The clan is what the clan is. Cash and Everett and the others are going to do whatever the hell they’re going to do, and what we think doesn’t matter.”

  Taking the invitation, I moved inside and closed the door. In the air was only typical shifter magic. Nothing broken, nothing splintered.

  I looked around. This was one of the smaller cabins, and it was even shabbier than ours. Cabinets worn at the edges, surfaces not entirely clean, pop cans here and there.

  It was interesting how each family started with the same basic structure, the same cabin, which almost evolved to fit their personalities, their lifestyles. I didn’t see much forward progress here.

  “It matters to me,” I said, moving toward the couch. I glanced down at a club chair, the brown leather faded and crisscrossed with scars, considered sitting, but opted to stand. Given his attitude, I’d rather stay on my feet. Prepared in case he pounced. Literally and figuratively.

  Traeger’s eyes went cold, mean. “Maybe you’re a big fucking deal in Chicago, but you’re nothing here. So why don’t you take your questions and get out and leave the rest of us to our business?”

  There was a lot of anger here. And because of that, I opted for honesty. “Because I think something’s going on in this clan. I’m not entirely sure what, but there are a lot of angry people. And two people are dead. I’d rather there not be more.”

  He just looked at me, his face hard.

  “Did she have any enemies?”

  “Paisley? No. Of course not. She was a good person. Nice. She was friendly to everyone.”

  “Do you think her death was an accident?”

  His lips pressed into a thin line. “I wasn’t there, was I? No one was. Clan says it was an accident.”

  “And what do you think about that?”

  “The clan is what it is. It runs the way it’s always run. What I think about it doesn’t matter.”

  “Who do you think killed Loren?” I asked.

  He looked out the window. I’d have put his age at nineteen or twenty, and that made him seem even younger. A child angry at the world’s unfairness. “The fuck do I know?”

  “You’d know better than me,” I said. “You didn’t like him.”

  His expression didn’t change, but he also didn’t disagree.

  “In the lodge, you said he brought trouble to the clan,” I said. “What did you mean by that?”

  “He was a dick, and he’s dead. So why does it matter?”

  “Because someone cared enough to murder him,” I pointed out. “Did you know he was the last person to talk to Paisley before she died? And she was angry about something when that happened?”

  Angry magic crackled in the air. He hadn’t liked the suggestion that Loren and Paisley had been together—or he hadn’t known about it. “Said who?”

  “Said the people I’ve asked. You know anything about that?”

  He stood up so quickly I nearly flinched with surprise; then he moved toward me. “You’re a fucking liar. I want you out of my house.”

  I was getting real tired of being told what to do by shifters. And the monster was interested in the sharp whip strike of his anger. “Are you afraid of someone asking questions?” I asked quietly, keeping my voice low and refusing to move, to step back.

  That challenge put a spark in his eyes. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “Loren?”

  “Anything,” he said, voice low and threatening. “Even nosy vampires.”

  The door opened. Georgia walked in, grocery bag in hand; behind her, Connor carried two more. They put the bags on the counter, went very still as they read the scene. And I looked back at them, trying to figure out why they’d just walked into Traeger’s cabin.

  “Hey,” Connor said carefully, taking in our positions, the fire in Traeger’s eyes, as he evaluated the situation. Assessed. “What’s up?”

  “Traeger and I were just having a conversation,” I said, and looked up at him, refusing to step backward.

  I could feel Georgia’s cautious but heavy stare, like that alone might be enough to hold Traeger back, to keep him from doing something stupid in front of the prince. Or to him.

  “Trae, can you help me put these groceries away?”

  “In a minute,” he said. “I need air. There’s a smell in here.” Without waiting for Georgia’s response, he stalked outside, slammed the door behind him.

  Georgia looked back at me, dark brows lifted. “What pissed him off?”

  “Generally, the clan. Specifically, me.” I shifted my gaze to Connor. “He and Paisley were dating. Says he didn’t know Loren was the last person to see her alive or that they were arguing. I tend to believe him.”

  “Loren was an elder,” Georgia said, pulling boxes and jars from the bags, setting them on the counter. “He talked to all the clan members.”

  “Not all the elders are dead,” Connor pointed out.

  She put a box into one of the cabinets, closed the door again. I guessed she wasn’t optimistic about Traeger coming back to finish the job. “Trae has nothing to do with any of that.”

  “You’re sure?” Connor asked.

  “Do you mean, would I know if he’d killed an elder of this clan?” Her voice was dry as toast. “Yeah, I feel pretty confident I would. Look, he’s hot-tempered,” she said, putting both hands on the island countertop and leaning forward, eager to make us believe her. “He’s young. It’s typical behavior. He’s learning what being alpha means, and it takes some longer than others. Especially given his history.”

  Given the meaningful look she aimed at Connor, I assumed she’d given him some of that history—and he’d tell me what I needed to know.

  “Georgia, you’re family,” Connor began, “but something is going on here, and everyone seems to be ignoring the obvious. One of your elders is dead, and Paisley before him. Maybe Traeger is involved, and maybe he isn’t. But the denial isn’t helping anyone.”

  Her eyes flashed, hot with fury. “I’m not in denial, and you’d best remember where you’re standing and who you’re talking to, whelp. I’ve been a member of this Pack—and this clan—a little longer than you.”

  “I know,” Connor said, not unkindly. “Maybe you can talk to Traeger, find out if he knows anything else. And maybe you can talk to Cash and Everett, tell them about Loren, Paisley, their fight. Maybe they’ll pay attention. Because—and I’m going to be honest here—I’m getting really fucking sick of this clan.”

  He strode to the door, slammed through it.

  I walked to the door, but paused. “Not even Connor can save the clan alone,” I said.
“Think about that.”

  THIRTEEN

  Come here,” he said when we walked outside. “I need a minute.”

  He took my hand, and we walked together along the path that led to the water. Waves lapped gently at the smooth stones that made up the shoreline.

  Someone had built a cairn in a flat spot, a tower of round rocks stacked one on top of another, successively smaller as they neared the top. The builder had left a white flower perched on the smallest stone, which made the pale petals seem even more fragile.

  Cairns were often used for burials in places where rock was easier to come by than soil. They left behind a visible and tangible mark of the person who’d come before. This one was small—less than a foot high, only a few inches wide. And I wondered if it had been placed here intentionally. For Loren or for Paisley. Or maybe for the clan, because of the hits it had taken.

  We didn’t stop walking until we’d reached the very edge of the land, an outcropping of stone that jutted stubbornly into the water. Connor wrapped his arms around me, stars spinning overhead, the only sound the soft thush thush of the waves and the beating of our hearts.

  Silence fell, and I closed my eyes, matched my breathing to the waves until my mind was calm again.

  “It talks to me,” he said, chin atop my head.

  “What does?”

  “The lake. The woods. The stones. Not in words—it’s not a Disney movie out there—but it has a kind of heartbeat, too.”

  A shifter’s relationship with the earth was unique among Supernaturals, but it wasn’t often they talked about it. Maybe they wanted to keep that relationship to themselves; maybe they didn’t want to weaken their leather-and-chrome and ass-kicking reputations.

  “What do they say?” I asked. “The lake, the woods, the stones?”

  “That they’re glad you’re here.”

  “I’m glad the stones are here, too. Because otherwise we’d be standing in Lake Superior, and the water looks very, very cold.”

  Connor leaned down, dipped fingers into the water. “Definitely chilly.”