* * *
* * *
They were gathered in the lounge. “What happened?”
Connor told them about the AAM, the attack on my apartment. And Miranda spun toward me like a hurricane, with fury in her eyes.
“You did this,” she said, stalking toward me. “This happened because of you.”
“She didn’t drive the car,” Connor said. “Or order anyone to do so.”
“Maybe not,” Miranda said. “But without her, it wouldn’t have happened.”
My screen buzzed, and I checked it, found a message from Yuen. He’d lost the vehicle in a jam in Wicker Park, but put out an all-points bulletin. He’d search the plates, and the CPD would also pull traffic camera feeds from the route they’d followed and try to nail down a shot of the driver.
The CPD had already been watching the AAM, and the Ombuds hadn’t gotten an alert that the group had left the hotel. That suggested the driver wasn’t part of the AAM.
Yuen offered to come back, to take an official statement, but I told him to wait. If Connor wanted that, if the Pack wanted that, they could ask for it specifically.
“Miranda,” Connor was saying, “we don’t even know if a vampire was driving the car.”
“Who else would do it? Who else would dare try to take you out?”
I wanted to point out the members of her own Pack in Minnesota who’d done just that, but knew I needed to stay quiet. This conversation wasn’t for me.
“Quit making excuses, Connor! For all we know, this is a vampire plot to take down the Pack.” She gave me a suspicious stare. “This is probably because the Pack denied her sanctuary for her little vampire troubles.”
That had the shifters who watched us whispering to each other.
“She didn’t request sanctuary,” Connor said. “So there was no denying to be done.”
“Whatever. The point is, every time new vampires come into this city, bad shit goes down. Shit that hurts us.”
There were a few rolled eyes, but also a few nods of agreement. They didn’t trust me. And if they didn’t trust me, they wouldn’t trust Connor. I couldn’t let that happen.
“We don’t know who did this,” I said, and every eye in the room turned to me. “But if it was a vampire, or if it was because of the AAM, I will handle it. That makes it my problem, and my responsibility, and I will handle it. And if any of you have issues with that, you can talk to me.”
Silence for a moment. Then, “Agreed.”
I looked back, found Gabriel at the back of the room, arms crossed. “If it’s your problem, you fix it. If it’s our problem, we fix it.”
“Agreed,” I said with a nod, sealing the deal.
* * *
* * *
He shifted alone. Not because he was too shy to do it around me—I’d seen him shift before, and the nakedness that preceded and followed it—but because he was afraid the pain would scare me.
I didn’t hear him scream. But I felt its vibration, the earthquake of magic and rage and agony across the building. And was immensely relieved when he walked toward me again. He’d changed clothes, given the beating taken by the other ones, and his hair was damp.
He reached me, kissed me, pulled me against him. Tears welled, but I held them back. We were still in Pack territory, and the Pack was still angry. Still hurting. It permeated the air.
“I’m good,” he said and ran a hand down my hair. “A little food, a beer, wouldn’t hurt. But I’m fine. Let’s get out of here, and we can talk.” I had the feeling he wanted away from the scene, and away from the magic.
We walked outside to the SUV, and my screen buzzed. I pulled it out again, expecting another message from Roger, an update on what he’d found.
And because I’d been expecting that, I wasn’t prepared for what I found there.
Elisa:
How could you pick shifters over vampires? I’ve admired you and wanted so much to be your friend, but you’re being disloyal! I’m beginning to wonder if you appreciate what I’ve done for you. I’m protecting you, Elisa. Ensuring your future.
I remain, with hope that you’ll understand,
—A friend?
What he’d done for me, the note said. But he’d done nothing on my behalf, only his delusion of it. And that delusion had nearly gotten Connor killed.
My heart roared, a timpani drum of anger. “It was him.”
“What?” Connor asked, and I showed him the message.
“I’m— Connor, I’m sorry.” Horror and fury and fear battled in my chest, squeezing hard against my heart. “It was the stalker. He hit you. He tried to kill you. This is all my—”
“No,” he interrupted, sliding a hand behind my neck and lowering his head to look directly into my eyes. “No. You are responsible for your actions, not his. You gave me the warning, and you were there to pick me up. Not that I needed picking up.”
“Because you’re a big, strong shifter.”
“Damn right. He wasn’t the first one to take a shot at me, and probably won’t be the last. And how many of my Pack members tried to take you out in Minnesota?”
I paused. “That is a point.”
He nodded. “So if you so much as suggest this was your fault, you’ll just piss me off.”
I sucked in a hard and shuddering breath, nodded.
“I’m okay,” he said. “It’s gonna take more than a shitty sedan to break me.”
I put my screen in my pocket, scrubbed my hands over my face until I’d regained some composure.
I understood logically that I hadn’t caused this; I hadn’t driven the car, or asked anyone to hurt Connor. But that didn’t mitigate the fear, the fury, that someone had tried to hurt him—or that they believed hurting him was something I wanted. It couldn’t have been further from the truth.
Connor had become part of my life. An essential part. Despite our beginnings, despite at least fifteen years of mutual irritation, and paths that diverged almost completely. I’d come home to Chicago unwillingly. But I’d found a kind of home here, and he was a major part of it. And in seconds, someone had nearly ripped him away.
Tears breached my lashes. “Damn it,” I said, swiping at them. “I hate crying. And I’ve done entirely too much of it this week.”
“You are having a bit of a week,” he said and wrapped an arm around me. “Sometimes tears are inevitable. But I’m okay.”