She ended the call then, a nice bit of dramatic flair for the X-files-worthy send-off. I slid the screen back into my pocket, cleared my throat before looking up at Connor. And seeing the expected know-it-all expression on his face.
“We had to ask,” I said. “And notwithstanding the Beast, she’s ruled out any native animals. So it’s progress. And we’ll keep an eye out for the feds, just in case.”
He just rolled his eyes.
* * *
* * *
There was more magic in the lodge today, spilling beneath the closed doors like smoke from a very energized fire. It wasn’t broken, but it did have an edge of heat that said discussions about Loren’s memorial were not going smoothly.
The shifters hadn’t even made it upstairs, but were clustered in the lobby—Cash, Georgia, and Everett standing in front of the fireplace as shifters around them yelled out their concerns.
We worked our way through the edge of the crowd, Georgia giving us a small nod in acknowledgment, and watched as a young shifter did the same on the other side of the horde. Maybe nineteen, tall and on the lean side. He was pale but had sun-kissed skin and dirty-blond hair that was combed forward to flop over his face. Brown eyes topped by thick brows, a square, narrow jaw, a wide but thin mouth.
“Loren doesn’t deserve a memorial,” he said, eyes hard. “He brought nothing but trouble to the clan.”
“Kid’s name is Traeger,” Connor whispered.
“Loren was an elder,” Cash said.
“Not because the clan wanted it,” Traeger insisted. “He’s not even a wolf. That means he’s not Pack. Not really.”
Even I knew that wasn’t the rule; the Brecks were panthers, and Jeff Christopher was very much a tiger. All of them were Pack. But there were murmurs of agreement in the crowd.
“I’m coyote,” Everett said. “That doesn’t matter, either, and you know it. We’re family as far as family’s concerned.”
“He’s Pack,” Georgia agreed. “By choice and by blood. The Pack isn’t just wolves.” She looked at Connor for confirmation.
Connor glanced at Cash, doing him the courtesy of getting his approval before entering the fray, and when he got the nod, he looked at Traeger. “She’s right,” he said. “Pack is geography, self-identification. He’s a shifter in our territory, says he’s a Pack member, then he’s a Pack member.”
“Fine,” Traeger said. “So he’s Pack. Then he’s not clan. He’s not part of our family. Not by blood. He married in. That doesn’t mean shit.”
“These are all technicalities,” Cash said, frustration clear in his voice. “We get that you had issues with him, Traeger. But he was part of our community, one of our elders. He did his part to work for the clan, and his death was violent. The least we can do is give him honors in death.”
Traeger made a sound of frustration, shook his head.
I thought the least they could do was find his killer, but maybe that was just me. For all their nerves the night before, the clan didn’t seem to be much interested in diving into the cause of Loren’s untimely death. Was that avoidance? Guilt?
I looked at Traeger, wondering how deep his dislike went—and what “troubles” Loren might have caused. And if Traeger’s anger over them might have moved him to murder. Considering the number of injuries and the amount of damage done, someone had been very, very angry at Loren.
Traeger seemed angry enough to kill. But we’d all been angry at someone sometime, and very few of us actually committed murder. And there was no evidence linking Traeger to the death, at least not yet. But maybe we could have a few words. . . .
“The memorial will go forward,” Cash said, which sent a new wave of sound through the crowd. Some approval, some anger. “We’ll address the details—whether he’ll be honored with song, with magic, with sacrifice—in private council.” His gaze landed on me, suspicion keen. “This isn’t the time or place to have those discussions.”
Cash looked away, spread his gaze across the shifters at large. “The clan accepts violence is inevitable. Nature is not soft, and neither are we. Nature is hard, and strength is rewarded, and sometimes we must fight for what we want.”
I glanced at Connor, wondered what he thought of the clan’s liberal attitude toward violence, and found cold disapproval in his eyes.
“Because of that,” Cash continued, “we hold the sheriff—the human justice system—at bay so the clan can make its own decisions. But the injuries done to Loren were not sanctioned by the clan, and no one has presented evidence they were warranted. If I find out any of you were involved, there will be hell to pay.”
This time, Traeger was the recipient of Cash’s cold gaze. Maybe Cash, too, believed Traeger was capable.
But the chill in his eyes disappeared—blanked out—when a hush moved through the room, filling it with utter silence. And a cold spill of magic followed in its wake.
The hair on the back of my neck lifted. I knew that magic.
Vampire.
I turned around, watched the crowd slide apart, smooth as the slice of a dagger.
He walked through them, the shifters giving him hard looks and ample space as he made his way toward Cash.
He was a handsome man, with dark brown skin and cropped black hair, brown eyes topped by a heavy brow, and generous lips just a little heavier at the bottom, and edged by a short beard. He wore a black tunic of stiff linen with a short collar and a V-neck, pants in the same stiff fabric, black shoes, and a silver cuff on his right wrist. He wore no sword, carried no other obvious weapon. But he was the one in charge, if his square shoulders and stern expression were any clue.
Two vampires appeared behind him. A man, tall and broad shouldered, with tan skin and dark hair—short on the sides, waved back on top—and a woman with pale skin and blond hair in a complicated braid around the crown of her head. They wore tunics of the same style, same color as the first vampire’s.
If the shifters objected to vampires walking through their lodge, they didn’t say it aloud. But Connor moved a step closer to me.
“Ronan,” Cash said, nodding at the vampire in front. This was the vampire my father had mentioned.
“We heard of Loren’s death,” Ronan said. “We come to offer our sympathies.”
“Appreciated,” Cash said. “Loren was an elder, a statesman, and he’ll be missed.”
There were obviously some who disagreed with that assessment, including Traeger. But they kept their mouths shut. They might debate whether Loren was clan, but he was plainly a shifter. So they presented a unified front to the outside. To the vampires. Shifters versus the world.