Wicked Hour

by Chloe Neill

  “I bet it was lovely,” I said, imagining the scene clearly.

  He settled his gaze on me again. “You’d have appreciated it. And after that, I began to appreciate things more. Alexei has depth. And for the first time in my life, I wanted to have some of that depth. Some of his gravitas. Does that sound ridiculous?”

  “Not even a little. It sounds important.”

  He smiled, seemed relieved that I thought so. “It was.”

  “While we’re being honest, can I make a confession?”

  “Sure.”

  I cleared my throat, had to work myself up to it a bit. “As a kid . . . I enjoyed it when you got in trouble.”

  He threw back his head and roared with laughter. When he’d calmed down, he wiped at his eyes. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry. It’s just—that’s not a confession I’d have ever thought you’d make. I know you enjoyed it. You weren’t exactly subtle, Lis. That’s one reason why I called you brat.”

  He smiled at me, and there was something so open and unguarded about his smile that it tugged my heartstrings. Vulnerability wasn’t something I saw very often in Sups, much less in the man who wanted to lead them. I let myself enjoy that smile, that moment, and thought how much time had changed us.

  Something beeped, and we both looked toward the sound. Connor’s screen was on the counter, flashing with light and buzzing with sound.

  “Hold that thought,” he said, and maneuvered around to check it. “My alarm.” There was resignation in his voice as he turned it off. “I set a reminder. We need to get moving.”

  I looked down at the plates of eggs that had gone cold, and probably a little rubbery. “You still hungry?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Yeah,” I said, smiling as I picked up a fork, and began to shovel in eggs.

  He grinned, did the same thing. And for a moment, we were kids again, supernaturally hungry and unselfconscious about the need.

  “Oh,” he said, swallowing a mouthful. “And since I cooked, you have to do the dishes.”

  Dammit.

  * * *

  * * *

  The resort was quiet when we walked back toward the lodge. There were lights along the path, but the firepits hadn’t yet been lit. These shifters didn’t appear to be early risers.

  “Let me take the lead with the elders,” Connor said. “They know you’re coming; they’ve been informed. But that doesn’t mean they won’t play insular and offended.”

  “Well,” I said resignedly, “this will be a fun wake-up call.”

  We took the stairs to the lodge’s porch, magic growing stronger as we entered the building. We followed the sounds of talking and conversation to the lobby, where a dozen shifters lounged on worn leather furniture. There was a fireplace on one side of the room and a bookshelf on another, and they flanked a third wall of windows that overlooked a large lawn.

  Magic was plentiful. Sunk into the cracks and crevices of wood and furniture, and stirring in the air as shifters communicated, moved, watched us pass.

  We took the stairs to the second floor. The vintage North Woods look continued here, with golden log walls, patterned carpet, and old fishing and hunting gear on the walls. We steered down a hallway with named rooms—Superior, Michigan, Erie, Ontario—branching off, and into the final room on the right.

  It looked like a former ballroom: vaulted log ceiling, river stone fireplace, plenty of windows. Threadbare stacking chairs edged the room, and there were more well-beaten leather couches and folding card tables in the middle of it. Shifters were scattered throughout, but I didn’t see Loren, Georgia, or the other members of her family. The space smelled of smoke and cigars, and magic peppered the air.

  A man, leather-skinned and tendon-lean, came toward us as the other shifters watched. He wore jeans, boots, and a T-shirt, all of them equally scarred. His face was deeply lined, his hair a gleaming mix of black and silver that shagged to his neck.

  We met in the middle of the room. “Keene,” he said. Unlike Loren, he didn’t offer a hand.

  “Cash.”

  He turned his gaze to me, briefly evaluated the threat, then shifted back to Connor. “Welcome to the resort, to clan territory. And who’s this?” Cash asked, although he obviously knew.

  “Elisa Sullivan,” Connor said. “Daughter of Ethan Sullivan and Caroline Merit.”

  “Vampire,” Cash said.

  “Maison Dumas graduate,” Connor said. “OMB staff. Daughter of two Pack allies. Katana expert.”

  I wondered if he was justifying my being at the compound—or his interest in me. Maybe both. Whatever the reasons, Cash’s expression didn’t change. I guess he didn’t care much for vampires.

  “How’s Beth?” Connor continued rather than waiting for commentary on my qualifications.

  “She’s fine. Shifted, healed.”

  “Good,” Connor said. “What about her attacker? Did you find any evidence in the woods?”

  “Evidence in the woods?” Cash’s tone was dry, and other shifters around the room chuckled. “Of what? There are hungry animals, shifters we know, shifters we don’t. Nothing more, nothing less. This was probably someone Beth pissed off who hasn’t come forward yet. Her generation has a lot of . . . conflict.”

  “Does it?” Connor asked mildly.

  “Look,” Cash began. “The clan’s getting younger. There are a lot of whelps around here, and they spend a lot of time talking and thinking. They have a lot of opinions.”

  “They’ve shared those opinions with you?”

  “Some.” His eyes went dark. “Nothing that needs to concern Chicago.”

  Connor managed a surprisingly imperious expression. “I think Chicago can be the judge of that.”

  Cash rolled his eyes. “They complain about not being known to humans, but they don’t know what life is truly like. What humans are truly like.”

  “And the black armbands?” Connor asked.

  Like the women last night, several of the younger shifters wore the black armbands. And none of the older shifters had them. Because they hadn’t been as close to Paisley or because they mourned differently?

  “In honor of a shifter who recently passed.” Cash’s tone wasn’t complimentary.

  “Paisley,” Connor said, and Cash didn’t quite manage to hide his surprise.

  He nodded. “You know her?”

  “I didn’t. You don’t like the armbands?”

  “I don’t like the display of mourning. Life begins; it ends. That’s the cycle, and it’s perfectly natural, perfectly in tune with nature. I don’t approve of the sentiment or of the fact that they’re wearing something intended to distinguish them from others. Paisley’s death was a tragedy. But that’s all it was. You can’t go around assigning fault to every act of god. We’re shifters, for god’s sake.”

  “So you think one of the younger shifters might have attacked Beth,” Connor said.

  “It’s the most logical solution. I suppose it could have been someone outside the clan. A rogue shifter.”

  “Are there many out in these parts?” Connor asked but, given his tone, just for form. “Rogue shifters?”

  “Few here and there. They aren’t part of the community. They don’t reach out much.”

  Connor made a noncommittal sound. He walked to the window, looked out over the dark resort. “You heard about the issues en route?”

  Cash went to a couch, took a seat, and spread his arms along the back. He was showing arrogance, that he had nothing to hide. But there was a tightness around his eyes.

  “To Alaska?” he asked as if he had no interest in the answer.

  Connor glanced back at him. “The Pack’s return home. No one from the resort joined the caravan.”

  “Look out the window,” Cash said, turning his gaze to it. “We don’t need to go anywhere to recharge. We h
ave everything we need right here.”

  “Recharging isn’t about woods. It’s about Aurora, as I’m sure you know.”

  “Whatever. No one told me leaving was obligatory, so we didn’t leave. If you had issues, not our doing.”

  “And I take it you don’t think there’s anything to these beast rumors?” Connor asked.

  Cash rolled his eyes. “Trouble-mongering and wild imaginations.”

  Connor watched him for a minute. “Okay,” he said. “I appreciate the time and the talk. We’ll see you at the initiation.”

  “We?” Cash asked.

  “Me and Elisa,” Connor said, voice dry because the answer was obvious, and Cash certainly knew that plan ahead of time.

  All eyes in the room shifted to me. “No vampire is attending an initiation,” Cash said, leaning forward.

  “I was invited,” Connor said mildly. “She’s my plus-one.”

  “No fucking way.” The shifter who said it was older, probably Cash’s age, with a barrel chest and silver hair and beard. His skin was suntanned, his eyes blue and hard. He wore jeans, a button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up at the wrists, and dark motorcycle boots with chains across the instep.

  “Everett,” Cash said in warning.

  Everett’s lips compressed into a thin, unhappy line, but he held his peace.

  “As you were informed before we made this trip,” Connor said, “we’ll be attending together, and with Georgia’s and the Apex’s blessings. If you’ve got a problem with that, you’re welcome to take it up with the Apex. Or, if you’re not interested in a trip to Chicago, with me. Now.”

  Tension and magic rose in the room, swirled in invisible eddies.

  Cash sat back again. “I don’t know you or your old man like some of the others do. Not like your aunt does. You’re Pack, and that gives you a right to be here and an invitation. We aren’t looking for trouble. We’re looking to be left alone, to live our lives. We have nothing to hide here.”

  “Including from humans?” I wondered.

  Cash looked at me, jaw tight. “What we do in our territory is no business of humans.” Or of vampires was his silent addition.

  Connor let those words hang, apparently didn’t feel it necessary to respond to them. “We appreciate your hospitality. If you want to talk to me about anything else, we’ll be here for at least a few days.”

  That was a longer trip than we’d discussed, so I guessed from Connor’s expression he was testing the clan, watching their reactions to the possibility we’d be around for a while.

  “You’re staying past the initiation,” Cash said.

  “I don’t see that we need to be in a hurry,” Connor began, shifting his gaze back to the windows. “Like you said, you have everything a shifter needs right here.”

  SEVEN

  We’ll take the bike,” Connor said, then glanced at me. “Unless you prefer a vehicle to protect your . . .” He circled a finger over his head.

  “My head?”

  “Your hair.”

  I just lifted my brows.

  “Just checking,” he said with a teasing smile. “We are going to an event, after all.”

  “An event for shifters, which means most of them will probably be in T-shirts and boots. And I revise my prior conclusion: You’re still a punk.”

  “I prefer ‘thorough.’ Your impressions of the shifters so far?”

  “Cash is worried.”

  Connor looked down at me. “Worried?”

  “He sat down on the couch—moved away from you. He wasn’t going to show you any deference. Casual disdain,” I decided.

  “Okay,” Connor said.

  “But that’s not what was in his eyes. That wasn’t casual, and I don’t think it was about you. It was worry or concern. He didn’t like you asking questions, because I don’t think he’s comfortable with whatever the answers might be.”

  He studied me before turning the bike, picking up his helmet.

  “What?” I asked, a little unnerved by the intensity of his stare.

  “You’re good at this.”

  I lifted my brows. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

  He grinned. “I’ve never known you to half-ass anything. But this isn’t just practice. It’s . . . innate. A kind of instinct for reading people. You’ve got it.”

  “I’m a vampire,” I said.

  “A lot of people are.”

  “No, seriously,” I said. “I mean, I appreciate the compliment, and I’ll take it. And you told me you wanted to know what I thought, so I assumed you were serious and I paid attention.”

  “Good.”

  It was my turn to smile. “But vampires—” I paused to gather my thoughts. “Wolves are predators, but they’re predators—mostly—of animals. You understand land, animals, their behavior. We hunt humans. We know how to watch them. It’s our nature.”

  “Have you ever bitten a human?”

  “No. Have you?”

  His smile was lazy. “Only when asked.”

  I just rolled my eyes, picked up my helmet, but paused before getting on the bike. “I want to ask you something. Not about biting,” I added at the flare of heat in his eyes.

  “Okay,” he said, his response quick and sincere.

  “Did you bring me here, into this compound and this lodge, to piss them off?”

  Heat flashed in his eyes. “I don’t use people. You’re here because I want you to be here.”

  “But?” I prompted when he paused.

  “But, yes, I’m paying attention to how they react to you. Because they’re a microcosm of the Pack.”

  My belly quivered at the admission and the implication. He anticipated—planned—that I’d meet the Pack. Not just as a Sullivan or a vampire or an Ombud. Because somehow, despite years of pushing it away, we’d found something important between us.

  Connor tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, and I could all but feel my heart melting. Then he dipped his head toward mine.

  “Elisa,” he said, so softly that the word was nearly a breath, hardly a prayer. My eyes drifted shut, awaiting the kiss I knew would follow. Eager for it.

  “Just remember,” he said, moving his lips to hover near my ear, “that shifters can manipulate people, too.”

  Then he pulled back, turned away, and threw a leg over the bike.

  I gave him a narrow-eyed stare. “That was really mean.” But I liked the way my heart thudded in response.

  “And effective,” he said with a cocky smile. “Let’s go for a ride.”

  I climbed on behind him and planned my revenge.

  * * *

  * * *

  We rode northeast, dipping away from Lake Superior and into the hinterlands of Minnesota. The road became curvier and steeper, forest giving way to rocky hills and striking drops. We disappeared into a tunnel carved into hard rock, the orange lights along the wall flashing as we sped past them.

  After ten or fifteen miles, we left the divided highway, and Connor slowed the bike to pick over a gravel road bordered by evergreen trees and steel gray boulders.

  He came to a stop at the end of a line of vehicles—bikes, trucks, and SUVs—parked along both sides of the road. We dismounted, removed helmets, ran fingers through tangled hair. And, without the bike’s rumble, could hear the sounds of happy children and chatting adults through the whisper of leaves.

  A few muscular men and women stood around in black shirts and pants, casting suspicious gazes at us before looking away.

  “Security?” I asked.

  “It’s a private event,” Connor said. “Especially since humans don’t know what they are.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked. I’d expected to see a park shelter with coolers and balloons, or an overlook where shifters had swagged streamers and drank beers. Instead, trees made a c
anyon on both sides of the road.

  “You’ll see,” he said with a smile, and offered his hand.

  I took his hand, enjoyed the satisfaction that flashed in his eyes when I linked our fingers together.

  Connor ducked into the trees, and we followed a well-worn trail I probably wouldn’t have seen if I hadn’t been with him. We walked maybe a quarter mile, and I was glad I’d opted for boots without stiletto heels, which wouldn’t have worked well over uneven ground and loamy leaves. As the sounds of celebration grew louder, we passed birch trees with curled silver bark, hard-edged boulders that looked like they’d been spewed from a volcano, and delicate white flowers sprouting in blank spaces in the undergrowth. And behind it all, a soft static that it took me much too long to realize was water.

  A long, dark shape slithered across the trail, and I stopped short, only just managed not to squeak.

  “What?” Connor asked, fingers tensing around mine. “What’s wrong?”

  “Snake.”

  “It was harmless. Just a garter snake.”

  “Don’t care. I don’t like snakes.”

  He looked at me. “How do you not like snakes?”

  “Biological mandate,” I said. “They slither. I don’t like things that slither.”

  “But you both have fangs.”

  I slid my gaze to him. “Shifters and skunks both have fur.”

  “Fair point.”

  “You have no issues with animals?”

  “I’m not afraid of any animals, reptilian or otherwise.” His smile was cocky. “I’m wolf and human. That’s two Apex predators for the price of one.”