Wicked Hour

by Chloe Neill

  “Best I can do,” I said, and prepared to sup with the family.

  * * *

  * * *

  Georgia’s home was four cabins away from ours, so it was only a short walk. But I still made him carry the growler.

  “Door’s open,” Georgia called out before Connor had even put a hand on the knob.

  “I suppose I shouldn’t mention the importance of security,” I said.

  He snorted. “No, vampire. You should not.”

  “Welcome,” Georgia called out when he opened the door and amazing smells spilled through the doorway. She stood in front of a kitchen island, mixing something in a blue ceramic bowl with an enormous red spoon. She’d added a red apron to her ensemble, and switched out the formal shoes for furry house slippers.

  There was food everywhere. Stacks of meat on plates, bowls of vegetables in various stages of preparation, two cakes—one pink, one covered in coconut—on a nearby table.

  Like vampires, wolves could eat. That was a vote in their favor.

  The scent of food was matched in strength only by the variety of magic in the room. Layers of it, probably because Georgia’s home had been a meeting place for shifters, a place where her family gathered and their magic had lingered.

  “Georgia,” Connor said, pressing a kiss to her cheek, “thank you for having us.”

  “You’re family,” she said. “And you’re welcome. What’s in the bottle?”

  “NAC Industries’ first stout,” he said. “We call it the Alpha Stout.”

  Of course they did.

  Georgia arched a narrow painted eyebrow. “Is it good?”

  “It’s . . . distinguished,” he decided. I couldn’t disagree with that, so I didn’t challenge him. But then she looked at me, and I had to work hard not to look away.

  “Is it good?” she asked again, gaze narrowed.

  “It’s complex.”

  Her mouth twitched. “Put in the fridge, or in the deep freezer down the hall if it needs to get cold fast. Cassie is upstairs with the baby. You should go find Wes. He needs help with the Triumph. Something about the starter, I think.”

  “Okay,” he said, but glanced at me.

  I recognized that gleam in his eyes. He was seeing oil and bolts and steel, and hearing the purr of a well-running antique. I also knew the division of labor in shifter houses tended to fall along traditional gender lines: Ladies did the cooking; men did the mechanics.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said.

  Connor pressed a kiss to my lips. “Be good. I’ll be outside if you need me. Take care of her,” he told Georgia with a grin, then walked toward the door.

  He hadn’t been fazed by kissing me in front of his family, or leaving me alone with them. For the first time, I realized we hadn’t just “met” his family on this trip. He’d presented me to them—to his best friend, his relatives, his (theoretical) allies. He’d introduced me to shifter families whose lives didn’t seem all that different from humans, to a clan of shifters who’d never feel comfortable inside the Pack. He’d told them who I was, stood for me, and allowed me to stand for myself.

  This trip hadn’t been entirely—maybe not even mostly—about an initiation or a monster.

  He’d been introducing me to the Pack.

  This was . . . a beginning.

  Surprise and pleasure made my heart beat a little faster.

  “So,” Georgia said, “you can entertain me with stories of big-city life while I slave over this damn dough.”

  I had to blink my way back to the kitchen and the conversation. “I could help you,” I said.

  She looked at me, brows winged up in surprise. “Vampires can be helpful?”

  “Yes, at least as often as shifters are open-minded.”

  Georgia chortled. “Touché.”

  I smiled at her, liking her already. She was up-front, unbowed, and straightforward. I walked toward her, glanced in the bowl. There was a mass of shaggy dough, combined but in need of some work.

  “I can knead that if you want to move on to something else.”

  She looked down at the dough, then up at me with suspicion. “You know how?”

  “I went to college in France. I can’t bake, but learning the mechanics was, let’s say, not optional.”

  “Oh là là,” she intoned, then put down the spoon, walked away from the bowl. “Get to work.”

  I glanced back, found Connor still standing in the doorway, arms crossed and head tilted as he watched us, amusement on his face. “Go,” I told him, and he gave me a wink, disappeared.

  I made room on the counter and looked around, found a scoop buried in a crock of flour, and sprinkled some on the countertop. Then I tipped the bowl so the dough slid onto flour and began to work, just as I’d been taught. Fold the dough in half, push to stretch, fold it again. Turn, repeat until the dough was smooth and the gluten stretchy.

  “I take it you aren’t ready to run away from us quite yet,” Georgia said as she moved to the stove, pulled out a silver baking dish that sizzled and sent out the ambrosia smell of roasting meat.

  “I grew up with vampires,” I said. “My standards are low.”

  “Clever,” Georgia said, and moved the chicken—two birds with cracklingly crisp skin that was nearly translucent over herbs tucked beneath it—onto a large white platter. I had to work not to reach out and grab a bite.

  And realized I hadn’t been the only one interested in the surroundings. Maybe because of the food, maybe because of the magic that permeated the cabin, the monster had awoken.

  It wanted to move through the rooms, feeling out the magic, caressing the inchoate power. Not now, I said silently, willing it to stay down. The first rule of the monster was not letting the monster be seen by strangers, especially since Georgia had already seen something.

  But the monster believed it had been pushed down enough this trip, and it didn’t want to retreat again. Not when the magic was so enticing. It fought me for access, trying to shove my consciousness down so it could stand in my place.

  “Tell me about yourself,” Georgia said while I fought in silence and couldn’t spare the strength to form words.

  I stared down at the dough, pushing the bread, folding, folding, folding, like every pleat and turn would diminish the monster.

  I’d let it breathe, I thought, anger rising. I’d given it space. And this was the thanks I got.

  Silence was stretching between me and Georgia, and I was growing desperate. How long ago had she asked me about myself? How long had I been staring at this dough, trying not to let the claws push through?

  I promise, I told the monster. I’ll give you room. I’ll let you breathe. I’ll let you run and fight. But not now, please.

  Push. Fold. Fold.

  Finally, it relented and loosened its grip. I’d been tense—my legs and torso braced in the battle—and its release nearly had me pitching forward.

  Push. Fold. Fold.

  The second rule of the monster was not discussing the monster with strangers. So I forced myself to smile, made a production of stretching a ball of dough to stretch the gluten. Not ready yet.

  “Sorry,” I said, the only word I could manage, and hoping my voice was casual, but still not meeting her eyes. “Did you say something? I think I got a little carried away with the kneading. It’s not ready yet.”

  “Apparently,” she said, her tone careful and very unconvinced. “I was just saying you should tell me about yourself.”

  Push. Fold. Fold.

  “Well,” I said, “you probably know all the interesting bits.”

  There was a moment of silence while, I guessed, she debated whether to call me out or let it go, at least for now.

  “I know how to do my homework,” she said, her tone a little lighter now, and I relaxed incrementally.

  “I spo
ke with my sister yesterday,” she continued, “and she gave me the details. It’s not often the would-be brings around a date.”

  I nearly smiled at “the would-be.” “How often?” I wondered.

  “Never, actually.”

  “Hmm,” I said mildly, though I was thrilled to be the only. I liked those odds.

  “I’m twenty-three,” I said, answering her previous question. “Bachelor’s degree. Both parents live in Chicago and are associated with Cadogan House. I’m not. I love coffee, am very good with a sword, and enjoy long walks on very dark beaches.”

  Georgia looked up at me, grinned. “You have a handout to pass around with all that on it?”

  “Laminated card.”

  She chuckled. “Cute. Connor’s a good one, or he’s become a good one. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure how good he’d turn out when he was younger. Not because he was wild—kids should be a little wild. But he was cocky. You need self-confidence to be Apex, not cockiness. Cockiness gets you in trouble. Gets the Pack in trouble. But he seemed to settle down.”

  “He’s changed a lot,” I said. “We didn’t like each other growing up very much.”

  “He was a little brat.”

  I chuckled. “He always called me ‘brat.’ I wasn’t spoiled. I was lucky and privileged, and I liked playing by the rules. He liked doing whatever he wanted to do, and because he was the prince, they usually let him. Sorry,” I added, wincing. “That sounded insulting to his parents.”

  “Not insulting,” she said. “Honest. Not because he’s a Keene, but because he’s a shifter. We aren’t what you might call helicopter parents. We want our kids to follow creeks, get scraped knees, learn about beestings the old-fashioned way. Part of that’s our connection with the world. Part of that’s how we believe kids learn—by experiencing, not by being told.

  “He did a lot of his learning by himself or with the help of his friends. Some who were good, some who were bad. For some, it takes tragedy to make that change, to move to that next stage. Hurting themselves or someone else to realize they can be something different. I’m glad he didn’t have to learn that way.”

  The door opened, and Miranda walked in, a wine bottle in each hand.

  My dislike aside, she was a beautiful woman, with an athletic body, light brown skin, and dark hair that swirled in loose curls around a face dominated by her dark eyes, thick brows, and a scattering of freckles.

  “I found the pinot,” she said, and stopped short when she caught sight of me. The air in the room seemed to chill. “Oh, good,” she said, lip curling. “The vampire’s here.”

  “I take it you’ve met,” Georgia said.

  “In Chicago,” Miranda said. “She’s very important down there.” Ignoring me, she put the bottles on the counter, began to dig through a kitchen drawer.

  “Well, she’s not in Chicago right now,” Georgia said matter-of-factly.

  “I’m not,” I said. “And don’t really care if I’m important.”

  “Then you’re a fool,” Miranda said, closing the drawer with her hip and putting a bottle opener on the countertop. “Power and authority are the only things worth having.”

  Given my parents had both, and I lived under the umbrella of their privilege, I turned back to my job. I smoothed the surface of the dough, tucking the ends beneath it to make a smooth, tight ball. “I think this is ready,” I told Georgia.

  “In there,” she said, pointing toward a linen-covered basket. I dropped the dough in, seam down, and covered it with the plastic wrap that sat nearby.

  “That’s for tomorrow,” she said. “Tonight’s is baking. Can you check that?”

  “I’ll do it,” Miranda said, moving around me to the oven. She opened the door, sending the scents of yeast and butter and herbs wafting through the kitchen.

  “Five more minutes,” she pronounced, then closed the door again.

  “Is there anything else I can help with?” I asked, ignoring Miranda’s haughty stare, but still not meeting Georgia’s eyes.

  I still felt too vulnerable for that.

  Before Georgia could answer, there was a knock at the door. Georgia wiped her hands on a towel, opened it.

  A girl with pale skin and straight brown hair stood beneath the porch light, a paper-wrapped bundle of flowers in hand. “Happy initiation day!”

  “Hey, kiddo,” Georgia said, then held open the door. “Come on in.”

  The girl was petite and slender and very human, despite knowing about the initiation. How much more did she know? I wondered.

  She was probably eighteen or nineteen, with brown eyes, a slender nose, and wide smile. She gave Georgia a hug, then extended the bouquet. “For you,” she said. “To celebrate.”

  “You are a doll,” Georgia said, then looked around at us. “You know Miranda, and this is Elisa.”

  “Connor’s Elisa?” she asked brightly, then came toward me, eyes aglow. “It is so good to meet you!”

  “Thanks,” I said, shocked when she gave me an embrace as warm as the one she’d given Georgia. And she smelled rather deliciously like—

  “Who has doughnuts?” Alexei walked into the kitchen, looked around, then settled his gaze on the girl. “You have doughnuts?”

  “No,” she said. “Do you have doughnuts?” She certainly smelled like them.

  He looked perplexed by the question. “Why would I have doughnuts?”

  “Exactly,” she said, pointing at him. She looked at me, smiled. “I’m Carlie Stone.”

  “Elisa,” I said lamely, given she already knew my name, then pointed. “This is Alexei.”

  “I know who you are,” she said with a smile, then shifted her gaze to Alexei. “I don’t know who you are.”

  He humphed, apparently irritated he hadn’t been recognized. In fairness, I’d lived in Chicago my entire life, and I’d seen him only a couple of times.

  “Carlie is human,” Georgia said, putting an arm around her shoulders. “But we don’t fault her for that. We’ve been friends with her family for many years. And she’s done us a favor a time or two.”

  I guessed Carlie did know it all.

  Connor stepped into the room with Wes, and when his gaze landed on Carlie, his eyes went wide. “Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

  “Connor!” Carlie said, and ran into his arms. He smiled with brotherly affection.

  “How are you, squirt? It’s been a while.”

  “I’m good.” She stepped back, squeezed his arm. “You got muscles.”

  Connor grinned. “I grew into them. How are you? How’s the bakery?”

  “Donut Town will always be Donut Town,” she said with a rather infectious grin. She looked at me. “My family runs it. It’s up the road.”

  “Best doughnuts on the north shore,” Georgia said, and Carlie grinned.

  “You just like it because we keep shifter hours.”

  “That’s part of the allure,” Georgia agreed. Then she looked around, clapped her hands together. “All right,” she said. “Now that everyone’s here, let’s eat before this gets cold. Grab a dish, and we’ll put it all on the table, eat family style.”

  I grabbed a cloth-covered basket of buttery rolls, while Connor picked up the platter of chicken. And we headed into the dining room to have our fill.

  TEN

  Cassie brought Will, now in a onesie dotted with spot-eyed puppies, downstairs. He sucked drowsily on a blue pacifier.

  “Dinnertime was a success,” she said, placing him in a white reclining contraption that looked like it might have been engineered by NASA. He stirred when she moved her hands away, opened his eyes wide and verged on a fuss, until Wes tapped the top of the device, and it began to swing gently back and forth.

  The baby’s eyes drifted shut, his little body relaxing.

  “Do they make those for a
dults?” Alexei asked.

  Miranda walked in with a glass bowl of green salad, stopped when she saw Connor. Their eyes met, magic rising as they watched each other.

  “Miranda,” he said.

  “Connor.” She put the bowl on the table with an extra snap of sound, slid her gaze to me. “I see you followed through on your promise to bring a vampire onto clan property.”

  “I always follow through. Thank you for stocking the refrigerator. Very thoughtful.”

  Her smile went thin, mean. “I hope I bought something she can drink.”

  “You did great,” I said. “She’s very appreciative.”

  The cheer in my voice just made her scowl more, which, of course, had been the point.

  “Are we going to have a problem?” Connor asked, tone mild.

  “No,” Miranda said. “As long as you remember your place.” She moved a step closer, anger burning in her eyes. “You aren’t Apex, and you aren’t in charge here. And they don’t take kindly to input from strangers.”

  This time, Connor moved closer, so the tips of their shoes nearly kissed, but looked over her shoulder, as if he couldn’t be bothered to meet her stare. “You remember that our memories are long. And I won’t forget your sowing discord in the Pack.”

  “Our memories are long,” she agreed. “And I won’t forget your disloyalty to the Pack.”

  “Children,” Georgia said, moving into the room with the bottle of wine Miranda had found. The word was part question and part warning, and the magic between Miranda and Connor shattered like glass.

  “Sit down,” Georgia said, this time the words softer, and we all moved around the table.

  I followed Connor’s lead, taking a chair beside him. Georgia took the seat at the head, Wes and Cassie on the other side near the baby. When Miranda, Alexei, and Carlie took seats, Georgia looked at Connor.

  “Is there anything you’d like to say?”

  “About the food?”

  She worked to hold back a smile. “About the occasion?”

  “Oh, well.” He put his hands on the table, looked around at everyone, settled his gaze on Wes and Cassie. “I’ve already said congratulations, so I’ll just say that we’re glad to be here with you celebrating this moment. It’s a big deal when the Pack gets a new member. And especially when the new member is family.”