Wild Things

Chapter Five BLOOD WILL TELL

They’d undoubtedly been attacked before. They’d had intra-Pack struggles, and they’d overcome them. But tonight they’d been attacked, without warning, by creatures that weren’t supposed to exist.

This had shocked them. Unfortunately, we were on the wrong side of that shock.

We followed Gabriel silently back to the house, where Finn directed us to the kitchen.

It was large, with white cabinets and sleek black countertops, and a large kitchen island with an expensive stove and several stools for casual meals. The Breckenridges’ kitchen staff, dressed in their formal black-and-white uniforms, watched us from one corner as Mallory, Catcher, Ethan, and I were directed to the center island.

“Sit,” Finn said, then disappeared from the room. The house staff, also shifters, but apparently on duty during the festival, stood together, arms crossed, whispering and regarding us with obvious hostility.

Ethan sat beside me, his hand protectively at my back. Catcher and Mallory took seats across from us, and the strain in her face was clear. They’d interned us in the house while they grieved together, reminding us just how separate our worlds still were.

“What will they do now?” Mallory asked.

“Clean up. Mourn. Heal,” Catcher said, running a hand over his shorn scalp.

Mallory looked worried and guilty, and she nibbled nervously on the edge of her thumb. I could read the fear in her face: She was the witch, the woman who’d used black magic, the one they’d taken in.

She’d come here, and she’d brought death with her.

As if reading my mind, she looked up at me and met my gaze, and the weight of her emotions made my chest clench.

I knew her again. As well as I’d known her before, but now as a sorceress, tested by magic and come through the other side. I might not ever forget the past, what she’d done. I wasn’t a child, or naive. But I could forgive her, and we could move on and try to build something better, something stronger, than what had been before.

But still, no one spoke. I could deal with comfortable silence, but this silence was not comfortable. I broke through it, clearing my throat. Ethan, Mallory, and Catcher frankly looked relieved by the intrusion.

“Harpies don’t exist,” Mallory said. “They aren’t supposed to exist.”

“I’m not certain they do exist,” Ethan said, glancing at Catcher. “I presume from their disappearing act they were magic?”

“A manifestation of some kind,” Catcher agreed. “They weren’t real.”

“They killed,” I said. “They fought and wounded. They were real.”

“They were tangible,” Catcher said. “But they weren’t real. Not real harpies, anyway,” he added at my questioning look. “They were magic—power shaped and molded into something three-dimensional and solid.”

Ethan glanced warily at the kitchen staff, then leaned forward. “That’s how you thought to use magic to destroy them at the end.”

Catcher nodded, glancing at Mallory. “She figured it out. They fought like real animals, fiercely, drawing blood, killing when they could. But their magical signature was wrong. The look in their eyes was wrong.”

“Blank,” I offered.

Mallory looked at me and nodded. “Exactly. More automaton than actual monster. So we unwound them.”

“You unwound them?” I asked. “What does that mean? And use nongeeky, layman’s terms.”

“There’s a formulaic element to magic,” Catcher said. “It can be a chant. A charm. A spell. Some start with that but deepen it. They layer it. Charms atop charms atop charms.” He glanced at me. “We took those layers, unfolded them, stripped them back to their elemental magic, and dispersed them. That spell wouldn’t have worked if they’d been real.”

“But this wasn’t just a monster,” Ethan said. “It was dozens of harpies, acting individually. Not just a walk and slap, but something with the look of a coordinated attack, and on shifter territory.”

“Walk and slap?” Mallory asked.

“An old European custom,” Ethan said. “Before the houses existed, certain feuding vampire covens engaged in petty slights, back and forth, to air their grievances.”

“Aristocratic vampire slap fights? With period costumes?” Mallory asked, looking at me with obvious delight. “I am all over that and the graphic novel it inspires.”

“Coordinated attacks,” Catcher said, returning to the point. “The magical layering is doable, but it would have required someone powerful and very talented.”

Ethan looked at Catcher for a minute. “You could have done it.”

Catcher’s jaw twitched at the insinuation. “With enough time, yes. Mallory, too.”

“There’s Paige, Simon, and Baumgartner,” Ethan said. “Could they do it?”

Paige was a magician formerly stationed in Nebraska and now in Chicago. She didn’t live in Cadogan House, but she was dating the House librarian, which was close enough. Baumgartner was head of the sorcerers’ union, which Catcher had been kicked out of, and Simon was Mallory’s former and utterly incompetent magical tutor.

Catcher drummed his fingers on the countertop, considering the question.

“Baumgartner has the magical capacity, but he wouldn’t have a reason to do it. It would upset his apple cart. Simon doesn’t have the mojo.”

“Paige?” Ethan asked.

“Maybe, but she doesn’t seem like the type. She’s interested in the mathematics of magic, the history. Not so much the execution, and certainly not wholesale destruction.”

Ethan sat back, drawing the attention of the kitchen staff, whose eyes narrowed suspiciously. Did they think he was plotting a revolt right here in the Brecks’ kitchen? I considered flashing my fangs but guessed it wouldn’t be easy to intimidate the staff of a shape-shifting family.

After a moment of silence, he glanced at Catcher. “If we’re going to tell the Pack we think this was a magical attack, we’re going to have to prove it, one way or the other. Talk to the sorcerers, confirm their whereabouts. If they are, as we suspect, not involved, find out who they think might have done it.”

“We aren’t errand boys,” Catcher testily said, lip curled.

But Ethan wasn’t fazed. “No, you aren’t. But we’re in Pack territory, surrounded by shifters who are angry and grieving. And they have us separated and under guard. Until we prove otherwise, we’re their suspects.” He glanced at Mallory, and my stomach curled. “And I imagine Mallory is suspect number one.”

• • •

We were summoned an hour later, still filthy and scarred from the battle. A man in a trim suit sent us to Papa Breck’s study, which had been one of my favorite rooms in the house as a child. Nick and I had stolen several summer days there, poring over antique books, inspecting mementos of Papa Breck’s travels, and nabbing lemon drops from a crystal dish he kept on his desk.

Tonight, the room was dark, cigar smoke swirling in the air. Gabe sat in a leather armchair, the Keene and Breck brothers surrounding him like men at arms. Papa Breck, silver haired and barrel-chested, sat behind his desk, a cigar between his teeth.

“Three dead,” Papa Breck said, ashing his cigar and beginning the inquest. “Three dead. Two missing. Fourteen injured.”

Ethan clasped his hands in front of him, met Gabe’s eyes. “We’re sorry for your losses.”

Michael sniffed. “I notice you aren’t injured.”

Ethan slid his gaze to Michael but didn’t alter his tone. “We incurred our share of injuries, but we heal. We fought alongside you, and as you may recall, Catcher and Mallory destroyed what remained of the harpies.” He glanced at Gabriel. “We also took care of your queen.”

“You showed up at our house,” Papa Breck said, “and all hell broke loose.”

“Again, we are sorry about tonight’s tragedy. But you should look elsewhere for the blame, as we had nothing to do with it. Merit and I are your guests because of circumstances in Chicago. Mallory and Catcher are your guests because she is a student of Gabriel’s. We fought with you against the harpies. We did not create them, nor did we lure them here.”

Papa Breck shook his head, looked away. He’d already decided we were guilty, and rational arguments weren’t going to sway him now.

Ethan looked at Gabriel. “I’ll ask the obvious question: Has the Pack made any new enemies lately? Or incited any old ones?”

“We always have enemies,” Gabe said. “And I don’t know of any new ones.”

“Then what about old ones?” Michael asked, looking at Mallory. “How did you know to use magic?”

I didn’t think sorcerers and shifters had been enemies, but Michael didn’t seem the type to be concerned with fact.

Still, Mallory stepped forward, shoulders squared against the doubt in their eyes and the fear in the room. I liked this Mallory.

“Their magic was too uniform,” she said. “Not even a hint of personality or distinctiveness. And their eyes were blank. Empty. We guessed—correctly as it turned out—that someone wound the magic to create them. Layered magic to create the harpies,” she said, when the shifters looked confused. “We unwound it. That’s what blew them apart.”

Gabriel bobbed his head, considering. “That was good work.”

But Michael snorted. “If they knew how to stop it, why didn’t they stop it earlier?”

“Are you kidding?” All eyes turned to Catcher, whose loathing was barely masked. “Are you seriously suggesting we knew what was going on and just let it continue?”

“Does it matter?” Michael asked, pleading with Gabe. It wouldn’t have surprised me to see him drop to his knees in supplication. “This was magic, and they have magic.”

“So what?” Gabriel challenged, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “What, precisely, would you have me do, Michael? String them up for coincidentally having magic? And even if they didn’t stop it soon enough, would you have me kill them for that? As far as I’m aware, you didn’t fight at all.”

Michael paled. “I was protecting the house.”

“You were protecting your own ass,” Gabe said, giving him a dismissive look and his father a warning one. “The two who are missing—who are they?”

Papa Breck’s eyes fairly bulged with shock. “You can’t possibly think they were involved.”

“What I think is irrelevant. What matters is the truth. Who’s missing?”

“Rowan and Aline,” Nick said.

Ethan’s eyebrows perked with interest. “Aline, who doesn’t like your father or your siblings?”

“The very same,” Gabriel said. The look in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t dismissing the coincidence.

“Shifters wouldn’t do this,” Papa Breck spat. But his voice was quiet. He disagreed with the Apex, but he wasn’t going to be overly loud about it.

“Frankly, we don’t know anything about who did this, except that they used complicated magic.” He offered Ethan an appraising glance. “Fortunately, we have right in our presence a group that’s pretty good at figuring those things out.”

Ethan’s magic spiked alarmingly, but he stayed silent.

“The vampires and sorcerers maintain they’re not responsible for what happened here. Considering their unique skills, they should be able to identify who is.”

“And if they can’t uncover who did this?” Papa Breck asked, as if we weren’t in the room and couldn’t hear the doubt that stained his voice.

Gabriel steepled his fingers, gazed at us through hooded eyes. “Then we’ll just continue to wonder.”

• • •

The sun would soon be on the rise. Gabriel dismissed us, and three shifters I didn’t recognize escorted us back to the carriage house like prisoners returning to their cells. Considering the implicit threat in his final words, maybe we were.

We’d come to Loring Park to avoid prison; instead, we’d found a different one.

Since we were still dirty from battle, the four of us agreed to take turns in the shower. Mallory, then Catcher, then me, and Ethan was last. They hadn’t planned to stay at the Brecks’ and hadn’t packed bags, so I let Mallory borrow clothes, and Ethan offered replacements for Catcher.

I emerged from my turn in the bath wrapped in a towel, my skin blissfully clean of gore and dirt and probably worse, hair damp around my shoulders.

Ethan stood in the bedroom, naked from the waist up, bare toes peeking beneath his jeans. His hand was on his hip, his dirty hair framing his face. His phone was in his free hand, brow furrowed. That expression was easy enough for me to read.

“What’s wrong?”

He glanced up at me, male appreciation in his eyes as he took in the towel. But exhaustion quickly replaced interest. I didn’t take it personally; it had been a long night.

“I advised Luc of tonight’s events and asked him about the CPD. He said there’s been no contact, either from the CPD or Kowalcyzk.”

I moved to my duffel bag to pick out sleepwear. “Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe she’s realized how ridiculous she’s being.”

“Maybe,” he said. “Luc has given her a copy of the House’s security tapes, which quite clearly show the intrusion and Monmonth’s threats.”

I glanced back at him. I wasn’t normally one to play the optimist, but we’d already gone on the lam. There wasn’t much else to do but wait and hope.

“That could have been enough. Maybe Detective Jacobs convinced her that pursuing you would be completely illogical.”

“As much as I appreciate Detective Jacobs, your premise requires her to use rational thought and logic. I’m not certain she’s capable.”

I found a tank and pajama bottoms, zipped up the duffel again. “Well, if she intends to push, she isn’t showing it now. We’ll just have to wait until she relents or our other plans work. What about my grandfather? Any word from Luc?”

“He’s stable,” Ethan said with a smile. “And he despises hospital food. You have the appetite in common.”

My grandmother had been an amazing cook—a whiz with vegetables and salt pork—and she’d undoubtedly sparked the appreciation of it in both of us.

“Good.” I frowned. “I’m not sure if it’s better or worse to tell him what went on tonight. He won’t need the stress.”

“Then you must give him constant fits.”

“Your material is usually better than that, Sullivan.”

“Perhaps you’d like to see just how good my material is.” Ethan put the phone on a bureau and moved toward me, arms outstretched for a hug and a grin on his face.

But he was filthy, so I hustled out of reach and pointed a warning finger at him.

“You’re still disgusting, and for the first time in hours, I’m not. Shower first. Then affection.”

“You’re a cruel mistress,” he said, but disappeared into the bathroom.

• • •

I dressed while Ethan showered, grateful for a few minutes of privacy and silence. I checked in with Jonah, advised him what was up, and wasn’t at all surprised by the cursing that followed.

LEADS? he asked when he’d exhausted his phone’s symbol keys.

NOT YET, I advised, BUT GABE HAS ASSIGNED US TO INVESTIGATE. WE FIND ATTACKERS, OR WE ARE ATTACKERS.

YOU GET ALL THE FUN JOBS, he advised. CALL IF YOU NEED HELP.

ROGER THAT. KEEP CHICAGO SAFE.

THAT WILL BE EASY, he messaged. ALL THE TROUBLEMAKERS ARE IN LORING PARK TONIGHT.

I couldn’t argue much with that.

Ethan had emerged from the bathroom—clad only in perfectly fitting jeans and scrubbing a towel through his hair—when the carriage house’s front door opened and closed.

My gaze on Ethan’s chest, it took me a moment to recognize the sound and turn my head toward the shuffling in the other room.

“I’ll just check that out,” I said, moving toward it while Ethan searched for a T-shirt.

Gabriel stood in the living room in front of the coffee table, arms crossed, watching as Berna and several shifters, her apparent helpers, carried in aluminum trays of food. My stomach, empty and roiling, rejoiced.

“I have brought dinner,” Berna pronounced, eyeing me nastily, as if there was a chance I’d decline free food. My patience for shifters was growing shorter by the moment.

“Honestly, Berna, when have you ever known me not to eat?”

She didn’t seem entirely satisfied with the answer, but I was saved by distraction.

Ethan walked into the room, hair still damp but fully dressed. Berna’s eyes lit with feminine appreciation.

“Berna brought us dinner,” I said.

“That was very thoughtful of you, Berna,” Ethan said.

“Is for health,” she said, squeezing her knotted fingers around Ethan’s biceps. “For muscles and teeth. Good, strong muscle. Strong. Good.”

“I think they’ve got it.” Gabriel smirked.

She humphed and herded her crew back to the door, but not before snapping a towel in his direction.

“I’ll meet you outside,” Gabriel said, closing the door when he was the only shifter left in the room.

“Chow time for the prisoners?” Ethan asked. His voice was low, threatening, and very, very alpha.

Gabriel grunted and headed for the kitchen. While Ethan, Mallory, Catcher, and I exchanged glances, the refrigerator door opened and closed again, and the clink of glass sounded.

He walked back in with a bottle of beer in hand and looked, I realized for the first time, utterly exhausted. He’d probably been playing Apex all evening, and for the festival he’d planned for. Here, finally, he was with people who weren’t his subjects. For a brief moment—a rare moment—he shook off the mantle of power and sprawled onto the couch.

“The Pack is pissed,” he said, taking a drink of the beer. “No,” he amended, gesturing with the bottle. “They’re scared. And that’s infinitely worse.”

Ethan considered the admission for a moment, then took a seat on the couch across from Gabe. If you hadn’t known they were Apex and Master, you might have thought them athletes relaxing after a game. Or A-list actors between scenes on a movie set. There was just something about the supernatural that brought out the best in male genetics.

Taking cues from the alphas, Mallory and I took seats as well, and Catcher followed. I sat beside Ethan, comforted by the closeness of his body and the smell of his cologne, the familiar things that brought comfort in unusual times.

That, I thought, was one of the best parts of being in a relationship. No matter how foreign the world, the landmarks, the customs, I’d never be a stranger beside Ethan. Love bred the best kind of familiarity.

If, down the road, Ethan was leaving dirty socks on the floor, I might not find the familiarity so charming. But for now, it soothed with a depth that surprised me.

“We are not their enemy,” Ethan said.

“No,” Gabe said, taking another drink, the bottle slung between two fingers. “But trouble arrived shortly after you did. That coincidence isn’t going unnoticed.” He looked up, smiled wolfishly. “It would go a long way toward mending fences if you could figure out what happened.”

“You haven’t given us much choice,” Ethan said. “You’ve made it sound like we’re guilty if we don’t figure it out.”

“Added incentive,” Gabriel said with a smile.

I didn’t smile back. I, for one, was sick of being manipulated by shape-shifters. In addition to being slammed in the face. At the moment, those two things were at the top of my shit list.

Gabe sat forward. “Look. You’re not cops, and you’re certainly not on the Pack payroll. It’s not your job to solve our problems. I get that. But you know how to do this.” He glanced at me. “You and your team have a way of figuring these things out. You’re better at it than I am, even if I had the time. But I’ve got colleagues to mourn, a Pack to watch over.” He paused. “I need the help, Sullivan. And I’m asking for it.”

Ethan watched him silently, jaw clenched. He didn’t like being manipulated. But he was a vampire and a Master at that, and honor was everything to him.

“All right,” Ethan said, resignation in his voice. “But we’ll need information, starting with your theory about who orchestrated this attack.”

“I don’t know of anyone with the skills to build a hoard of harpies,” Gabriel said.

“Magic can be bought,” Catcher said. “But animosity like we saw tonight grows naturally.”

“Our enemy list hasn’t grown any deeper recently,” Gabriel said. “Yes, there are people who don’t like the family, don’t like the Pack, don’t like shifters. But there haven’t been any catalysts—nothing that would have set off a night like this.”

“What about Aline?” I asked. “You said she butted heads with your father. What’s the story there?”

Gabe nodded, glanced at me. “She had relatives—cousins—in the Atlantic Pack. They got into trouble—got drunk, roughed up a clerk at a bodega, and stole some money. Afterward, they wanted shelter and turned to us. Aline was in favor of it, said the kids were set up. But my father didn’t buy it and wouldn’t allow it. He didn’t want to shelter troublemakers. He told Aline about his decision, and they had a very public disagreement. She backed down, but she didn’t forgive him.”

“And the cousins?” Ethan asked.

“Killed,” Gabe said. “The robbery wasn’t the first time they got into trouble, and it wasn’t the last. They tried grift, a short con, and got caught. The vic wasn’t amused, and made an example of them.”

I grimaced. “That couldn’t have engendered any better feelings in Aline.”

“It didn’t,” Gabriel said. “When my father died, she rallied for another alpha to take over the Pack.” He smiled, with teeth. “That particular whelp was not successful.”

“And now Aline is missing,” Catcher said.

“Or she left,” I said. “It sounds like her anger’s been simmering for a long time.”

Gabriel nodded. “I think that’s accurate. But I wouldn’t say there’s been anything recently. And I don’t know of any connections she’d have to magic like this.”

“What about Rowan?” Mallory asked.

“He’s a good man,” Gabe said, with obvious regret. “Employed by the Brecks, works on the property. Keeps to himself, is a hard worker. I don’t know of any reason he’d organize something this violent.” He rubbed his jaw contemplatively. “All that said, they’re still missing. If they don’t return by sunset—or we don’t find evidence they were victims—I’ll have to question them myself.”

There seemed little doubt the Apex of the North American Central Pack would find the answers.

“What will you do about the rest of Lupercalia?” Mallory asked.

“That’s a rock and a hard place,” Gabe admitted. “We cancel, we show weakness. We continue, we put shifters at risk of round two of whatever this is.” He looked at Ethan. “I imagine you’ve faced similar dilemmas.”

Ethan nodded. “To stand or to protect. It is the perennial dilemma of the Master of any house.”

Gabe nodded. “Truth. I’m mulling over our options, but I’m leaning toward letting the party continue. When the mourning’s done, the Pack will need a release.”

“And what about us?” Catcher asked.

Gabriel’s eyebrows lifted. “You’re part of the mystery-solving gang, aren’t you?”

Catcher muttered something unflattering, and Mallory nudged him. “I presume you want us to stay here tonight?” she asked.

“It would make things easier,” Gabe said.

“So we’ll sleep on the couch,” Catcher said, “like we’re twelve-year-olds at a slumber party.”

“In fairness,” Ethan said, “we don’t all have to sleep on the couch.”

“In fairness,” Catcher said, “you can kiss my ass.”

“Ladies,” Mallory said. “Let’s put on our big-girl panties. Merit and Ethan are already sleeping in the bedroom, and there’s no point in making them move. Catcher and I can take the couch. The shifters will feel better if we make this work, and it’s no great loss to any of us.”

We all stared at her for a moment, at her implacable tone and reasonable words. If this was Mallory 2.0, I thoroughly approved.

“She’s right,” I said. “We can make this work.”

“We’re going to run out of clothes, though,” she said.

Gabriel nodded, looked over the sorcerers. “I’ll talk to Fallon, Nick. They should be about your size, might have something to offer.” He grimaced. “And there will be plenty of Lupercalia shirts to go around. I doubt most will want the souvenirs.”

“We’d appreciate whatever you can find.”

“I actually have a small request,” I said, and Gabriel angled his head toward me.

“Yes, Kitten?”

“We didn’t have our swords tonight. Finley basically told us not to wear them, that they’d piss off the family. But if we’re looking for monsters—especially monsters with magic—I want steel.”

He chuckled, sharing an appreciative glance with Ethan. “I’ll talk to them.”

Gabriel then gestured toward the food still untouched on the coffee table. “Sun will be up soon. I’ll let you eat and get some rest.”

I was seated closest to the door, so I rose, too, intending to fix the locks after he’d gone. But when we met at the door, Gabriel stopped to turn his gaze on me. His eyes, the color of warm amber, swirled like tempests.

“Thank you for saving them.”

I nodded, smiled. “You’re welcome. I was glad to help.”

But his expression stayed serious, his eyes deep and fathomless, the sight of them enough to raise goose bumps on my arms.

“As in much of life,” he quietly said, “it could have gone the other way.”

My chest tightened. Like sorcerers, shifters had the gift of prophecy. Did he mean Tanya might have died? That he might have lost her and Connor in the battle?

A bolt of something ran through my chest, a feeling on the precipice between gratitude and grief. I was glad his family was safe, and troubled that things might so easily have ended in tragedy. I didn’t know how to give voice to the feeling or how to respond.

“I don’t predict the future,” Gabriel said, answering one of my unspoken questions. “But I know the weight of things. There is a gravity about her now, about Connor, that suggests things might have gone the other way. That their roads might have diverged from mine. They didn’t, and I’m grateful.”

“I’m grateful, too.”

He smiled. “That’s why I like you, Kitten. You’re good people.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to my cheek, and the flush rose from the tips of my toes to the top of my head.

“Thank you,” I said, and before I could ask my own questions—about the other prophecies he’d made—he slipped outside and into the darkness. There never seemed to be time for that particular future.

• • •

Gabriel gone, and a long night of warring behind us, we looked back at the food. It smelled porky, but when Mallory pulled back the aluminum foil, she revealed a tray of unidentifiable grayish chunks, some of which were tubular and looked distastefully intestinal.

Ethan slanted his head as he looked at it. “Is Berna trying to feed us or kill us?”

“I suspect the Brecks put in their two cents about what we should be eating,” Catcher said, who nevertheless forked a pile of the meaty chunks, flecked with fat and sinew, onto one of the paper plates she’d provided.

“You aren’t digging in, Sentinel,” Ethan said.

“I think I’ll stick to blood,” I said, the meat not even slightly appealing despite my obvious hunger. “What ever happened to that package Berna gave you?”

“Lost in the battle,” Ethan said. “And isn’t that a disappointment?”

I grabbed bottles of Blood4You for Ethan and me and sat down on the couch beside him again, exhaustion sinking heavy into my bones.

“What a miserable night,” I said, handing over a bottle.

“Seconded,” Catcher added. “Unfortunately, I doubt we’ve seen the end of the trouble.” He lifted a long, spiral bit of pork from his plate.

My stomach—usually so hearty—twisted nastily. But I’d need my strength, so I made myself finish the blood and then grabbed a yeast roll from the other tray Berna had brought. The meat might have been questionable, but there was no faulting the warm and buttery bread.

“You think they’ll attack again?” Mallory asked.

“I think it would be unusual to bring the amount of fight and magic we saw tonight and assume that was the end of it. But I doubt they’ll attack overnight.”

“Why?” Ethan asked.

“Because the harpies were as much show as substance,” Catcher said. “You attack when everyone’s asleep, you don’t get the show.”

Ethan walked to one of the large windows and pushed aside the curtain. “In the event there is an attack, there are two guards. One on each side of the door.” He hit the button that dropped the window guards into place and turned back to face Mal and Catcher.

“Perhaps, to be on the safe side, you could add a layer of magic?” Ethan asked. “A ward in case Gabe’s colleagues decide their loyalties aren’t entirely firm?”

Catcher nodded, chewed. “Already discussed it. A little buzz along the doors and windows to signal a trespass, and a second layer to make trespassers think twice.”

Ethan nodded and returned to the couch, but instead of sitting beside me, he stretched out along its length, his head in my lap. He didn’t relax easily, and certainly not with an audience. Exhaustion must have worn him down. I ran my fingers through the golden silk of his hair, watched his eyes close in relief. It had been a long night; I was thankful we’d come through it mostly unscathed.

Something made me glance up. I found Mallory watching me, surprise in her expression. She’d been with me when I met Ethan for the first time, and while we’d battled each other. Ethan and I had grown closer when Mallory and I had grown apart; maybe she was still getting used to seeing us as a couple. Hell, I was still getting used to it. I made a mean Sentinel now, but at the time of my making I’d preferred books to most everything else, and he’d chosen me. That still awed me on occasion.

“Sun’s nearly up,” Catcher said, patting Mallory’s knee. “Why don’t you two get to bed, and we’ll get things fixed up in here?”

Ethan nodded, rose from the couch, and held out a hand, his gaze beckoning. “Come, Sentinel. Let us away and leave them to their magic.”

Here, in the midst of Pack territory, I didn’t think it would be easy to escape.

• • •

I woke once during the day, the bedroom still dark. We weren’t meant to wake when the sun was above the horizon, so my mind was thick and fogged. But I heard a wolf baying, the sound long and mournful. More voices joined in, the animals obviously grief stricken and wailing for their dead.

They’d have their own rituals, their own ways of mourning. This was their funeral, their dirge beneath the cold, cruel sun.

I drifted back to sleep, Ethan warm and quiet beside me, and dreamt of amaranth.