Howling For You (Chicagoland Vampires 8.5)

“You’re sure I can’t change your mind?” Without waiting for a response, Patrick moved in, pressed his mouth to mine, made his best argument. His lips were soft, and the hand he lifted to my face undeniably strong. He cupped my jaw as he deepened the kiss.

Magic, comfortably animal, pulsed across my body, lifting goose bumps on my arms. My magic lifted, rose to meet it, and filled the car with energy when Patrick deepened the kiss.

Our magic was clearly compatible. But that’s as far as it went. There was no angelic choir. No sudden music. Not a single tingle or twitch of the nonmagical variety.

The part of me that wanted to keep hanging out with Jeff was thrilled. Another potential met, put away.

But the part that was obliged to family and Pack felt guilty. Was I not trying hard enough? Sabotaging any chance these guys might have had to win me over?

Patrick pulled back and looked at me. “I get the sense your heart’s not in this.”

I didn’t have the words to respond, but he was absolutely right. My heart was elsewhere, mostly thinking about a tiger probably pacing the halls of his apartment.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He smiled. It was such a great smile. It just did absolutely nothing for me.

“No hard feelings,” he said. “The heart wants what the heart wants.”

I slid toward the door, and when Tom opened it, stepped outside again.

“I hope you find him,” Patrick said.

“You and me both,” I murmured.

The house was quiet and dark. For the first few potentials, the entire family had waited in the parlor for me to come home and report. After ten, they’d stopped waiting up.

We’d long since passed ten.

I took off my boots and hung up my coat, then headed upstairs to my second-floor bedroom. The world may have been chaotic, but my bedroom was not. It was simple, clean, and organized—my respite from Pack life. Like my clothes, the room was decorated in shades of black, white, and gray. A white four-poster bed was the focal point, near a bureau I’d painted a black and white chevron pattern.

I pulled open the top drawer of the bureau and perused the contents. T-shirts and pajama bottoms for winter, skimpier nighties for hot nights or special occasions. Unfortunately, they still bore the tags.

“Someday,” I grumbled, pushing them aside and pulling out a heather-gray T-shirt, the lingering scent of Jeff’s cologne filling the room. The shirt was one of his, with a chartreuse “Jakob’s Quest” logo across the front. He’d let me borrow it after I’d been soaked in a downpour, and I’d forgotten to give it back.

Or I’d decided not to.

I tugged it over my head, pausing while I was cocooned in cotton and Jeff, savoring the scent of him, wondering what it would be like if he’d been there with me.

I’d imagined the scene a thousand times before: turning off the light, lying down on cool sheets, his body beside mine, arms ready to wrap around me.

But that was just a fantasy. Tonight, again, the bed was empty—Jeff replaced, as always, by the cold weight of tradition.

I dreamed I straddled the crux of the farmhouse roof, one leg on each side, a hammer in hand. The shingles, gray with age, were falling away from the roof like scales, floating to the ground like feathers. I used the hammer to beat them back down, but the work was useless. They lifted and rose away, leaving the bones of the house bare beneath them.

“Fallon!”

My eyes opened. I wasn’t on the roof. I was in my own room, sprawled on my stomach, an arm and leg hanging over the side of the bed. There was no hammer, but someone was pounding fiercely on the bedroom door.

“Hold on,” I said, flipping off the sheet and sitting up, squeezing my eyes shut until my head stopped spinning. I’d slept like the dead, and my head throbbed like I was hung over.

“I’m coming,” I said when the beatings continued, and stumbled to the door.

I yanked it open and found Gabriel in the doorway, a haggard expression on his face. There were shadows beneath his eyes.

“It’s, like, six in the morning,” I said, squinting in the sunlight. We didn’t sleep much, although we tended to sleep those hours in the early light of day. “What do you want?”

“Your ass downstairs. The coronet is gone.”

I pulled on enough clothing to turn the T-shirt into loungewear and headed downstairs in sweatpants and bare feet.

Adrenaline pumped, making my blood run and brain race. But I was still groggy, and the sensations mixing together made me feel like a college freshman after an all-nighter.

Christopher, Derek, and Ben were already in the living room, once again around the open box.

“Where’s Eli?” I asked, as I joined the circle.

“Kitchen,” Ben said.

I peered inside in the box. It was empty. Even the purple cushion was gone.

Fear warred with exhaustion and irritation. “I thought we were putting the crown in the safe,” I said.

“We did. The box was down there,” Gabriel said. “Empty.”

“At least there weren’t spiders in their place,” Ben lightly said.

Gabriel’s slanted look actually seemed to chill the air in the room. “The safe was open. Someone managed to pick the lock.”

“Who figured out it was gone? And why the hell were they in the basement at six o’clock in the damn morning?” I was not a morning person. And I was real damn grouchy before coffee.

“Nobody figured it out.”

I glanced at the doorway. Jeff stood there, hair tousled, a leather jacket over a T-shirt and jeans. He looked pissed, and magic spilled across the room like a horde of angry insects. He walked toward us, but didn’t even spare me a glance.

I assumed he was mad because I’d ditched him the night before. But I’d done what I had to do, and I’d explained that to him. He knew the deal. I didn’t have time for a tantrum, especially not right now. We were in crisis mode.

Ben glanced between us, settled his gaze on me, the question in his eyes obvious. But I shook my head. The coronet was missing. Our focus was on the Pack.

Always on the Pack.

“The alarm on the safe went off. It’s set to send me a message,” Jeff said.

Ben frowned. “Why did it alert you?”

“Because I had him install the security system,” Gabriel said.

“I didn’t get a message the doors or windows were breached,” Jeff said, glancing at him. “I take it the alarms weren’t turned on?”

“We’re way the hell out here,” Gabriel muttered. “Since when do we need to live in a security state?”