Wild Things (Chicagoland Vampires 9)

I wasn’t entirely comfortable with that course of action—it seemed to me like inviting the wolves into the henhouse—but we didn’t have to worry about it now. We had larger concerns.

Ethan directed Luc to give Grey House anything they needed and asked Malik to make his own diplomatic phone call. We waited while he made the communication and reported back that Scott, too, agreed that Ethan should stay away.

“According to Scott,” Malik said, calling back from the Ops Room, “Kowalcyzk is on the hunt.”

“Does she know where I am?” Ethan asked as we sat together on the couch, mugs of coffee Catcher had distributed in hand.

“She does. Her goon squad told Scott she received an anonymous tip.”

Ethan glanced at me, eyebrow arched. “Any bets on Michael Breckenridge?”

“He’s the most likely candidate,” I agreed. “But every shifter out there knows we’re here.”

“She hasn’t moved on the information,” Ethan said. “At least not directly. Pulling in Scott reads to me like a ploy. As we predicted, she doesn’t want to move on the Brecks, so she’s trying to lure me back to Chicago.”

“If she had any cause at all, she wouldn’t need the lure,” Malik said. “She’d head down there and arrest you. But she doesn’t have evidence of anything but self-defense, which isn’t enough to arrest you in Chicago, much less cross jurisdictional bounds and convince the officers of Loring Park to go up against the city’s biggest taxpayer.”

“Still,” Ethan said. “I don’t like it. I don’t like the game playing, and I certainly don’t like her using others to get to me. She knows she has no case. Why not drop it?”

“Because riots,” Luc said blandly. “The city’s still reeling, and her popularity is in the toilet. She’s got to come across as being hard on crime—and the perceived root of that crime—if she wants to survive a real election. Seth Tate being thrown out of office was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I imagine she knows it.”

“And so we are the playthings of the fates once again,” Ethan quietly said. “But we carry on and nobly endure. Thank you for the reports,” he added, then glanced at me. “Oh, and Merit’s grandfather?”

“Doing well,” Luc said. “They’re working on managing his pain, getting him prepped for rehab. Long road ahead, but his spirits are good. I debated what to tell him about your current shenanigans but opted for the truth.”

“I’m sure he appreciated that,” I said. “What did he say?”

“He was surprised—said he didn’t know of any conflicts between the Pack and other groups. Was stunned about the harpies and the elves.”

“Did you tell him about my heroism? Laud my bravery? Extol my fighting virtues?”

“I told him you fainted at the first sight of blood.”

“That would be an obvious stretch considering the fangs.”

“He knows you did well,” Luc assured. “Oh, and your father called, Merit. He wanted to offer whatever assistance he could in the troubles facing the House.”

“How . . . noble,” Ethan said, flicking me a glance. I simply rolled my eyes. My father might very well have wanted, on some level, to help the House. But that desire would have been significantly dwarfed by the financial and political hay he thought he could make of it. He was an opportunist, and he’d already expressed an interest in becoming a financial sponsor of Cadogan House. There was no denying his power or money—being the city’s chief real estate mogul had its advantages—but the cost of cashing in that chit would be much too great. And I already owed favors to too many bloodsuckers.

“I thought you’d think so,” Luc said. “We’ll keep you apprised of any developments.”

“Do that,” Ethan requested, and ended the call. He looked at me, humor in his eyes. “If I had a dollar for every time your father sought to buy his way into our favor—”

“Then you’d be as rich as my father,” I said with a smile.

“Just so,” Ethan agreed, then nodded at the door. “Let’s get out there and see what the night brings.”

The guards were gone when we opened the door, apparently satisfied that we weren’t going to run and that we could care for ourselves now that the sun was down again. We walked to the house, found the front part of the house completely empty of shifters or staff.

Ethan put his hands on his hips, surveying the empty parlor and kitchen, then glanced back at us, brow raised. “Thoughts?”

I could sense the flow of magic from other parts of the house, moving toward us. “Follow the magic,” I said, pointing to the hallway.

I led the way, the others falling into step behind me. The magic grew in intensity as we neared the eastern wing of the house.

“Ballroom,” I murmured, pointing to the double doors up ahead. One door was closed, the other open a few inches. I moved toward it to peek inside.

Gabriel, wearing a long-sleeved Henley-style shirt and jeans, stood at one end of the ballroom, hands tucked casually into his pockets. He stood alone, the rest of the Pack standing before him, watching him speak. I didn’t see any other Keenes but assumed they were part of the crowd. Their mood was grim, the magic strong but banked, like a thousand hummingbirds in place, but wings in motion, waiting for the call to move.

I pushed open the door just wide enough so we could slip inside. We lined up in the back, where Damien offered a mirthless smile.

“Normally,” Gabriel said, looking across the members of his Pack, “we would cast our votes. You would speak, and as Apex of the Pack, I would be your voice.”

He looked down for a moment, considering, then up again. “Tonight, I am also the words. Lupercalia is hereby canceled.”

That was the call to arms they needed.

Sound erupted—shifters hissing and screaming out, accusing Gabe of cowardice, of giving in to intimidation, of lacking certain portions of the male genitalia. Magic filled the air: angry, peppery, biting. No longer banked, but swirling around the room like whirlpools and eddies in a river.

Considering what he’d faced down this week, they undoubtedly knew there was no basis to call the Apex a coward. But this wasn’t about truth. This was about anger and frustration. The Pack had been wronged by someone—and they were taking it out on Gabriel.

He let them rant for a full minute, his expression blank, his shoulders square. He stared ahead as if their jeers couldn’t touch him, were utterly meaningless, and couldn’t change his mind. His body language told the tale: The decision had been made, and anyone with a mind to the contrary could go f**k themselves.