Twice Bitten (Chicagoland Vampires 3)

"We've got company," I said, nodding toward the car, a smile blossoming on my face.

My grandfather emerged from the driver's side; his right-hand man, Catcher Bell, stayed in the front seat, a cell phone pressed to his ear. Catcher was twenty-nine and a little rough around the edges, but that gruffness actually enhanced his appeal. His head was shaved, his eyes pale green, his body a slab of tight muscle and the occasional tattoo - including a circle cut into quadrants across his abdomen.

Jeff emerged from the backseat. He was dressed in his usual emsemble - a long-sleeved button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up midforearm and a pair of khaki pants. Jeff was twenty-one and, to the unfamiliar, would have seemed to have the sweet bashfulness of a boy with a very big heart . . . but not a lot of worldly experience.

That assumption would be wildly incorrect. Jeff was a shifter who had a way with the ladies and was rumored, at least by Catcher, to be more than capable of taking care of himself. I took Catcher's word for it.

Jeff ambled over. He smiled at me, then nudged me with a shoulder. "How's my favorite vampire?"

"She likes being someone's favorite, especially on days she gets shot."

"You got shot? How? Where? Are you okay?" He put his hands on my arms and began looking me over. His eyes widened at the hole in my jacket where the bullet had penetrated. "You have to be more careful."

I happened to glance up and catch the smile on Ethan's face; he was clearly enjoying this. I gave him an arch look, but removed Jeff's hands, then pressed a light kiss to his cheek. "I'm fine. Let's worry about your people today. What the hell happened here? I thought the Packs were supposed to be big happy families?"

His expression went unusually serious. "That's exactly what I'm about to find out." Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked toward the bar's front door. The two shifters who stood outside keeping watch moved aside to let him in, both nodding their heads respectfully as he passed. The kid was definitely a wonder.

"Fancy meeting you here," my grandfather said, offering me a smile before offering a hand to Ethan, who took it, then shook.

"Mr. Merit," Ethan said.

"Chuck, please, Ethan," my grandfather said. "Mr. Merit was my father." He looked at me again, and his expression turned to worry.

"You got shot?"

"A couple of times, as it turns out. They aren't lying about the immortality thing." He blew out a breath of relief, then leaned forward and pressed his lips to my forehead. "I worry about you."

"I know. I take care." At least as much as possible, I silently added. I cast a sly glance at Ethan. And even when I didn't take as much care as I might, I had a vampire in the wings, ready to take a shot on my behalf.

I wasn't sure if that thought was comforting or not.

"You'd better," my grandfather said, then pulled back.

"Everybody is fine except for the bartender," Ethan explained. "She took a shot in the shoulder, but it looks like it was a through-and-through. Merit played EMT. She did good." My grandfather huffed out a breath. "Of course she did good. She's my granddaughter." He took a step forward and lowered his voice. "It appears you've gotten yourselves involved in another shifter controversy. Word is, you're doing a favor for Gabriel?" Ethan nodded. "He asked that we be a presence at this meeting and the convocation." My grandfather's caterpillar eyebrows lifted in surprise. "So they are convening, then?"

"They managed to reach an agreement," Ethan said. "At least before the chaos set in."

"Not that the chaos is to anyone's surprise," said a voice behind us. I turned and found Catcher frowning at the bar and slipping a cell phone into his pocket. I guessed he'd finished up his call. In addition to his snarky personality, Catcher was a connoisseur of snarky T-shirts. True to his style, today he wore jeans and a black tee that read IT'S NOT ME; IT'S YOU.

"Ethan. Merit," he said, without looking at us. "Attempted hit?"

"That's how it plays for now," Ethan said, then tilted his head at my grandfather. "Given that the city isn't aware of Gabriel's biology or the Pack's, I assume you're here because we're here?"

"The administration knows about shifters," my grandfather explained, "but there's no need to stretch the publicity further than they're comfortable with. Vampires were involved. That means I'm involved. We'll do what we need to do to ensure the CPD has the information they need, without revealing information Mayor Tate doesn't think they need to know." Although Tate knew we existed - vampires and shifters alike - he was standoffish when it came to actually dealing with the Houses.

"He's keeping the biology hush-hush?" I asked.

My grandfather nodded philosophically. "He's keeping the men and women of this city safely at home, and not out on the streets rioting because they've discovered more strangers in their midst." Since Celina's announcement of the vampires' existence had initially led to riots and chaos, I understood his point. Catcher bobbed his head toward the bar. "Why the hit?"

"Political rivalry," Ethan offered. "There seems to be some strain between the American leaders about whether to stay in Chicago - "

"Or bail," I finished for him.

"The alphas don't seem thrilled about the prospect of staying, of not heading back to Alaska. I know you aren't investigators," Ethan added, "but there's a possibility Tony Marino, head of the Great Northwestern, was the source of the violence. He left in a fit, and the shots were fired by someone on a bike minutes later. Not strong evidence, but maybe it's something to look into." My grandfather nodded. "We'll get on it. I'm not sure what we'll find in the ether, but we'll see." I wondered if Noah or the RG had information that my grandfather didn't have access to. Would it pay to join the RG, to increase my access to information about the Houses on a national scale?

"Did Keene give you any details about the security work he wanted to talk to you about?" Catcher asked.

"Merit and I are the security arrangement, as it turns out. He wanted us here tonight, obviously, and he wants us at the convocation on Friday." Ethan frowned. "But if shifters are willing to take shots at him under cover of darkness, I'm not sure there's a lot we can do beyond minimizing the collateral damage."

"I assume the bartender was some of that collateral damage?" my grandfather asked.

"I think it's a safe assumption the bullets weren't intended for her," Ethan confirmed.