She looked at me and smiled, just a little. "I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad you're here, too," I said.

We reached Ukrainian Village. My ears and fingers aching with cold, I gratefully pulled the Volvo into a parking spot in front of the brick building that housed Little Red.

The shifters must have had enough of cold, as the parking spots in front of the bar were empty of expensive, custom motorcycles.

"Closed down for the winter?" I wondered aloud.

"Only the transpo," Mallory said. "Shifters don't care to ride in icy wind and below-zero temps."

Having driven without a window for the last few minutes, I understood the sentiment.

I turned off the engine, but we sat in the car for a moment. "Are you ready?"

"Not really," she said. "But a woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do, and all that idiomatic bullshit."

She blew out a breath and opened the car door, and I wished her the best.

-

The bar was a classic dive, with scuffed floors, beat-up tables, and hard-bitten customers. A low, sad tune played on the jukebox - a crooning country music song from the seventies or eighties, when buckles were big and hair was bigger.

The bar wasn't exactly easy on the eyes or the ears, but tonight it smelled deliciously of sweet and spicy tomatoes, probably the sauce for the Pack's signature barbecue, the pride of its new catering operation.

Gabriel Keene, who stood in front of the bar's large plate-glass window, was a predator personified. He was tall and square shouldered, with tawny, shoulder-length hair and amber eyes that gleamed when they caught the light. He wore jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and black boots that looked like they could do some damage. Not that he needed the accessories. There was power in the sweep of his shoulders and his wide-legged stance.

Shifters were an odd breed. They were tough, and they loved fine whiskey and chromed-out bikes. But they also had a strong connection to nature. They were the hippies of the supernatural world - if hippies wore biker boots and rode asphalt-pounding Harleys.

Gabe carried his infant son, Connor, in the crook of his arm. Connor was beautifully angelic, with bright blue eyes and a ruff of soft, dark hair, and he blinked at me and Mallory with a child's innocence. God willing, he could keep that innocence as long as possible.

"Ladies," Gabe said, glancing at us. "I hear there's trouble afoot."

"Rioters," I said. "They firebombed a Blood4You distribution center and then headed down Division."

Gabe gestured toward the car. "I take it you got caught in the cross fire?"

I nodded. "We tried to leave and avoid the dramatics, but we caught their attention. The car took some damage, but we made it out. They're still rioting. Marching down Division with sticks and bats."

My report given, Gabriel turned his gaze on Mallory. The amber eyes swirled with quiet power. "You're quiet."

"I used magic," she said.

"Should we talk about it?"

Mallory nodded, and without being asked, walked toward the red leather door that led to the back room.

"A moment, Kitten," Gabriel said, readjusting Connor and following her.

While I waited, I took the opportunity to call Ethan.

"Sentinel? You made it out okay?"

"We're at Little Red. The Volvo took some damage, and Mallory used her magic, but we're fine otherwise."

"Did she?" Ethan asked.

"She did. We were surrounded by rioters, and she knocked out a streetlight to distract them and give us time to get into the car."

"Clever," Ethan said.

"Very," I said, glancing over at the red leather door. "Gabe and Mallory are talking. I doubt he'll be thrilled."

"He's not opposed to the controlled use of magic," Ethan said. "Whether her use tonight qualifies will be up to him. At any rate, I'm glad you're okay."

"Me, too. The rioters were still out there when we left, but we saw a couple more CPD units heading in."

"Most reports say the riot's been contained to an area, but not entirely quelled. The fire at the distribution center's been extinguished."

"How bad's the damage?"

"I haven't yet heard, but Scott and Morgan are preparing for shortages."

Cadogan House was one of the few American Houses that actually allowed its vampires to drink from people or vampires. Most other Houses used bagged blood in the hopes that tamping down on their biting instincts would help them assimilate with humans. A shortage of bagged blood might change that analysis.

"Speaking of rioters," I said, "their mantra was 'Clean Chicago.' I don't know if that's the name of the group or just a slogan, but Luc might want to start the opp research."

Opposition research was one of our key tactics. If you couldn't beat 'em, at least learn as much about 'em as you could.

"I'll advise him. Is the Volvo drivable? Will you be able to get home before the sun rises?"

"It will be a cold ride, but yeah. I should be home shortly."

"Be careful, Sentinel."

"Promise," I said, and hung up the phone.

With Mallory and Gabriel still ensconced in the back, I headed over to the bar that lined one side of the room.

Berna leaned over the bar, reading a book, her chin propped on her hand.

"Off-season for shifters?" I wondered aloud, taking a seat.

"Is cold," she said in her thick eastern European accent, not looking up from her book. "Is hibernate."

"Shifters hibernate?" I asked. Gabriel certainly seemed awake, and I'd spoken with Jeff only a few nights ago.

"Not in cave. But we feel the cold." She made a fake shiver that set her impressive bosom swinging. "We stay home. We cook. We have oatmeal and bubbles baths. Thick socks for feet."

"Bubbles baths, eh? The Keenes don't seem much like the bubble-bath type." Although I could pretty easily imagine Gabriel soaking in a tub. Bare chested. Maybe a few damp curls. Truth be told, it wasn't a miserable image.

Berna narrowed her eyes at me, and for a moment I was afraid she'd caught the lascivious direction of my thoughts. Sure, I was taken, but that didn't mean I couldn't appreciate a fine - and happily married - shifter.

But that was not what she wondered. "You could be fatter."

Berna was a constant critic of my weight; she thought me too thin, which had less to do with what I ate, which was plenty, than with my vampiric metabolism, which was fast. Had I not been a vampire and a lover of all things chocolate dipped and baconated, she probably would have given me a complex.

Tags: Chloe Neill Chicagoland Vampires Vampires
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