CRYING WOLF

His first move was the deadliest, a smile of boyish pleasure that transformed into the sexiest, most congratulatory grin I'd ever seen. It was a look of sheer predatory satisfaction, the look of a hunter who'd planned, schemed, and won his prize, who had the prey in his grasp.

How apropos, I thought.

"Be still," he whispered, then leaned in again, lids falling as he angled his head. I thought he'd kiss me, but this was just to tease, a prelude to whatever slate of activity he had in mind. He pressed a kiss to my jawline, then my chin, then nipped at my bottom lip, tugging it with his teeth.

When he released me, he stared at me again, rubbed his thumb across my cheekbone.

He studied me, looked at me. This time, when his lashes fell, he kissed me fully, dipping his tongue into the cavern of my mouth.

He fisted his hands in the hair at the nape of my neck, teasing my tongue with his, willing me to engage, to fight back, to do anything but simply acquiesce.

I fisted my hands in the lapels of his coat, pulling him toward me, bringing the warmth of him, the smell of him, the taste of him, closer.

There was a moment of consideration before I decided I wasn't appalled enough by my actions to let him go.

Ethan.

It wasn't even a whisper, just the mental calling of his name, but he groaned triumphantly, sucked my tongue into his mouth, and tortured it with friction and the heat of his mouth.

I kissed him, let him kiss me, let him clutch my hips, curl his fingers into the fabric of my shirt, slide his hands around my waist and splay them against my back, pull me infinitesimally closer. He made a sound, a growl or purr, some predatory noise that rumbled in his throat, then said my name. And this time, it wasn't a question but a sound of victory, a claim on his prize.

He pressed in closer, fingers splayed and moving slowly upward. As he pressed against me, I felt the rise of his erection, the solidity of it against my stomach.

I cupped his face in my hands as we kissed in long, sensuous pulls and teasing bites, the thick golden silk of his hair falling around my fingers.

Until the knock at the library door.

Ethan shot away, one hand on his hip, one at his mouth, wiping away the evidence.

"Yes?" His voice was loud, a cannon shot in the otherwise empty room.

I brushed the back of my hand across my mouth.

The door opened, a body silhouetted in the doorway, and then Malik stepped inside.

"They're here," he said, eyes on me, some shred of unspoken compassion there, then looked at Ethan. "Front parlor."

Ethan nodded. "Put them in my office. We'll be there in a moment." Without even so much as a second glance, Malik nodded and walked out again, the door closing with a heavy, slow thush.

I moved back to the table and kept my gaze on the notebooks and texts I began to gather up. My heart raced, the guilt I'd thrown back at Morgan now flooding my chest.

What had I done? What had I, we, been about to do?

"Merit."

"Don't." I finished stacking the notebooks, picked them up, grabbed my scabbarded katana, and held them to my chest like a shield. "Don't. That shouldn't have happened."

Ethan didn't respond until I began to move toward the door. He stopped me with a firm hand at my elbow. Even then, a single arched eyebrow was the only question I got.

"You gave me to him."

His eyes widened, instantaneously. He was surprised, then, that it mattered, that it mattered that Ethan had wanted me, for whatever his reasons, in spite of his doubts, and had still given me away. To Morgan. Who was waiting one floor below us.

I pulled my arm away and walked to the door. When I reached it, I stopped, turned, and looked back, seeing that stunned expression still on his face. "You made the decision," I told him. "You get to live with it."

After a moment of obvious shock, he shook his head. "We have visitors." His tone was steely. "Let's go."

Scabbard and paper in hand, I followed him out.

They were in the office when we arrived downstairs - Morgan, Scott Grey, and Noah Beck, all in chairs around Ethan's conference table. I hadn't seen Scott or Noah since the night I'd protected Ethan against a would-be sucker punch thrown by my future ex-boyfriend, one night before Celina attempted to kill Ethan. It seemed appropriate that we were meeting again under equally dramatic circumstances.

Scott was tall with dark brown hair, dressed in jeans and a Cubs T-shirt. He was a sports fan, so sportswear usually made up the uniform of Grey House, such as it was.

Instead of the medals vampires from Navarre and Cadogan wore, Grey House vamps had jerseys.

Noah wore black cargo pants and a black thermal shirt, the only clothes I'd ever seen him in. Noah was shorter than Scott, which didn't say much given that Scott probably reached six foot four, but Noah was broader-shouldered. Noah clearly spent a lot of time in the weight room. And where Scott had a kind of frat-boy attractiveness, now sporting a little soul patch below his bottom lip, Noah was ruggedly handsome. His look was equally vampire rugged - brown hair around big blue eyes, sensuous lips, a few days' worth of stubble along his strong jaw.

Morgan was still in his jeans and T-shirt. He'd also kept the flat, pissed-off stare, which he leveled at me as soon I walked into the room.

I blushed, guilt riding high and warm on my cheekbones. Guilt, and a little fear. I'd done the very thing he'd dreaded. I'd given in to the temptation he'd predicted. Feared. And I'd bet money that I still carried the lingering scent of Ethan's cologne.

Luc and Malik stood point at either end of the table, both in Cadogan black. Ethan strode toward the table and took the seat at the head of it, Luc standing behind him.

I moved to the other end of the table, offering nods to Noah and Scott along the way.

When Malik took his seat, I stood behind him.

"Gentlemen," Ethan said, "as I briefly mentioned earlier, we have a problem. We need a solution. And we need it quickly."

He laid out Nick's threat, the twenty-four-hour demand, and the research being conducted by Jeff. And then he got personal.

"We've been able to get this much information," he said, "because Merit agreed to return to her father's house, to revisit her family's circle of acquaintances on our behalf."

He said the words to the group, but his gaze was on Morgan.

I closed my eyes, suddenly exhausted by Ethan Sullivan.

It was exoneration. He was trying, even after what had just transpired in the library, to give me an excuse to take to Morgan. To explain to Morgan that what seemed like impropriety - my appearing on Ethan's arm at a social function - was actually a duty he'd required of me, and a completely platonic one.

Arguably, it was a thoughtful thing to do - an attempt to mend the tear he'd rent by requiring me to accompany him to my father's.

On the other hand, it reeked of cowardice. He wanted me, that much was obvious, and this wasn't the first time he'd demonstrated it. But he kept passing me back to Morgan.

He kept putting the effort into keeping Morgan and me together. That hinted at an abyss of emotional issues I knew I shouldn't dare to explore.

But I'd kissed him. I'd seen the look in his eyes - the desire, the triumph - of having accomplished me. Maybe Linds was right, that there was more beneath the surface of cool, calm, collected vampire. But what a risk...

I'd drifted into my thoughts, so when the sound of my name jolted me from them, I realized I was halfway to lifting fingers to my lips, touching the place where we'd connected. Covering, I tapped a finger against my chin, hoping it looked intellectual.

"Yes?" I asked Ethan, found all eyes on me. Morgan, in particular, looked to have lost a little fire, although he still looked suspicious.

"Do you have anything to add to my retelling?" Ethan asked. "Perhaps about the threat contained in the e-mail?"

I bobbed my head dutifully. "It's gory," I said. "Methods are mentioned, some new, some old school. But I didn't read anything in the e-mail that suggested a particular person, or vampire, was the would-be perpetrator."

Ethan surveyed the vampire heads of state. "Were any of you successful in discovering anything about this threat?"

Heads were shaken around the table.

"Black hole," Noah said. "I got nada."

"Ditto," Scott said.

Morgan leaned forward. "So what do we do now? It's two hours until dawn, and we'd only have, what, a handful of hours tomorrow night. That's not time for a full investigation, if we even knew who to start with."

"The e-mail may give us some direction yet tonight," Ethan reminded them. "We're waiting for the conclusion of that part of the investigation. At any rate, we need to reach some agreement before we separate. The first step, I think, is addressing the threat to the extent that we can. Both Merit and I have given the Breckenridges assurances that the threat does not derive from Cadogan House. Can you at least make the same promise?"

"The threat doesn't come from Grey," Scott flatly said. "As you know, not our style."

"It's not our style, either," Morgan said, his voice a little huffy. "Navarre vampires don't threaten humans."

Anymore, I thought, Ethan and I sharing a knowing glance.

"You know I can't make that kind of promise," Noah said. "I don't have that kind of authority on behalf of independent vampires. I'm just a delegate for informational purposes. That said, I don't know square one about the Breckenridge family, and I certainly haven't heard anything in the pipes. If vamps outside the Houses are involved in this, I'm not aware of it."

"Which is exactly why we have Houses," Morgan muttered, sitting back in his chair. "To prevent situations like this." He linked his hands behind his head, slid Ethan a glance.

"So you've gotten assurances from Chicago's big three. You think that's gonna calm these people down?"

"Doubtful," Ethan said. "They're going to want specific information as to the threat, as to who made the phone call, as to who sent the e-mail."

"So if we don't figure it out, we're fucked," Morgan concluded. "He'll publish this story, and we're fucked. They'll restart the hearings, pass whatever shit legislation they've been considering, and lock us inside our Houses for the duration of the night."

"One step at a time," Ethan calmly said. "There's no need to jump to conclusions."

"Oh, don't pull that 'I'm the expert' Master bullshit on me, Sullivan. I'm not as old as you, but I'm not a newbie, either."

"Greer," Scott warned. Scott, I'd learned from my research, was a relatively new Master.

But he still had more pull, more experience, than Morgan, and the tone of his voice was an obvious reminder of that fact. It was the first time I'd heard Scott pull rank, and that made it much more effective.

Morgan bit back whatever retort he had planned and sat back in his chair, eyes narrow, gaze on the table in front of him. Maybe I wasn't the only one who wasn't handling transitions well. Mine, from human to vampire. His, from Second to Master.

"We can offer assurances as to the Houses," Ethan said, recapping the deal we'd reached so far. "What else?"

"Actually," Scott said, "I've got a question." He glanced at Morgan. "While I mean no disrespect to you, we've got a new slate of raves, threats against us, someone spreading some nasty information about how manipulative we are. It's leading to this - our getting irritated with each other. What are the odds on Celina's involvement?"

Morgan's jaw clenched.

Ethan and I shared a glance. "I don't believe we have hard facts either way," he said, apparently deciding not to raise the circumstantial evidence we'd discovered in the library. "Although she has demonstrated that she's not above spreading discord among the Houses."

"And how much of that discord is personal, Sullivan?" Morgan sat forward, turned his head to Ethan. "Can you really be neutral about Celina?"

Ethan arched a single brow. "Neutral? About Celina? Have her actions to date suggested that she should be afforded neutrality?"

Agreed, I thought, given that the woman had tried to kill Ethan and had tried to have me killed. I had very specific, and very concrete, feelings about Celina Desaulniers.

Neutrality wasn't even on the menu.

"Look," Noah said, "her previous acts notwithstanding, before we get too involved in personal vendetta, I'm with Greer. If we have no evidence either way, then let's leave out assigning blame to anyone in particular. The GP released her, so we'll be overstepping our bounds if we take too close a look - you know how that goes." I didn't, but the comment made me wonder. I added that to my library to-do list.

"So the only thing that focusing our attention on Celina is likely to accomplish is pissing off Greenwich or wasting our limited time on a direction we don't have the political capital to pursue." Noah shook his head, leaned back in his chair. "No. It's not that I think she's a saint, but without specifics, I say we keep the investigation open at this point."

Scott shrugged. "Definitely not a saint, but I agree. I threw it out there to test the waters.

If we don't have evidence, we keep our focus broad."

"That's decided, then," Ethan said, but that line of worry was settled between his brows.

The comments didn't suggest that Scott or Noah was blindly supportive of Celina, but they were going to have to be convinced of her guilt. That burden, apparently, lay on us.

"It comes back to the Breckenridges," Luc suggested. "There must be something we're missing. Why this family? Why now? If the perp had information on Jamie, and they're using it to get something out of the Brecks, why involve us? What's the connection between the Brecks and vamps? Why the animosity?"

Animosity.

That was the word that did it, that forced the puzzle pieces into place.

I thought about Nick's questions outside the House, then the labyrinth.

The tingle of magic, the hatred in his eyes.

The movement in the underbrush, and the animal that stared back at me through the trees.

The selfsame tingle I'd felt in Papa Breck's office.

The obvious prejudice, the hatred of vampires.

Circling the wagons around Jamie, protecting him.

"They aren't human," I said aloud, then glanced up, met Ethan's gaze.

"They aren't human?" Scott asked.

Ethan stared at me, and I saw the instant he understood. "The animosity. The distrust of vampires." He nodded. "You may very well be right."

"What are you saying?" Morgan asked.

Ethan, still looking at me, nodded, giving me the go-ahead to take the lead, to announce the conclusion. I looked around the room, met their gazes. "They're shifters. The Breckenridges are shifters."

That was why I'd felt the prickle of magic around Nick. He was a shifter. And unlike vampirism, being a shifter was hereditary, so he was a shifter like his father, like his brothers. All bound in loyalty to Gabriel Keene, the Apex, the alpha, of the North American Central Pack.

"The animal at the rave sight," I said, remembering that tingle of animal and magic.

"That must have been Nick."

Morgan's head snapped in my direction. "You went to a rave site?" He leaned forward, palms flat on the table, then turned his head toward Ethan. "You took her to a rave site?

She's barely two months old, for Christ's sake."

"She had her sword."

"And I repeat, she's barely two months old. Are you trying to get her killed?"

"I made a decision based upon my knowledge of her skills."

"Jesus, Sullivan. I don't understand you."

Ethan pushed back his chair, stood up and leaned over the conference table, fingers splayed on the tabletop. "First of all, I would never put Merit in a situation I didn't think she was equipped to handle. Besides which, she was with me, as well as Catcher and Mallory Carmichael, who, as we've discussed, is coming into sufficient powers of her own to offer protection to those within her circle. I understand the Order is establishing a presence in Chicago solely to be able to capitalize on her skills."

That made me sit up a little straighter. Apparently, Mallory's trips to Schaumburg were a little more meaningful than I'd been led to believe.

He leaned down a little farther, skewered Morgan with a glance that would have sent me into a corner whimpering, tail between my legs, and arched an imperious brow.

"Second, I have said this to you once before, and this is the last time I'll say it. You need to remember your position. I make no argument with the age or prestige of your House, Greer. But you have been a Master for less time than Merit has been a vampire, and you might recall that you owe your House to her, because your former Master saw fit to make an attempt on my life." He stopped talking, but the look in his eyes said plenty that he'd left unspoken - that if Morgan did challenge Ethan again, Ethan would see that he suffered the consequences of it.

The room fell heavily silent. After a minute of continuing to flay Morgan with that narrowed gaze - and Morgan staring back defiantly - Ethan slowly lifted green eyes to me, and I saw something different there.

Respect.

My stomach clenched with the force of that look, of being looked to as an equal by someone who'd previously seen me as something much less. We'd become a kind of team, a Cadogan duo united against our foes.

"Now," Ethan said, returning to his seat. "If they are shifters, how does that inform our investigation?"

"Maybe they're protecting the weaker member," Luc concluded. "They've been guarding Jamie, protecting Jamie, from this supposed threat against him. And from what I understand, that's unusual for the Brecks. Jamie had previously been the black sheep.

The aimless one. Maybe that's why the Breckenridges were picked. Maybe someone knows something about Jamie, thought that made the family vulnerable." He frowned.

"Jamie could have a magic glitch. Maybe he can't transform completely, maybe he can't shift at will. Something."

"If that's true, Papa Breck has a problem," Ethan concluded.

"And since Jamie's still alive, Papa Breck has a secret," Luc concluded.

I frowned at Luc. "What do you mean, since Jamie's still alive?"

"The Packs are strictly hierarchical," Noah explained. "The strongest members lead the Pack, the weaker members serve, or they're culled."

Culled. A politic way of suggesting the runts of the litter were put down. "That's...

horrible," I said, my eyes wide.

"In human terms," Noah said, "Maybe. But they aren't human. They're ruled by different instincts, have different histories, different challenges in their histories." He shrugged a shoulder. "I'm not sure it's for us to judge."

"Killing off members of your society?" I shook my head. "I'm fairly comfortable judging that, regardless of their history. Natural selection is one thing, but this is eugenics, social Darwinism."

"Merit," Ethan said. There was gentle chastisement in his voice. "Neither the time nor the place."

I closed my mouth, accepted the criticism. I heard a disgusted sniff from Morgan's side of the table, assumed he'd disagreed either with the chastisement or with my obeying it.

"Putting aside the ethics," Ethan said, "Jamie is clearly still a part of the family. Either Gabriel doesn't know, or he knows and doesn't care."

"Jesus Christ," Scott said, scrubbing hands across his face. "It was bad enough when it was us against the Trib and the city of Chicago, but now we're gonna face off against the goddamned North American Central? Greer was right," he said, worry clear in his face. "We're fucked."

"Suggestions?" Ethan asked.

"Let me make a phone call," I said, figuring I already owed Jeff one favor. One more wasn't going to hurt.

Ethan looked at me for a moment, maybe deciding if he was willing to trust my judgment. He nodded. "Do it."

I volunteered to meet Jeff at the door of Cadogan House. I figured he'd appreciate the personal attention and be a little more comfortable in a House of vampires if he had his own personal guard and attendant. At least, that's how I explained it to him.

I stood in the doorway, arms crossed, waiting for the RDI guards to clear Jeff onto the property. He walked up wearing khakis and a long-sleeved, button-up shirt over his thin frame, the shirtsleeves rolled halfway to his elbows. His brown hair flopped as he bobbed up the sidewalk, hands in his pockets and a goofy grin on his face.

He hopped up the portico stairs and met me at the open door. There was a little more adoration in his eyes than I was comfortable with, but Jeff was doing us a big favor - particularly as a shifter, walking into a den of enemies - so I dealt.

"Hi, Merit."

I smiled at him. "It's about time you got here. Any news about the e-mail?"

"Yeah," he said, casting a worried glance inside the House. "But not here. Too many ears."

His answer didn't bode well, but I took the hint. "I appreciate your coming over here.

And spending your evening sourcing an e-mail."

"That's why they call me the Champ."

I chuckled and moved aside to let him in the House. "Since when do they call you the Champ?"

He paused in the foyer as I closed the door behind us, and gave me a grin. "Remember how you and I are dating?"

"Right," I solemnly said. "How's that going, by the way?" I pointed the way toward Ethan's office and he fell in step beside me, surveying the House and the scattering of vampires.

"Well, they do call me the Champ. I mean, my work is suffering, though."

"Is it now?"

We reached the closed office door, and Jeff ran a hand through his hair. Nerves, I imagined, but he looked at me, laughed it off.

"Yeah, you tend to be a little... distracting. You know, with the hands. And always calling me, texting me." He looked over at me, and while he smiled, fear tightened his eyes, marked the air with an astringent tang.

"When we go in there, I'm your Sentinel, too."

This time he smiled, and I think a little of the tension went out of his shoulders.

"And you know what?" I asked him, clasping the doorknob.

He ran a hand through his hair again. "What?"

"You're my most favorite shifter."

Jeff rolled his eyes. "Not that I'm denying my manly appeal, but I'm the only shifter you know."

"Actually, Jeff, that's kind of our problem." I opened the door, and in we went.