I’d texted her at Washington House, let her know what had happened at the loft. “No. They either didn’t guess we’d gone there, or weren’t fast enough to follow us here.”

“Where is ‘here’ exactly?” Lulu asked.

“An experience,” Connor said and opened the door.

The smell of sautéing meat rolled out like a wave, all but dousing us with deliciousness. “Welcome to Taco Hole.”

“Oh, mama,” Lulu murmured. “I have come home.”

We walked inside to squeaky floors covered in thin, grimy carpet. A long bar stretched across the wall opposite the door, every leather-and-brass bucket chair occupied. A couple dozen round tables filled the rest of the space, and restaurant staff were in matching yellow T-shirts and shorts.

It was . . . a supernatural dive bar.

Shifters in their NAC leathers at the counter, fairies at a high top, River nymphs in their tiny dresses toasting each other in a low banquette.

“How is this possible?” I asked, amazed and curious and still hungry.

“It’s neutral territory,” Connor said, using hand signals to order drinks from the man behind the bar after we’d taken seats at a small table.

“I can’t believe I’ve never been here before,” I said.

“Look around again, Elisa,” Lulu said.

I lifted my brows at her, but did. And realized that, for all the magical diversity, I was the only vampire in the room.

“No vampires allowed?” I asked, glancing back at Connor. And wondering if I was going to have to fight someone for a damned burrito.

“Vampires allowed,” he said and poured something red from a small carafe on the table into a little bowl. “But vampires not encouraged—most don’t like the setting. Not quite fancy enough for the average vamp.”

That was a damn shame, although I couldn’t say I was surprised, having grown up in, let’s be honest, a vampire mansion. It occurred to me that since we were surrounded by Sups, at least one of us might be uncomfortable with that. I glanced at Lulu.

“You okay being here?” I asked quietly.

“This is for food,” she said, snagging a tortilla chip from a communal bowl. “Sanctuary means no Sup drama.”

“Correct,” Connor said and passed the little bowl to me, then did the same with the others.

“Salsa?” Lulu asked, eyeing it warily.

“Hot sauce,” Alexei said. “Be careful with it.”

“And it’s Alexei saying that,” Connor said. “So be careful.” Then he pointed to an old-fashioned menu over the bar, with little plastic letters that clipped into slots. Options were limited. Burrito. Taco. Torta. Tamale. Menudo. I glanced around at the other tables, curious about the bestseller, and found a lot of people hunched over plates, and very devoted to their food.

A woman came over, her skin the palest shade of green, her hair and eyes dark. She put down four bottles. Dark liquid, no labels.

“House root beer,” Connor said. “It’s exceptional.”

“Know whatcha want?” the waitress asked. Sup she may have been, but her accent was one hundred percent Wisconsin.

“Special,” Alexei said. “Burn me up.”

“Same,” Connor said, then looked at me, brows lifted.

“Oh, do I get to order for myself?” I asked with a smile.

“Only if you hurry up,” he said, smile teasing.

“Special,” I said. “I don’t want the full burn.”

She snorted. “How much?”

“Light slap?” I asked, and she nodded, scribbled.

“Lightweight,” Alexei muttered.

“No,” I said, unashamed, “I just like to taste my food. It’s not a competition.”

“Burn me up,” Lulu told the waitress, eschewing the bowl of hot sauce and pouring it from the bottle directly onto a chip. She crunched in, and her eyes watered immediately. And she smiled like a woman deeply satisfied.

“So you do have some good qualities,” Alexei said. “Good to know.”

She presented her middle finger, prepared another chip.

I munched one without sauce, looked around. The sheer diversity of bodies was amazing; I’d never seen so many different types of Sups gathered in one place.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” I told Connor. “I’d have hated to miss out on this.”

“You’re very welcome.”

The waitress brought a round tray of shot glasses filled to the brim with cloudy green liquid. She managed to slap them on the table single-handedly without spilling a drop. Alexei slid one across to each of us.

“Wolfsbane,” he said, and lifted his glass, waited for each of us to do the same.

“Is this . . . poison?” Lulu asked, head tilted as she studied it.

“Only slightly,” Connor said with a smile and drank.

“See you on the other side,” I told Lulu and did the same.

It was like drinking a novel. A story with a beginning, middle, and end, with conflict along the way. And the faint aftertaste of wintergreen. There was no alcohol in it; the potency, I guessed, came from herbs and bitters. And it was very definitely potent.

I put the glass on the table. “Was that good or disgusting?”

“It was . . . yes,” Lulu decided on, smacking her lips as if to study the taste. “One or both of those.”

“Lightweight,” Connor said this time, then drained his glass.

As if on cue, steaming platters of food were placed in front of us, the peppers so strong my eyes began to water. But god, the smell of it. Roasted meat and pale masa, flecked with salty white cheese and sharp cilantro.

“We’ll see about that,” I said and dug in.

* * *

* * *

I ate more than I needed, but less than I wanted, which I figured was about right. Alexei challenged Lulu to a round of pool at a table that looked like it had seen one too many fights. It was squeezed into a corner of the bar, so aiming took a lot of maneuvering around walls and literally bullish-looking patrons.

It was just . . . wonderful. “Can I swear fealty to this place?”

“No. But they do have a punch card.” To demonstrate, Connor pulled one from his pocket. Eight of the ten little squares had been punched through with a hole the shape of—

“That’s not a hot dog, is it?”

“No, brat, it is not.” He smiled, put the card away. “I’m glad you like it. Not surprised, but glad.”

“Are you talking about the punch card or the restaurant?”

“Both,” he said and leaned forward, elbows on the table, and rubbed a thumb across my jaw. He liked doing that; seemed to find comfort in doing that. And his face had gone suddenly somber, suddenly grave. And a little bit sad. “I want you to know . . . I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“I didn’t ask you to protect me. We help protect each other.” And saying the words aloud proved to me the truth, engraved that truth upon my heart.

“We protect each other,” he agreed. “You know it’s possible the killer will hurt someone else and say it’s for you.”

I searched his troubled eyes, trying to find the root of the sudden concern. “Maybe,” I said, and that admission was a vise around my heart. “And I probably won’t be able to stop it.”

I’d been trying not to think about it, trying not to consider that every person behind me, in front of me, around me, might have been watching me. But it was undeniable: The stalker, the killer, was out there. Even if I’d never seen them, they were out there, relying on an emotional connection that wasn’t real, but had been enough to drive them to violence.

This was vulnerability. Not physically; I had as good a chance at beating an attacker as anyone, especially if the monster played along. But there was an intimacy to being watched, to being seen in moments I’d thought I was alone, that made me feel exposed. And I didn’t like that.

“I don’t want you to think I’m like the killer,” Connor said.

I blinked, stared at him, absolutely baffled. “What?”

“Whoever is doing this.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“Why would I think that?” But understanding dawned when I asked the question. “Because you’d do what you needed to do to protect me.”

He nodded.

“Connor, we’ve both killed, but not to prove a point. Not to prove love, or what someone believes to be love. That’s not what love is. That’s not who you are.”

He looked at me for a long time, then squeezed my hand. Before he could speak, his screen buzzed. He pulled it out, glanced at it. His expression didn’t change, but I saw the heat in his eyes.

“What’s up?” Alexei asked, as he and Lulu returned to the table.

“The Compliance Bureau vamps are at the NAC building.”

I hadn’t even had time to ask a question—or be irritated that Theo hadn’t warned us—when my own screen buzzed: confirmed bureau staying at portman grand. tail being set up.

Better late than never, I thought. And gave them a head start. go to pack hq, I suggested. bureau already there.

His next message was mostly cursing, and a warning that the Ombuds couldn’t touch the Bureau unless they did something. I had a feeling that wouldn’t take long.

“They’re staying at the Portman Grand Hotel,” I said and put my screen away. “I asked the OMB to tail them. That’s all they’ll do for now. All they can do.”

“Why does the AAM care about the Pack?” Lulu asked, taking her seat again. “Because of Elisa?”

“I assume they’re trying to intimidate us into giving away her location,” Connor said, sipping his drink.

Lulu snorted. “Have they never met shifters before?”

“Right?” Connor asked, his smile warm. “We’re happy to give them a fight. It’s kind of our thing.”