I recognized the roar as we neared the building; sure enough, Thelma came toward us from the opposite direction. Low and dark, its rider equally so.

Yuen had nearly reached the curb when I heard it. The sudden acceleration, the screeching of tires. And saw in the side mirror the white sedan that turned onto the street somewhere behind us and was now barreling toward us.

No, I realized with horror. Barreling toward Connor.

My heart simply . . . stopped. In that second, the world slowed, Connor nearly to the curb, the sedan racing, the driver’s hair color—blond—the only thing I could see.

And when time snapped back again, I had the door open and was out of the car before Yuen had even come to a stop. I heard his shout behind me, his confusion, but screamed toward Thelma. Screamed toward him. “Connor! Move!”

Still wearing his helmet, his head popped up to find me, then behind to find the threat, and I saw the brace of his shoulders.

I’d never known fear before. Never known real and icy terror until I’d seen him realize a vehicle was bearing down and there was nowhere to go.

He leaned to his right, bringing Thelma into a slow skid that put bike between shifter and sedan. Undeterred, the car struck. Metal met metal, met concrete, met man as the vehicle spun Thelma around, taking Connor along for the ride. They hit the sidewalk, then the building wall, and the car accelerated, took off.

Tires squealed as Yuen slammed his door closed, sped after it.

It was the monster that gave me the push to move, that sent me running across the street, just as shifters—drawn by the noise—emerged from the building to investigate. Curses, then they were lifting Thelma, the back of its frame half-crushed, the back wheel nearly folded in half.

I hit my knees, ignored the sting of concrete against tender skin, and unbuckled his helmet. “Connor.”

“Hold his head,” someone said, and I nodded, kept his head and torso steady while they pulled away his helmet.

His eyes were closed, his body still.

“Connor.”

Nothing. Seconds passed, but it felt like hours.

Then brilliant blue eyes blinked at me. “What . . . the fuck . . . was that?”

* * *

* * *

“A sedan,” I told him, when he’d refused an ambulance and was sitting up against the building. He’d let me check him for injuries, and I felt nothing broken. He had plenty of scrapes, and probably some broken ribs I couldn’t feel.

“Whose fucking sedan?”

We looked back, found Gabriel in the doorway, rage in his expression. “Whose fucking sedan?” he asked again, moving closer, gaze on his son, his child.

“Don’t know,” Connor said, pushing a hand through his hair. “Maybe an AAM asshole. Maybe some other asshole.”

“Yuen was dropping me off,” I said. “He followed the car.”

Gabriel crouched in front of Connor, looked him over. He touched a hand to his son’s face, his brow, looked relieved that his only son was still alive. And furious that someone had tried to take him away.

“You’ll shift,” Gabriel said, a prediction and an order. “And you’ll heal.”

“I will,” Connor said and offered his father a hand. Father pulled son to his feet, gave him a moment to steady himself.

“Inside,” Gabriel said. He looked back at Thelma. “And get that into the garage.”

* * *

* * *

The Pack wasn’t shy, but nor did it want to spill Pack business out on a public street. Gabe sent most everyone back to work, and those who remained, mostly family, to the lounge.

“Shift,” he told Connor. “And let’s discuss.”

Connor nodded. “We’ll be in.”

When we were alone, I looked back at him, afraid to touch him for fear of causing pain. “You’re all right?”

He looked around to ensure we were alone. To ensure, I thought, that whatever weakness he was about to admit was for my ears only.

“I took a hit,” he admitted, “but I’ll be fine. Shifting is going to hurt like a son of a bitch.” And he winced at the thought. “But once that’s done, it’ll only be bruises and aches. Thelma’s going to need more work than me.”

“I’m sorry for that, too.”

He nodded. “Did you see who was driving?”

I shook my head. “I got a glimpse of blond hair. I think it was a guy, but it was too dark to see anything else.”

Jonathan Black had blond hair, and he’d gotten into a white sedan at the OMB. But why would he have tried to hurt Connor right after trying to convince me to accept a favor from his clients?

“I haven’t heard from Yuen,” I said. “Did you see anything? Or anyone?”

“Just the damned car,” he said, wincing as he rolled his shoulder.

Raised voices—some concerned, some angry—echoed down the hallway.

“The Pack’s going to have a lot to say about vampires. But you have nothing to fear,” he murmured and kissed my temple. “Don’t let them push you. Show the monster if you have to, but no fear.”

That he was trying to help me face down the Pack after what had just happened . . . I didn’t have words for my gratitude. So I nodded, sucked it up, and promised myself I could let it out later.

* * *

* * *

They were gathered in the lounge. “What happened?”

Connor told them about the AAM, the attack on my apartment. And Miranda spun toward me like a hurricane, with fury in her eyes.

“You did this,” she said, stalking toward me. “This happened because of you.”

“She didn’t drive the car,” Connor said. “Or order anyone to do so.”

“Maybe not,” Miranda said. “But without her, it wouldn’t have happened.”

My screen buzzed, and I checked it, found a message from Yuen. He’d lost the vehicle in a jam in Wicker Park, but put out an all-points bulletin. He’d search the plates, and the CPD would also pull traffic camera feeds from the route they’d followed and try to nail down a shot of the driver.

The CPD had already been watching the AAM, and the Ombuds hadn’t gotten an alert that the group had left the hotel. That suggested the driver wasn’t part of the AAM.

Yuen offered to come back, to take an official statement, but I told him to wait. If Connor wanted that, if the Pack wanted that, they could ask for it specifically.

“Miranda,” Connor was saying, “we don’t even know if a vampire was driving the car.”

“Who else would do it? Who else would dare try to take you out?”

I wanted to point out the members of her own Pack in Minnesota who’d done just that, but knew I needed to stay quiet. This conversation wasn’t for me.

“Quit making excuses, Connor! For all we know, this is a vampire plot to take down the Pack.” She gave me a suspicious stare. “This is probably because the Pack denied her sanctuary for her little vampire troubles.”

That had the shifters who watched us whispering to each other.

“She didn’t request sanctuary,” Connor said. “So there was no denying to be done.”

“Whatever. The point is, every time new vampires come into this city, bad shit goes down. Shit that hurts us.”

There were a few rolled eyes, but also a few nods of agreement. They didn’t trust me. And if they didn’t trust me, they wouldn’t trust Connor. I couldn’t let that happen.

“We don’t know who did this,” I said, and every eye in the room turned to me. “But if it was a vampire, or if it was because of the AAM, I will handle it. That makes it my problem, and my responsibility, and I will handle it. And if any of you have issues with that, you can talk to me.”

Silence for a moment. Then, “Agreed.”

I looked back, found Gabriel at the back of the room, arms crossed. “If it’s your problem, you fix it. If it’s our problem, we fix it.”

“Agreed,” I said with a nod, sealing the deal.

* * *

* * *

He shifted alone. Not because he was too shy to do it around me—I’d seen him shift before, and the nakedness that preceded and followed it—but because he was afraid the pain would scare me.

I didn’t hear him scream. But I felt its vibration, the earthquake of magic and rage and agony across the building. And was immensely relieved when he walked toward me again. He’d changed clothes, given the beating taken by the other ones, and his hair was damp.

He reached me, kissed me, pulled me against him. Tears welled, but I held them back. We were still in Pack territory, and the Pack was still angry. Still hurting. It permeated the air.

“I’m good,” he said and ran a hand down my hair. “A little food, a beer, wouldn’t hurt. But I’m fine. Let’s get out of here, and we can talk.” I had the feeling he wanted away from the scene, and away from the magic.

We walked outside to the SUV, and my screen buzzed. I pulled it out again, expecting another message from Roger, an update on what he’d found.

And because I’d been expecting that, I wasn’t prepared for what I found there.

Elisa:

How could you pick shifters over vampires? I’ve admired you and wanted so much to be your friend, but you’re being disloyal! I’m beginning to wonder if you appreciate what I’ve done for you. I’m protecting you, Elisa. Ensuring your future.

I remain, with hope that you’ll understand,

—A friend?

What he’d done for me, the note said. But he’d done nothing on my behalf, only his delusion of it. And that delusion had nearly gotten Connor killed.

My heart roared, a timpani drum of anger. “It was him.”

“What?” Connor asked, and I showed him the message.

“I’m— Connor, I’m sorry.” Horror and fury and fear battled in my chest, squeezing hard against my heart. “It was the stalker. He hit you. He tried to kill you. This is all my—”