“No,” he interrupted, sliding a hand behind my neck and lowering his head to look directly into my eyes. “No. You are responsible for your actions, not his. You gave me the warning, and you were there to pick me up. Not that I needed picking up.”

“Because you’re a big, strong shifter.”

“Damn right. He wasn’t the first one to take a shot at me, and probably won’t be the last. And how many of my Pack members tried to take you out in Minnesota?”

I paused. “That is a point.”

He nodded. “So if you so much as suggest this was your fault, you’ll just piss me off.”

I sucked in a hard and shuddering breath, nodded.

“I’m okay,” he said. “It’s gonna take more than a shitty sedan to break me.”

I put my screen in my pocket, scrubbed my hands over my face until I’d regained some composure.

I understood logically that I hadn’t caused this; I hadn’t driven the car, or asked anyone to hurt Connor. But that didn’t mitigate the fear, the fury, that someone had tried to hurt him—or that they believed hurting him was something I wanted. It couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Connor had become part of my life. An essential part. Despite our beginnings, despite at least fifteen years of mutual irritation, and paths that diverged almost completely. I’d come home to Chicago unwillingly. But I’d found a kind of home here, and he was a major part of it. And in seconds, someone had nearly ripped him away.

Tears breached my lashes. “Damn it,” I said, swiping at them. “I hate crying. And I’ve done entirely too much of it this week.”

“You are having a bit of a week,” he said and wrapped an arm around me. “Sometimes tears are inevitable. But I’m okay.”

I nodded. “It’s just . . .” I swallowed hard, opened my eyes, and looked up at him. And it took all the bravery and composure I had left to let myself be vulnerable, and tell him how I felt. “I’ve never had this much to lose.”

The look in his eyes was . . . majestic. Pride and triumph and joy combined, and I felt myself sink a little deeper in his thrall. He smiled slowly, with more of that Connor-trademarked satisfaction. “How much did that little admission cost you?”

I curled my lip at him. “Watch it, wolf.”

Still grinning, he brought our joined hands to his mouth, pressed his lips, soft and promising, to my fingers. “I don’t want to lose you, either, especially to a coward like the one who sent you that note. But life isn’t fair. So we enjoy what we can, and we fight when we must.”

“I’ll pay for the damage to Thelma.”

“Offer accepted.” The corners of his mouth lifted. “She deserves a little pampering. And possibly a few upgrades.”

The fear had passed; the traces were still there like salt on tear-stained cheeks, but I could think again. And those thoughts were . . . disturbing.

“The stalker is not sane,” I said quietly. “Someone else has to have noticed they’re pretty seriously disturbed. So how are they out and driving and able to send notes via mail and electronically?”

“Maybe the stalker’s a loner,” Connor said. “That wouldn’t be hard to believe.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” I pulled out my screen again, forced myself to read the note again and think about the message. I saw what I’d missed the first time. “The stalker is a vampire.”

“Yeah,” Connor said. “I agree. You should send that to the Ombuds.”

I did. There was only a moment’s delay then Theo responded: petra says message was anonymized, so we can’t track directly. we’re going to look for server dings and we’ll apprise robinson.

“What’s next?” Connor asked.

“The Ombuds and CPD are on the stalker,” I said. “And I’m not going to sit around and cry in the meantime.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmured.

“I’m glad you think so, and I’m going to apologize in advance for this,” I said, and I put a message on my online public profile, as big and bold as I could manage:

Hurting people in my name doesn’t help me. It hurts me. If you’re a true friend, talk to me directly. You know how to get in touch.

I let him read it; he went still, every muscle tense, a predator considering his strike. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to me. “I’m not sure if that was stupidly reckless or brilliantly strategic.”

A corner of my mouth lifted. “I’m not sure, either. But I’d rather have him—assuming it’s a man—aimed at me instead of hurting others. Including you.”

“I’m not leaving your side until he’s caught.”

“Deal,” I said. “But first I need to talk to my parents.”

“They’re back?”

“Messaged me at dusk. I told them not to travel, but . . .”

“They’re your parents.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I need to tackle this one myself—by myself. And you need a beer and some brisket and to put your feet up.”

“I like all of those things,” he said and pressed a kiss to my forehead. Gentle and sweet this time. One in the spectrum of ways he showed that he cared. “I’ll stay. But you have to do me a favor, lover.”

“Yes to the favor. No to the nickname.”

But I knew I was doomed.

THIRTEEN

The favor was in the front seat of an SUV, looking handsome in a white button-down and black suit.

“Mr. Liu,” I said, belting myself in.

“Ms. Sullivan.”

He was quiet beyond that greeting, and didn’t speak another word until we pulled up in front of Cadogan House and he stretched to peer out the windshield. “No sign of the AAM, or anyone else.”

“No,” I agreed, opening the door. “And no unfamiliar magic.”

Though there was plenty of the familiar version. The latent power of a century and a half’s worth of vampires in residence seemed to have seeped into grass and iron and stone, a marker of the power of this very tight family. A family that had welcomed me warmly, but I’d never really felt part of, through no fault of theirs.

“What was it like?” he asked. “Growing up in there.”

“Probably not a lot different from growing up somewhere else,” I said. “Good times, bad times, blood orgies, the whole thing.”

Now his grin was wide, a spark in those dark brown eyes. “You paint an interesting picture, Elisa.”

“Lulu’s the painter,” I said and climbed out, katana in hand. “I call it like I see it.”

* * *

* * *

  Cadogan House. Several graceful stories of white stone in the middle of grounds large enough to be a park, albeit one surrounded by a tall iron fence.

The House was accessible only through the narrow gate where guards stood duty twenty-four hours a day. Humans when the sun was high, vampires when the world was dark. Two guards, katanas belted at their sides, watched warily as I approached. And relaxed a little when they realized who I was.

“Elisa Sullivan,” I said, when I reached them. “I’m here to see my parents.”

“Of course,” the guard said, and the gates whirred open.

I walked down the familiar sidewalk, where I’d once attempted to draw princesses fighting dragons with chalk. Inside, I found a second guard beaming at the small reception desk tucked into the grand foyer.

“Ms. Sullivan,” said the vampire, a female I didn’t recognize. “Welcome back to Cadogan House. Your parents arrived a short time ago, and they’re in your father’s office. You’re welcome to join them.”

“Thanks,” I said, with a smile I tried to make pleasant.

Below me, down several feet and through layers of wood and concrete and tile, my mother’s sword—steel and leather and gleaming scabbard—beckoned to the monster. And it seemed louder than the last time I’d been here.

It was the sword used to bring down the Egregore. The sword that now held some portion of its essence, and called to my monster with a power that scared me, that tugged at some thread deep inside my body. And threatened my control.

No, I told the monster. Don’t even think about it. And sent a clear image of what would happen if it tried to take control while we were in Cadogan House. It would be identified and rooted out, and we’d see which of us survived.

That must have done the trick, because it settled down.

I walked down the hallway, thickly carpeted and painted in pretty pale colors, to my father’s office. He sat at his desk in his usual business attire while my mother, her long dark hair flowing down her back, stared through the windows that took up the opposite side of the room.

At the sound of my footsteps, or their sensing me, they both lifted their heads, met my gaze.

“Parental units,” I said with a smile, and was surrounded by embracing arms when I’d barely crossed the threshold.

“Okay,” I said after I’d judged they’d gotten their fill of reassurance, “now you’re being suffocating.”

I pulled back, and still my mother touched my hair, my father squeezed my hand, ensuring themselves that I was safe and whole.

“It’s good to see you,” my father said. “We’ve been worried.”

“You didn’t have to worry,” I said.

His stare was bland. “Let’s go sit,” he said and gestured toward the seating area across from his desk. Leather couches and chairs that surrounded a glass coffee table and had been the site of innumerable meetings with Sups and mildly rebellious daughters—me and Lulu both.

We took seats, and I jumped into business.

“Have you talked to Nicole again?”

“Unfortunately,” Dad said, “we haven’t been able to reach her.”

That set off alarm bells. “Why not? Where is she?”