The light spun like a cyclone and dissipated just as suddenly, lights streaking into darkness and leaving Connor Keene completely, utterly naked.

“Clothes are on my bike,” he said, running a hand through his hair, and walked toward Thelma.

I’d never seen Connor with so much as a shirt off—and that had been my loss entirely. His body was perfection. Wide shoulders that led to a flat stomach and narrow waist, strong arms and legs, every inch of him toned from hard work and activity.

I couldn’t look away . . . and didn’t want to. Muscle rippled and shifted as he moved, and I had to fight back against the instinct to reach out and touch, run fingers down the taut skin that covered his abdomen or the sleek curve of his back.

Connor glanced back at me, and there was plenty of ego in the look.

Having seen the product, I couldn’t argue with the ego. But the realization that I’d just fantasized about Connor unsettled me. Who was I?

Lulu gave him a two-fingered whistle. “The ensemble is fantastic.”

He flipped her off.

“I mean, he is just delectable,” Lulu said quietly.

“He’s not bad,” was all I was willing to give him. I was still too disturbed by the fact that I found him attractive.

“You could bounce a quarter off his ass.”

“I can hear you, Lulu,” he called back, pulling on jeans and a T-shirt. He glanced back, and there was no hiding the masculine pride in his eyes. “Wolf hearing, remember?”

“Yes, I know,” Lulu said with a thin smile.

Connor sat on the edge of the bike to pull on his boots, then ran a hand through his hair. I figured his transformation was complete enough for us to talk again.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I said when we walked toward him.

“Saving your ass, apparently. What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be the good one.”

“The good one?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re supposed to be smart enough to do the right thing, to follow the rules. And not walk into a fight.”

“I did the right thing,” I told him with barely veiled fury. “We didn’t come to argue. We came to ask questions. To help Riley. We didn’t ask you to barge in.”

Boot laces still hanging, his shirt not quite snugged down to cover the strapping muscle over his hips, he glared at me. “The rules don’t say anything about barging into a fairy castle.”

“They opened the damn doors,” I gritted out. “And since when do you come riding to vampires’ rescue?” I asked, brow arched as high as I could make it. “I thought shifters stayed out of politics.”

“You’d better be glad I made an exception.”

“We were handling ourselves,” I said.

“Oh, good,” Lulu muttered. “Connor and Elisa are fighting. Shock. Surprise.”

“Can it, Bell,” Connor said, but didn’t spare her a glance.

“How’d you know we were here?” I asked, gaze narrowed.

“I followed you from the loft.”

“You did not,” Lulu said.

“I did. Need to learn to spot a tail, witch.”

“Don’t call me witch, puppy.”

Connor’s lip curled.

“Focus,” I said, and looked at Connor. “Why were you at the loft?”

His jaw worked. “Because you seem to think you’re Sherlock Holmes.”

“I’m Holmes,” Lulu said. “She’s Watson.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering patience. “If you’re willing to dig in the dirt at Cadogan House,” he said, opening them again and arrowing in on me, “I thought you might do something else stupid.” He gestured toward the castle.

“Riley wouldn’t have done this,” I said. “But we’re the only ones who seem to understand that. And until we prove it, the real killer goes free.”

“He’s my friend, too,” Connor said. “He’s my friend, my Pack mate. He’s family. And my responsibility.”

“You aren’t Apex yet,” I said.

“Yet,” he said, his gaze so intense it might have bored into me.

“Here’s an idea,” Lulu said. “Let’s get the hell out of here, and you two can continue arguing somewhere else.” She looked back at the tower. “I don’t think we’re guaranteed they won’t try for round two.”

Connor nodded. “There’s a diner up the road. The Carpathian.”

“The Carpathian, as in the mountains in the Ukraine?” I wondered. The Pack had strong connections to the Ukraine.

His smile was wolfish. “The mountains are in the Ukraine, and the restaurant is here. It’s one of ours. Meet me there.” He pointed a finger at each of us. “And no detours.”

He pulled on his helmet, climbed onto his bike, kick-started the engine. The bike growled to life, and it sounded as sexy as it looked. With one last glance at me, he drove off into darkness.

“Is it irritating that he expects us to follow him?” Lulu asked.

“Yes,” I said.

But it was our best option.

“On the way, can we discuss in detail how good he looks naked? Almost makes it worth his testy teenage years.”

Shaking my head—and more than a little flustered to find I agreed with her—I followed her back to the car.

* * *

• • •

I checked my injuries in the car. The cut at my neck was nearly invisible, the slice along my shin deeper, but knitting together nicely. My cheekbone was bruised, and the mark would take longer to disappear. Bruises always did.

The Carpathian wasn’t the typical shifter hang, if there was such a thing, given that the NAC Industries building probably blew the curve on what was typical. It was a train car, long and silvery blue, its metal gleaming in the moonlight. The roof was curved, the sides pinstriped, the narrow windows glowing between crisp white curtains. Hydrangeas with white clouds of flowers lined the metal staircase that led into the entrance door.

The bike was already there when we pulled into the gravel lot. Connor leaned against it, helmet propped on the seat, screen in hand. He put it away when we walked toward him, then reached out, ran a thumb lightly across my cheekbone.

“You’re hurt,” he said, tilting my chin into the light. “Your father will see that.”

I ignored the frisson of heat from his touch. “I’ll heal.”

“I’m sure you will. Make sure he doesn’t do anything rash.”

“He never does,” I said. My father was the most controlled person I knew.

We walked inside, found a dozen narrow booths lining the walls and a kitchen at the other end. Four of the tables were occupied. One by a single, three by couples old and young, who talked quietly and clearly enjoyed their food. There was a small stand at the other end of the train car, nestled between the wall and the door to the kitchen, where a turntable spun a violin concerto that rolled softly through the air.

“It’s . . . intimate,” Lulu whispered.

“And friendly,” Connor said, watching a woman walk toward us. She was slender, with pale skin, dark hair, and enormous eyes set in a heart-shaped face. She wore a white apron over trim, dark pants and a dark shirt, and kept her gaze on Connor.

“Keene,” she said when she reached us, then looked us over.

“Natalia.”

She said something in what I guessed was Ukrainian. He responded in the same language. More talking, and a glance at the smears of grime on Lulu’s clothes, the bruise on my cheek. Her eyes narrowed.

“There will be no trouble here,” she said, voice thickly accented.

“None,” Connor agreed. “The trouble was left behind.”

Another moment of hesitation, and she relented, pointed to a booth, asked another question.

“Tak,” Connor said with a nod. Natalia walked to the bar, and he put out a hand, gestured us into the booth.

Lulu slid in, and I slid beside her. Connor took the other bench.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve done a late night in a diner,” Lulu said, gaze tracking across the restaurant’s interior.

“I’m sure that was entertaining for everyone,” Connor said.

I crossed one leg over the other. “We didn’t have money, so we’d order black coffee and eat the free crackers and jelly.”