Howling For You: A Chicagoland Vampires Novella (A Penguin Special from New American Library) (2 page)

I’d donned my coat on the way out, but that hardly battled back the chill in the air. The air was cold and heavy, unusually still. I agreed with Patrick; snow was coming.

A sleek, black SUV sat in the gravel drive in front of the house. A man in a slick black suit—head shaved, eyes dark and piercing—held open the back door.

Patrick gestured to the driver. “Tom Webb, this is Fallon Keene. Fallon, Tom Webb. He’s been helping the family for many years.”

I didn’t know the details of the Yorks’ business, but it had something to do with timber. If Patrick had a driver, I guessed business was good.

Webb smiled, but his eyes were still appraising. I read loyalty in the look, the fact that he took my measure and considered whether I was the right woman for the Yorks’ favorite son.

I slid into the backseat, and Patrick followed.

“Nice ride,” I said when Tom had closed the door behind us.

Patrick’s grin was sheepish. “Thanks. I need the space.” He gestured toward his long legs, which filled the foot well. His shoulders practically filled his half of the backseat.

“Where should we go?” Patrick asked.

It was dark, and February. There was only so much that one could see of the city from the backseat of a car. “Well, if you’ve never been to Chicago, I’m honor bound to at least get you a look at the skyline.”

I leaned toward the front seat. “Head left, and when you get back to the main road, turn right. There’s an historic marker about three miles down. Pull in when you see it.”

“Got it,” Tom said. The tinted screen rose, separating the front and back seats, and we pulled away from the house and back onto the long, gravel drive.

Patrick looked at me with interest. “Archaeology field trip?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “You’ll see when we get there.”

“I’m always up for an adventure,” he said with a smile. “Tell me about yourself. Other than the fact that you’re next in line for control of the North American Central Pack.”

His tone was sarcastic, which helped me relax. There’d been plenty of other potentials—men with whom I’d shared coffee or pizza—whose first questions were about Gabriel, the kingship, the Pack. They’d slipped through Gabriel’s screening and were interested in me only because I could help them get closer to him.

Potentials like that gave the process a bad flavor. But I’d become adept at scaring them away, at feigning enough crazy to give them second thoughts. And if they became too handsy, a knee to the balls put them in line again.

“I’m twenty-seven. I like music. I live for coffee and good bagels. I believe in fairy tales, but not fairy godmothers.”

“That list sounds well-practiced.”

“I’ve met my fair share of potentials.”

“And nobody was interesting?”

“Everybody’s interesting in their way.” I shrugged. “But a relationship needs more than interesting.”

“The spark,” he said, looking out his window. “It needs the spark.”

I had the sense from his tone that he’d had the spark before. Since he was in the car with me, I presumed he hadn’t managed to capture it.

“That’s one way to put it. What about you?”

He shrugged. “I’d say I’m the outdoorsy type. I like to fish. Hike. Chop wood.”

“You’re a lumberjack.”

He laughed heartily. “Yeah. I guess you could say that.” He flexed an impressive bicep. “Keeps a man in shape.”

“So I see.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

I nodded.

“Is this—is this what you really want? I mean, this whole potential thing?”

I looked out the window, watched farmland pass as Tom took the road at a leisurely pace. “I want my family to be safe. And I want the Pack to be solid. Healthy. Having a mate the family approves of goes a long way.”

For the four-hundredth time, I wished Jeff was a different kind of animal. But he couldn’t change who he was any more than I could change myself, put myself into a different family, or make the Keenes average.

Jeff was not the point, I reminded myself, and made myself focus on Patrick. I’d made a commitment to see this through, so it deserved my full attention.

I looked back at Patrick. “What about you? Do you want this whole potential thing?”

“I want a connection. I want my family to be happy.” He fidgeted with a gold signet ring on his right hand, which bore a complicate crest. “My father’s getting older. He’s not well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Shifters were generally a healthy bunch; transforming into animal form cured most things that ailed our human forms. But animals became ill, too, and there was no easy cure for that.

“I guess that adds to the pressure to find someone.”

Patrick laughed mirthlessly. “That’s one way to put it. If I hear the word ‘legacy’ one more time, I’ll probably punch someone.”

“I’ve done that.”

He looked at me with amusement. “Really?”

“Yep.” I crossed one leg over the other, kicked the top one. It was a habit usually caused by too much caffeine. Today, I could blame old-fashioned nerves.

“Robin Swift sent a friend of his family.” Robin was Apex of the Western Pack. “Took me to dinner at the most expensive restaurant in Chicago—or so he told me. Six or seven times. And while we’re there, gave me a lecture about respecting legacies.”

“And you punched him in the restaurant?”

I grinned. “No, I punched him when he told me my only purpose was to bear his children and then stuck a hand up my shirt.”

Patrick grinned. “You land the punch?”

“Broke his nose.”

“Good girl.”

We slowed, and I looked up to see the familiar metal plaque on the side of the road. Tom turned the car into the short drive, which dead-ended at a chain link fence.

“What now?” Patrick asked.

“Still a surprise,” I said, climbing out of the car when Tom opened the door. Patrick offered whispered instructions to Tom, then followed me through the open gate. We crunched through snow across the small field, where a vine-covered chimney stood sentinel, the only part of the building still standing.

Hands in his pockets, Patrick stared up at the chimney. “What was this place?”

“A Jesuit mission, then a church. Once upon a time, at least.”

He ran fingers over the rough stone, something I’d done a dozen times. “How’d you find it?”

“Full moon,” I confessed with a smile. “I couldn’t sleep, so I ran until I couldn’t run anymore. I ended up here.”

“There’s a lot of history here,” Patrick said, glancing around. “A lot of power.”

I nodded. “Sometimes I wondered if I found it, or it found me. But this actually isn’t what I wanted to show you. This way.”

He fell into step behind me, and we walked in silence up the small rise on the other end of the field. By the time we reached the top, I was finally warm.

“This is why we’re here,” I said when he stepped beside me, and I heard the sharp intake of breath.

Chicago lay in front of us like a blanket of light, buildings rising across the horizon like a heartbeat had been charted across the sky.

Memphis would always be home to me, but I certainly understood the appeal of the Windy City. Architecture, food, politics. It was an important part of the building of America, even if it still bore the scars.

“This is an impressive view.”

“Yeah, I like it. And I like Chicago. It’s not home—not yet—but I like it.”

“Lot of energy,” Patrick said.

“Yes,” I agreed. “There is. You’re from Wisconsin?”

He nodded. “The family’s from Wausau, middle of the state. Most of them still live there. I’ve got a cabin on the lake north of Sheboygan. It’s quiet, especially in winter. No tourists. Speaking of tourists, are many people coming in tomorrow for the initiation?”

The abrupt change of conversation had me looking back at him, wondering about his motive. But if he was digging for details about Connor or the event, his body didn’t give it away. His gaze was still on the horizon.

Still, I chose my words carefully. “Mostly close friends and family.”

“The ceremony will be at a church?”

“St. Bridget’s.” The location wasn’t a secret, especially since Gabriel had already invited him. “It’s in Ukrainian Village.” We hadn’t chosen the spot because of the religious affiliation, but because it was in the heart of our favorite neighborhood, and a common location for Pack meetings. We had a connection to it.

He nodded, but I could tell the answer hadn’t satisfied him.

“Does it bother you that he gets the crown? Instead of you, I mean?”

I guess that’s what had really been on his mind. “No,” I said. “Should it?”

He lifted his hands again. “No offense meant. I just think, if it had been me, I’d be pissed. My chance being taken away. You don’t have to respond to that. And I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m genuinely curious.”

He was silent for a moment, and when I looked back at him, found him frowning at the skyline.

“I’m in a completely different situation,” he said. “My life, like yours, has been built around family, but the dynamics are different. You’re part of the Apex’s family. For the rest of us, that’s a big deal. You’re the big deal. So I just wonder if someone else being handed the crown feels like a big deal.”

It was a big deal. But not the way he meant.

It was a big deal that Tanya and Gabriel, after several years and more mourning than I’d have wished on anyone, had gotten pregnant. A big deal that Connor had been safely born after a difficult pregnancy. A big deal that I had a healthy and happy nephew.

“Family is family,” I simply said. “And Pack is Pack.”

An hour later, the SUV pulled up to the house again.

Patrick looked at me. “I enjoyed meeting you, Fallon. I’ll be staying at the Hotel Meridian. They’ve got a fantastic bar, and I’d love to invite you for a drink.”

“I don’t think I’m up for that tonight, with the initiation tomorrow. But thank you for the offer.”

“You’re sure I can’t change your mind?” Without waiting for a response, Patrick moved in, pressed his mouth to mine, made his best argument. His lips were soft, and the hand he lifted to my face undeniably strong. He cupped my jaw as he deepened the kiss.

Magic, comfortably animal, pulsed across my body, lifting goose bumps on my arms. My magic lifted, rose to meet it, and filled the car with energy when Patrick deepened the kiss.

Our magic was clearly compatible. But that’s as far as it went. There was no angelic choir. No sudden music. Not a single tingle or twitch of the nonmagical variety.

The part of me that wanted to keep hanging out with Jeff was thrilled. Another potential met, put away.

But the part that was obliged to family and Pack felt guilty. Was I not trying hard enough? Sabotaging any chance these guys might have had to win me over?

Patrick pulled back and looked at me. “I get the sense your heart’s not in this.”

I didn’t have the words to respond, but he was absolutely right. My heart was elsewhere, mostly thinking about a tiger probably pacing the halls of his apartment.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He smiled. It was such a great smile. It just did absolutely nothing for me.

“No hard feelings,” he said. “The heart wants what the heart wants.”

I slid toward the door, and when Tom opened it, stepped outside again.

“I hope you find him,” Patrick said.

“You and me both,” I murmured.

The house was quiet and dark. For the first few potentials, the entire family had waited in the parlor for me to come home and report. After ten, they’d stopped waiting up.

We’d long since passed ten.

I took off my boots and hung up my coat, then headed upstairs to my second-floor bedroom. The world may have been chaotic, but my bedroom was not. It was simple, clean, and organized—my respite from Pack life. Like my clothes, the room was decorated in shades of black, white, and gray. A white four-poster bed was the focal point, near a bureau I’d painted a black and white chevron pattern.

I pulled open the top drawer of the bureau and perused the contents. T-shirts and pajama bottoms for winter, skimpier nighties for hot nights or special occasions. Unfortunately, they still bore the tags.

“Someday,” I grumbled, pushing them aside and pulling out a heather-gray T-shirt, the lingering scent of Jeff’s cologne filling the room. The shirt was one of his, with a chartreuse “Jakob’s Quest” logo across the front. He’d let me borrow it after I’d been soaked in a downpour, and I’d forgotten to give it back.

Or I’d decided not to.

I tugged it over my head, pausing while I was cocooned in cotton and Jeff, savoring the scent of him, wondering what it would be like if he’d been there with me.

I’d imagined the scene a thousand times before: turning off the light, lying down on cool sheets, his body beside mine, arms ready to wrap around me.

But that was just a fantasy. Tonight, again, the bed was empty—Jeff replaced, as always, by the cold weight of tradition.

I dreamed I straddled the crux of the farmhouse roof, one leg on each side, a hammer in hand. The shingles, gray with age, were falling away from the roof like scales, floating to the ground like feathers. I used the hammer to beat them back down, but the work was useless. They lifted and rose away, leaving the bones of the house bare beneath them.

“Fallon!”

My eyes opened. I wasn’t on the roof. I was in my own room, sprawled on my stomach, an arm and leg hanging over the side of the bed. There was no hammer, but someone was pounding fiercely on the bedroom door.

“Hold on,” I said, flipping off the sheet and sitting up, squeezing my eyes shut until my head stopped spinning. I’d slept like the dead, and my head throbbed like I was hung over.

“I’m coming,” I said when the beatings continued, and stumbled to the door.

I yanked it open and found Gabriel in the doorway, a haggard expression on his face. There were shadows beneath his eyes.

“It’s, like, six in the morning,” I said, squinting in the sunlight. We didn’t sleep much, although we tended to sleep those hours in the early light of day. “What do you want?”

“Your ass downstairs. The coronet is gone.”

I pulled on enough clothing to turn the T-shirt into loungewear and headed downstairs in sweatpants and bare feet.