Howling For You: A Chicagoland Vampires Novella (A Penguin Special from New American Library) (3 page)

Adrenaline pumped, making my blood run and brain race. But I was still groggy, and the sensations mixing together made me feel like a college freshman after an all-nighter.

Christopher, Derek, and Ben were already in the living room, once again around the open box.

“Where’s Eli?” I asked, as I joined the circle.

“Kitchen,” Ben said.

I peered inside in the box. It was empty. Even the purple cushion was gone.

Fear warred with exhaustion and irritation. “I thought we were putting the crown in the safe,” I said.

“We did. The box was down there,” Gabriel said. “Empty.”

“At least there weren’t spiders in their place,” Ben lightly said.

Gabriel’s slanted look actually seemed to chill the air in the room. “The safe was open. Someone managed to pick the lock.”

“Who figured out it was gone? And why the hell were they in the basement at six o’clock in the damn morning?” I was not a morning person. And I was real damn grouchy before coffee.

“Nobody figured it out.”

I glanced at the doorway. Jeff stood there, hair tousled, a leather jacket over a T-shirt and jeans. He looked pissed, and magic spilled across the room like a horde of angry insects. He walked toward us, but didn’t even spare me a glance.

I assumed he was mad because I’d ditched him the night before. But I’d done what I had to do, and I’d explained that to him. He knew the deal. I didn’t have time for a tantrum, especially not right now. We were in crisis mode.

Ben glanced between us, settled his gaze on me, the question in his eyes obvious. But I shook my head. The coronet was missing. Our focus was on the Pack.

Always on the Pack.

“The alarm on the safe went off. It’s set to send me a message,” Jeff said.

Ben frowned. “Why did it alert you?”

“Because I had him install the security system,” Gabriel said.

“I didn’t get a message the doors or windows were breached,” Jeff said, glancing at him. “I take it the alarms weren’t turned on?”

“We’re way the hell out here,” Gabriel muttered. “Since when do we need to live in a security state?”

“Since you’re the Apex of the Pack and you moved the crown up here,” Jeff countered. “It’s important.”

Gabe’s magic spiked. “I’m well aware of the importance of the goddamned crown. I don’t need the reminder.”

Wisely, Jeff bit back a response.

Eli walked into the room, two steaming cups of coffee in hand. I held out hope one of them was for me, and thanked my lucky stars when he handed it over.

The first sip was hot, full-bodied, intoxicating. I gave him an appreciative nod. Eli and I were closest in age, and we’d spent more time together than probably anyone else in the family. He knew about my coffee obsession, and enabled it. Which made me love him more.

“When was it taken?” Ben asked.

Jeff checked his phone. “Forty-two minutes ago.”

Christopher rubbed his face. “Five-thirty in the damn morning? Who wakes up to steal a crown at five-thirty in the damn morning?”

Ben made a sarcastic sound. “Someone who wants a crown and doesn’t want to get caught.”

“Suspect list?” Eli asked.

“Everyone from Louisiana to Minnesota who wants the damn thing?” Christopher suggested.

“Only one of those people was here yesterday.”

We all looked back at Jeff, who stared back at me. Angry. Betrayed. I guess he’d taken it personally after all.

My stomach curled from the hurt in his eyes.

I tore my gaze away and looked at Gabriel. “He means Patrick.”

Is that why Patrick had come here? Not to meet me, but to get closer to the crown? He wouldn’t have been the first potential mate with an agenda.

“He was here to meet Fallon,” Ben offered, stepping closer to me as if that could protect me from the pain.

Jeff looked at Gabriel. “He was here because he wants to get closer to the crown. And there are two ways to do that.”

Get the crown—or get the girl?

Gabriel turned back to him, arms crossed and angry magic radiating from his body. “Is there something you’d like to get off your mind, whelp?”

Magic rose between them, furious and hot, spinning around the room like a dervish. Both of them angry, both of them worried. Neither of them about to admit it aloud.

The last thing we needed was an intra-Pack dispute. We had bigger things to worry about.

Eli stepped between them, beating me to it. “Let’s all take a breath. The Yorks are good people, quality people. Patrick didn’t even want to look at the crown yesterday. He seemed plenty sincere about that.”

“So he knows how to act,” Christopher said. He looked at me. “You were with him. What do you think?”

All eyes turned to me, including two blue ones that didn’t look especially pleased about it.

“I don’t know.” I pushed my hair behind my ears and caught Jeff’s glance at the T-shirt I’d forgotten I’d been wearing.

I felt his rush of magic—possessive and pleased. He didn’t comment; but he didn’t need to. I’d slept in his shirt. Didn’t that say enough?

But this was not the time, so I pushed it back. “He seemed less interested in the crown than my feelings about it,” I said. “But who knows?”

Jeff pulled a tablet from his pocket, began typing on the screen. He always had a gadget in hand, and this small and sleek rectangle was his new baby. “I’m going to check the camera.”

“There’s a camera?” Eli asked.

“It’s part of my standard security package,” Jeff said, eyes on the tablet.

We stood silently while he played with the camera interface. “Here we go,” Jeff said after a moment, and we circled around him.

The image on the tablet was distorted by the fish-eye lens, which had been mounted above the door, but there was no mistaking the man on the screen: Patrick York walked to the front door and slipped inside. Twelve minutes later, he walked out again.

I felt sick. Nauseated at the betrayal, humiliated at the ruse. I wiped a hand across my lips, as if I could wipe away the kiss he’d offered. He’d kissed me, and then snuck back into our house and stolen the Pack’s most precious item.

But it had all happened so quickly. I grabbed what remained of my pride, held tight. “Surely he couldn’t have gotten to the safe, unlocked it, and gotten out in twelve minutes?”

“He could have if he’s trained,” Christopher said, shrugging when we looked at him. “What? So I know how to work a lock.”

Ben slanted his head. “We can’t actually tell if he’s taking anything with him.”

“What else would he be taking?” I asked. “He had no reason to be back in the house. No reason other than the crown.”

Without waiting for an answer, I walked to the window and lifted the sash. The breeze was frigid, but a relief as hot tears of embarrassment slipped down my cheeks.

I wiped them away as sneakily as I could. God forbid any of them should see me cry.

“I can call Catcher,” Jeff said. “Or Merit. Or the Chicago Police Department. But I’m guessing you want to keep this in-house.” Merit was Chuck Merit’s granddaughter, a vampire of Chicago’s Cadogan House. Much like her grandfather, she spent a lot of time solving supernatural problems.

“In-house,” Gabe said. “We don’t need the attention.” His tone dropped, deepened, and was rough by worry. “Is there a chance he knows how to use the crown?”

Silently, Eli glanced at Jeff.

“Jeff knows,” Gabriel said. “I told him.”

“Security,” Jeff said.

“In that case,” Eli said, “I don’t know how he would. The information would be hard to come by, and Yorks have been out of the loop for a very long time. I doubt they’re even friendly with anybody who knows. Did he mention anything to you, Fallon?”

When I was sure my face was dry, I turned back, looked at my brothers. “No. Not a word.”

“This is a disaster,” Ben said.

I knew he meant the theft, but I still felt responsible. All of this trouble, the drama, because of tradition. Danger to the Pack, Jeff pissed, my brothers worried. Our role in the Pack at risk. All of that because tradition had put a thief right under our nose. And because a man we’d trusted with that tradition had betrayed us all.

Humiliation began to give way to anger. And there was only one healthy way to deal with anger.

“I’ll go,” I said, moving back to the group. “I’ll find him, I’ll kick his ass, and I’ll bring back the coronet.”

“I’ll go with you,” Ben said, but Gabe shook his head.

“People will wonder why we’re sending half the family on a crusade hours before the initiation.”

“I’ll go with her.” We all looked at Jeff. “They won’t suspect us going together.”

Because we were always together. And that said volumes.

Gabriel looked between us, considered. “Do it. I’ll call Richard in the meantime.”

“Is that wise?” Eli asked. “If he’s in on it . . .”

“Patrick said his father was sick. I don’t know if he’s up for plotting to take over the Pack.”

“Or maybe this is his last effort to become Apex,” Ben said.

“I’m calling him,” Gabe said. “If he’s involved, there’s no point in denying it now. If he has the crown because he wants the Pack, I doubt he’ll hold that in.”

“Patrick’s staying at the Hotel Meridian,” I said. “That’s the first place to go.”

Gabe checked the grandfather clocked that ticked in one corner of the room. “The initiation’s at six o’clock. Find the coronet, bring it home. Or we hand the Pack over to someone else.”

I dressed and met Jeff downstairs, where he waited by the front door.

“I’ll drive,” I said, and he didn’t argue. My car was small—a coupe that could be easily parked in Chicago, but had enough horsepower to zip around traffic. Or mow down a potential with a traitorous agenda. Not that I had violence on my mind.

Jeff didn’t respond or say anything else until we were in the car and ten minutes into the drive. And then he surprised me.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was an ass. You don’t deserve that. Not when you’re trying to do the right thing by your family. It’s just . . . you don’t know what it’s like for me.”

I goggled. I knew exactly what it was like—because I was the one living under the weight of it. “I know exactly what it’s like for you. You don’t know what it’s like for me.”

“Then tell me. Don’t pull away.”

“I don’t pull away.”

“You do pull away. You hide behind your family.”

“I do not.”

“You do.” His voice softened. “You do, Fal.”

I sighed, feeling suddenly tired. “We’re adults, not children. Sometimes adults don’t get what they want. Even if it hurts,” I added after a moment.

His voice was quiet. Hopeful. “And what is it that you want?”

I knew what he wanted me to say. What he needed me to say. But I couldn’t. Because if I admitted it to him, to myself, that I wanted him, that I cared for him and needed him, then I’d be admitting that everything else had been a lie. That every date with every potential had been a farce, that I wasn’t really trying to find a match for the good of the Pack.

So I didn’t say anything.

Jeff made a low growl and ran his hands through his hair. “I swear to god, Fallon. Sometimes . . .”

“Sometimes what?”

He sighed hugely. “Sometimes life is not fair.” He was quiet for a moment, then looked over and smiled at me. “Will I get in trouble if I ask how the date went?”

“So much trouble,” I said, but couldn’t help smiling back. And when I did, the world seemed to right itself again. “It was dull until, you know, he broke into my house and stole my family’s birthright.”

“So you probably won’t be going out with him again. Which means I have a chance.”

The hotel was located in Gold Coast, a swanky neighborhood just north of the bustling Loop. The building that housed it matched the area’s ivy-covered townhouses, but the lobby was modern and sleek, decorated in shades of white and cream. The attendants at the front desk, both men with slicked back hair, wore buttoned shirts with rolled sleeves, suspenders, and bow ties. It was either very hip or very pretentious; I wasn’t entirely sure which.

We walked to the counter. The attendant—Cash, according to his name tag—smiled at us.

“Welcome to the Hotel Meridian. Are you checking in?”

“We’re looking for a guest, actually. Patrick York?”

“Ah, yes.” He glanced down at his screen, typed a few characters on a slide-out keyboard. “I’m afraid Mr. York has already checked out. Just a few minutes ago.”

I stifled a curse.

Cash looked up, apologetic. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Jeff and I looked at each other, and I opted for frankness. “We believe Mr. York may have inadvertently taken something that belonged to my family.”

Cash’s eyes went wide. “Really.”

I nodded. “Since he’s gone, would it be possible for us to take a look at his room? I know it’s an inconvenience, but it would make my family feel a lot better.”

He grimaced. “That’s not exactly policy.”

“The guest has checked out,” I reminded him. “So there’s no breach of the policy. We just want to see if perhaps there’s anything he might have left behind.”

Jeff put his hand on the counter, a folded hundred-dollar bill tucked subtly between his fingers. “We’d appreciate it very much.”

Cash’s eyes stayed flat, but he took the money and handed us a keycard. “Sixteen twenty-eight,” he said, gesturing with a bladed hand toward the elevators. “Help yourselves.”

The elevator was empty, and it moved slowly and steadily up the side of the building, adding or subtracting a guest here or there. When we reached the sixteenth floor, we followed the arrows to the right, checking the room numbers until we reached 1628.

“Got it,” I said, holding out my hand for the key card. Jeff handed it over, and I unlocked the door and pushed it open.

“Damn,” Jeff said, stepping inside behind me. “I think the Yorks have money.”

If the suite was any indication, he was right. A central hallway led to a bathroom, a bedroom, and a sitting area with a view of the lake. The furniture was high-end, the linens fancy. Silk curtains in wide vertical stripes were tied back at the windows. The room hadn’t yet been cleaned, which gave us better odds of finding some hint of what he’d been up to.

“Probably so. He had a driver yesterday.”

“Fancy,” Jeff said. “I’ll take the bedroom. You look in here.”

I walked to the small desk, opened the drawer, and rifled through complimentary stationary and Chicago-centric magazines. I found another guest’s discarded receipt for the observation deck at the Hancock Tower, dated more than a month ago, and a cellophane-wrapped peppermint.

Nothing had been lost between the couch cushions, nothing stuffed into the pillows. I found only dust bunnies under the couch, and the wastebasket was empty.

The sitting room checked, I walked to the door of the bedroom.

Jeff had pulled the sheets, pillow, and duvet from the bed and was methodically checking them.

“Nightstands?” I asked.

“Not yet,” he said, without looking up.

I walked to the far side of the bed, pulled open the drawer. The usual Bible was there, and a small notepad. Nothing else. Ditto the nightstand on the other side.

When I’d checked both, I stood up, put my hands on my hips, and surveyed the room. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected to find; it wasn’t like he’d have forgotten to take the crown with him, or left crown crumbs in a Hansel and Gretel–style trail.

“Fallon.”

I looked up. Jeff stood on the other side of the bed, motioned me to approach. The bed had four short posters. And in the corner of the poster at the foot of the bed, on the side closest to the door, was a scrap of dark fabric.

It was wedged tightly, caught on the end of a bedspring that had poked through the cover. I carefully lifted it, held it up.

It was purple velvet, the same fabric used on the cushion that protected the crown.

“Jesus,” Jeff said. “I was hoping it was a coincidence. That really sucks.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “It really, really sucks.”

I ignored the flickers of humiliation, sat down on the bed, pulled out my phone, and sent a picture of the fabric to Gabe and a status report. While we waited for a response, I tucked the fabric in my pocket, evidence of the crime.

Jeff sat down beside me. “I can kick his ass if you’d like.”

I smiled mirthlessly. “I’d like. But I still think it’s weird. I mean, I know don’t know him very well, but I wouldn’t have suspected this. Breaking into the house? Stealing the crown?” I shook my head. “He was so mild mannered.”

“If your date didn’t go well, maybe he thought it was his only other option. Did he say anything that suggested he had a plan?”

I shrugged. “He asked about the initiation. Wondered if it bothered me that Connor gets the crown instead of me.”

Jeff snorted. “I’m surprised you didn’t kick his ass for that. Or maybe you just gave him your ‘most displeased’ look.”

“My ‘most displeased’ look?”

“Yeah, you know.” He adjusted to face me, dipped his chin, and gave me a good stiff stare.

“I do not do that.”

“Oh, you do,” he assured. “You’re very opinionated.”

“I’m not opinionated. I’m just right. Frequently.”

“And most displeased when you’re wrong. Especially if
I’m
right.”

A headache was beginning to throb behind my eyes, and his word games weren’t helping. I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. “What a crappy day.”

“Royally,” Jeff said, snickering at the pun. “But I can make it better.”

I nearly laughed at the bravado in his voice, but Jeff moved too quickly. Before I could protest, his lips met mine, cutting off argument. He leaned forward, his mouth insistent, a hand against my cheek. He kissed me hungrily, greedily, like a man long denied.

I let him kiss me. I let him seduce me with bites and kisses, and the hand that caressed my cheek. And then I kissed him back, my fingers stealing into his hair, pulling him toward me.

His magic rushed forward. Where Patrick’s magic had mingled with mine, Jeff’s danced, teased, and enticed. It rose to envelope both of us, hinting at the fire we could so easily start . . .

Until I remembered where we were, and what we were doing there.

The spark banked.

I stood up, knees shaking, and moved away from him, my heart beating against my chest like a timpani drum. “Jeff, we can’t. I can’t.”

“You can,” Jeff said, rubbing his hands over his face in obvious frustration. “But you won’t.”

“That’s not fair.”

He looked up at me, grief in his eyes. “None of this is fair, Fallon. For either of us.”

My phone rang.

We stared at each other until the third ring, when I forced myself to check the screen. It was Gabriel. “Hello?”

“I spoke with Richard. He knows nothing about the crown or the initiation. I think he was being honest. But he admitted he’s been concerned about Patrick.”

“I’m putting you on speakerphone,” I warned. “What do you mean, he’s concerned about Patrick?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I’m also not sure how clearly he sees things.”

“Because of the illness?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t have the strength he used to. I’m not sure he’s got the memory, either. He knows he’s fading, and he’s worried how Patrick will handle it.”

“If we’re right and he took the crown, he’s not handling it well,” Jeff said. “We need to figure out where he’ll go next.”

“Richard said he was coming home.”

“Which one?” I asked, thinking of our conversation. “He’s got two—family place in Wausau, and a cabin near Sheboygan.”

“You’re closer to Sheboygan,” Gabriel said. “You go there. I’ll send Damien to Wausau.”

Damien Garza was one of Gabriel’s go-to Pack members, a quiet man with a penchant for solving messy Pack problems.

I looked at Jeff, who nodded.

“We’re on our way.”

Patrick hadn’t given me his address, but I had Jeff for that. In addition to his gaming skills, he was a master of the Web. He could find a needle in a binary haystack and did, in this case, offering up Patrick’s address and prepping the GPS.

Jeff and I didn’t speak a word about the kiss, and didn’t say much of anything for the drive north. But the tension in the air was unmistakable. I knew we were going to have to talk about it sooner or later, but not right now. Business first.

The cabin was part of a woodsy neighborhood beside the lake, a cluster of houses and cabins probably used by Chicagoans to escape the city in the summer. But this was winter and the lake was frozen; most of the houses looked empty, the snow still in drifts around their doors.

Patrick York’s house, a log cabin A-frame, was easy to spot—the drive was shoveled, and smoke rose from the chimney.

We parked a hundred feet down the road, got out of the car, and looked at each other.

“If he’s got the crown, he’ll want to keep it. We should be prepared for a fight.”

Jeff nodded. “You bring a weapon?”

“I am the weapon.”

He gave me a cutting look.

“Blades,” I said. “Just in case, I have my blades.” I had two daggers, engraved and gorgeous, tucked inside my boots. “You?”

“Same.” He zipped up his leather jacket, nodded, and we trekked back to the cabin in the woods. As we walked, snow began to fall, large and beautiful flakes that quickly covered the ground in a fluffy white quilt.

We reached the end of the driveway and paused at the mailbox.

“I don’t see a backdoor,” Jeff said. “Either he’s going through a window, or he’s coming with us.”

I nodded and turned to walk toward the door, but Jeff grabbed my hand before I could move. A bolt of lust and magic speared through me, followed immediately by a wave of regret.

“Be careful,” he whispered, releasing my hand and falling into step beside me.

Patrick York opened the door in a T-shirt and jeans, a white kitchen towel in hand. The smell of breakfast—bacon, eggs, cheese—wafted through the room.

It took my brain a moment to catch up. What kind of thief started cooking after stealing a crown?

Patrick beamed at me, surprise in his eyes that faded to suspicion when he caught sight of Jeff.

“Fallon. What are you doing here?”

“Patrick, this is Jeff Christopher. He’s a member of the NAC and a friend of the family’s. Can we come in? We need to talk. It’s Pack business.”

He looked confused, and rubbed his hands on his towel before moving aside to let us in. “Sure.”

We stepped inside, and Jeff closed the door behind us. The interior of the cabin was pretty, the hewn-wood walls exposed, the furniture made of logs and covered in plaid fabrics. Fishing equipment hung on the walls beside antique posters advertising vacations on the Great Lakes.

Patrick put the towel on a table and crossed his arms. “What’s this about, exactly?”

“We don’t have time to be subtle, so I’m going to get to it. The crown is missing. The evidence suggests you took it.”

The weight of the accusation seemed to actually push him, and he took a step backward, his gaze switching between me and Jeff. “I’m sorry—you think I stole the crown? The Pack’s crown?”

“Did you?” Jeff asked, with hostility he hadn’t bothered to mask.

“No, I didn’t.” He looked at me. “I told you I had no interest in the crown. And I sure as shit wouldn’t steal something that didn’t belong to me. Is this because we talked about the initiation?”

“It’s because we have video of you coming back to the house. Breaking in, and then leaving again.”

Patrick closed his eyes and was quiet for a very long moment. “Damn it,” he finally said. “I knew that was going to cause trouble. Knew it, and ignored my instincts.”