“She is,” Connor said, and we watched as the waiter offered her a short glass of amber alcohol.
She downed it, held the glass out for another. And when a vampire approached the bar for a drink, she snapped her teeth at him in a show of . . . ferocity?
Beautiful. But maybe not very classy.
“That’s not leather.”
I shifted my gaze back to Connor. “What?”
“Your dress. It’s not leather, but I still like it. Green’s a good color on you.”
“Thank you,” I said slowly, suspicious at the compliment. “I like the tux.”
He shifted his shoulders with obvious discomfort. “Suits are for humans and vampires.”
“You’re pulling if off just fine. And you know you look good in it.”
The words were out before I knew I’d said them, and the surprised look on his face said he’d noticed.
“I should probably dial that back or your ego will be out of control. Let’s say you look acceptable for a shifter.”
“But not quite as good as a vampire.”
I just grinned at him. “I don’t want to insult you at my ancestral home.”
He snorted. “This is a good shindig for a vampire party.”
“It is nice,” I agreed. “What would a shifter party look like?”
“Leather, like you said. Muscles. Cleavage. Thrashing guitar. Broken beer bottles, supernaturals thrown through plate glass windows, axe-throwing contests.”
“That was a thing?”
He squinted as he remembered. “Couple of years ago. Berna decided the bar tables looked too new. They pulled a few off the bases, hung the tabletops, and threw axes at them.” He took a drink. “They did look better afterward. She has a good eye.”
“The bar looks good,” I said. “But the floor’s too clean.”
“If you only knew how many conversations we’ve had about that. I keep threatening to roll Thelma out there, change the oil right in the bar floor.”
“But you don’t, because Berna terrifies you?”
“I admit nothing.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
He was in a better mood now than he had been earlier today. Maybe it was the date or the booze, or just the fact that he was at a party instead of thinking about the Pack’s future and the enemies he might meet on the way to Alaska. Whatever the reason, I liked seeing him like this.
“What?” he asked, eyes narrowed.
“Nothing. Just thinking that you’re in a good mood.”
“Am I not usually?”
“Not in my direction,” I said with a grin.
Connor cocked an eyebrow at something behind me.
I looked back, found Riley grinning as he carried a three-foot-high stack of aluminum trays toward a buffet table. He’d also worn a tuxedo, and it was working just as hard as Connor’s to hold in the muscle and magic. He’d pulled his hair back into a man bun, and it showed off the interesting lines and angles of his face.
“You’re staring,” Connor said.
“He’s worth it,” I said, and grinned back at him. “Does it bother you that you’re the second-prettiest shifter these days?”
His gaze narrowed dangerously, and that made my blood race a little harder. Probably some ancient vampire reaction to shifters. “I’m neither pretty nor second place for anything.”
“Mmm-hmm. You’re plain and retiring, as every man in want of a wife should be.”
This time, he grunted. “I’m not in want of a wife.”
“All Tabby to the contrary. Doesn’t the Pack want you have a partner?” I frowned, trying to remember. “Isn’t there something in the code about the Apex being married?”
They might have liked the rock-and-roll lifestyle, but shifters had pretty conservative opinions about relationships. It was related, or so Connor said, to their relationship to the earth and the belief that even an alpha occasionally needed a second opinion. Shifters partnered with shifters, and generally of the same animal variety, although Gabriel’s aunt Fallon had loosened that rule when she’d married a shifter who transformed into a white tiger.
“I’m not Apex,” he said. “Yet.”
There was a high whistle, then a ringing of silver against crystal. All eyes turned to my father, who stood beside my mother (also in sleek Cadogan black—an off-the shoulder column that skimmed the ground, with long, fitted sleeves of black lace on tulle) on the brick patio at the edge of the House. The crowd quieted, turned to face him.
“I don’t want to interrupt the party,” he said. “I just wanted to take this opportunity to express our gratitude for the steps you’ve taken tonight toward a lasting peace. The road to that peace will not be easy. It will not be smooth. But it is worth the effort.” He lifted his glass. “To peace.”
“To peace!” the crowd echoed.
“And I’d be remiss,” he continued, “if I didn’t mention how proud we are to have our daughter home once again, even if for a little while.”
I smiled politely at the supernaturals who all turned to stare at me.
“Just imagine the rest of the crowd is naked,” Connor murmured behind me. “It’ll help.”
Spoiler alert: It didn’t.
NINE
Eventually my father moved on, and the guests’ attention went back to the food and drinks and other guests.
Theo walked toward us with a woman in a long-sleeved dress of emerald green. Her skin was tan, her hair dark and straight with golden highlights, her eyes wide and dark under long, dark brows.
“Hey, Elisa,” Theo said.
“Hey. Theo, do you know Connor Keene?”
“Sure,” Theo said, and stuck out his free hand. “I mean, I don’t think we’ve met officially, but I know who you are. Good to meet you.”
“Theo works for the Ombudsman’s office,” I said.
I glanced at the woman he was with, and memories fired. She seemed familiar, but it wasn’t until I saw she wore satin gloves in the same shade as the dress that I realized why.
“Oh, my god!” I said. “Petra!”
She smiled and held up a hand. “Hey, Elisa.”
“I barely recognized you!”
“Yeah, I got a lot taller,” she said with a smile. “My dad’s six-two. And it’s been like”—she lifted her gaze, counting to herself—“eight years?”
“About that,” I said, then looked at Theo and Connor. “Petra and I were tutored together until she moved. Wyoming, wasn’t it?”
“Wisconsin,” she said. “Dad’s an accountant with a big firm. We got transferred.”
And we hadn’t done a very good job of keeping in touch with each other. “Are you back in Chicago now?”
“Have been for about a year.”
“That’s great. How’s the aeromancy gig?”
“Aeromancy?” Connor asked, brows lifted.
Petra turned her wide smile to him. “I can commune with the weather. Hear it, influence it a little. Lightning and I have a unique relationship.”
“Thus the gloves,” I said, and she nodded.
“That’s . . . frightening and impressive,” Connor said, which I figured was about the correct reaction. “Can I see?”
“Sure,” Petra said, and pulled off a glove. “Hold out your hand, palm up.”
It made me smile that our brave and muscled shifter hesitated before offering his right hand.
She put her ungloved fingers over his, then blew out a slow breath. And a brilliant blue spark sizzled between their hands.
“Shit,” Connor said, eyes widening as he was literally shocked by power.
“How cool is that?” Theo asked enthusiastically.
“It’s pretty fucking cool,” Connor said, looking at the palm of his hand, then rubbing the skin.
“Injuries?” Petra asked, putting her glove back on.
“No, not at all,” he said, lifting his gaze to hers. “It was a little like shifting—the same sizzling power. But concentrated.”
“And that’s one of the reasons why Dearborn hired her,” Theo said. “She’s also an Assistant Ombudsman. Head of the tech crew.”