He frowned. “A crane, I think. A sandhill crane. White, with black-tipped wings and a spot of crimson right at the top of its head. It was alone in the middle of this water, the light reflecting off its feathers. And it was . . . majestic.”
He stared into middle distance, as if watching the memory play back. “It was alone, as far as we would see. No other birds—no other wildlife. Just this one single crane in the middle of this silvery water.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I was—I don’t know—eighteen or so. We shifted back, and I made some stupid joke about food, and let’s hurry up and go. I’m sure it was witty, but it was callous. And he said something like, ‘It can fly. We stumble around in the dirt, and it can fly. We should see what it has to tell us.’ And then the bird spread its wings and lifted up, droplets of water flying behind it like a trail of stars. It was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”
“I bet it was lovely,” I said, imagining the scene clearly.
He settled his gaze on me again. “You’d have appreciated it. And after that, I began to appreciate things more. Alexei has depth. And for the first time in my life, I wanted to have some of that depth. Some of his gravitas. Does that sound ridiculous?”
“Not even a little. It sounds important.”
He smiled, seemed relieved that I thought so. “It was.”
“While we’re being honest, can I make a confession?”
“Sure.”
I cleared my throat, had to work myself up to it a bit. “As a kid . . . I enjoyed it when you got in trouble.”
He threw back his head and roared with laughter. When he’d calmed down, he wiped at his eyes. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry. It’s just—that’s not a confession I’d have ever thought you’d make. I know you enjoyed it. You weren’t exactly subtle, Lis. That’s one reason why I called you brat.”
He smiled at me, and there was something so open and unguarded about his smile that it tugged my heartstrings. Vulnerability wasn’t something I saw very often in Sups, much less in the man who wanted to lead them. I let myself enjoy that smile, that moment, and thought how much time had changed us.
Something beeped, and we both looked toward the sound. Connor’s screen was on the counter, flashing with light and buzzing with sound.
“Hold that thought,” he said, and maneuvered around to check it. “My alarm.” There was resignation in his voice as he turned it off. “I set a reminder. We need to get moving.”
I looked down at the plates of eggs that had gone cold, and probably a little rubbery. “You still hungry?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling as I picked up a fork, and began to shovel in eggs.
He grinned, did the same thing. And for a moment, we were kids again, supernaturally hungry and unselfconscious about the need.
“Oh,” he said, swallowing a mouthful. “And since I cooked, you have to do the dishes.”
Dammit.
* * *
* * *
The resort was quiet when we walked back toward the lodge. There were lights along the path, but the firepits hadn’t yet been lit. These shifters didn’t appear to be early risers.
“Let me take the lead with the elders,” Connor said. “They know you’re coming; they’ve been informed. But that doesn’t mean they won’t play insular and offended.”
“Well,” I said resignedly, “this will be a fun wake-up call.”
We took the stairs to the lodge’s porch, magic growing stronger as we entered the building. We followed the sounds of talking and conversation to the lobby, where a dozen shifters lounged on worn leather furniture. There was a fireplace on one side of the room and a bookshelf on another, and they flanked a third wall of windows that overlooked a large lawn.
Magic was plentiful. Sunk into the cracks and crevices of wood and furniture, and stirring in the air as shifters communicated, moved, watched us pass.
We took the stairs to the second floor. The vintage North Woods look continued here, with golden log walls, patterned carpet, and old fishing and hunting gear on the walls. We steered down a hallway with named rooms—Superior, Michigan, Erie, Ontario—branching off, and into the final room on the right.
It looked like a former ballroom: vaulted log ceiling, river stone fireplace, plenty of windows. Threadbare stacking chairs edged the room, and there were more well-beaten leather couches and folding card tables in the middle of it. Shifters were scattered throughout, but I didn’t see Loren, Georgia, or the other members of her family. The space smelled of smoke and cigars, and magic peppered the air.
A man, leather-skinned and tendon-lean, came toward us as the other shifters watched. He wore jeans, boots, and a T-shirt, all of them equally scarred. His face was deeply lined, his hair a gleaming mix of black and silver that shagged to his neck.
We met in the middle of the room. “Keene,” he said. Unlike Loren, he didn’t offer a hand.
“Cash.”
He turned his gaze to me, briefly evaluated the threat, then shifted back to Connor. “Welcome to the resort, to clan territory. And who’s this?” Cash asked, although he obviously knew.
“Elisa Sullivan,” Connor said. “Daughter of Ethan Sullivan and Caroline Merit.”
“Vampire,” Cash said.
“Maison Dumas graduate,” Connor said. “OMB staff. Daughter of two Pack allies. Katana expert.”
I wondered if he was justifying my being at the compound—or his interest in me. Maybe both. Whatever the reasons, Cash’s expression didn’t change. I guess he didn’t care much for vampires.
“How’s Beth?” Connor continued rather than waiting for commentary on my qualifications.
“She’s fine. Shifted, healed.”
“Good,” Connor said. “What about her attacker? Did you find any evidence in the woods?”
“Evidence in the woods?” Cash’s tone was dry, and other shifters around the room chuckled. “Of what? There are hungry animals, shifters we know, shifters we don’t. Nothing more, nothing less. This was probably someone Beth pissed off who hasn’t come forward yet. Her generation has a lot of . . . conflict.”
“Does it?” Connor asked mildly.
“Look,” Cash began. “The clan’s getting younger. There are a lot of whelps around here, and they spend a lot of time talking and thinking. They have a lot of opinions.”
“They’ve shared those opinions with you?”
“Some.” His eyes went dark. “Nothing that needs to concern Chicago.”
Connor managed a surprisingly imperious expression. “I think Chicago can be the judge of that.”
Cash rolled his eyes. “They complain about not being known to humans, but they don’t know what life is truly like. What humans are truly like.”
“And the black armbands?” Connor asked.
Like the women last night, several of the younger shifters wore the black armbands. And none of the older shifters had them. Because they hadn’t been as close to Paisley or because they mourned differently?
“In honor of a shifter who recently passed.” Cash’s tone wasn’t complimentary.
“Paisley,” Connor said, and Cash didn’t quite manage to hide his surprise.
He nodded. “You know her?”
“I didn’t. You don’t like the armbands?”
“I don’t like the display of mourning. Life begins; it ends. That’s the cycle, and it’s perfectly natural, perfectly in tune with nature. I don’t approve of the sentiment or of the fact that they’re wearing something intended to distinguish them from others. Paisley’s death was a tragedy. But that’s all it was. You can’t go around assigning fault to every act of god. We’re shifters, for god’s sake.”
“So you think one of the younger shifters might have attacked Beth,” Connor said.
“It’s the most logical solution. I suppose it could have been someone outside the clan. A rogue shifter.”
“Are there many out in these parts?” Connor asked but, given his tone, just for form. “Rogue shifters?”
“Few here and there. They aren’t part of the community. They don’t reach out much.”
Connor made a noncommittal sound. He walked to the window, looked out over the dark resort. “You heard about the issues en route?”
Cash went to a couch, took a seat, and spread his arms along the back. He was showing arrogance, that he had nothing to hide. But there was a tightness around his eyes.
“To Alaska?” he asked as if he had no interest in the answer.
Connor glanced back at him. “The Pack’s return home. No one from the resort joined the caravan.”
“Look out the window,” Cash said, turning his gaze to it. “We don’t need to go anywhere to recharge. We have everything we need right here.”
“Recharging isn’t about woods. It’s about Aurora, as I’m sure you know.”
“Whatever. No one told me leaving was obligatory, so we didn’t leave. If you had issues, not our doing.”
“And I take it you don’t think there’s anything to these beast rumors?” Connor asked.
Cash rolled his eyes. “Trouble-mongering and wild imaginations.”
Connor watched him for a minute. “Okay,” he said. “I appreciate the time and the talk. We’ll see you at the initiation.”
“We?” Cash asked.
“Me and Elisa,” Connor said, voice dry because the answer was obvious, and Cash certainly knew that plan ahead of time.
All eyes in the room shifted to me. “No vampire is attending an initiation,” Cash said, leaning forward.
“I was invited,” Connor said mildly. “She’s my plus-one.”
“No fucking way.” The shifter who said it was older, probably Cash’s age, with a barrel chest and silver hair and beard. His skin was suntanned, his eyes blue and hard. He wore jeans, a button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up at the wrists, and dark motorcycle boots with chains across the instep.