"You've only been a vampire for ten months."
"My point exactly."
She chuckled a bit, which had been my motive.
"It gets easier," I said.
"You didn't have to adjust under the watchful eye of Gabriel Keene."
"You're right. I only had to adjust under the watchful eye of Ethan Sullivan. That was an utter cakewalk."
"You're really going to try to outdo me on this one?"
"You're the one who coined the term 'Darth Sullivan,'" I reminded her. "Besides, I wouldn't have let you slide a year ago, before you got your magic. I figure I probably shouldn't let you slide now."
She looked at me and smiled, just a little. "I'm glad you're here."
"I'm glad you're here, too," I said.
We reached Ukrainian Village. My ears and fingers aching with cold, I gratefully pulled the Volvo into a parking spot in front of the brick building that housed Little Red.
The shifters must have had enough of cold, as the parking spots in front of the bar were empty of expensive, custom motorcycles.
"Closed down for the winter?" I wondered aloud.
"Only the transpo," Mallory said. "Shifters don't care to ride in icy wind and below-zero temps."
Having driven without a window for the last few minutes, I understood the sentiment.
I turned off the engine, but we sat in the car for a moment. "Are you ready?"
"Not really," she said. "But a woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do, and all that idiomatic bullshit."
She blew out a breath and opened the car door, and I wished her the best.
-
The bar was a classic dive, with scuffed floors, beat-up tables, and hard-bitten customers. A low, sad tune played on the jukebox - a crooning country music song from the seventies or eighties, when buckles were big and hair was bigger.
The bar wasn't exactly easy on the eyes or the ears, but tonight it smelled deliciously of sweet and spicy tomatoes, probably the sauce for the Pack's signature barbecue, the pride of its new catering operation.
Gabriel Keene, who stood in front of the bar's large plate-glass window, was a predator personified. He was tall and square shouldered, with tawny, shoulder-length hair and amber eyes that gleamed when they caught the light. He wore jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and black boots that looked like they could do some damage. Not that he needed the accessories. There was power in the sweep of his shoulders and his wide-legged stance.
Shifters were an odd breed. They were tough, and they loved fine whiskey and chromed-out bikes. But they also had a strong connection to nature. They were the hippies of the supernatural world - if hippies wore biker boots and rode asphalt-pounding Harleys.
Gabe carried his infant son, Connor, in the crook of his arm. Connor was beautifully angelic, with bright blue eyes and a ruff of soft, dark hair, and he blinked at me and Mallory with a child's innocence. God willing, he could keep that innocence as long as possible.
"Ladies," Gabe said, glancing at us. "I hear there's trouble afoot."
"Rioters," I said. "They firebombed a Blood4You distribution center and then headed down Division."
Gabe gestured toward the car. "I take it you got caught in the cross fire?"
I nodded. "We tried to leave and avoid the dramatics, but we caught their attention. The car took some damage, but we made it out. They're still rioting. Marching down Division with sticks and bats."
My report given, Gabriel turned his gaze on Mallory. The amber eyes swirled with quiet power. "You're quiet."
"I used magic," she said.