Abdication. I could have Jeff Christopher if I gave up my claim to the Pack, my spot in the line of succession. But I’d also be giving up my family, rejecting the training and education I’d received as a potential Apex.
I cared about Jeff, but he wasn’t for me. We weren’t for each other. It might have been one of the great tragedies of my universe, but that didn’t make it any less true.
“One of these days I’m going to start taking your rejections personally.” Jeff’s voice was confident, but there was pain in his eyes. Still, he put up a good front. “Today’s not that day. I’ll see you, Fallon.”
His voice drew my gaze back, and the promise in his eyes was unmistakable.
“I’ll see you,” he said again, his guarantee.
2
The Pack was based in Memphis, but our family had decamped to Chicago earlier in the year. We’d made a promise to help Chicago’s vampires manage the supernatural crises that emerged once they’d announced their existence to the world.
We’d looked for place that reminded us of home, and found a farmhouse long past its prime but with plenty of room to roam and bedrooms for the lot of us. The house wasn’t in the best shape—the once-vibrant cornflower blue paint had faded to a watery blue-gray—but even tired around the edges she was beautiful. An enormous round porch wrapped nearly half the front of the house—a must-have for a family with Southern roots—and a turret with a conical roof jutted proudly from one side. The rest of the facade was a jangle of windows, shutters, and dormers.
The interior of the house still carried the scents of the generations that had come and gone. Each generation, each year, layering one smell over another like geological strata. Bundles of herbs hung to dry in the kitchen. Soft, old-fashioned perfume. Dirt and grass from long days of work.
I think that’s ultimately why Gabe had picked the place—because memories still lingered in the house, and they took the places of the Pack members we’d left behind in Memphis.
I walked inside, hung my black peacoat on the baroque rack by the front door, and glanced into the antique mirror that hung there for a final check.
I had plenty of earrings and ink, and my taste in clothes ran toward black and gray, muted colors, and interesting layers. My dark blond hair waved with curl I’d gotten from my mother. My brandy-colored eyes were lined with kohl, and my cowl-necked sweater was dark, with long pointed sleeves, and fell nearly to the hem of my black pleated skirt.
As I prepared to meet another potential mate, a wolf in human clothing, I gave myself an honest appraisal. My eyes were sharp and clear, my mouth just wide enough to seem cheeky. I had good teeth, a great laugh, and a public school education that had done me plenty well. That didn’t mean the potential would feel the same way. And even if I wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of meeting him, no one liked rejection.
I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, blew out a breath, and walked into the living room.
The entire family was in attendance amongst the faded velvet furniture: my brothers—Gabriel to Ben—plus Tanya, Gabe’s wife, and Connor, his son and the prince in waiting. But as I ticked them off my mental checklist, I realized there wasn’t a suitor in sight. Maybe he changed his mind, I thought with a thrill, and I could meet Jeff for pancakes, or we could watch a movie at his place.
The family huddled around Gabriel, tall and tawny-haired, with amber eyes that occasionally swirled with magic and broad shoulders. He was a presence, always. Occasionally the biggest man in the room, always the most imposing.
Eli had our mother’s dark hair and blue eyes. Gabe, Ben, and Christopher, had the blond-brown hair and amber eyes of my father’s side of the family, and Derek was a mix of the two, with dark hair and amber eyes. My parents had been a strange and beautiful pair—his sundrenched athleticism against her small, exotic beauty.
Like my parents, Tanya was Gabriel’s physical foil. Absolutely beautiful in a soft and natural way, with cheeks that always seemed to glow healthy pink and dark hair currently pulled into a topknot. She bounced Connor in her arms and winked at me.
“Hey, sis,” Ben said, slinging an arm around me. “I thought you were out with Jeffrey tonight.” Ben wasn’t a fan of the mate-parading tradition.
“Gabe wanted me to meet someone,” I said, sliding my eldest brother a glance. He ignored the jab, kept his gaze on the box that sat on the pedestal table in front of him.
“A potential?” Ben asked, glancing at Gabriel. “You didn’t mention that.”
“He’s not here for you,” Gabriel said, then looked at me. “You’re just in time for the unveiling.”
“What are we unveiling?”
“The old man’s brought the crown out of storage,” Eli said, stepping forward.
“Ah,” I said with a smile. “For Connor’s initiation.”
The initiation was another Pack tradition, an opportunity for the actual heir apparent to be formally inducted into the NAC. Tomorrow, Connor would get a crown. Tonight, I got a blind date.
The prince won that round.
Wordlessly, Gabriel opened the box. The coronet, delicate and golden, with arches across the top, gleamed like a star’s corona, nestled on a cushion of purple velvet.
Magic, heavy and ancient, spilled into the room.
Gabe lifted the crown, the etchings along the band catching the light and sprinkling it around the room. The history of the world was drawn there, the origin story of the men and women whose shadows unified the worlds of men and animals. The artist was long forgotten, but his or her craftsmanship lived on. As did the magic that had been spelled into it.