“Not if he’s got Gabe’s gigantic melon,” Ben said, reaching out and knuckling the top of Gabe’s head. Only Ben could have gotten away with the gesture without pulling back a nub. He was the happiest of the Keenes, the one who smiled the most. And now that Adam was gone, he was the baby.
“Every melon in my family is fine,” Gabe said, handing the coronet to me and running a hand through his hair to settle it again.
The crown was heavier than I’d expected, and the metal was warmer. It had adorned generations of Pack leaders, Keenes and otherwise, and as the story went, had absorbed their magic along the way. Maybe that explained the weight.
“You think you can get the giraffe away from him long enough to get that thing on his head?” Christopher wondered.
The giraffe had become Connor’s favorite toy. He bathed with it, slept with it, played with it. And when it was taken away for cleaning or dinnertime, the young prince made his displeasure known to all.
Gabriel looked at him with a considering glance. Connor smiled back, kicking his feet merrily against his mother and holding his giraffe with drool-covered, pudgy baby fingers.
“Doubtful,” Gabriel said. “But it cost a fortune to get a guarded courier to bring it from Memphis. He’ll wear it with or without the giraffe.”
When Gabe extended a hand, I offered the coronet back to him, happy to have it out of my hands. We had no scepter, no ermine cape, no crown jewels. But we had the coronet. And as long as the Keene family held the crown, we held the Pack.
It wasn’t just a symbol of the NAC; it was the heart of the Apex’s power. It allowed the Apex to reach the individual members of the Pack and call them together. It was a profound power—the ability to compel shifters to the side of their alpha—and one that had to be judiciously used. There weren’t even many who knew what it could do; there wasn’t much to be gained by advertising its power.
Many Pack members, including our extended family, had stayed in Memphis. We’d left the crown and its weighty power in their trusted care. Now that it was here, the burden was ours to protect it.
“You’re putting it in the safe?” Christopher asked.
We’d stored emergency supplies inside an ancient steel safe we’d hauled out of a building in Memphis that was being demolished.
“Seems the best place for it,” Gabe said, returning it to its cushion and closing the box again. “Although there are spiders downstairs. I do not like spiders.”
Gabe had faced pissed-off shifters, irritated vampires, and worse. But spiders were his mortal enemies. To be fair, the basement’s spiders were large and in charge.
“We know,” Ben said, clapping him on the back. “We all have our burdens to bear.”
“Enough,” Gabriel said. “We have company.”
We all looked to the doorway, where a man nearly blocked it completely.
He was built like a linebacker. Shoulders wide as mountains, every muscle defined beneath a leather jacket, snug cotton shirt, and jeans. He had dark, wavy hair and gray eyes beneath a hooded brow; his mouth was lush. He had the kind of good looks people would describe as “rugged,” and he certainly looked like he could handle himself.
He tugged leather gloves from his hands and stuffed them into the pockets of his jacket.
“Patrick York,” Gabe said.
Gabriel hadn’t told me whom I’d be meeting today, and I hadn’t bothered to ask. But I absolutely hadn’t expected this.
There were three other Packs in the U.S.: Consolidated Atlantic, Western, and Great Northwestern. Within those packs were a few big, old families, including ours and the Yorks, led by patriarch Richard, Patrick’s father. But while we controlled a Pack, the Yorks were members, and not very active ones. The family lived in Wisconsin, which put them in the territory of the NAC Pack, but they hadn’t attended a Pack convocation in years.
If Patrick York was here to meet me, that was changing. And the pressure was on.
“Patrick, meet the family,” Gabriel said. He pointed us out in turn. “Christopher, Ben, Eli, Derek, Tanya, Connor. And Fallon.”
I offered a wave, my stomach clenching with nerves.
Patrick smiled at me, his gray eyes intense. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You, too.”
“How was your drive?” Ben asked.
“Good, thanks. Hasn’t started snowing yet, although I think it’s coming.” His gaze fell on the box on the table, and his eyes widened. “Is that what I think it is?”
“All four pounds of it,” Gabe said, giving him a considering glance. “You want to hold it?”
“Oh, no,” Patrick said with a grin, lifting his hands and stepping back. “Definitely not. I don’t want any part of that.”
“Who wouldn’t want part of a crown?” Ben asked, patting Gabe on the back. “All the power. The fame.” He glanced around the living room, which had seen better days. “The glamour.”
“I’m sure it’s lovely, but I’m happy to take your word for it. You preparing for Connor’s initiation?”
“We are. Would you like to join us?” Initiations were usually family affairs, but Gabe knew when to extend the olive branch.
Patrick shook his head. “Thank you, but I don’t want to intrude. And I’m only in town for the night. Leaving in the morning.”
He was, he’d meant, only in town to meet me. Which somehow made the potential mate thing feel even more tawdry.
Gabriel smiled. “You’ll have to stay longer next time, get a feel for Chicago. It’s a great town.”
“Looked like it coming in,” he said. “At least the parts I saw from the car. I’ll see a bit more of it on the way to the hotel.”
Gabe nodded. “Since you’re only here for a little while, we should get out of your hair.” Gabe looked at the rest of the family, who made awkward throat clearing noises. Ben winked at me, picked up the box, and headed out of the room.
The air—and the magic in it—thinned.
“They’re . . . intense,” Patrick said.
I shrugged. “I have a lot of brothers. It’s the worst case scenario for potentials.”
He looked at me with curiosity. “You are not at all what I expected.”
I wasn’t sure how to take that. “What did you expect?”
“A debutante, I guess.” He looked me over, took in hair and clothes. “Less serious. More giggly.”
“I am definitely not giggly. But I can kill a man in forty-two different ways.”
“Forty-two. That’s impressive. I appreciate a woman who can take care of herself.” He looked around the room. “I have a car outside. Would you like to go for a drive?”
Fraternal magic—hopeful and concerned—seeped in from the next room. Space seemed like a good idea.
“More than you can possibly imagine.” I headed for the door.
3
I’d donned my coat on the way out, but that hardly battled back the chill in the air. The air was cold and heavy, unusually still. I agreed with Patrick; snow was coming.
A sleek, black SUV sat in the gravel drive in front of the house. A man in a slick black suit—head shaved, eyes dark and piercing—held open the back door.
Patrick gestured to the driver. “Tom Webb, this is Fallon Keene. Fallon, Tom Webb. He’s been helping the family for many years.”
I didn’t know the details of the Yorks’ business, but it had something to do with timber. If Patrick had a driver, I guessed business was good.
Webb smiled, but his eyes were still appraising. I read loyalty in the look, the fact that he took my measure and considered whether I was the right woman for the Yorks’ favorite son.
I slid into the backseat, and Patrick followed.
“Nice ride,” I said when Tom had closed the door behind us.
Patrick’s grin was sheepish. “Thanks. I need the space.” He gestured toward his long legs, which filled the foot well. His shoulders practically filled his half of the backseat.