“Of course she will,” Lulu said. “But that’s just her personality. She’s not so bad.”

“She got you into trouble. A lot.”

Lulu’s stare was flat. “Lis. Have I ever done anything I didn’t absolutely one hundred percent want to do?”

* * *

We waited until Lulu was safely tucked into the Auto. It was inching toward dawn as Connor drove the SUV back to his town house. I messaged my parents on the way home, told them what we’d seen, asked for any information they could provide. I sent a similar message to Uncle Malik. They proposed we meet at Cadogan House just after dusk, and I accepted.

That left only Ariel. I went three for three, sending her a message, too, and asking for whatever help she could provide. Giving her the chance to read and respond seemed less aggressive than just calling her up.

We made it to Connor’s neighborhood, Humboldt Park, with minutes to spare, hurried inside the tall brick town house, with its interesting mix of masculine and Art Deco furnishings. Being a shifter, or at least a shifter whose parents owned a business and invested wisely, apparently paid well.

“Food?”

“Blurg,” was the approximate sound I managed. I was tired and sore, and my shoulder itched with a ferocity that made me wish I could borrow Eleanor of Aquitaine’s scratching post. But since I was across town and didn’t care to steal from Lulu’s very bossy cat, no luck there.

The curtains were already drawn against sunlight, but I could feel it rising, lurking on the edge of the horizon, the vampire’s greatest enemy. Even a few seconds would burn my skin through, leaving a scar if I managed to escape, or my remains if I didn’t.

“Up we go,” Connor said, and before I could object, he hoisted me over his shoulder and headed for the stairs.

I didn’t have the energy to object.

“I don’t like cutting it close,” he said.

“I don’t like being toast.”

“I don’t like the idea of you being toast.”

When we reached his luscious master bedroom, with its gleaming fireplace and enormous bed, he dropped me onto the bed’s silk coverlet. I flopped out, arms and legs extended.

“Blood?” he asked and pulled off one of my boots, then the other.

“Not tonight, honey,” I said, waving a hand.

“Shame,” he said. “I’ve heard the bite can be . . . interesting.”

That had me looking up. I hadn’t bitten him yet—that was at least one relationship level beyond where we were now. But I wouldn’t say it hadn’t crossed my mind. I was a vampire, after all, and he was gorgeous and strong. And shifter blood was literally full of magic.

But I hadn’t been sure if a shifter—the prince of the NAC Pack—would be willing to be bitten.

“I’m feeling more energetic now,” I offered.

“Thought that would do it.” There was a small marble bar in one corner with a wine fridge. He’d added bottles of my favorite bottled blood products—no nonconsensual human-swilling for ethical vampires, thanks very much—and pulled one out.