We walked into the lounge, where a handful of shifters, including three of Connor’s uncles—Eli, Derek, and Ben—waited. A bottle of whiskey was passed.

“The fuck is wrong with these people,” Ben said, his simmering gaze on the doorway that led back to the bar. “Passive-aggressive bullshit.” He was the youngest of Connor’s uncles.

“This isn’t the first time someone has brought complaints to the Apex’s door,” Gabriel said philosophically, “and it won’t be the last. We’ll deal with it as we always have.”

“First time someone’s done it when a demon is also threatening Chicago,” Connor muttered.

His dad nodded.

“And if they want a challenge?” Eli asked. He was the oldest of Connor’s uncles, behind only Connor’s aunt Fallon in the family order. (Yes, they’d been named in reverse alphabetical order.)

“They’ll get one,” Connor said. The tone was matter-of-fact and without hesitation.

“Watch it, puppy,” Eli said with a smile. “You wouldn’t be doing the fighting.” He gestured toward Connor’s father. “Not until this one’s done with the throne.”

Gabriel grunted. “Which isn’t today. The ones who complain are never the ones who help, who put in the time and the labor. They sit around and stew in their self-righteousness, decide they could do things better. They throw around words and gin up their courage—literally. And that’s usually the most they do.”

“And if they decide they want something more?” I asked.

All eyes turned to me. I hadn’t meant to speak; this meeting wasn’t for me. But as an Ombudsman, as Connor’s girlfriend, as a person who had friends in the Pack, I needed to know what might come next. It was my nature.

“Vampires,” Derek said good-naturedly. “Always like to plan.”

“She is her parents’ child,” Gabriel said with a smile. He took a seat at the worn table, kicked up his feet, crossed his booted ankles. “It may be, Elisa, that these fools return to Memphis and learn to make better use of their time. Maybe they’ll rile up the Pack, and if the Pack wants changes, we’ll do what needs to be done.”

He shifted his gaze to Connor, and his magic shifted along with it. No longer merely the magic of the Pack’s Apex predator, but of a father. “It’s my intention to pass the coronet to the next generation. And I don’t intend to let them interrupt that process.”

The coronet was the Pack’s crown; it had been placed on Connor’s head as an infant when he’d been initiated into the Pack.

“To the prince,” Eli said, and raised a glass.

“To the prince,” came the echoing response, and with it a warm curl of magic that wound around the room, gathering us in. Goose bumps lifted on my arms as each shifter joined their magic to the group, to the whole.

This was Pack. Not just the name or the building or the individual components, but the members unified together in common purpose: holding the Pack.

A hand took mine. I looked over, found Connor’s gaze on me, as if gauging my reaction to the moment and the power. Did he think I’d be overwhelmed by the magic? Smothered by it?