I nodded at him, squeezed his hand, knowing this was our future.

* * *

The neon sign above the door of the entirely unimpressive and low-slung building made no sense: It was a hot dog jumping out of a taco. It was a strange sign for a restaurant called Taco Hole. But it was a supernatural sanctuary, and it had some of the best food I’d ever tasted. And some of the hottest, to boot.

I walked inside the slightly dingy space, where all manner of supernaturals sipped margaritas or enjoyed enchiladas, including the nonpracticing sorceress at a scarred four-top. Lulu had already ordered, and the table bore her drink, two bowls of chips, and several bottles of Taco Hole’s famous hot sauce.

“Thanks for waiting for me,” I said dryly, taking a seat.

“I sent that text half an hour ago.”

“I was half an hour away and knee deep in shifter nonsense.”

“Are they still at Pack HQ?”

“They” were Connor and Alexei, whom she’d also invited to dinner. “They are. And they’ll probably be a while.”

She hadn’t talked to me about what she and Alexei were to each other—not that I wanted the sordid details—and I wasn’t sure she knew. I just wanted her happy, and I was pretty sure he did, too.

The waitress came over, her skin faintly green and iridescent. She looked down at me. “Yeah?”

“Special,” I said, not even bothering to see what that might have been. “Burn me up.”

“Drink?”

Vampires didn’t usually frequent the Taco Hole, so I doubted they had bottled blood. Lulu was drinking something that looked like a sunset—brilliant layers of red and orange and pale pink—so I gestured toward it. “One of those.”

The waitress nodded and walked away again.

I snagged a chip, munched. “Pass the extra hot, please.” She did, and I poured it onto the chip, bit in. I felt the burn immediately. And reveled in it.

“I’m surprised you invited Alexei,” I said.

She swirled her drink with a straw. “Like I’d have a choice. Connor would bring him anyway.”

I made a noncommittal sound. “Are we here for a particular reason, or just dinner?”

“Just dinner. Food. Drinks. No magic.”

“No Pack interlopers?”

She looked up. “Is that what happened?”

The waitress, who hadn’t been gone more than five minutes, came back with drinks and food. Like Lulu’s, my drink was ombré from top to bottom, from brilliant orange to deep crimson. I sipped and pursed my lips from the puckering sourness.

“Tart, right?” Lulu asked with a grin.

“I think my skeleton contracted.” But I sipped again. There was sweetness, too, and they were fighting a powerful war. “What happened,” I continued, “was a trio of muscular shifters shouting about how the Pack’s gone wrong.”

“So it’s a day that ends in ‘y,’ ” she said blandly. “That shit happens all the time.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “But this feels different.” I glanced back at the door, ensuring our shifters weren’t on their way into the bar. “And I think they know it, too. They’re . . . rallying.”