We pulled up to Cadogan House to a surprise—nearly a dozen of them. Shifters on bikes idling outside the gate. Including the three interlopers who’d invaded the Pack.

“Who’s the hot brunette?” Petra asked, obviously checking out Cade.

“One of the Pack troublemakers,” I said. I climbed out of the back of the van with my bottle of wine and felt very uncool. And like I was in high school again.

“No vampire-on-shifter violence, please,” Theo said. “And let us know the second you learn anything.”

“I will.” I closed the door, put on my blandest vampire expression, and walked toward the bikes. The interlopers were positioned near the back of the group, and I doubted that was an accident. There was still a hierarchy.

“You have business at Cadogan House?” I asked Cade, who sat astride a red lowrider with high handlebars.

“We were out for a ride,” he said, casting a warm glance over the other shifters like they were family and besties combined.

Miranda, bless her this once, met his gaze with an explicitly chilly one.

“Shifters love the air. The metal. The night. I’m treating them to drinks,” he said.

“So you’re trying to bribe them?” I asked.

I saw the hitch in his gaze, but he recovered, and the smile he gave me was thin. “Maybe I’m just showing them the way.”

“Maybe you are,” I said. “But they know what Connor can do. And he doesn’t have to bribe them.” I kept walking, but the commentary kept coming.

“Vampires think they live in castles,” said the female interloper as I passed her.

I stopped, just as she’d intended, but kept my gaze neutral. “Your name is Brandy, right?”

Temper flared in her eyes. “It’s Breonna.”

“Right. Breonna. Vampires live in houses together, just like the Pack. And the NAC owns a huge corporation and pays shares to its members. What’s your point?”

She muttered something uncomplimentary.

I cocked my head at her. “Isn’t that a name for a female dog?”

Her magic flared, fingers around the bike’s handlebars going white.

And with that preface to violence, monster’s interest flared.

“I’ve had a shit night,” I said quietly, “in a pretty shitty week. A little hand to hand might make us both feel better.” Both, of course, meaning me and monster. On this, we were aligned.

A whistle split the air. I looked up, found Connor on a bike at the front of the group. He wore jeans and a snug T-shirt, his strong thighs still straddling Thelma. She was low and dark and matte, and finally back in fighting trim after a crazed vampire had nearly run him over while he returned to Pack HQ one night.

“I guess we’re out of time,” I told Breonna, and didn’t wait for a reply. But I felt the hot itch of her magic—and her angry stare—as I walked past the rest of the bikes and shifters to where Connor waited.

His smile was slow and confident. “Hey, brat.”