Page 66 of Cold Curses

Connor went quiet while his dad talked.

“Then I’ll deal with it,” he said aloud. “If he has questions, he can call me.”

He ended the call and paced again, his magic peppering the air. That woke monster and had it offering to fight.

Not now,I told it. Again. And I added monster’s need for release—and my lack of time and ability and, frankly, inclination to do anything about that right now—to the list of things I felt guilty about.

“If you want to punch something,” I said, “I recommend a demon. They all seem to deserve it.”

He strode back to bed, with his “I will take on the fucking world” expression.

“What’s happened?”

“You probably got the gist,” he said. “Someone wants me to drive to Louisiana to fight him because Chicago is dangerous and unstable. I said no. If he wants to be Apex that much, he should get his ass up here at the least. If he was real Pack, he’d help fight demons.”

“Do you—do you have a Southern accent?”

For a moment, he looked stunned. “I don’t think so.”

“Yes,” I said, sitting up. “You were talking in a Southern accent just then.”

“I was born in Memphis,” he said. “And you’re changing the subject.”

“Not on purpose.” The temporary drawl had me shaken. “What did your dad say?”

“He doesn’t like to mix Pack policies and city politics.” He put his hands on his hips. “What is the fucking point of trying to become the leader of this community if I don’t actually try to lead it? I understand Pack traditions, but there’s a time to toe the line and a time to call bullshit. I guess I’ve gotten to the second one.”

I smiled. “I’m proud of you.”

He actually flushed a little, this handsome, brilliant, and often wicked fighter of mine, who wanted to do right by his people.

“But…,” I added.

“But what?”

“Think of thefooddown there. Boudin. Crawfish étouffée. Oyster po’boys. Pralines. And that’s just the beginning. You could go down there, kick his ass, and enjoy one hell of a celebratory dinner.” And show off that accent, which apparently came out when he got riled up.

Connor eyed me speculatively. “When were you in Louisiana?”

I waved away the question. “That’s not important.”

He kept looking at me with that almost Apex stare. And won the staring contest.

“The week before I left for Paris.”

His eyes narrowed. “You told me you couldn’t go to Louisiana with me. That you didn’t have time for Houma or New Orleans because you’d already started college prep work.”

“You were taking that brunette. The human. And I didn’t want to be a third wheel.”

I sounded like such a tight ass. Which wasn’t far from the truth. I liked to think I’d mellowed over the last few months.“That human invited herself,” he murmured. “But you went anyway?”

“I got a wild hair.” Or that had been how Lulu put it. Mostly, I had wanted to look amazing and carefree and to run into him on Bourbon Street as Dixieland jazzharrumphed in the background.

“And?”

And Lulu and I had spent an evening eating the best food the city had to offer. And then bought enormous, frozen boozy concoctions in huge plastic cups, and that had been the end of both of us.

I felt my cheeks going hot. “The weekend didn’t turn out like we planned.”