Page 8 of Cold Curses

“Less scary,” he said. “Equally intense. They’ll be evaluating you, of course.”

“Ha ha.” Shifters weren’t the evaluating type. But I did have a question. “Does this—dowe—bother your aunt Fallon?”

Fallon Keene was Connor’s dad’s only sister. She’d given up her claim to the throne to be with a shifter named Jeff Christopher. Although they were both members of the same Pack, he was a tiger while the Keenes were wolves. That had taken her out of the running for Apex.

Not only was I not a shifter. I was a vampire. But much had changed in the last twenty years. Connor still had to prove his entitlement to the throne—physically and mentally—but his relationship with me didn’t bar him from trying. There were undoubtedly shifters who didn’t trust me, but he was the only son of the Apex. That carried a lot of weight.

“No,” he said, and reached over to squeeze my hand. “But I appreciate the question. I think Dad regrets how that whole thing went down, and the Pack has mellowed, too. The world is different. I’m not saying everybody’s going to be copacetic; there are assholes in every Pack. But the Keenes understand there are many ways to make a family. And family is what matters.”

I couldn’t have written a better answer.

The Keene house sat prettily on a corner in a residential neighborhood. It was a Queen Anne–style house, so the exterior had a lot of features: wraparound porch, turret, balcony, and at least five paint colors. It was a big structure, but it glowed with homey comfort, from the buckets of golden mums on the front porch to the wreath on the door.

There were dozens of vehicles parked nearby. “I guess this won’t be an intimate affair,” I said.

“Mom told me it was only dinner with her and Dad,” Connor said. “They aren’t the surprise-party type.”

“No, but shifters are the drop-in-and-stay-for-dinner type,” I pointed out.

“True.” He glanced at me, his smile mildly apologetic. “I didn’t know.”

“I know. You’d have told me.” I looked down. I definitely wasn’t dressed for a formal human or vampire engagement party, which might have involved champagne and croquettes. But a shifter party was more likely to be beer, barbecue, and blackjack.

Connor wedged the SUV into a spot on the street, switched off the ignition, and glanced at the house. “I don’t sense any trouble,” he said.

I snorted. “If there were trouble, they’d have already thrown someone through the front window.”

“You have a very unique perspective on the Pack you’re about to join, Lis.” Connor grinned at me, tilted his head. “Now you look paler than usual.” He leaned over, slid a hand to the back of my head, and kissed me hard.

“Where I go, you go,” he whispered against my lips, leaving them tingling with our combined magic.

* * *

We walked inside, the screen door slamming closed behind us, and were immediately greeted by Connor’s petite mother, Tonya. He shared her coloring—dark hair and blue eyes—and the dimple at one corner of his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she said, embracing him. “We wanted you all to ourselves, at least for a bit. But then your uncle Eli popped by, and it all spiraled from there.”

“It’s fine,” Connor said, standing a good foot taller than his mother. It seemed a miracle such a small woman had brought such a big man into the world, but she was a shifter, after all. They were strong people.

She let him go and gave me a tender hug. “Welcome to the family.”

“It’s not official yet,” said the man behind her. Gabriel Keene, Connor’s dad, stepped into the foyer and put an arm around his wife.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from him, given the comment. Unlike most shifters, he generally liked vampires. But a wide, sly grin eased into place on his face. “And she’s not nearly drunk enough yet to deal with the likes of us.”

“No drinking,” Connor said, and slipped his hand into mine, squeezed. “She’s on duty and I’m”—he looked at me, unabashed love in his eyes—“wherever she needs me to be.”

My heart melted.

Connor’s dad beckoned us out of the octagonal foyer and into the den, where Keene family members lounged, watched a game on-screen, or chatted in small groups. I felt as comfortable as a vampire could in a house full of shifters who were still gauging my worthiness for their prince. Which is to say, not very.

The room burst into sound and movement and magic when they realized we’d arrived. Shifters rose, came forward to offer congratulations and slap Connor on the back.

A familiar face found me. It belonged to a tall, lean shifter with dark blond hair long enough to push behind his ears. His smile was kind and wide; he took my hand, pumped it collegially.

“Always good to have a Sullivan and Ombud in the family,” the man said. Jeff Christopher was not only Fallon’s husband but a longtime friend of my parents. He’d been an assistant Ombud for my grandfather, Chicago’s first Ombudsman, and had often worked with my mom when she’d served Cadogan House as Sentinel. Jeff and Connor had gaming in common; they shared a multiplayer quest when they had time.

“Thank you. I’m glad to be here. How are you?” I asked.