“Stop being assholes,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “We’ve made enough of a scene as it is, and have enough tragedy to deal with. You two want to beat the shit out of each other? Fine. But do it out of sight, when the humans can’t see and we don’t have to waste time watching.”

Biting back a smile, I glanced at Jeff, saw his eyes light with appreciation and pride.

Gabriel’s position didn’t change. Shoulders high and stiff, chest forward, hands balled into fists, his tensed body speaking of barely banked rage. He slid his gaze to his sister, nailed her with a look that would have made me nervous if directed at me.

But Fallon Keene just rolled her eyes. “That look hasn’t worked on me since I was seven.” She pointed a finger—the nail painted matte navy—at Gabriel and Ethan in turn. “Get. Your shit. Together.”

Fallon turned on her heel and walked back to the other shifters, whispered something to them. They seemed to relax but kept their wary gazes on their alpha and the alpha he stared down.

“Goddamn murder,” Gabriel said, running a hand through his hair again. “Waste of life, waste of energy.”

“You’ll get no argument there from me,” Ethan said. “And perhaps she’s right. That we shouldn’t waste any more time.”

Gabriel made a sound that was half grunt, half growl. “I find the vampire first, he’s mine.”

Ethan was quiet for a moment, no doubt evaluating his strategy, his best play. He wasn’t one to take advantage of murder, but he rarely made a move without thinking it through.

“All right,” he finally said. “But before you take care of him in whatever method you deem appropriate, we want a chance to question him.”

“Because?”

“Because he’s killed a shifter and attempted to kill Merit. That’s more than enough reason for me.”

Gabriel considered it silently. “Rest of your people going to be so easygoing about his fate? The other Masters?”

Ethan’s expression flattened. He liked Scott Grey, the Master of Grey House, and he tolerated Morgan Greer, the Master of Navarre House. “Should this atrocity prove to have been committed by one of their vampires, I suspect they will want to handle his punishment. That would be an issue for you to take up with them. But there’s no reason to believe he was a Navarre or Grey House vampire, either. I’ve been in Chicago a long time, and there was nothing about him that was familiar to me.”

Gabriel looked at my grandfather. “We will have to mourn him.”

My grandfather nodded. “We can give you space if you want to do it here. We’ll have to request you not touch him, if that’s possible.”

Gabriel didn’t seem to like the answer but didn’t argue with it. “Give us space,” he said, and if operating by an unspoken command, his people clustered around Caleb.

Ethan put a hand at my back, and we walked back toward the street.

“Give them a wall,” my grandfather said. And however weird the uniforms might have thought the request, they obeyed it. They moved to stand shoulder to shoulder facing the crowd, giving the Pack some privacy. We took places beside them, the line stretching all the way across the alley.

Gabriel spoke first, a whisper that put magic into the air, a song that rose and fell like a winter’s tide. I couldn’t distinguish the words. He’d disguised them somehow, muffling vowels and consonants, perhaps so they could be shared only by the Pack. But the point of the song was clear enough. It was a dirge, a song of mourning for their former Pack member.

I let myself drift on the rise and fall of the song. It told of blue skies and rolling green hills, dark and deep waters and mountains that pitched toward a dark blanket of sky scattered with stars. It told of birth and living and death, of the Pack’s connection to wildness, and of the reunion of loved ones. The tone momentarily darkened, unity giving way to struggle, to war.

The hairs at the back of my neck lifted. Ethan moved incrementally closer, pressing his shoulder into mine as if to protect me, just in case.

The tone changed again, fear and loss evolving into understanding, acceptance. And then the song ended, and the magic faded again, faded back into darkness.

I opened my eyes and glanced back, meeting Gabriel’s gaze.

I dipped my head, nodding, acknowledging that which he’d allowed me to share. And when I looked back at him, I realized he wasn’t looking at me, but past me, into some time or space long past, into memory or recollection. And from his expression, not an especially happy one.

•   •   •

“We’ll take care of him,” my grandfather promised when the shifters had moved back to their bikes. “I’ll accompany him personally to the morgue, speak to the medical examiner personally. You’ll remember they have protocols in place.”

It wasn’t the first time a shifter had died in Chicago. There’d been several killed in a botched attempt by Gabriel’s brother, Adam, to take over the Pack.

Gabriel picked up his helmet. “I know you do what you can, within the parameters you’ve got. I’m in the same position.”

“Then we understand each other,” my grandfather said. A van from the Cook County Medical Examiner’s Office pulled up to the alley entrance. “I’m going to go have that talk,” he said, then squeezed my hand. “Get home safely.”

“We will,” I promised, and he made his way to the van.