Free Wild Things: A Chicagolands Vampire Novel (Chicagoland Vampires) by Chloe Neill Page B

“Aline, who doesn’t like your father or your siblings?”
    “The very same,” Gabriel said. The look in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t dismissing the coincidence.
    “Shifters wouldn’t do this,” Papa Breck spat. But his voice was quiet. He disagreed with the Apex, but he wasn’t going to be overly loud about it.
    “Frankly, we don’t know anything about who did this, except that they used complicated magic.” He offered Ethan an appraising glance. “Fortunately, we have right in our presence a group that’s pretty good at figuring those things out.”
    Ethan’s magic spiked alarmingly, but he stayed silent.
    “The vampires and sorcerers maintain they’re not responsible for what happened here. Considering their unique skills, they should be able to identify who is.”
    “And if they can’t uncover who did this?” Papa Breck asked, as if we weren’t in the room and couldn’t hear the doubt that stained his voice.
    Gabriel steepled his fingers, gazed at us through hooded eyes. “Then we’ll just continue to wonder.”
    •   •   •
    The sun would soon be on the rise. Gabriel dismissed us, and three shifters I didn’t recognize escorted us back to the carriage house like prisoners returning to their cells. Considering the implicit threat in his final words, maybe we were.
    We’d come to Loring Park to avoid prison; instead, we’d found a different one.
    Since we were still dirty from battle, the four of us agreed to take turns in the shower. Mallory, then Catcher, then me, and Ethan was last. They hadn’t planned to stay at the Brecks’ and hadn’t packed bags, so I let Mallory borrow clothes, and Ethan offered replacements for Catcher.
    I emerged from my turn in the bath wrapped in a towel, my skin blissfully clean of gore and dirt and probably worse, hair damp around my shoulders.
    Ethan stood in the bedroom, naked from the waist up, bare toes peeking beneath his jeans. His hand was on his hip, his dirty hair framing his face. His phone was in his free hand, brow furrowed. That expression was easy enough for me to read.
    “What’s wrong?”
    He glanced up at me, male appreciation in his eyes as he took in the towel. But exhaustion quickly replaced interest. I didn’t take it personally; it had been a long night.
    “I advised Luc of tonight’s events and asked him about the CPD. He said there’s been no contact, either from the CPD or Kowalcyzk.”
    I moved to my duffel bag to pick out sleepwear. “Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe she’s realized how ridiculous she’s being.”
    “Maybe,” he said. “Luc has given her a copy of the House’s security tapes, which quite clearly show the intrusion and Monmonth’s threats.”
    I glanced back at him. I wasn’t normally one to play the optimist, but we’d already gone on the lam. There wasn’t much else to do but wait and hope.
    “That could have been enough. Maybe Detective Jacobs convinced her that pursuing you would be completely illogical.”
    “As much as I appreciate Detective Jacobs, your premise requires her to use rational thought and logic. I’m not certain she’s capable.”
    I found a tank and pajama bottoms, zipped up the duffel again. “Well, if she intends to push, she isn’t showing it now. We’ll just have to wait until she relents or our other plans work. What about my grandfather? Any word from Luc?”
    “He’s stable,” Ethan said with a smile. “And he despises hospital food. You have the appetite in common.”
    My grandmother had been an amazing cook—a whiz with vegetables and salt pork—and she’d undoubtedly sparked the appreciation of it in both of us.
    “Good.” I frowned. “I’m not sure if it’s better or worse to tell him what went on tonight. He won’t need the stress.”
    “Then you must give him constant fits.”
    “Your material is usually better than that, Sullivan.”
    “Perhaps you’d like to see just how good my material is.” Ethan put the phone on a bureau