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“When you’re owned by the prince, yes.”
The casual arrogance was back, which lifted my own spirits.
“Since you’re feeling better, you want me to give you some scritches?”
He snorted, and that turned into a gale of laughter that echoed across the grounds. There was magic in that laughter, I thought. Joy and love and happiness in it, even if just for a moment. And it was just what we needed.
“No,” he said. “But you should take a turn. Get it out, so you can clear the cache and get back to work.” He sat on a bench behind us, crossed his arms, and stretched out his legs. “Go ahead.”
I didn’t need any more encouragement than that.
“If I’d stopped Rosantine at the gate, my parents would still be here. Your parents would still be here. I’m pissed a sociopath like her has magical powers. I’m pissed off she’s screwing with Chicago. I’m furious that I can’t even know whether my feelings are because of me or because of Rosantine.”
Connor just watched me with that level stare that made my self-consciousness evaporate.
“I’m pissed off that people like Cade exist, spreading their bullshit around and expecting other people to bow down. I’m pissed there are people in the Pack who buy it. And I really want you to kick Cade’s ass for putting you in this position when the entire Pack—the entire Pack—should be focused on getting your parents back. They should be supporting you. And instead they’re partying.”
“Not all of them,” he said quietly. Not yet an Apex, but their advocate even still.
“I’m pissed my best friend fireballed me. I’m pissed I just found out last night that she’s only able to do dark magic, and she’s been able to do it since she was a kid, and she’s been playing the ‘my mother embarrasses me’ part so no one would find out about her skills and use her for them. Or use them both.”
Connor sat forward. “Seriously?”
I nodded. “She thought it would hurt her and her mother. I think, now that she’s told me, she feels... relieved.”
“Being vulnerable can do that,” he said with a sly grin, then rose and came to me, wrapped his arms around me.
And then it just blurted out of me.
“You’re going to die.”
That hadn’t been the subtle introduction to the topic I’d intended. He leaned back, his expression absolutely flat. “Are you going to take me out?”
“I’m serious,” I said, my voice softer this time. “I’m immortal, Connor. And you... aren’t.”
He looked at me for a long, quiet moment. “And?”
I blinked. “And what?”
“And are you ending things with me?”
“I—what? No.” That was literally the furthest thing from my mind.
“So you’re trying to tell me that when I’m gone, you’ll be devastated? You’ll mourn every day for the rest of your immortal life? You’ll constantly beat your breast and scream from the rooftops that no man could ever compare to me.”
It was my turn to give him a flat look. “You aren’t taking me seriously.”
“I am,” he said, and I saw in his eyes, which darkened with purpose, that he meant it. “I’m a shifter, Lis. We may live longer than humans, but we’re still mortal. We understand that and do our best to enjoy life for as long as we’ve got it. Thus, the partying.”
“Thus,” I said. I took his hand, running a fingertip across knuckles scarred by god knew how many fights with shifters and battles with motorcycle carburetors. “So, it doesn’t bother you that I’m immortal and, when you’re gone, I’ll have to take a series of really hot lovers?”
He flicked my ear. “Touch another man, and I’ll haunt you forever.”
“Can shifters become ghosts?”
“I... don’t actually know. You want me to talk to Ariel and figure it out?”
“No. She’d séance you on purpose.”
