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“The night is delicate,” he announced, eyeing up a stall of swords and daggers that were forged and sold by a werewolf. “And will require encouragement to suffer through such things. For instance, I’d look very nice with a dagger.”
Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows. “Nice try. I’m not buying you any weapons.”
* * *
“Why arehumans so obsessed with fudge?” Connor inspected a square of peanut butter fudge. “It seems to be a culinary practice frequently observed in the Midwest, and I haven’t the faintest clue why.”
I looked up from the pumpkin pie tart I’d bought from the brownie’s bakery stall. “If you’re going to complain, I’ll take it back.Ilike peanut butter fudge.”
Connor bit into the fudge, using one of his canine teeth to slice it in half. “Too late. It is… good?”
We strolled past a fae stall for face lotions and hair creams. “You sound surprised.”
“Because I am.” Connor brushed past a group of human teenage girls, who giggled to each other as they gaped at him. Admittedly, he looked extra picturesque with the setting sun casting a golden light on his face.
“You were similarly surprised by the kettle corn, the corn dog, the roasted sweet corn, the mini apple pie, and the Wisconsin brat.”
“You’re keeping track of what I eat? You aresucha treat.” Connor veered closer to me and leaned over, cracking his head against mine.
“Ouch.” I held my pumpkin tart away from him, just in case he’d approached me to steal it. “Are you part werewolf or something? That was something I’d expect from a werewolf bro.”
Connor peeled his gaze away from the pumpkin pyramid a bunch of fae had cast illusion magic on so they made faces at everyone walking past and glanced down at me. “You continue to surprise me with just how aware you are of supernatural quirks.”
“Comes with the job,” I said—which wasn’t too far off from the truth, I just wasn’t referring to my fake job of secretary.
As a child, my parents had taught me about werewolves for slayer work.
Most of my werewolf knowledge, however, I acquired when I turned eighteen. I told my parents I wanted to train as an electrician with Uncle Kenny—my mom’s brother. They’d accepted the decision on the condition that I spend a summer training with werewolves.
I’d learned a lot about Packs and werewolf affection that summer.
“Yes, I imagine you learn all sorts of interesting things working for the Curia Cloisters,” Connor said.
“Yep,” I confirmed. “I’ve learned a fair bit about vampires. Which reminds me, who is your Family?” I asked, trying to sound as casual as possible, even though a lot road on this answer.
Vampire Families were their greatest allegiance. Whoever Connor’s family was would say a lot about him.”
“No one,” Connor said.
I stopped gawking at a stand of troll-portion pumpkin pies—which were almost as big as my torso—and stared up at him. “Pardon?”
“No one,” Connor repeated. “I’m not with a Family, I don’t have one.” There was a finality to his tone that warned me not to push it.
It’s probably a sore spot for him. In fact, it must be.
If Connor didn’t have a family, that meant he was unclaimed. Unclaimed vampires—vamps who didn’t belong to a family—didn’t tend to live very long. Vampire Families existed to politically, financially, and physically protect the vampires within their ranks.
Unclaimed vampires didn’t make the choice easily. So what had Connor gone through to make him choose a potentially shorter—and far more dangerous—life than safety in numbers?
I opened my mouth, but Connor—finished, apparently, with this line of questioning—cut me off. “Do you hear that?”
A sizzling noise crackled in the dusty evening air, and I stood on my tip toes to peer down the street at the circle that had been cleared at the end of the festival. “Looks like the fireworks are starting.”
“How quaint,” Connor said.
“I think it’s the first time they’re having fireworks here,” I said. “It’s sponsored by a wizard House.”
Connor ate the last bit of his fudge. “In that case, don’t get your hopes up. If wizards are running it, it’s probably going to be nothing more than colored flames.”
