Page 51 of Crave

Me: I am officially your cupcake wench.

West: Like you weren’t already.

Three blinking dots appeared.

West: But just between the two of us, I think you’d feel better if you told him.

My pulse picked up. Swiping a hand under my eyes, I tapped out a reply.

Me: I have to be sure. And you promised not to say anything.

Grabbing a last handful of towels from the dispenser, I cleaned my face and pushed out into the restaurant, but not before one last message came in.

West: I won’t. Just be careful. Secrets have a way of coming out. And in this family, never in a good way.

* * *

Hipster college town Austin, Texas was famous for its quirky traditions. People swam in all-natural Barton Springs even when it was freezing out. University of Texas students lit the Tower orange every time they won a football game. The white squirrels on campus were not only considered good luck, they had their own social media following. The only fast food Austinites possibly liked better than breakfast tacos? That would be the local Whataburger.

Zilker Park sprawled over multiple acres right where the river wound lazily through the middle of town. Featuring botanical gardens, fields for kite flying and soccer, playgrounds and even its own train, it was beloved for Saturday afternoon cookouts and free community theater performances every summer on the hillside. Built on one of Austin’s historic moon towers, every December the Zilker Park tree was strung with over three thousand electric bulbs suspended on streamers, fanning out to a diameter of over one hundred and twenty feet at their base.

Y’all know the saying. Everything’s bigger in Texas.

Dallas and I edged our way through a sea of thousands of people watching a giant yule log spitting tongues of orange sparks up into the night sky. A fleet of food trucks was set up in a wide circle, the smell of funnel cakes, powdered sugar and roasted corn so thick in the air it made my mouth water. The tree loomed ahead in the distance, the brilliant star at its peak beaming out over Lady Bird Lake.

“It’s nearly nine,” Dallas shouted into my ear over the hum of the gas generators.

“We’ll be fine.” I pulled the red and white striped wool hat from my bag and tugged it on, pretty sure at five foot nine and with my black sweater, leggings and fur-lined boots, the pompom made me look ridiculous. But it was how Brody’s contact would identify us.

At the edge of the field used for wall to wall parking, a line of lush green balsam fir had been set up to conceal the portable toilets. A community band was warming up on a side stage, the trumpets practicing their horse whinnying while the bassoonists twined sparkly holly garlands around the tops of their instruments. In the main circle beneath the tree, hundreds of couples towing children and dogs on leashes spun around us. Between the crush of bodies, the noise from the loudspeakers and the generators, and the sickly-sweet smell of carnival food and diesel, it was no wonder my stomach was doing flips.

Dallas leaned in, breath instantly freezing in the icy night air. “Guess it’s time. Hot chocolate?”

“Make it a cider,” I shouted back.

Alone, I pretended to check my phone and silently tested the air. Human sweat. Wet dog. At my feet, a wrinkly basset hound was sniffing out dropped pieces of funnel cake in the fresh hay that was spread half a foot thick beneath the tree. In wooden gingerbread houses around the perimeter of the circle, Sleigh Ride was jingling loud enough to make my ears ring. Mixed in with all of it, I caught the faint scent of werewolf.

I rotated slowly, trying to seek out its source. A tall man with glasses stooped to lift a little girl with pale blue mittens to twirl beneath the lights. A woman in a dark wool coat kissed her girlfriend as they took a selfie. I glanced up and immediately regretted it, the lights swirling overhead in a dizzying spiral. Staggering back, I rubbed my temples.

“You okay?” Dallas appeared at my shoulder with our drinks, brow furrowed in concern. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Taking the paper cup of spiced apple cider, I sipped it slowly. “I’m fine.”

“Wow.” Swirling the contents of his cup, Dallas took a sip and pulled a face. “Don’t tell Ethan, but he’s kind of ruined me for cheap buck fifty cocoa.”

“Mine’s off, too.” Pouring it out in the hay, I stuck my empty cup under his. “Do you see anyone—”

A group of teenage girls elbowed past us, scrolling through their phones. The woman in the navy knit hat appeared out of thin air, materializing where the group of teens had stood only seconds before. Slight with angular features, I doubted she was much past five foot three even in those chunky boots. Her fitted cargo pants and cropped canvas jacket looked like she’d picked them up at a thrift store and although her platinum blonde hair had been tied back and stuffed into the collar of her jacket, there was no mistaking the former Alpha of the North Austin pack.

London Blake.

“We don’t have much time.” She strode over to us without preamble, gaze flicking over my shoulder to check out the stage. “I had to lose two tails on my way here.”

“Way to make an entrance.” From everything I’d heard, London was your typical Alpha’s daughter. Raised without rules or limits, the wild socialite with a weakness for designer labels thing was just a bonus. She was also one of the youngest shifters to ever take command of a large urban pack. Had to give her that. After her pack had been proven to be behind the plot to abduct and traffic humans over to the vamps, she’d been summarily stripped of her title as Alpha by the Council. She’d escaped during the subsequent raid of her pack house, and the Tracers had put a bounty out on her head.

“And why the hell hasn’t Brody turned you in?” Dallas added.

Her green eyes grew hard. “You want the information or not?”