“Merit—,” he began, regret in his voice, but I held up a hand. His guilt wasn’t going to make me feel any better.
“Let’s get to work.”
We took the stairs to the slate of doors that spanned the front of the church. I assumed this was where people gathered after services, maybe shaking hands with the clergy, maybe making plans for dinner or lunch.
The doors were unlocked and opened into a small receiving room, the walls of which bore signs directing parishioners toward children’s care rooms and morning coffees.
We pushed through a second set of doors, and I gaped at the sight before us, walking inside past Ethan to take in the full view. The church’s exterior was impressive, but that was nothing compared to the interior. The sanctuary was like a treasure chest, with floors of gleaming stone, walls of stained glass, gold-framed icons, gilded alcoves and frescoes. Gleaming columns and ornate brass latticework marked the church aisles.
Robin, Jason, Gabriel, and Adam stood at the front of the sanctuary, but it was Berna who first got our attention.
“You will eat,” she said, stepping in front of us, a disposable aluminum pan in her outstretched arms. The pan was covered with foil, but it steamed with heat, and I could smell what was inside: meat, cabbage, spices—Eastern European deliciousness.
“You take,” she said, and shoved the pan, still hot, into my arms.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but you didn’t have to keep feeding me.”
She clucked her tongue. “Too thin,” she said, then reached out two knobby fingers and pinched my arm. Hard.
“Ow.”
“No meat,” she said, disapproval in her voice. “No meat on bones, you don’t find man.” Then she cast an appraising glance at Ethan, one bottle-blond eyebrow raised. “You are . . . man.”
Not that I disagreed, but she was making the wrong match.
“Thank you, Berna,” I said, hoping to draw her attention back to me and distract her from her love connecting.
Slowly, as if guessing my game, she glanced back at me, then gave me an up-and-down appraisal that was none too flattering. After clucking her tongue again, she walked around us and disappeared into the lobby.
I glanced over at Ethan and proffered the cabbage rolls. “Should I just put this in your car while we’re here?”
He blanched, apparently not crazy about the idea that his Mercedes would smell like the back room of a Ukrainian pub.
“Good evening, vampires.” I turned to find Adam grinning at the pan in my hands. He was dressed simply—plaid button-up over gray T-shirt, and jeans over heavy black boots—but that didn’t diminish the wolfish appeal.
“Good evening.” I held out the pan. “She keeps pushing food at me.”
“That’s Berna. It’s her way of showing affection.”
Not for my physique, apparently. That notwithstanding, I still had a steaming pan to deal with. “Is there somewhere I could put this for a few hours?”
“You think holding a pan of cabbage rolls will interrupt your vampire mojo?”
“It will make it a little harder to swing my sword.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” he said coyly. “I’ll take you to the kitchen and you can drop it off there. Also gives you a chance to see a little more of the church.”
“Thanks.”
I’ll wait here, Ethan silently said. I’d like to talk to Gabriel about Tony.
Good luck, I offered back, wondering whether the fight at the Brecks’ was truly water under the bridge or whether Gabe was going to hold it against us. On the other hand, he hadn’t changed his mind about our providing security, so he must have been comfortable enough.
Keep your guard up.
Liege, I dutifully answered back.
I followed Adam down the aisle on the left side of the church, offering Gabriel and Jason a wave as I passed. He moved through a door and into the side wing Luc had showed us earlier. It was obvious we’d moved from the original architecture to the 1970s renovation. Where the chapel was luxurious, the side wing was straight-lined and kind of sterile. Function had won out over form here, from the industrially carpeted floors to the cinder block walls.
But as we passed the nursery rooms, it became clear that the parishioners were less concerned about what the church looked like than what went on there. I stopped at an open door and glanced inside. Drawings and educational posters decorated the walls. Toddler-sized tables and chairs dotted the room, and worn stuffed animals and wooden blocks were stacked neatly on a windowsill.
“They’re a tight community,” Adam said beside me.
“I can tell.”
When we’d both looked our fill, Adam continued down the hallway, then turned into an industrial-style kitchen clearly meant for preparing meals for a big, hungry congregation. He held open the door of the refrigerator while I slid the pan onto a shelf. That done, he closed the door again, then leaned against one of the stainless-steel islands in the middle of the room.
I spied a bulletin board on the facing wall and walked over for a better look. A sign-up sheet for an after-church luncheon was posted beside a flyer for a canned food drive. Get a little; give a little, I thought.
And speaking of getting a little, I decided to take the opportunity to learn a little more about Adam and his crew. I started with the geography.
“So, I was just curious—why Ukrainian Village? What’s your connection to this neighborhood?”
“Shifters?”
I nodded.
“We have roots in Eastern Europe. Our families are tight-knit. You put the two together, you get Ukrainian Village.”
“Huh,” I said. “That’s interesting.”
He arched his eyebrows at me. “Is it interesting, or are you just making nice to do your part for a vampire-shifter alliance?”
He spoke the words with sarcasm, but there was a thread of something more in his voice. Irritation? Anger? Disgust? I wasn’t sure if that was animosity toward vampires or toward politics generally. Both were shifter-esque emotions.
Not wanting to fight it out, I mimicked that negligent shrug he’d given earlier. “Just making friendly conversation. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
A twinkle in his eye, he answered back, “No, ma’am, there most definitely is not.”
We chatted a little longer, just enough for me to feel him more. I’d anticipated getting some of the “youngest brother of a Pack leader” vibe, and while he was quite the smartass, he seemed earnestly concerned about the Pack.
“I’m nervous about tonight,” he admitted as we took the hallway back to the main chapel. “It’s not that I think Gabe couldn’t handle whatever popped up, but I’d prefer we keep things as violence free as possible.”
“Any thoughts on a culprit for the bar shooting?”
He shook his head, his expression tightening. He was holding back.