Friday Night Bites (18 page)

“He’s my brother, Merit. Family history or not,
personal
history or not, I’ll protect him.”

I frowned at him, put my hands on my hips. “Are you under the impression that I’m going to harm your brother? Because I can tell you—promise you, in fact—that isn’t the case.”

“And vamps are known for their reliability, aren’t they, Merit?”

That one stung, and widened my eyes. Not just animosity, not only some sense of fraternal protectiveness, but a thick, acrid prejudice. I just stared at him.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that, Nick.” My voice was quiet. Part shock, part dismay that a friendship had gone so awry.

Nick apparently wasn’t sympathetic to that dismay; he nailed me with a glare that raised the hair on my neck. “If something happens to Jamie, I’m coming after you.”

One final threatening look, then he turned away and disappeared through the opposite gap in the hedge.

I stared after him, tapped my fingers against my hip, trying to get a handle on what had just happened. Not only the fact
that Nick wasn’t writing a story (or so he said), but the sudden protectiveness for his formerly loafing youngest brother. What the hell was going on?

I blew out a breath and glanced around the labyrinth. The glow of the hurricane lamps wavered as the oil began to run out. The light fading, and with more questions than I’d arrived with, I started back through the boxwood.

 

Nick’s anger, his distrust, made the walk back through the woods a little less sentimental—and a little scarier. Nocturnal or not, I wasn’t thrilled to be wandering through the woods in the middle of the night. I carefully picked my way back through the trees, eyes and ears alert to the presence of creepy or crawly things that lived and thrived in the dark.

Suddenly, without warning, there was shuffling in the trees.

I froze, my head snapping to the side to catch the sound, heart pounding in my ears. . . . And the pique of interest by my vampire.

But the forest was silent again.

As quietly as I could, I slipped my hand beneath the hem of my dress and reached for my holstered blade. Ever so slowly, ever so quietly, I pulled out the dagger. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was going to do with it, but having it in hand slowed my heart’s percussion. I squinted into the darkness, trying to pierce the thicket of trees.

Something padded through the woods. An animal, four-legged by the sound of it. It was probably yards away, but close enough that I could hear the
pat-pat
of feet in the undergrowth.

I tightened sweaty fingers around the handle of the dagger.

But then, standing there in the dark, the blade in my hand, my heart pounding with the rush of fear and adrenaline, I remembered something Ethan had told me about our predatory natures: For better or worse, we were the top of the food chain.

Not humans.

Not animals.

Not the thing that roamed the woods beside me.

Vampires
.

I was the predator, not the prey. So, in a voice that sounded a little too breathy to be my own, my eyes on the spot between the trees where I imagined it to be, I advised that animal in the dark, “
Run
.”

A split second of silence before sudden movement, the sound of trampled earth and snapping twigs, feet moving away as the animal darted for safety.

Seconds later, the forest was quiet again, whatever thing had been there having sought safety in the other direction, away from the threat.

Away from
me
.

That was a handy skill, if a mildly disturbing one.

“Top of the food chain,” I whispered, then resumed my trip back to the house, the dagger’s handle now damp in my hand. I kept it there until I cleared the copse of trees, until I could see the welcoming glow of the house. When I hit the grass, I resheathed the blade, then ran the final yards full out. But like Lot’s wife, I couldn’t resist a final glimpse over my shoulder.

When I looked back, the woods were dense, bleak and un-welcoming, and sent a chill down my spine.

“Merit?” I reached the patio, looked up. Ethan stood at the top of the brick steps, hands in his pockets, head tilted to the side in curiosity.

I nodded, passed him by, and moved to the stash of accessories I’d left at the banister. The walk across dewy grass had cleansed the forest from my feet, and I slipped the heels back on.

Wordlessly, he walked to me, stood and watched as I shoed myself, collected my purse.

“Your meeting?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I’ll tell you later.” I glanced back one final time and took in the expanse of trees. Something flashed in the woods—eyes or light I couldn’t tell—but I shuddered either way. “Let’s get inside.”

He looked at me and cast a glance back at the trees, but nodded and followed me back into the house.

 

Mrs. Breckenridge spoke, thanked the partygoers for attending. Volunteers were introduced, made polite speeches about the importance of the Harvest Coalition to the city of Chicago, and were applauded. Money was raised, numbers exchanged, and Ethan and I cut a swath through the wealthiest citizens in the Chicago metropolitan area. Just an average Friday night in the upper echelons.

When we’d done our parts and made our own contribution to the cause on Cadogan’s behalf, Ethan signing a check with a flourish, we thanked Mrs. Breckenridge for the invite and escaped into the quiet of the Mercedes.

The interior of the car smelled like his cologne, clean and soapy. I hadn’t noticed that before.

“And your meeting?” he asked when we were back on the road.

I frowned and crossed my arms over my chest. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“I need both, unfortunately.”

“There’s a maze behind the house. He was waiting for me. Gave me some snark about becoming a vampire, then said he was waiting in front of Cadogan because he was investigating. Not working on a story,” I clarified before Ethan could ask, “but investigating.”

Ethan frowned. “Which indicates what about Jamie’s supposed vampire story?”

“No clue,” I said. “And now for the bad news—I asked about Jamie, a totally innocuous question, and he flew off the handle. Told me to stay away from Jamie. He seems to think we have it in for him.”

“We?” Ethan asked.

“Vampires. He said something about how we aren’t known for our reliability.”

“Hmm,” he said. “And how did you leave it?”

“Before he stormed off, he promised that if anything happened to Jamie, he’d come after me.”

“These people you associate with are charming, Sentinel.” His tone had gone back to chill, prissy. I hated that tone.

“They’re the people you’ve asked me to associate with, Sullivan. Don’t forget that. And speaking of which, why the change of plans? Since when does my father have full access to vampire secrets?”

“I opted for a last-minute change in strategy.”

“Understatement,” I muttered. “What exactly was that strategy supposed to accomplish?”

“I had a hunch. Your father is incredibly well connected, but lacks relationships among supernaturals. That’s no doubt why he was eager to work with you, and eager to meet with me. However, his lack of connections doesn’t mean he doesn’t do his homework. Did anything about his reaction surprise you?”

“His total lack of surprise surprised me.” I glanced over at him, an appreciative smile tilting one corner of my mouth. “Very sneaky, Sullivan. Without asking, you managed to get him to indicate that he’s been paying very close attention to Celina’s situation.”

“I manage a redeemable idea now and again.”

I made a sardonic sound.

“But you’re right—it seems unlikely that anything we discussed came as a surprise.”

“Tell him what you think you need to,” I said, “as long as you know that if he thinks he can accomplish some end of his own, he’ll use that information against us.”

“I know, Merit. I’m canny enough to have taken his measure by now.”

My stomach growled ominously, and I pressed a hand to it. I could feel the gnawing ache of hunger, and I wasn’t about to risk a bout of bloodlust while strapped into a roadster with a man I already had issues with. I could admit that Ethan was a little bit delicious, but I wasn’t eager to have my vampire aching for a taste.

“I need a break,” I warned him. I glanced out the window and noted a freeway exit ahead of us, then tapped a finger against the glass. “There.”

Leaning to the side to check out the exit, he arched a brow. “A break. A break for what?”

“I need food.”

“You always need food.”

“It’s either food or blood, Ethan. And given that it’s just me and you in this car right now, food would be considerably less complicated, don’t you think?”

Ethan grumbled, but he seemed to get the larger point and aimed the Mercedes toward the exit, then coasted into the parking lot of a roadside hamburger joint. Given the hour—nearly three in the morning—we were one of only a few proud, late-night, burger-hungry scragglers in the lot.

He parked next to the building and glanced through the driver’s-side window at the tacky aluminum siding, the scrubby landscaping, and the marquee at the former Dairy Blitz (the marquee now reading only DA RY LITZ), which had clearly seen better days. I rolled down the window, and the smell of meat and potatoes and hot grease wafted through the car.

Oh, this was going to be good. I just knew it.

He turned to look at me, one eyebrow arched. “The Dary Litz, Sentinel?”

“You’ll love it, Sullivan. Smell those fries! That batch is just for you.”

“We just had a meal of ceviche and prawn parfait.” There was a snicker in his voice that I appreciated.

“Seriously—we ate whipped shellfish, can you believe that? And you’ve made my point. Drive around.”

He made some vague sound of disagreement, but not a very earnest one, before backing up the car and maneuvering it into the drive-through lane.

I scanned the illuminated menu, vacillating between a single or double bacon cheeseburger before deciding on the triple. It was sunlight or an aspen stake, not cholesterol, that would bring me down eventually anyway.

Ethan stared at the menu. “I have no idea what to do here.”

“There’s the proof positive you made the right decision by bringing me on staff.”

I offered some suggestions and when he argued with me, ordered enough for both of us—burgers, fries, chocolate shakes, an extra order of onion rings. He paid with cash that he slipped from a long, thin leather folder in his interior jacket pocket.

When the Mercedes was full of vampires and fried food, he drove to the exit, then paused at the curb while I made a sleeve of the paper wrap around his burger. When I handed it to him, he stared at it for a moment, eyebrow arched, before taking a bite.

He made a vague sound of approval while he chewed.

“You know,” I said, biting into an onion ring, “I feel like things would go a lot smoother for you if you’d just admit that I’m always right.”

“I’m willing to give you ‘right about food,’ but that’s as far as I can go.”

“I’ll take that,” I said, grinning at him, my mood elevated by our escape from Nick and my father, and probably from the impact of greasy fast food on my serotonin level. Feeling no need for ladylike delicacy, I took a massive bite of my own bacon-laced burger, closing my eyes as I chewed. If there was anything for which I owed Ethan Sullivan thanks, it was the fact that I could eat what I wanted without gaining weight. Sure, I was hungry all the time, and had once nearly latched onto his carotid, but all in all it was a small price to pay. Life was a smorgasbord!

All that serotonin, that relief, probably motivated my next comment. “Thank you,” I told him.

Wrapped burger in hand, he pulled onto the road again, and we resumed our journey back to Hyde Park. “For what?”

“For changing me.”

He paused. “For changing you?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m not saying there hasn’t been an adjustment period—”

Ethan snorted as he reached into the box of onion rings perched between us. “That’s rather an understatement, don’t you think?”

“Give me a break, I’m trying to Gratefully Condescend.”

Ethan snickered at the reference to the anachronistic
Canon
tradition—Grateful Condescension being the attitude I was supposed to adopt toward Ethan, my Liege. And not the kind of condescension I usually got from him—this was the old-school, Jane Austen version. The kind where you deferred to your betters and employed all the social niceties. Definitely not my bag.

“Thank you,” I said, “because if I hadn’t been changed, I couldn’t eat this incredibly unhealthy food. I wouldn’t be immortal. I’d be completely useless with a katana—and that’s a skill every twenty-eight-year-old Chicagoan needs.” At his flat smile, I nudged him gently, teasingly, with an elbow. “Right?”

He chuckled softly.

“And you wouldn’t have me to harass. You wouldn’t have my connections or my fabulous fashion sense.”

“I chose that dress.”

I blinked back surprise. The admission surprised me and kind of thrilled me, although I didn’t admit it. I did point out that it wouldn’t look nearly as good on him, and got a “hmph” for my trouble.

“Anyway, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Sentinel.”

“Were you gonna eat the rest of those fries?”

 

We noshed until we reached the House again. We took the long way around the building, avoiding the tangle of paparazzi outside the gate. Ethan waved his access card at the parking gate, a section of it sliding aside to allow him entry to the underground ramp. After he slid the Mercedes into his parking spot, we got out of the car, shut the doors behind us, and Ethan—despite the fact that the car was parked behind a ten-foot iron gate beneath a House of vampires in a garage accessible only by secret code—beeped the Mercedes’ security system.