House Rules (24 page)

“Where are you going?”

“I’m not entirely sure. But I think we need some space before we say something we’re
going to regret.”

Assuming we hadn’t already.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

BOYS, BOOZE, BEEF, AND BETS

F
ifteen minutes later I was still in traffic on Lake Shore Drive, with the lake to
my right and Chicago’s “big shoulders” to my left. Unfortunately, the drive hadn’t
done much to calm me down. The world was quiet, but my mind and heart were racing.

Probably Lacey and Ethan had been working. Probably they were taking a break after
a long, miserable night. But probably that was time he could have spent with me, had
he not been so angry.

He’d wanted a friend, someone who’d validate his feelings.

He couldn’t have picked a better accomplice out of a catalogue. She was everything
I believed I wasn’t—graceful, stylish, cool under pressure. More like him than I was.
Lindsey had once told me that was exactly why Ethan needed me, because I was fire
to his ice. Lacey might never anger him, but she certainly wouldn’t ignite him.

But none of that made me feel any better. Not tonight.

I slapped the steering wheel with both hands until my palms ached and the steering
column felt loose. The poor Volvo. Fine Swedish engineering or not, it wasn’t designed
for vampire aggression.

There seemed only one option.

I drove to Ukrainian Village and the dive the North American Central Pack called home,
at least in Chicago—a squat biker bar called Little Red. (Now also home to some of
the city’s best smoked meats. And I would know.)

Even in frigid temperatures, shifters lounged outside along the row of Harley-Davidson
and Indian motorcycles that lined the pavement in front of the door. I smiled politely
as I passed them, but they were big and gruff and, frankly, didn’t give a crap about
a skinny vampire, no matter how well fitted and buttery her leather.

I walked inside and was immediately pummeled by the Clash and the smell of sour cabbage.
It must have been sauerkraut-canning night at the bar.

Berna stood in her preferred position—behind the bar in a T-shirt one size too small
for her heft. But this time, she had a buddy.

Mallory, her ombré hair in high side buns—couture à la dairy maid—stood beside Berna
and practiced pouring liquor into a row of shot glasses.

As I walked closer, Berna’s instructions became clearer. “No,” she insisted. “You
pour quickly, no spills. I show; I show.” She nudged Mallory out of the way and took
the unmarked bottle of liquor from her hand, then proceeded to fill six glasses in
a smooth, fast line without spilling a drop.

Mallory gave her a begrudging nod. “I’m not sure if I like you,” she said frankly.
“But you know your meat and booze.”

“Those are two of the four food groups,” I said, sitting down at the bar. “Mallocakes
and pizza being the other two.”

God knew Mallory was far from perfect, and our relationship was still delicate. But
it took only a glance at my face for her to realize the source of my troubles . . .
and roll her eyes.

“What did you do now?”

“Why do you assume I did something?”

“Because you’re across town at this bar when you have bigger problems on your plate.”

“You’ve talked to Catcher?” I liked that news. It suggested—even if only a little—that
things were getting back to normal.

“We’ve talked. We’re talking. Lots and lots of talking and then more talking and conversing
and communicating and talking.” She snapped her thumb and fingers together, mimicking
a mouth. “But you’re not here to talk about us.” Mallory narrowed her gaze at me,
and I felt a faint prickle of magical interest—at least before Berna pinched her on
the arm.

“Ow!” Mallory said, rubbing the spot, which was already turning red. “Damn it, Berna.
He said I could use it a little bit.”

“You use sparingly,” she said, slapping one hand against the other, then gesturing
at me. “Look at girl. She skinny vampire. She is in love, but is far away from lover.
You don’t need magic to know this.” She tapped her temple. “You need eyeball.”

They both looked at me. I nodded sheepishly.

“When you’re right, you’re right,” Mallory said. “And since he took a stake for her,
which pretty much proves he’s in it for the long haul, I’m betting she’s the current
source of her own drama?”

I hated that conclusion. Not because it was wrong, but because it was humiliating.
I was twenty-eight years old and headed for immortality. Was I destined to be forever
awkward, at least where love was concerned?

And how often had I screwed things up when she wasn’t around, and didn’t even know
it?

Mallory turned to Berna. “I’m taking fifteen, and we’re moving this discussion upstairs.”

“You can have here! I will not listen.”

“You will listen,” Mallory said, “and you’ll tell your book club exactly what you
heard.”

“But is like
Twilight
in real life!” Berna protested. “Sparkles!”

But Mallory had already grabbed my hand and was pulling me toward the door.

“Ignore the half-naked shifters,” she said, and before I had time to ask what she
was talking about, we were rushing through the back room of the bar, where three or
four—I didn’t have time to count—shifters, most with their shirts off, sat at the
old vinyl table playing cards. I’m pretty sure Gabriel was one of them.

And then we were in the kitchen, my retinas seared by the glow of gleaming pecs and
abs, and she was dragging me up the stairs to the tiny bedroom where she’d been staying
since she’d started her black magic recovery with hard work, shifter oversight, and
lots of KP duty.

Mallory slammed the door shut and fell onto the small twin bed that was tucked against
the wall. “Oh, my God, Merit, I’m going to kill her.”

“Please don’t,” I said. “That would not improve shifter-sorcerer relations in Chicago.”

“She’s so nosy! And she’s always telling me what do to!”

“She’s like the parents you never had?”

She looked up at me. “Is that what it’s like?”

“I’m afraid so,” I said, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“All right. I won’t kill her.
For now
. And now that we have some privacy, why don’t you spill what you did?”

This was the hard part, given the oath of secrecy I’d already inadvertently breached.

“I can’t give you all the details,” I said. “Suffice it to say he found out something
I should have told him. And he kind of found out from Lacey Sheridan.”

Mallory’s eyes narrowed, just like they were supposed to. She remembered Lacey from
her last trip to Chicago. “Why is she here?”

“To help with the transition from the GP. She’s got a good relationship with Darius,
and there was hope she might be able to smooth things over a bit. But since they’re
currently trying to take the House, that didn’t work.”

“Yeah, Catcher told me. What’s that got to do with you?”

I struggled to find a way to give her the high points without revealing the secret.
“Confidentially, while Ethan was gone, I agreed to help a friend in a way that helps
the House, too. And I’ve continued to help since Ethan’s been back. But I didn’t tell
Ethan about it, and then Lacey found out and told Ethan for me. Ethan was not thrilled.”

The look on her face didn’t exactly comfort me. “You betrayed him.”

“I did not betray him. I understand that he’s feeling betrayed, but I did what I thought
was right. What I believed—and
still
believe—was right.”

“Does this have something to do with that Jonah guy?”

Eyes wide, I turned to stare at her. “How do you even know about him?”

“Catcher,” she dryly said. “He’s in full-on relationship-autopsy mode. It’s some kind
of bizarre defense mechanism, probably prompted by the fact that he spends half his
time watching those goddamn movies.” She paused and turned to me. “Did I tell you
about the time he auditioned for one of them? Before Nebraska, I mean.”

Funny how well that simple phrase compartmentalized our relationship. “Before Nebraska”
and “After Nebraska.” “Before
Maleficium
” and “After
Maleficium
” would have been more accurate, but I wasn’t eager to refer to an era in our relationship
as “BM.”

“Catcher auditioned for a Lifetime movie?”

“Yep. They were filming part of a rom-com in the Loop, and he auditioned to be an
extra. Didn’t get the part, although that clearly didn’t sour him on the channel or
the ‘art form,’” she said, using air quotes. “Anyway, he said you were hanging out
with this Jonah when Ethan was gone. Who is he?”

“Captain of the Grey House guards. He’s just a friend. He helped me deal with stuff—deal
with you—when Ethan was gone. He was at the Midway that night. . . .” I trailed off,
not wanting to remind her in detail that she’d nearly burned down the neighborhood.
She probably hadn’t been paying much attention to my sidekick at the time, anyway.

“Ah,” she said, obviously embarrassed.

“Yeah. Ah.” I adjusted my ponytail. Not that it had needed it; I just wasn’t sure
what to do with my hands. The awkwardness with Mallory hadn’t completely disappeared.
“Lacey will grab him if she gets the chance, Mal.”

“And you think he’s amenable to grabbing?”

It was a good question; I knew he loved me, but he was angry and hurt, and he was
probably questioning my trustworthiness.

“If you felt betrayed, and someone pretty came along and swore that she was the only
one with your best interests at heart—that she was the only one who understood exactly
what you and your House needed—would you feel amenable?”

She didn’t answer, and when I looked over at her, I saw sadness in her face. My stomach
fell, and I realized my error. “Oh, God, Catcher didn’t, you know, find someone else?”

“No. I mean, not that I deserve his even talking to me—or your doing so for that matter—after
what I did. I just . . . I could understand it if he had, you know, done that.” Tears
sprang to her lashes and she quickly wiped them away. “I left him in the middle of
a crisis that I’d caused. Of course he needed comfort. Of course he needed a shoulder.
I certainly hadn’t played that part for him.”

I blew out a breath. “Seriously, are we just incapable of not screwing up our relationships
with people? Are we destined to do this for the rest of our lives?”

“Be screwed up?”

“Be screwed up and living with our shifter guardians or some crap like that, going
to speed dating together because we can’t maintain healthy relationships.”

“If you get old and gray, I’ll be honest about your roots.”

“Vampires don’t get old or gray. I’m stuck with this hair forever.”

Mallory flopped back on the bed. “Woe is Merit, the immortal vampire with the never-gray
hair and long legs and hot blond boyfriend.”

“Whose boyfriend has a hot, blond hanger-on?”

She chuckled and sat up again. “We’ve gone full circle with this.”

“What do I do, Mal? Seriously.”

“You apologized?”

I nodded.

“Then you do the only thing you can do, and the reason you’re here in the first place.
You wait him out.”

“That is truly just the absolute worst.”

“It really, truly is.”

We sat in silence for a moment while the laughter evaporated and the weight of the
world settled heavily on our shoulders again. “So this Cadogan House thing—do you
think Gabriel has any dirt on Darius we could use to blackmail him?”

Mallory smiled sneakily. “Why, Merit, you sly girl. I am so proud that you’ve just
asked that. It’s so . . . vampiric. But honestly, I have no idea. He’s downstairs,
and you’re welcome to ask him. But I will warn you—it’s poker night.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, if you want to talk to a shifter on poker night, you must play cards with
the boys.”

I arched an eyebrow at her.

She made an awful sound. “God, you’re
already
Mrs. Sullivan. Let’s go downstairs.”

I checked my phone; still no messages. I didn’t feel like there was any purpose to
going back to the House without a solution, so I figured I might as well stay.

“Do I have to actually play poker?”

“You do. Fortunately, they will remain half-naked during the poker playing. If you
like that kind of thing. Which obviously I don’t.”

* * *

I didn’t need magic to know she’d been lying about enjoying the half-naked poker playing.
I, too, could use my eyeballs.

There were four of them at the table. All shifters, only three of them half-naked,
but the well-sculpted view was worth it.

Gabriel, the only one wearing a shirt, was shuffling a thick, well-used deck of cards.
“Kitten,” he said, sparing me a glance. “My brother Derek. I believe you’ve already
met Ben and Christopher.”

Mrs. Keene had named her children alphabetically in reverse order, starting with Gabriel,
the eldest. Adam, the youngest Keene sibling, had been handed over to the CPD after
his failed attempt to wrest control of the Pack from Gabriel. Ben, Christopher, and
Derek were the next-youngest three.

Ben and Christopher were as broad shouldered and tawny haired as their brother; they
sat at Gabe’s left. Derek sat on his right. He had the same amber eyes as Gabriel,
but darker hair and finer features. He must have taken after the other side of the
family.

“Vampire?” Christopher wondered, eyes on the cards. “You running a way station for
supernaturals in here, brother?”

“I have no need of a way station,” I assured him.

“The kitten has claws,” Derek said with masculine approval.

“
Rawr
,” I said.

“You fight the fairies yet, Kitten?” Gabriel asked.

“No. And that’s why I’m interrupting your game.”

Gabriel’s gaze flicked up to me, considered, then settled on the cards again. “Take
a seat, ladies.” Gabriel’s magic was strong, and there seemed little doubt even that
flick was meaningful.

“Can I ask about the shirts?” I asked, taking a seat beside Mallory. “Or the lack
of shirts?”

“You may not,” Christopher said.

“Yes,” Gabriel mocked, “she may. Once again, the whelps have lost their shirts, Kitten.
Literally and figuratively.”