Authors: Chloe Neill
She nodded curtly, tears beginning to swim in her eyes. “Liege,” she said, then turned
on her heel and walked toward the door, opened it, and disappeared into the hallway,
leaving it ajar. I wondered if that was symbolic of her hope that perhaps Ethan might
change his mind and call her back.
Ethan looked back at me. For the first time in days, I saw the hint of a smile. “Saint
George?”
“It was a gift from the RG. For my membership. Thank you for covering for me.”
“The last thing we need is Lacey believing she’s discovered a conspiracy between you
and Jonah to take down the House.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry for all of this. I’m sorry Lacey and the RG had to come between
us. It wasn’t the way I wanted this to work.”
“I understand why you’d be attracted to the RG,” he said. “It’s because of who you
are. Your recent humanity, your rebellious nature, your disdain for authority. And
as we saw tonight, your RG connection is quite clearly a very effective defense against
the GP.”
“I told you it would be,” I said.
“You’d have a heart attack if I forced you to quit, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, because you wouldn’t force me, and I couldn’t do it. That’s not who you are,
Ethan, and that’s certainly not who I am. I’m Sentinel of this House for a reason—because
you knew I wouldn’t blindly follow your dictates or the GP’s dictates.”
Ethan made a sarcastic sound. “There seems little chance of that.”
I took his hands. “If I thought for one second that I needed to join the RG to keep
an eye on you and make you a better Master, we wouldn’t be together. You taught me
to be a vampire, to be a soldier, to stick up for those whose voices aren’t heard
by the politicians in our world. Even if it doesn’t feel like it, the RG is an homage
to you, not a rebellion.”
He looked back at me, and must have been satisfied by what he saw in my eyes. “Follow
your instincts, Merit. If you believe the RG is part of your path as a vampire, see
it through. But remember that
we
are your priority.”
He smiled a little, so I leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Always,” I said.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too. I can accept your RG membership because I know who you are. Because
I know you will wear it to better the lives of vampires of this city. But times are
what they are. That I find it acceptable doesn’t mean that others would. Who else
knows?”
“No one else. Well, the House knows we were fighting, but not what we were fighting
about. Ditto Mallory.”
Ethan narrowed his gaze.
“What? I needed to talk to a girlfriend.”
“And what did she have to say?”
“She was irritated on your behalf.”
He looked smug. “Do try not to tell anyone else about your top secret affiliation,
if you can manage it.”
“I’ll do my best. And consider this—if I forget and put an ad in the
Sun-Times
, at least we have each other.”
“So we do. I will accept your membership in the RG. But should you ever share blood
with him again, you will answer to me.”
His eyes had silvered, and he stared at me intensely.
The heady mix of fear and lust in the air made my head spin. “You said you weren’t
jealous,” I countered, stepping backward. “You said you and I were inevitable.”
“That was before I knew that you’d blood-bonded yourself to a man of another House,
Sentinel.”
Without warning, and before I could correct him, he reached out, gripped the edges
of my jacket, and kissed me fiercely. “You are mine and mine alone, and it appears
you need reminding. I suggest you return to our apartment; otherwise you’ll be ravished
here and now where you stand, and the door is open.”
I stared at him, all rationality leaving me, any objections I might have made to his
attitude completely slipping from my mind. I was grateful to be alive, and this was
Ethan in his prime—vampire, alpha, predator. And it was intoxicating. But that didn’t
mean I wasn’t going to challenge the attitude. I knew my eyes had silvered—and that
he’d seen it, too, but ignored it.
“You wouldn’t.”
He dropped his head, his lips at my ear. Instinctively, my blood singing, I dropped
my head back, giving him access to my neck. “Try me, Sentinel.”
“Ethan,” I muttered, the sound pushing him over the edge.
“Too late,” he said, moving to the office door, slamming it shut, and locking it behind
him.
Before I could object, he’d reached me again, and his mouth was on mine, feasting,
his hands claiming every inch of my body as he pulled away my jacket and dropped it
to the floor.
“You’re ravenous,” I said lightly.
He stepped forward to keep our bodies aligned, and took my chin in his hand. “I will
have you. Body, mind, and soul. And I won’t share you with anyone else.”
He was in full alpha mode, playing out some part about possession and ownership.
I was a smart woman. Well educated and plenty schooled. But that didn’t lessen the
effect of his primal, predatory desire. If he’d asked me to drop to my knees and crawl
toward him, I might have done it.
Fortunately, there was no need.
I gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it upward and over his head, taking a long
moment to enjoy the view: smooth, eternally golden skin over lean muscle. I slid my
hands from his waist to his chest, reveled in the feel of him. He stepped back and
raised both arms, then ran his hands through his golden hair. The motion pulled his
obliques into view and tightened his flat stomach. “Show-off.”
Ethan grinned and crooked a finger at me.
“I don’t perform on command,” I reminded him.
He unsnapped the top button on his jeans.
My eyes widened. “Sneaky bastard.”
I gnawed my lip in pleasure, watching the past, present, and future Master of Cadogan
House in a state of utter abandon: shirt on the floor, jeans unbuttoned, his arousal
obvious.
Without bashfulness, he took my hand and guided it to his erection. With rhythmic
motions, he moved my hand back and forth across denim-clad steel, eyes closed as he
tilted his head back, teeth clenched, breath hitching. His hips canted against my
hand.
I watched him for a moment, utterly entranced, his expression wrenched with the sensation,
the sensuality. And then his eyes opened, his lips curled, and he watched my face
as I moved him, rocked him, brought him close to the edge of his passion.
When he decided he’d had enough, he found my mouth again, then wrapped my legs around
his waist and maneuvered me backward until my thighs hit the back of his desk, and
I was perched on the edge, my legs wrapped around his hips.
“You want me,” he said.
“I don’t stop wanting you. Not since the moment I walked into this House all those
months ago.”
He momentarily stilled—maybe shocked by the admission—but his eyes flattened again.
“Take off your shirt,” he said.
But I hadn’t won Ethan Sullivan—and he hadn’t won me—by my playing the wilting lily
to his alpha predator. I lifted my head. “I am not your possession.”
“Aren’t you?”
At my refusal, he moved forward and gripped the hem of my shirt. With fingers trailing
over my skin, he pushed it upward, farther and farther, until he’d revealed my bra.
Then shirt and undergarment disappeared, and he trained his eyes on my bare breasts.
He used mouth and teeth and tongue to incite me, and when I was aflame, stripped me
of the rest of my clothing. His hands aroused my body, a ship at his command. There
wasn’t a bit of me that wasn’t on fire for him, and when I silently called his name—
Ethan, please
—he reacted.
He didn’t waste time on preliminaries—not that I needed any. A thrust of his hips
and he was inside me, pushing a bare whisper of sound from my lips and the very breath
from my body.
“Look at me,” he said. But when I buried my head in his shoulder, he took my chin
in hand and turned it toward him. “Merit. Look at me, goddamn it.”
His irises, already silver, spun with mercurial motion. He held my gaze as he moved
faster, as our bodies and hearts collided, and I watched with awe and shock and utter
arousal as his pupils contracted and his lips trembled . . . and he reached his pleasure.
I watched the delicious agony of release cross his face, and I thought I’d never seen
anything so memorable, that burrowed so deeply into my soul, as the expression on
his face.
But to every story, there is another chapter.
* * *
Two hours later, we’d found our way upstairs and were still lying languorous and naked
across the bed we’d reclaimed together, with love.
I lay on my stomach; Ethan lay beside me, his fingers trailing up and down my back
as dawn approached again.
“So, are we good?”
“I’m definitely good.”
I swatted his shoulder. “You know what I mean.”
“We’re good,” he confirmed. “And if he so much as lays a hand on you, he won’t live
to regret it.”
“Egotistical much?”
He smiled that leonine smile, utterly masculine, utterly arrogant, utterly proud.
“It’s not egotistical if it’s well earned. Shall we see, Sentinel, how well earned
it is?”
Far be it from me to argue.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
NEVER GONNA GIVE
I
woke
drowsy to find Ethan on the other side of the bed, tying his hair back with a bit
of leather cord. He was shirtless, but wore martial arts pants.
“Going somewhere?”
“Workout,” he said. “The tension of the last few days has built up. I need to work
through it.”
I propped myself up on my side, grinning at him. “And last night wasn’t workout enough?”
“Less so for me than for you, although I bless the day you decided to train as a ballerina
and work on your flexibility.”
I could feel the blush to my feet.
Ethan headed toward the window. I pulled the sheet around my body, then padded to
the window, a train of Egyptian cotton behind me.
Outside, the night was overcast and still, like the precursor to a winter storm.
“Snow later tonight,” Ethan said.
“It feels like it.” I looked back at him. “What are you doing after your workout?”
“Working with Michael regarding our security protocols. Since an RG member was able
to enter and exit the premises in fairly quick order, we’ve obviously got holes to
fill.”
“Good call,” I said, although I wasn’t sure anything other than alarms on the bedroom
doors and interior cameras would have solved that particular problem.
“I presume you’re heading to the Ops Room when you’re up and around?”
“That’s my plan. Luc was looking at the Navarre vamps, so I’m hoping something popped
up there. I also want to call Jeff to see if he’s found anything new. And I visited
my father,” I added.
Ethan looked at me, obviously startled. “When?”
“During our escalation of tensions.”
“What did he have to say?”
“He apologized for the vampire thing, in his way. I asked him to get information about
the owner of the building where Oliver and Eve were killed. Jeff didn’t find anything,
and maybe it’s a throwaway fact, but I thought it was worth asking.”
“It’s a good thought, Sentinel. Perhaps you’ll get your clue. I’ll see you later.”
He kissed my cheek and headed for the door, feet padding across the hardwood floors.
With one crisis down, but one substantial crisis yet to go, I dropped the sheet and
dived into the shower, where I dunked myself under steaming hot water, thanking God
I was still in Cadogan House and not at a hotel across town, living from a suitcase
as I contemplated my vampiric future.
When I reached the Ops Room, everyone was engaged in a task of some kind, but Luc
was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the Ops Room was virtually empty except for Lindsey
and a few of the temps.
“Where is everyone?” I wondered.
“I believe you’ll want to go next door,” Lindsey said. “Ethan and Jonah are sparring.”
“Oh, you cannot be serious,” I said, positive she was joking.
But she definitely, definitely was not.
They stood in the middle of the mats, both shirtless, Jonah also wearing martial arts
pants. The air was thick with magic and the smells of sweat and blood.
In the time I’d gotten dressed and come downstairs, they’d been beating the crap out
of each other, and they clearly hadn’t pulled any punches. Jonah’s eye was bruised,
and his lip was cut and swollen. Ethan limped, his left foot obviously tender, and
his knuckles were bloody and torn.
I walked into the room as Jonah wiped a smear of blood from his jaw. He nudged Ethan,
who looked back at me.
I crossed my arms and stared back at him.
“Jonah volunteered for a little sparring practice,” Ethan said.
The liar.
But Jonah, who’d worked out the cover story with him, nodded. “The old man picked
a fight. I thought it was a good idea, so I went along with it.”
I glanced up at the balcony, which was full of well-entertained vampires. “Could you
excuse us for a moment?” I asked.
Seeing as I had no authority over them, they all looked at Ethan, who nodded; then
they filed out of the room. When it was empty, I looked back at Ethan and unloaded
the cannons.
“There’s a vampire assassin on the loose in Chicago,” I said, “and I could use a little
cooperation. What the hell is going on?”
“We needed to clear the air,” Ethan said, silver eyes blazing as he stared at Jonah.
Jonah, his expression surprisingly serene, nodded in agreement.
“About what?”
“You,” they simultaneously said.
I was completely flabbergasted that two grown men—more than grown, chronologically—would
waste their time throwing punches at each other.
“And this was the best way you could do it?”
“Yes,” they simultaneously answered.
I put my hands on my hips and closed my eyes. “This is completely ridiculous, and
completely insulting.”
“It was necessary,” Ethan gritted out. “Boundaries needed to be set.”
“As if there was any risk of boundaries being breached,” Jonah countered, magic rising
again, and it was clear they hadn’t really settled anything.
“You’ve deemed yourself her ‘partner,’” Ethan said.
“In the RG. You’re her romantic partner.”
“So I am. Can you remember that?”
Jonah’s eyes flattened, not, I thought, because he was jealous, but because Ethan
had taken a stab at his honor.
“She is my partner,” Jonah said, “because she agreed to fight with me to protect the
vampires in this city. If you don’t understand that, or can’t respect it, you’re the
one with the problem, not me.”
“
Hey
,” I interrupted, “I am not a toy to be fought over.” I pointed at Jonah. “I’m his
colleague”—I pointed at Ethan—“and his girlfriend. Those are the boundaries, and that’s
where they’ll stay.”
“We needed to be sure of it,” Ethan said.
“You needed to whip them out and compare notes,” I countered. I looked at Jonah. “I’m
still learning who you are. And you’re my partner, so I appreciate that you’re willing
to take a punch for me.”
I walked to Ethan and glared up at him. “But you know better than this, Ethan Sullivan.”
I strode toward the door, then peeked back to watch Ethan reach out his hand. After
a moment, Jonah shook it.
God save me from boys.
* * *
While Ethan and Jonah finished their testosterone fest, I went back to the Ops Room
to stare at our whiteboard. Unfortunately, no clues had miraculously appeared overnight.
“It looks like you’ve gotten a lot done,” I said to Luc, but the Navarre vampire photos
on the projector screen answered the question. Every photograph had been covered with
an “X.”
“Yeah, but not the kind I prefer. I talked to Will; there’s not a single option in
the group,” Luc said, swiveling around in his chair in a full circle before landing
at the head of the table again. “They’re either alibied or completely motiveless.”
I frowned. “But how is that possible? We know it was a Navarre vampire, right? So
it has to be one of them.”
Luc ran his hands through his curls. “You’d certainly think so, wouldn’t you? But
unless Will is lying, which I highly doubt, they’re all off the hook.”
I grimaced. “Is there any chance Will’s the killer?”
“There’s a chance of everything you can imagine, Sentinel,” Luc said, going philosophical
on me. “But that doesn’t mean the chance is large.”
“What about the biometrics?” Lindsey asked. “Have we heard from Jeff about that?”
“We have not,” I said, picking up the phone. “Let’s do that now.”
Jeff answered the call almost immediately, but there was such a cacophony of music
and screeching in the background that I could hardly hear him.
“Turn the music down!”
I yelled, holding the speaker away from my ear until the volume was only slightly
above bar brawl. “What’s going on over there?”
“Nymph birthday party!” he yelled over the remaining musical din.
I rolled my eyes. “Could you maybe go outside?”
“Oh, yeah! Sure!”
A moment later, I heard the slamming of the screen door and the din quieted considerably.
“Sorry. It’s a nymph obligation thing. I was going to call you as soon as we were
done.”
“Got anything on the biometrics?”
“Actually, yeah. Turns out this is pretty state-of-the-art stuff. It’s not a scanner
for fingerprints or retinas—it scans your blood.”
“Your blood? How? And for what?”
“Tiny pinprick,” he said. “A little lance pops up and scans the blood. But it’s not
looking for type or anything—it’s looking for vampiric heredity. It only lets in vampires
who were made by Celina.”
And we had a winner.
“So to get in, you don’t have to be a current Navarre vampire—you just have to be
one of
Celina’s
vampires.”
“Correctamundo.”
“Thank you, Jeff. That’s great. Have fun at your party.”
“Later, Mer.”
He hung up the phone, and I did so gratefully, rubbing my ear a bit for good measure.
I was pretty sure I’d just heard Rick Astley at eardrum-popping decibels, which wasn’t
anything I needed to ever experience again. Ever.
“News?”
“One of the nymphs is celebrating, and the biometric scanner at Navarre determines
whether you were sired by Celina.”
Luc whistled. “That’s nice technology. And it gives us suspects.” He walked to the
whiteboard, scratched out
NAVARRE VAMPIRE
under the suspect list, and added
SIRED BY CELINA.
“Would there be a lot of Celina-sired vampires not in Navarre House right now?”
“I have no clue. Typically, you wouldn’t think many, but Celina was an odd duck. There’s
no telling exactly how she ran her House.”
Since we had to identify the killer she’d made, not terribly well, in my opinion.
* * *
A little while later, I was nominated to make a snack run to the kitchen. Although
I wouldn’t wish murder on anyone, it was nice to be back in the Ops Room and operating
on a relatively normal schedule.
After taking the roll of any other Ops Room food requests, I walked upstairs and down
the hallway to the kitchen. Ethan’s office was still closed, and I expected he and
Michael were working on our revised security plans.
I peeked into the kitchen, making sure I wasn’t about to barrel over anyone headed
out of the swinging door with breakables, and found the room abuzz with activity.
It looked like they were preparing for a cold-fusion experiment.
The stainless-steel countertops were covered in vials and beakers, and two-foot-tall
assemblages of glass pipettes and other assorted equipment.
“What’s going on in here?” I wondered aloud.
Margot, who’d paired her white chef jacket with the loudest pants I’d ever seen—an
insanely bright neon chartreuse that looked nearly radioactive—glanced back and smiled.
“We’re making condensations,” she explained. “We’re reducing food to its chemical
essentials to get to the heart of the flavor.”
“Cool,” I said, although I still preferred a hamburger over any whip, mousse, or elixir
I’d tasted at my father’s house.
“Yeah. This seemed like the kind of night to try something new.” Her voice had gotten
quieter and more solemn. “Like we’re on the verge of something, you know?”
“Believe me,” I said. “I get it.”
Margot helped me fill a tray with beverages and snacks—including bottles of the sarsaparilla
that Luc favored.
I was halfway down the hall when Ethan—now in jeans and a three-quarter-sleeved T-shirt—stepped
out of his office. “Would you like to go have dinner?”
I looked down at the tray in my hands. “I have dinner.”
“I was thinking about an actual meal, with tables and waitresses. I’m starving, and
I don’t want to eat at my desk. I’d like to grab a quick bite, just a few minutes
away from the House. I don’t suppose you’d happen to know a place?”
Of course I knew a place; I knew plenty of places. If only the questions he usually
asked were so easy to answer.
“What are you in the mood for?” I asked.
He ran a hand through his hair. “A burger, maybe? But nothing trendy, and nothing
kitschy. No shade-grown beef or organic spring mix or beet consommé,” he said, mirroring
the thoughts I’d just been having.
“Shade-grown beef. That’s funny.” I bobbed my head back and forth, debating a couple
of options. Chicago was a food-friendly town. Shade-grown beef was an option if you
wanted it; so were modernist foams, authentic
pho
, and diners where the waitress offered you just-fried donuts when you walked through
the door. I didn’t mean to put Chicago on a pedestal. Undeniably, it had issues: poverty,
crime, and strife between folks—including vampires—who thought they were all “different”
from each other. But you truly couldn’t fault the food.
When I settled on a restaurant, I looked at Ethan. “I’ll drive.”
“You have to. I don’t have a car anymore,” he reminded me. “But, out of curiosity,
why do you need to drive?”
“Because we’re going to a place for locals. Low-key. Good food. Good atmosphere. Whatever
car you might borrow would be . . . too much.”
“Despite the fact that I’ve lived in this city longer than most anyone alive, you’re
afraid they’ll think I’m a tourist.”
“Your cars are always so flashy.”
“Your car is so . . . orange.” The distaste in his voice was obvious. Not that he
was wrong.
“My car is also very mine, and very paid off. I’m driving.” I lifted the tray in my
hands. “I’ll take this downstairs. You grab your coat.”
He grumbled a few choice words, but only because he knew I’d won. Heaven forbid Ethan
Sullivan should let me get in the last word.
* * *
Giant neon capitals above the sidewalk read
CHRIS’S BROILER.
When we opened the door, a giant brass bell on the handle chimed our arrival. The
decor was simple and homey, the restaurant populated by small tables, plastic chairs,
and a line of orange vinyl booths along one wall.
“Take a seat,” said a waitress in a black uniform dress and white apron who breezed
past us with a tray of what could only have been manna from the gods. I didn’t see
what it was, but it smelled like heaven on a plate.