“Ethan. His name is Ethan.”
“Well, Mr. Personality isn’t worth ruining your face over.”
“It wasn’t Ethan.”
“Is it the blond broody guy that lurks around your house at night? Mr. Broody. What’s his deal anyway? Or is it the hot guy with all the tattoos? I’d fight over him,” Trent continued with a big grin. “I’ll kick your ass right now for him.”
David laughed. “Yeah, will you be using your trademarked tactical techniques? You know, the one you used last month?” Then David turned to me. “While full of liquid courage, he decided to start a fight with a man who kept spilling his drink on him—”
“I won that fight,” his partner interjected.
“No, you didn’t win that fight. When you ducked your head down and started swinging your arms like a malfunctioning windmill, he was too busy laughing at you to fight. So I guess technically you did win,” David said, chuckling.
Trent made a face and refocused on me. “So which one was it?”
“How often do you watch my house?” How much had he seen? Did he know more than he was letting on?
“We like to keep an eye on you to make sure you’re okay.”
“Eye? Stalking?” I shrugged. “I guess that’s for the courts to decide, which is the appropriate term,” I teased.
“No one’s stalking you, silly. We just want to make sure you are safe. This area is going to hell. You know there was a burglary last week.”
I knew that.
“Because of construction in that new subdivision behind us we are seeing an unusual amount of wild animals, mostly coyotes, and I saw a wolf a couple of times. And I’m pretty sure I saw a jackal the other night. Trent is convinced he saw a large cat, a lynx,” David said, holding my attention, and when Trent wasn’t looking he winked. He knew Trent was probably right, but there wasn’t an explanation he could give without betraying my secret. I’m sure the coyote was Steven—he changed more often than I did but I wasn’t aware that he went on the neighbors’ land. I assumed he just stayed in our area. But the lynx and the jackal were troubling. We didn’t have either one in our pack, and if the jackal was the one from earlier today then Gavin was wrong. He wasn’t watching the pack—he was probably watching me.
“Was the fight over Steven? He looks like a straying type. I see the way he looks at me. The boy-next-door looks just scream trouble.”
“Is he giving you strange looks before or after you’ve hit on him?” David joked.
“Once again, Steven isn’t my boyfriend and the fight was just a simple argument that escalated and got out of control.” I steeled my voice hoping to put an end to this conversation. I didn’t want to talk more about it because I could feel the heat of my anger over the situation starting to rekindle.
They both nodded, but the curiosity remained and I knew we would revisit this topic again.
“Fine, topic dropped, but I have to do something to your hair,” Trent said, taking my hand and leading me to a chair in the kitchen. My hair was messy but nothing terrible. But the beauty school dropout had been trying to get me into his unlicensed chair since we met. Each new trend he saw on YouTube, E!, or the Style Network was on his to-do list for my hair. Sometimes I indulged him, but today I didn’t want to. But he was as usual persistent and it was hard to say no, especially when he complained that none of his girlfriends kept their hair long. I was convinced they all chopped it off to keep from being his practice heads.
So while I sat in the chair, he brushed through my hair before he started doing whatever it was that he pulled up on YouTube. I think he was working on a fishtail braid.
I’d been at my neighbor’s for an hour. It was a well-needed escape despite the fact that the awkward-looking braid I was sporting looked nothing like the one in the video. Trent seemed happy with himself so that was all that mattered. As I started to leave with David, who wanted to walk me home, Trent said, “My advice, honey, let her have him. Something just isn’t right with him. I’ve seen him a couple of times waiting outside your door. He just stands there, as still as a statue, those odd dark eyes staring into the darkness seemingly preoccupied with his crazy thoughts. Stick with the sexy farm boy that keeps giving me the eye.” After a few probing questions while I was sitting in his chair having my hair twisted and mangled he had come to the conclusion that the fight was over Quell.
“Once again. Steven’s my housemate, not my boyfriend, and he’s moving out anyway.” It was the first time I had said it out loud, and as though I had just cast a spell it seemed to change the world around me. Despair—it licked at me worse than any of my bruises. That cold hard realization that at the end of the month, Steven would be gone.
I was in a good place and was glad for David’s intrusion and for the short time with him as he walked me home. “We don’t have to talk about it now, but I want to know the truth, Sky.”
“It’s not a lot different than the version I gave you,” I admitted with a sigh. “But I promise, I will tell you everything.”
That satisfied him enough. I had a feeling he didn’t want to know everything. There had to be something comforting about living in a world of oblivion, unaware of all the strange things that existed in the otherworld. Unlike Kelly, I don’t think David was curious about it.
“The jackal, when is the last time you saw it?” I asked.
He opened his mouth to answer but got distracted by the gray Hennessy Venom GT in my driveway. I hadn’t heard of the car and probably would never have if it wasn’t for Steven, who talked excessively about Ethan’s new purchase. My lack of interest only seemed to fuel Steven’s enthusiasm. After all, once I knew the engine size, horsepower, and how difficult it was to get one in the United States, only then could I truly appreciate it. He was wrong. I couldn’t stress enough how much I didn’t care, which only made him pull a picture up on his phone and show me. My disinterest didn’t temper his fascination with it and he stared at the picture the way David was looking at the car now. Running his hand over the lines of it, David peeked through the window to look at the interior. He dropped down to examine the tires and the rims.
Oh come one! It’s a car. David, you’re better than this.
But he wasn’t. He kept touching the car, appreciating it in a manner that obviously was beyond my reach. “I think when you ogle something like that, you should buy it dinner first,” I teased.
“Sorry, it’s gorgeous.”
“Thank you,” Ethan said from the door of my house. David jerked up and his eyes met Ethan’s, but they didn’t stay. Most people can’t hold his gaze for very long: the intensity of it alone was hard, and there was always the threat of danger if you tried. It was subtle but still there.
David hugged me before he left and squeezed too hard. I had to bite back a groan as he pressed into my ribs. I watched him as he disappeared into the darkness toward his home, needing the extra minutes before I had to deal with Ethan.
I walked into the house with purpose, ready for a battle that I was hell-bent on winning. Ethan leaned against the kitchen counter, a genial smile leveling his usual stern features.
“Hi,” he said in a low, gentle tone as he pushed up from the counter and approached me. Carefully, he lifted my chin and examined me closely. His eyes narrowed, gunmetal drowning out any hints of the blue of his natural eyes.
“Where’s Steven?”
“Gone. I wanted us to be alone.”
Standing in front of me, he was quiet for a long time and would have continued so until I blurted, “She started it.” Nice. Real mature, Sky. Do you have a tantrum you want to throw, too?
He nodded slowly, the light smile remaining as he slowly circled me. When he was in front of me again, he said, “Você está machucado?”
He was speaking Portuguese. Since my mother’s death, I spoke it so infrequently that it took a moment for me to translate. Are you hurt?
Portuguese was the language I shared only with my mother, it was private, intimate—specia
l to us. It didn’t feel right sharing it with anyone else, especially Ethan.
I shook my head. “Probably a broken rib,” I responded in English. I raised my shirt, exposing the raspberry marks that spread and wrapped around my side. I knew exactly what broken ribs felt like because Winter had accidentally broken mine twice while sparring. It was a painful reminder why Winter was third in the pack, that I needed to get better and avoid a real fight with her at all costs.
He gently pressed his hand on my right side, the wrong one. I moved his hand to my left side.
Languid fingers roamed over my ribs; the warmth of his touch didn’t feel as good as ice would have. When he applied a little pressure, I hissed at the pain. His scowl turned to a little smirk that vanished quickly under my glare.
“Você quer um pouco de gelo?” Do you want ice?
I didn’t answer, but instead continued to look at him as though I hadn’t understood.
He frowned at my passive display of defiance. He circled me, in slow easy strides. He was too calm, and I was waiting for the storm he presented after the calm. His gentle timbre of voice didn’t reveal any perils in sight. Since I had removed the dark elven magic from him, there was an odd connection between us: I could feel his emotions as raw and true as if they were my own. He was angry; it was an explosion brewing, ready to blow but he was working to suppress it.
“Do you want me to get you some ice?”
“No.”
He nodded. “Do you need anything?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Good.” His voice was low and serene. It made me nervous. Ethan was a tidal wave of emotions, coiled and poorly controlled, and there wasn’t anything quiescent about him. His countenance bothered me.
“Okay, let’s talk then.” Gently taking my wrist, he guided me toward the living room, and took a seat in the oversized chair across from the sofa that I sat on.
As he sank into the chair his lucid pewter gaze fastened on me. “So at what point of the day did you decide that your life wasn’t complicated enough and you needed to start a war between us and the vampires?” His words were chilled by his tone.
“She destroyed my property!”
The slight smile barely made it to his eyes, but they were much kinder than his tone. “Did she? Or did she destroy something of Quell’s? You don’t require a greenhouse nor do you have a use for Hidacus, do you?”
Who the hell invited logic to this party? I wanted irrational anger to run this conversation. “It was something on my property for Quell. She destroyed my property. How can you all just allow her to behave like this? She does whatever she wants with impunity and everyone just turns their heads because it’s Michaela, the otherworld’s psycho bitch, and she gets a pass. Well I am not going to give her a pass.”
“She’s also the Mistress of the North and responsible for creating the most vicious of her kind. Yes, she warrants certain consideration. But you didn’t answer my question, what exactly did she do to you?”
If my teeth didn’t release their grip on my lips, I was eventually going to bite right through them.
Ethan’s movements were too fast and stealthy for someone his size and he’d quickly moved out of the chair to the ottoman in front of me before I had time to really consider the question. “Skylar, answer me. What did she do to you?”
That was the million-dollar question. She hadn’t done anything to me per se, it was to Quell, and my property was just collateral damage.
Ethan’s voice held a hint of revulsion and anger. “What exactly are you doing with him?”
“What do you mean?”
Silence. But his eyes held mine with an intensity that made it hard to maintain focus. “I want a real answer, Sky.”
“We’re friends, nothing more, nothing less,” I admitted.
Ethan sighed as he stood. “If he is your friend then you need to make better decisions to ensure that he stays alive—or whatever vampires are. You’ve played your hand. She knows how much you care for him. Michaela would rip off her own nose to spite her face and isn’t above killing him just to get back at you.”
He was right. The more I tried to fix things the worse I seemed to make them. I felt feckless as the problems escalated like a wildfire out of control. Was it best to leave Quell alone? I felt like I was his anchor, keeping him grounded into somewhat humane behavior. If I turned my back on him, then what happened to him?
“Okay.” But I wasn’t sure what I was agreeing to.
Ethan headed for the door, but stopped with his back to me and said, “If you have another one built, you won’t have to worry about Michaela destroying it, I will.”
He left before I could respond and I had a perfect one ready for him; granted there weren’t any actual words involved just a lot of name-calling and cursing.
CHAPTER 4
Try to kill one vampire Mistress and life becomes a series of meetings and getting a good “talking to.”
When Sebastian asked me to join him for dinner, I knew exactly what it was about. I wanted to decline, but like his invitation, which was cursory, my agreement to it was tacit. Anything that came out of Sebastian’s mouth wasn’t a request as much as it was a nicely worded command.
When he picked me up for dinner, it was weird. Sitting across from him in a posh restaurant in downtown Chicago was even weirder. The large windows with the thin taupe sheers provided a beautiful view as the lights of the city came alive while offering some privacy from the outside. The wave-shaped lighting was dimmed, soft and ambient. The white table linen, offset by chartreuse napkins, was a beautiful contrast to the black and white leather seating. It was a wonderfully opulent restaurant that I should have enjoyed, but I was too focused on the many shades of odd that this so-called simple dinner was. My attention quickly went to the art on the wall as I thought about how I could make this go as quickly as possible.
Sebastian’s smile blossomed, unfolding into something that was enchanting and charming, one of the more lethal and unassuming weapons in the arsenal the pack used. When necessary they were so charming that you were lured into a trap you’d be unlikely to escape. Being a were-animal didn’t make me immune. I returned the smile.
He was quite handsome, but it was his presence that was the most enthralling. His confidence and power were as refined and tailored to him as the clothes he wore. You couldn’t be meek and demure if you wanted to command the most powerful pack in the country. He wore it well, and people noticed. Flawless mocha skin, well-deep oval amber eyes, an imposing presence you never got used to. Instead, you remained acutely aware that he was a well-dressed, attractive predator.
The stock smile stayed on my face, my muscles fixed into a curve that simply displayed a pseudo pleasantry that I just didn’t feel. The situation was made no less strange when he ordered a bottle of wine and dinner: filet mignon, rare; roasted red potatoes and asparagus. Then he ordered the chocolate ganache and grinned at me when he asked the waiter to bring the dessert first.
I am a dessert first type of woman, and it seemed like everyone knew it.
“Who’s spreading these rumors about me?”
“Do you want me to change it?”
“No, I don’t want to be a bother.” I smiled.
We sipped on wine while I tried not to drink the whole bottle. It was a delightful white, crisp with a hint of peach that lingered on the palate. I didn’t bother finding out the name because based on the decorum of the place, I doubt I was willing to pay to taste it again.
I tried to focus on the woman standing in front of the piano, her expressive eyes closing occasionally as an emphasis to the soulfully intense sorrow that lingered over her words. Her crooning was a roller coaster of immense pleasure and intense pain and every emotion that existed in between. It was a soulful sound, with enough sorrow, seduction, and joy to tug at the emotions and entrance the spirit. She was a siren, enthralling the audience, forcing them to deny their hunger in search of something that fed them more intensely. He
r voice, beyond her years, wailed a deep sultry melody over the crowd. If she was twenty-five, she was barely, but she seemed like she should have been born in a different era. She was dressed in a simple white shirt with cap lace sleeves and a long A-line skirt that clung to her body, moving as gently as she did during the song. Short layered dark bangs swept across her brow, held back by a small flower, drawing attention to thickly lined smoky eyes. Peach gloss accented her full lips. Her poise and mannerisms reminded me of a movie my mother loved, Lady Sings the Blues. I changed my mind several times about whether or not I would visit the place again. Maybe I would come for dessert or appetizers—which cost the equivalent of a meal at most restaurants. I would come back if only to hear her again.
“Beautiful isn’t it?” Sebastian pulled me from my trance.
“I don’t know if I would describe it as beautiful. Elegiac? Its peculiar combination of sorrow and happiness and all the variations in between.”
I watched him as he watched the songstress.
“You hear sorrow?” he asked, frowning. Then he directed his attention to me. “Hmm, you hear sorrow where there is beauty.”
He considered me in silence for a long time.
A bottomless pit of deep browns with a hint of amber continued to assess me but they were quickly forgotten when the waiter brought the ganache. The rich, decadent flavors dominated my attention.
“Skylar, how are you?” Sebastian finally asked.
“I am eating chocolate pie; how do you think I am—I’m great!”
“It’s a ganache.”
“Yeah, that’s just restaurant trickery that they use in order to charge you quadruple the price of pie.”
The gentle curve of his lips made it easy to forget that he commanded a pack of over five hundred predatory animals.
He leaned back in his chair. “Seriously, how are things, Skylar?”
Good, an opening. “Weird.”
His brows furrowed. “Weird?”
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