Hard Bitten cv-4

by Хлоя Нейл

  Apologize, instead of asking for permission.”

  “And if the end result is the House in receivership?”

  “Then we hope the receiver has more sense than the leader of the GP.”

  Finally, Ethan cracked a half smile. I was struck by the urge to lift his burden, to make the smile complete, to give him the kind of relief he’d tried to give me—however unsuccessfully—with chocolate-flavored blood.

  “I have an idea,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  I paused, still thinking it through, before offering, “Meet me outside in five minutes—out near the fountain.”

  He arched a crisp eyebrow. “Because?”

  “Because I said so. Trust me.”

  He debated for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. Five minutes.” He stood up and walked to the door, glancing back before walking out. “And never doubt it, Merit—I do trust you.”

  He disappeared through the door. I climbed off the bed, my headache beginning to dissipate, and set to work.

  The Cadogan House gardens were spectacular, from the running trail to the brick barbecue pit to the formal French garden behind the House. A fountain sat in the middle of the garden, bubbling water for the enjoyment of any vampires who might be seated on the benches around it.

  I took off my shoes after I crossed the brick patio at the back of the House, closing my eyes at the luxurious feel of soft, cool grass beneath my feet.

  Your five minutes are drawing to a close, Ethan silently said. I smiled as I padded back to the fountain.

  Aren’t you always lecturing me about patience?

  An overrated virtue, he replied, and I could all but hear the sarcasm in the thought.

  I found him in a genteel sprawl on one of the benches, the only vampire in the vicinity, and clearly doing a little luxuriating of his own. Eyes closed, he was slouched comfortably across the seat, one foot on the bench, the other on the ground. One arm was slung across its back, his other hand on the flat of his stomach. In his white button-down and trousers, he looked more like a Regency rake than a Master of vampires.

  Maybe he was reliving history.

  I sat cross-legged on the ground beside him, the box in my lap.

  “What do you have there?” he asked, not bothering to look up.

  “Quid pro quo,” I said. “Chocolate for chocolate. But there will be a price to pay.”

  “Is the treat worth it?” His voice was a low, amused drawl.

  I answered in the same honeyed tone, both of us knowing full well that a flirtation in the middle of the backyard was just that—an enjoyable flirtation. “It absolutely is.”

  Ethan chuckled. “In that case, Sentinel, be my guest.”

  “What was your favorite time period? What period did you enjoy the most?”

  His brows lifted, as if surprised by the question. He opened his eyes and shuffled a bit on the bench, then stilled as he thought it through. “There’s no denying today’s mechanical conveniences. Humans are on the cusp of momentous discoveries that would have been impossible even twenty years ago. And yet,” he began, then quieted again.

  “And yet?” I prompted after a moment.

  He sighed. “There have been times that were dangerous, but invigorating. Scenes from history I was fortunate enough to witness firsthand. The birth of this republic—the vigor of the debate, the fervency of the belief that man could do better than monarchy. Moments during the Civil War in which men and women—even in times of great peril—were brave enough to remind us of the best of ourselves. D-day in London, when Whitehall was filled with heart-bursting joy . . . and grief.”

  Ethan sighed. “Immortality affords you the opportunity to witness history in the making.

  Humanity’s triumphs and its cruelties, both. It is both a high price to pay and a priceless gift, to carry the weight of that knowledge.”

  He turned over a bit, propping his head on his fist and glancing down at me. “Now, having walked through my lifetime, Sentinel, what’s my treat?”

  I lifted the box for him to see and thoroughly enjoyed the vaguely dismayed expression on his face.

  “You’re joking.”

  “I never joke about Mallocakes. Sit up.”

  He didn’t look any less suspicious, but he did as I asked, shuffling down to the end of the bench to give me room to join him. But I was fine on the ground. It put space between us and kept the interaction casual. It let me pretend the emotional boundaries I’d put between us were still firmly intact . . . even as I sat on the ground quizzing him about his life and preparing to feed him cream-filled sponge cake.

  But when denial was your safety net, denial was what you worked with.

  I pulled off the paper zip strip on the box and pulled out two cellophane-wrapped snacks. I handed one to him, put the box aside, and cradled mine in my hands.

  “Behold the glorious marriage of cake and cream.”

  Ethan looked unimpressed by the sugar log I’d placed in his hand. “Really, Sentinel.”

  “Trust me. You won’t regret this.” I opened my packet and held up the cake. “Now, there are various theories of the best way to eat a Mallocake.”

  Finally, a hint of a smile. “Are there, now?”

  “Our favorite sorceress, Mallory Carmichael, prefers to dunk them whole in milk. It’s not a bad treatment, but I think it makes them soggy, and I have this thing about wet bread.”

  “You are a constant source of wonder.”

  “And thus appropriate that I prefer the ‘fishes and loaves’ method. Behold,” I said, pulling the cake in half lengthwise, then holding up the two chocolate slabs. “I’ve doubled the number of cakes!”

  “You have a strong tendency for silliness, you know that?”

  “It’s one of my better qualities,” I said, nibbling on the edge of the cake. And as if the chocolate sponge was a drug itself, the flavor almost instantly sent a calming pulse through my blood.

  Ethan took his own bite. “Not bad, Sentinel.”

  “I have any number of issues,” I admitted.

  “Taste in food is not one of them.”

  For a moment, we ate our snacks silently in the garden.

  “I told you once that you were my weakness,” he said. “But also my strength. I said it before betraying your trust. I know that now, and I am so very sorry.” He paused. “What would I have to do to convince you to give me another chance?”

  His voice was just more than a whisper, but the sentiment was strong enough that I had to look away, tears brimming in my eyes. It was a legitimate question—but not one for which I had an easy answer. What would it take for me to believe in Ethan again? To believe that he’d chosen me, for better or worse, and regardless of the politics?

  “I’m not sure you could convince me otherwise. I’m too fast a learner.”

  “And I taught you that I would betray you if the opportunity arose?”

  This time, I met his gaze. “You’ve taught me that you will always be concerned with next steps and appearances, with strategy and alliances. You’ve taught me that I could never be sure you really wanted me for me—and not just because I helped you meet some end, or because it was convenient. You’ve taught me that I could never be sure you wouldn’t change your mind if breaking things off gave you a strategic advantage.”

  Ethan’s smile drooped, and for the first time, he faced the possibility that his actions would have unalterable repercussions. “You don’t think I can change?”

  I softened my tone. “I don’t think a relationship is any good if I have to ask you to change. Do you?”

  He looked away, then sighed haggardly. “This feels like a battle I cannot win.”

  “Love shouldn’t be a battle.”

  “And yet, if it wasn’t worth the fight, what would be the point?”

  We were quiet long enough that crickets began to chirp in the garden plots around us.

  “Is there anything you’d like to tell me about Jonah?”

 
; I nearly jumped at the question, my heart suddenly thudding at the potential my secret had been discovered. “No,” I answered. “Why do you ask?”

  “He seems to have some interest in you. Are you well acquainted?”

  Thank God I already had at least part of an answer prepared. “We talked outside Temple Bar the night of the attack.” Absolute truth.

  “Anything else?” His gaze was suspicious, his eyes tracking across my face as if trying to gauge my sincerity.

  “No.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Merit.”

  “Are you asking me not to lie to you because we’re friends, because we were lovers, or because I’m a vampire of your House?”

  His eyes widened. “I expect your honesty for all three reasons.”

  “You expect—you are owed—my loyalty.

  That’s not entirely the same thing.”

  This time, his eyes narrowed. “What’s going on? What haven’t you told me?”

  “Nothing that I can share right now.” And there it was. I may not have told him about the Red Guard, their invitation to me, and Jonah’s role in the organization, but I’d now confessed that I hadn’t been honest with him, that I’d held things back.

  He blinked back shock. “You have information you won’t share with me?”

  “I have information that isn’t mine to share,” I clarified. “The information belongs to others; I know it only coincidentally, and I won’t do them the disservice of making the decision to share it.

  Not when they’ve chosen not to.”

  His gaze was calculating. Evaluating. After a moment, he nodded. “So be it,” he said. While his capitulation was a victory for me as Sentinel, I still felt like I’d lost something, like I’d broken some personal bond. I’d placed being House Sentinel over being his friend and confidante.

  I’d done the same thing for which I’d chided him.

  Ethan stood up and balled the cellophane in his hand, moving around me and stepping back onto the path. He stopped for a moment, before glancing back over his shoulder. “It’s a difficult balance, isn’t it, to put others before your own needs?”

  I didn’t care to have my own hypocrisy pointed out to me. I looked away.

  When I glanced back at the path again, he was gone. My mood wasn’t any better when I returned to the second floor. My head was beginning to throb again, this time for different reasons. I put the box of Mallocakes back in the kitchen, then walked back to my room. My hand was on the door when I heard a voice behind me.

  “He’s not as cold as he seems, you know.”

  I glanced back. Charlie, Darius’s assistant, stood in the hallway, arms crossed over his chest.

  “Excuse me?” I asked.

  He gestured toward the door. “Can we go inside?”

  “Um, sure,” I said, then opened the door.

  Charlie walked inside. I followed, then shut the door behind us.

  He sat on the edge of my bed and linked his hands in his lap. “Darius is dedicated to the Houses, and he has no greater interest in drama here in the States than he does in the UK. The problem is,” Charlie said, looking down at the floor, “he is a strong believer in hierarchy. The Masters should control the Houses. Problems beyond the Houses are the concerns of the GP, and only the GP.”

  I liked Charlie’s honesty, but I had no doubts about where his loyalties lay. “Be that as it may, the GP hasn’t actually taken any steps to control Celina or keep peace in Chicago. We are doing what we can to keep the city together in spite of what she’s doing.”

  Charlie shook his head. “Has it occurred to you that you’re playing into her hands? That by acknowledging Celina and bringing her activities to light—instead of ignoring her antics—you end up giving her the very thing she wants?”

  “Which is?”

  “Attention. By the Houses, the GP, humans, the press. Celina wants to be seen, to be heard.

  She wasn’t getting sufficient attention as a Master, so she sabotaged that relationship in order to exchange it for something different—the attention of humans. And when she learned that she wasn’t the beloved of humankind, she acted out again. Each time you seek her out, each time you fight back, you give her a reason to come back again.”

  “You’re saying we enable Celina?”

  He answered with nothing more than a challenging look. The question in his eyes was obvious— Don’t you?

  Shaking my head, my arms crossed, I leaned back against the closed door. “That theory assumes that if we ignored Celina, she wouldn’t act out. That’s simply not true. Each time things settle down in Chicago—like when we get a confession from her about the park murders and send her away—she pops up again. Believe me, Charlie, she forces us to act.”

  This time, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Merit, but we have to disagree with you. I have to disagree with you.” He frowned, then looked up at me. “I don’t like saying this, making this accusation. Darius won’t say it—it’s not his position to do so—but I think it bears consideration.”

  “What’s that?”

  “None of this started until after you joined Cadogan House.”

  My heart beat like a timpani drum in my chest.

  “Excuse me?”

  He held up a hand. “Hear me out. For better or worse, Celina seems to have an obsession with you. You move into the House, you elicit a confession from her, and as a result she apparently decides you, and perhaps Ethan, are her new targets.”

  I forced myself to bite my tongue. Ethan clearly hadn’t told him that I’d been Celina’s intended victim, that he’d brought me into the House because a Rogue she’d hired hadn’t done his job completely. I wasn’t sure why he’d made that call, but I wasn’t going to be the one to break the news to the GP. I had no objection to the GP knowing as little about me as possible.

  “We’re aware of the Breckenridge situation,” Charlie continued, “of the fact that she attacked you outside the House. Would you deny that you appear to be one of her keenest targets?”

  “No,” I said. It would be impossible to deny that. On the other hand, “I’m not the only target.

  Cadogan House is a target. Chicago is a target.”

  He was saved a response by sudden, high-pitched beeping. He lifted his wrist, revealing a square calculator watch circa 1984.

  After tapping its buttons, he smiled guiltily. “I was amazed by the technology when it was revealed, and I haven’t found anything that compares since then. Simple, efficient.”

  “Kudos,” I said, trying to stuff the snark as far down as possible.

  Charlie stood up again and walked toward me, heading for the door now that he’d concluded his lecture. “I hope it doesn’t seem that I’m trying to irritate you or blame you for her actions. Clearly, she is a woman with free will and the ability to make decisions for herself. But consider the possibility that the actions you undertake—as Sentinel of your House, with all of its appurtenant responsibilities—bear upon her actions, as well.”

  I stepped aside, giving him access to the door.

  “We do truly wish you the best with your House. We want all the American Houses to succeed, to flourish.”

  “I will relay that sentiment to Ethan,” I said politely. Although my silent thoughts were much less polite, as I guessed would be the case for Ethan’s, as well.

  “Excellent. Good evening, Merit.”

  “Good evening, Charlie.”

  He walked out again, an efficient smile on his face and a hop in his step. And in his wake . . . insecurity.

  Was he right? Had we prompted Celina’s antics by responding to them? Were vampires drugged and humans dead because we’d encouraged her to act out, to rebel against Cadogan House like an angsty adolescent?

  It wasn’t fair to lay the responsibility for Celina’s actions at our door. We’d tried to do right by Cadogan and Chicago, and ultimately she was the one who’d solicited the murders of humans, who’d blackmailed us, and who was now probably behind selling dr
ugs. Those decisions were her own.

  Still. Charlie’s accusation gnawed at me. Even if she’d perpetrated the acts, it wasn’t unfathomable to think she’d done it, at least in part, because she was reacting to me and Ethan, trying to rile us up, trying to score in the vampiric chess game she’d created.

  I hated the idea of it, hated the thought that the battles we fought on a daily basis were somehow our fault, no matter how good our intentions.

  On the other hand, what else could we have done? We couldn’t exactly leave her to her own devices, creating chaos across Chicago just to fulfill her childish craving for attention. We couldn’t have ignored the blackmail attempt or Tate’s threats against us even if we wanted to. It wasn’t like Ethan and I were out and about searching for something to rail against.

  Of course we wanted peace and quiet. Of course we wanted to wake in the evening and spend our time training, researching, working to ensure the success of the House—instead of playing defense against the marauders at the gate.

  Whatever the drama, whatever her motivations, there was only one thing that was going to solve the Celina problem. Getting her out of Chicago, once and for all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  DEEP-FRIED PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY ON A STICK

  I needed a break from vampires. I also hadn’t checked in on Mallory in a while, and that definitely needed to be remedied. So when I woke and dressed, I texted her for an update and learned that she and Catcher were training at his gym. Translation: I’d get to watch Catcher torture someone other than me, and I’d get to see Mallory work her magic.

  Easy call. I left the House and headed to the Near North Side, where Catcher’s workout space was tucked into another old warehouse.

  (Converting former warehouses into playrooms for vampires and other sups was apparently the new trend in Chicago.)

  I hardly needed to sneak out of the House.

  Darius had pulled us off the V investigation, so there wasn’t going to be much need for me to stick around. And my conversation with Ethan last night had raised uncomfortable questions about me and my hypocrisy that I wasn’t keen to face. I knew we’d talk eventually; there was likely no avoiding it. But it didn’t have to be right now.