Wild Things: A Chicagolands Vampire Novel (Chicagoland Vampires)

by Neill, Chloe

  “I’m supposed to encourage you,” I told him. “To convince you to do it.”

  “Because the person who told you this wants me to hold the position—or they want me out of the way?”

  The blood drained from my face. It hadn’t even occurred to me that Lakshmi’s motives might not be pure. I considered our conversation, thought about the hope in her eyes, and dismissed the possibility she was being less than earnest. She was honest that Ethan’s challenge might not be successful. But that didn’t mean she wished him dead.

  “I believe the friend wants you to hold the position,” I said. “They respect you and your alliances.”

  “But you don’t want me to do it. Why? If I was successful, it would be a profound opportunity for vampires.”

  “You may not be successful. You have powerful enemies. And even if you were—I’ve already lost you once. I don’t want to lose you again.”

  His expression softened. “You think I would have to choose.”

  “Wouldn’t you? And wouldn’t I?”

  “What, precisely, would you be choosing between, Sentinel?” His expression was still mild, but there was a bite in his words.

  “Between London and Chicago. Between you and the House? Between you and the RG? Being part of the RG while you’re Master is one thing. Being part of it while you’re the king of all goddamned vampires is something entirely different.” Theoretically, an honorable GP meant a quiet RG. But just because I believed in Ethan didn’t mean the rest of the RG wouldn’t want to keep an eye on him. Absolute power, after all, corrupted absolutely.

  His eyes narrowed dangerously. “You cannot shake me loose, Sentinel.”

  “I’m not trying to shake you loose,” I assured him. I was just trying to be practical.

  Hell, I thought. If we’d already gotten the GP bit out there, I figured I might as well tell him the rest.

  “Have you ever talked to Gabriel about prophecies?”

  He’d been staring at the floor, but he suddenly lifted his gaze to me. “Prophecies? No. Why?”

  I imagined voicing the words would be like confessing you’d found a guy’s secret engagement ring. It was a confession of intimacy I hadn’t yet earned.

  “He said in my future—there would be someone with green eyes. Like yours. But not yours. A child.” I cleared my throat. “Our child. Because of some favor I’d do for Gabriel.”

  The color drained from his face, even more than you’d expect from a four-hundred-year-old vampire.

  Part of me found it gratifying that he’d have the chance to enjoy the same kind of shock I’d been carrying around for months. Part of me found it terrifying, that he’d regret the possibility he’d be permanently attached without having made the choice on his own.

  He stood up, paced to the other end of the room.

  “Could you maybe say something?” I asked and, as my stomach roiled with nerves, braced myself for the worst. That was part of who I was, part of how I’d been raised. There was always a punishment to bear, a condition attached to the love I was granted.

  But when he turned, his eyes were green fire. “He said . . . you’d carry a child?”

  I swallowed, nodded.

  “My child? Our child?”

  Another nod, as I contemplated what I thought wasn’t fear, but awe, in his eyes. He strode back to me, pulled me up from the couch, and kissed me brutally.

  His lips were firm, his tongue insistent, sending my blood racing even as my body and mind slipped down and into the kiss.

  He pulled back and cupped my face in his hands, rested his forehead against mine. “A child. A child.” It was easy to hear the miracle in his voice, and even when he pulled back, my face still in his hands, there was doubt in his eyes. “Tell me precisely what he said.”

  And I did. Twice, and about the prediction that I’d be tested first. But none of it dulled the wonderment in Ethan’s eyes. He put his hand on my stomach like I was already in the full blossom of pregnancy.

  “A child. The first vampire child. Do you know what a miracle that would be? Or what a strength? What a boon to the North American Houses?”

  It was my turn to take a step back, as a frisson of anger turned up my temper. “Or to the GP, if you were to lead it.”

  He apparently missed the tone in my voice, or he ignored it. “Frankly, yes.”

  “Is that why you’re excited about this? Because it would give you a political advantage? Can we put aside strategy for the purposes of this conversation?”

  “Sentinel,” he said, and I caught a warning tone in his voice.

  I marched over and stuck a finger into his chest. “Don’t you dare call me ‘Sentinel.’ I am not your Novitiate right now, not when we’re talking about this.”

  “We’re talking about a unique event in vampire history.”

  “We’re talking about bringing a child into the world.” My head began to spin. Saying the words aloud actually made me light-headed, and I groped for the closest chair, then planted myself in it before my vision went completely black.

  “Breathe, Sentinel,” Ethan said, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

  I was not amused. Not at all. Not by the realization that I’d be gestating the only vampire child in history. That we’d be the only vampire parents in history.

  Ethan bent to one knee in front of me. “Are you having a panic attack about a child?”

  “No,” I said, head swimming. “That would be cowardly and ridiculous. I want to have kids. Kids are great. But I would be the first and only vampire mother. Every other vampire in the world would be armchair-mothering me.”

  He pushed the hair from my face. “Did Gabriel say this miraculous event was going to happen tomorrow?”

  “Well, no. There’s the testing first.”

  “Then I presume you have a bit of time to prepare,” he flatly said. “As do I.” He looked up at me, one knee on the ground, one knee propped up. The perfect position for that certain pre-matrimonial deed. A slow smile began to cross his face.

  “Don’t you dare do it,” I warned him with a pointed finger. “Don’t you dare fake propose to me again.”

  “Who says it would be fake?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Like you just happen to have a ring in your jacket pocket.”

  Much to my surprise, and terror, he didn’t answer with a joke. His eyes sparkled, which made my stomach roll with nerves. Surely he didn’t actually have a ring in his pocket. We hadn’t known each other long enough. Hadn’t been together long enough.

  “Jesus, Ethan.” I punched him on the arm. “No. You do not have a ring in your pocket.”

  “Poor, worried Sentinel.” He pulled me to my feet, embraced me. “The weight of the world on her shoulders.”

  “That weight is entirely on my uterus,” I corrected. “Or will be, after the test.”

  “Yes, you may have mentioned that,” he dryly said. “And he gave you no indication of what, precisely, that meant?”

  I shook my head, put my hands on his chest, looked up at him. “What if it’s you? What if you decide to challenge the GP and you’re injured? Or killed? Or what if you win and you end up in London?”

  “Then either you’re scheduled for an immaculate conception, or we’ll still see each other occasionally.” That sparkle was back in his eyes. He was really and truly enjoying this.

  “You’re not helping. Seriously—what are we going to do?”

  “About the possible child? I can think of several things, Sentinel. Most of them require nudity. Several are illegal in the more conservative states.”

  I elbowed him in the ribs. “About the GP.”

  His expression sobered. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” He ran his hands through his hair. “How solid is the support?”

  “Solid,” I said. “Enough to guarantee GP votes. Not
enough to guarantee a win or a bloodless coup.”

  He nodded. “That’s true of most things worth doing, I’ve found. They’re rarely guaranteed.”

  Then he looked at me with a slanted gaze. “Sentinel, exactly how long have you been holding all of this in?”

  “For too damn long. On both counts.”

  He chuckled and, with a hand at the back of my neck, pulled me forward again. “I love you, Caroline Evelyn Merit,” he said, pressing his lips to mine.

  He kissed me gently, his mouth needy and insistent, tongue tangling with mine and lips nipping gently as he pressed his body against mine. His hand slid along my rib cage, cupped a breast, and thumbed my nipple, inciting and arousing. My body sang with desire, blood humming with the need he was creating, the blinding want that began to demand action.

  He moved forward, pushing me against the back of the couch, his erection solid between us. “You won’t shake me,” he said, his lips against my neck, trailing kisses over the spots he’d bitten me before, a promise of things to come.

  “The carnival?” I managed to murmur, thinking of the work we needed to do.

  “We are allowed to live,” he said. “To take a moment for us.” He took that moment, unzipped my muddy jacket and tossed it to the floor, then did the same with the shirt I’d worn beneath it. His gaze found my breasts. His hands followed, and all rational thought exited my premises. With impressive speed.

  I hummed, equally revved and drowsy from the movement of his hands and the cant of his hips against mine. There was little doubt what he wanted, or what he’d take.

  His mouth still on mine, the intensity near brutal, as if he might simply devour me, he stripped the fabric from my breasts and covered them with his hands, tongue tangling with mine, a hint of what he had in mind. He moved my hand to his erection, ground his body against me, releasing my mouth to heave out breaths, arching his back to watch my hand move against him.

  He made a sound as much growl as word, then pulled off his shirt and the rest of my clothes, leaving me naked before him.

  His eyes were silver, his fangs needle sharp, his body nearly quaking with anticipation and desire.

  Without taking his eyes from me, he unzipped his jeans, dropped them to the floor. The silken boxers offered little guard against his impressive erection, and he dropped those, too, leaving nothing but his naked form before me, his eyes swirling with magic, his body obviously ready.

  He took his arousal in hand, wetting his lips as he stared down at me. Eyes narrowed and glinting, his body taut and golden skinned and there for the taking, he stroked, toying with me, daring me not just to touch him, but to brave the intimacy.

  Dare, I would.

  I pushed him backward, steering him toward the low French chair in the corner of the room. He sat down, his hand still busy, his eyes on my breasts.

  I straddled him, and his lips found my breasts, toying and nipping until my blood burned with need.

  He offered no more preliminaries, which would have been wasted. I was ready, my body eager for him. With a grunt and a brutal curse, he plunged upward, filling me, bowing my body and leaving no boundaries, tangible or otherwise, between us. His hands found my waist and he held me against him, forcing me down with each plundering stroke.

  He put his hand on my face, holding my chin, forcing my gaze to his as he pumped. I wasn’t sure if he was committing my face to memory or ensuring that I committed his face to mine. The act was brutally intimate, allowing neither of us to hide behind closed eyes.

  “Merit,” he said, his voice ragged. “I need you. I love you.”

  “I love you.”

  Forever, he silently said. Regardless.

  Forever, I said to him.

  He lifted me, rose with me in his arms, and stalked toward the bedroom like a pirate with his treasure. He placed me on the bed like I was delicate, fine boned or porcelain, and immediately covered my body with his. With the force of a man long denied, he plunged between my thighs, his strokes as hard and fast as they’d been before.

  Before, he’d sought to relieve his own ache, to find his own release. This time, his demands were all for me. Every muscle in his toned body worked for my pleasure, to send me over the edge, to send my mind and body and soul reeling. He found my mouth and plundered it as well, his tongue hot and welcoming, teeth at my lips as ferocious as his body.

  And then he flipped my body over, and I moaned with pleasure, fistfuls of sheets in hand as he thrust without hesitation, filling me, devouring me. Ethan took without quarter, gave without pretension. He moved with a harsh rhythm, demanding, insistent, daring me to take my own pleasure, and doing his damnedest to send me there.

  I screamed out his name, felt the building shudder from the release of magic, pushed any embarrassment that might have caused to the back of my mind.

  I paused for breath, wet my parched lips, then rolled over and looked at him. His eyes quicksilver, his body hard, quivering with want.

  I cupped my breasts, offered myself to him again.

  His lips curled in animal pleasure and he pushed between my thighs again, my body offering no resistance.

  “Teeth,” he demanded when he was inside me. “I want your teeth on me.”

  Drunk with passion, I obeyed the command, sinking my teeth into the skin at his neck, the rush of blood—hot and powerful—sending my body into immediate overdrive. Ethan growled out my name as my body shook with the force of the pleasure, and he gripped the headboard with white knuckles, straining to hold back as pleasure rocked him, too.

  Now, I demanded, forcing him to drop his own barriers, to hold back nothing from me, not the man, not the soldier, not the vampire, not the Master.

  “Merit,” Ethan groaned out, pushing upward with a final thrust, emptying himself with a cry that sounded equally anguished and fulfilled at the same time my body arched with pulsing pleasure.

  • • •

  Minutes later, we stood together beneath the spray in the room-sized shower in the carriage house bathroom, his body behind mine.

  It was such a simple thing for him to massage shampoo into my hair, to slick soap across my back. And it was probably the most intimate thing we’d ever done.

  “Switch,” I told him when my hair was squeaky clean. He dunked his head beneath the spray, pushed his fingers through it while water slipped down the arch of his back and across his very bitable ass.

  I felt my body stir to life again but ignored it. I’d had my fun for the evening. We were getting clean, and then we were getting back to work.

  I squeezed shampoo into my hand, rolled it in my palms, and reached up to run it through the golden locks of his hair. He dropped his head back, braced his arms on the sides of the shower, and let me care for him.

  And when the shower was done, when we pulled on the thick white robes that hung in the bathroom, I sent the message that, I hoped, satisfied my favor to Lakshmi:

  I’VE TOLD HIM. THE DECISION IS IN HIS HANDS.

  I hoped it would be enough and, when our phones began to simultaneously ring, thought she was so pissed by the response that she’d called me and Ethan both. But the communications weren’t from Lakshmi.

  I grabbed mine first, scanned the screen, found a message from Luc: NAVARRE 911. RAID. MAYOR’S THUGS. INJURIES.

  “Merit,” Ethan said, and I glanced back, found his phone in hand, as well.

  “Domestic terrorism?”

  He nodded and called Luc, got an answer on the first ring.

  “I’m outside Navarre with Lindsey,” Luc said, the wind howling behind him. It was Chicago, after all. “We’re out of sight but keeping an eye on things. Jonah’s got a few Grey House folks around, too.”

  Probably not just Grey House, I thought, but members of the RG keeping an eye on things, ready to step in if the need arose. I wasn’t taking all their work.


  “What happened?”

  “We aren’t entirely sure. We only got a little from Will.” Will was Navarre House’s very green guard captain. “Apparently the mayor’s thugs showed up to take Morgan in to interview, and he refused. They surrounded the House, went inside. They’re still in there. The vampires are all outside.”

  “Considering where we are, and the fact that we ran, I can’t exactly blame Morgan for refusing the interview. How’s Malik?”

  “On full alert,” Luc said. “We pulled all the temps onto duty, have them outside. We’ve also offered asylum to any Navarre vamps who need a place to go.”

  “Good,” Ethan said. “Good. Keep an eye on things, and make contact with Jonah. Offer whatever assistance you can provide. And in the meantime, call the lawyers. We’re coming home.”

  Fear bloomed cold in my chest. Ethan hung up the phone, tossed it on the bed.

  “You want to go back so you can be Kowalcyzk’s next victim?”

  “Better me than them in my place,” Ethan said. “I can’t let any more vampires take my punishment. I’ve stood by too long.”

  “She’s baiting you. Escalating to scare you back to Chicago.”

  Ethan began to get dressed, pulling a shirt over his head, his hair still damp and tucked behind his ears. “Quite possibly.” He zipped up his jeans. “And I did as everyone asked. I waited her out. But no more.”

  I hadn’t made Kowalcyzk’s decisions, but I still felt like I’d failed. If Harold Monmonth hadn’t made it so far into Cadogan House, if I’d taken him out first, if the GP had been more afraid of the House’s Sentinel, Ethan might be out of danger.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry for this.”

  Ethan looked at me, danger in his eyes. “Are you under the impression this has something to do with you, Sentinel?”

  “I was supposed to protect you, protect the House. And look where that’s gotten us. The mayor thinks we’re enemies of the state, and she’s not above beating a Master vampire. I should have killed Harold Monmonth when I’d had the chance.”