Blade Bound

by Chloe Neill

  Paige had been bummed about missing the wedding. The Librarian had been too excited about the conference—and the books—to be overly concerned.

  “I can look,” Mallory said, glancing at her husband, who stood with my grandfather and Pulaski. “He’s going to be tied up with this for at least the short term.”

  “The mayor’s going to blow a fuse,” I agreed.

  “Yeah. Probably.”

  Amit walked over to us. “Not the trip to the States I had in mind,” he said, and glanced at Ethan, concern in his eyes. “There is something about Chicago, isn’t there?”

  “Something in the damn water, I’m beginning to fear,” Ethan said.

  “Or in the air,” I said, and looked at Mallory. “Gabe’s had the same sense of dread. So whatever you’re feeling, you aren’t alone.”

  She looked understandably relieved and concerned by that information.

  A reporter had found us, was busily snapping pictures of the carnage, the remains of the wedding party.

  “Take this picture,” Mallory said to him, moving aside so that Ethan and I stood alone.

  “If you want the real sense of Cadogan House, get Merit and Ethan after battle. Get the shot of them together, bloodied because they tried to make a difference. Those are Chicagoland’s vampires.”

  With a somber expression, the reporter nodded and aimed his camera at us.

  CHAPTER NINE

  BITTERSWEETNESS

  We said good-byes to what remained of the wedding party and climbed into the limousine that would take us back to the Portman.

  At dusk, we were supposed to take a specially equipped and sunlight-protected plane to Paris for a week of madeleines and espresso and moonlight reflecting on the Seine.

  Except I knew that couldn’t be. “We aren’t going to Paris,” I said, and settled my head on his shoulder.

  “No,” he said. “And I should request all wedding guests leave Chicago as soon as possible. There’s no point in dragging them further into this.”

  I felt suddenly, unbearably tired. Emotionally exhausted by a long night of prepping and socializing, physically exhausted by the battle we hadn’t wanted to find ourselves in. And as much as I knew why we couldn’t go, why we couldn’t leave the city in the midst of some unknown supernatural contagion, I couldn’t shake the heavy grief that settled into my bones.

  I’d only wanted a honeymoon. That wasn’t so much to ask, was it?

  Ethan put an arm around me, drew me closer. I shut my eyes and let myself be calmed by the warmth and nearness of him. “I suppose I was wrong about this not being our problem,” he said.

  “It became our problem through no fault of yours. Not much we could have done about that. And it’s better we were there than not. It wasn’t our plan, but if we hadn’t stepped in, things would have been a lot worse.”

  Ethan smirked, drew me closer. “I believe I’m the one who should be comforting you, rather than the other way around. Because my beautiful wife deserves peace and comfort.”

  “‘Wife’ sounds weird. I wonder when I’ll get used to it.”

  “You’ve an eternity,” Ethan said, “as I’m not letting you go.”

  • • •

  It was nearly dawn, and the Portman Grand was quiet, our footsteps echoing on the marble floor. A woman stood behind the reservation counter, brow furrowed at something in front of her. A man across the room dusted tables in the sitting area, and a lone and exhausted-looking family waited at the bottom of the stairs, all in matching CARTER FAMILY VACATION T-shirts. The parents’ gazes lifted to watch us, eyes widening as they took in our torn clothes, scraped bodies.

  “Sit down,” Ethan quietly said. “I’ll check in.”

  I nodded, walked toward the stone fountain against the far wall.

  “Big fight over the bridal bouquet,” I said to the parents, with the only hint of a smile that I could manage, and hoped that would be enough to soothe their fears.

  Water trickled from a lion’s head mounted to the wall in a quatrefoil base. I sat down on the edge, watched koi dart across the water toward me, probably hoping for breakfast.

  I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the water, tried to forget everything I’d heard and seen and felt tonight. Everything except love. Because when all was said and done, that might be the only real thing we had left.

  I was tired enough that I didn’t know he’d joined me again—hadn’t even heard him cross the marble lobby—until his hand was on my shoulder.

  “Sentinel, I believe you are nearly done for today.”

  I nodded. “I think I am, too.”

  “In that case, let’s go upstairs.” He pulled me to my feet, kept my hand in his.

  • • •

  The honeymoon suite was even more grand than the rooms in which we’d prepared for the wedding—and not just because of the sleek grand piano that faced a long wall of windows overlooking the city. Like the other, this room had been divided into separate living spaces, including a dining room, an enormous sectional sofa facing the windows, and a library’s worth of books on a wall that must have stretched twenty feet to the ceiling. A door in the window wall led to an outside terrace dotted with boxwoods and low furniture.

  Several doors led from the hallway at the other end of the room. A floating staircase monopolized the interior wall, leading to what I guessed was the bedroom. And beside the stairs, a suite of suitcases, dark brown leather with the Cadogan “C” embossed across the front in silver, stood ready for Paris.

  I’d been prepared to wax poetic about the glory of the penthouse, but the sight of them brought that grief into full focus again.

  I walked to the windows, looked out at the city. It seemed dark and peaceful from this height, although I knew that was a mirage. That we’d see more of whatever it was that we’d seen tonight. And until we figured out exactly what that was, we wouldn’t be able to stop it. More people would die.

  I sighed heavily and with much self-indulgence. “Sometimes I wish our lives were normal.”

  “We just got married,” Ethan said, walking to a standing champagne bucket and checking the vintage. “That’s a fairly normal thing to do.”

  “And we were attacked by a mob of housewives and coffeehouse kids. That is not.”

  Ethan slid the champagne home again, looked up at me.

  “Think of everything that we might have missed, Sentinel. So many full moons. So much magic that others have missed. So many Mallocakes that a slower metabolism might not have handled.”

  I knew he was trying to make me laugh, and looked back at him. “Now who’s comforting whom?”

  “I owed you one.”

  I smiled at him. “I’d like a hot bath. Maybe you could comfort me in there?”

  His smile was slow and hot and promising. “I believe I could arrange something.” He glanced at the stairs. “Shall we go upstairs, wife?”

  I smiled at him. “Let’s do, husband.”

  • • •

  “Damn,” I quietly said.

  We’d made it up the stairs, but gaped in the doorway.

  The bedroom was enormous, with silvery paper on the walls and pale carpet across the floor. The bed was a pool of blue in front of a wall of windows that faced Lake Michigan and below a chandelier of sculpted glass teardrops that sent soft orbs of pale light across the room. Eucalyptus and lavender scented the air, and soft, chiming music played in the background.

  “It is a room for relaxing,” Ethan said. “For rest and sleep. And since tomorrow will come quickly enough—and whatever fallout that includes—we’ll rest while we can.”

  Rest sounded delicious, but somehow defeatist. This was, after all, the only bit of honeymoon we’d get. Paris was a memory. Fallout was our future.

  “You may need some assistance getting out of your dress. Or what rema
ins of it.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “Turn around,” he said, spinning a finger. I was too tired to argue or make a seductive response, so I turned, waited as he unfastened the hooks, unzipped the back. The dress was ravaged enough that it fell to the floor in a heap of stained silk and satin.

  “Well,” Ethan said, taking in the ensemble beneath—the thigh-high stockings, garter, and bustier. Part of my wedding trousseau, and an ensemble intended to be seen only by him.

  “That is . . . lovely,” he said, his voice smoky with appreciation. He skimmed a hand down my back, his touch lifting goose bumps across my body. “You are a beautiful creature, Merit.”

  “Can you help with my hair?” I asked, pointing to the knot that was now hanging heavily at the nape of my neck.

  “Of course.”

  He walked forward, and began unraveling the curls and braids. It took a solid couple of minutes to pull out the pins. When he was done, I flipped my head over, shook out my hair, flipped it over again, scrubbed fingers through my hair.

  “Even better,” he murmured.

  I looked back at Ethan, his eyes—silver with emotion—tracking my body like a man with a long-denied thirst. “All of this is mine,” he said, trailing the back of his hand across my bare arm.

  “I love you,” I told him, putting a hand on his face. “But I would shove you out of the way to get into the shower right now.”

  He laughed. “I’m glad to know where I stand, Sentinel. And in this particular case, I won’t stand in your way.”

  • • •

  The bathroom was nearly as large as the bedroom, with lots of pale marble and a curvy soaking tub big enough for a crowd. Fluffy towels were piled on a bookcase near the door, and a chandelier of glass shards cast pretty shadows across the floor.

  “Impressive,” I said.

  “Only the best for my Sentinel.” He turned both faucets, and water and steam began to fill the room.

  “I could use a drink,” he said. “Keep an eye on the water.”

  I nodded, pulled the lid from a glass jar of what looked like purple dust dotted with tiny dried flowers beside the tub, sniffed. Lavender and something slightly astringent. Eucalyptus, maybe. “Fancy some bath potpourri?” I called out.

  “I’m not entirely sure what that is,” he said from the other room. “Although I’d prefer not to smell like a Parisian parfumerie.”

  “I don’t think that will be a problem,” I said, and scooped some of the salts and sprinkled them over the water. The smell was heavenly, a soothing balm that pushed thoughts of battle and blood out of my mind.

  “This is the second time I’ve found you nearly asleep near water,” Ethan said. He’d taken off his shirt, his shoes, his belt. He wore only black trousers, the waistband framing the bricks of muscle across his abdomen, and just skirting the diagonal muscles that marked his hips.

  I opened my eyes, took the glass of wine he offered, its color as pale as light. “Not asleep,” I said, taking a sip. “Just trying to be somewhere else.”

  He lifted an eyebrow.

  “Not away from you,” I clarified. “Just away from that.”

  He nodded, brushed a lock of hair from my face. “There will be more questions, more demands. So let’s take tonight, Merit, just for ourselves. We may not have Paris, but we’ll at least have memories from our wedding night that don’t involve violence.”

  “That sounds good.”

  He turned off the water, then took my glass, setting both of them on the edge of the tub, then went to his knees in front of me.

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for a proposal,” I said, swallowing hard against rising lust. I didn’t have to fight that feeling—not with my husband, not tonight. But the lust was fueled by exhaustion, and I didn’t want to rush this. Not our first time as husband and wife.

  “It seems you have me on my knees, Sentinel,” he said, and ran his hands up one leg. My eyes closed instinctively, my head dropping back. I focused on the sensations of his hands on me, those long and skillful fingers provoking as they slipped, one inch at a time, up my thighs. He unclipped one stocking from the delicate lace garter that held it, skimmed the tips of his fingers against me.

  I looked down at him. “I’d say you’re tending me again, but I’m not sure that’s accurate.”

  He looked up at me, eyes silvered with emotions. “I have no tending in mind, Sentinel. I intend to make you desperate, and leave you breathless.”

  As if on cue—as if he mastered my body as well as my House—the breath shuddered out of me.

  He slipped down the second stocking, tossed it away as he had the first, and then slipped down the garter, fingers skimming my core. I had to reach out for balance as sensation threatened to topple me.

  He rose again, took my hand, placed it against his heart. “This beats for you, eternally.”

  I nodded, incapable of words, and slid my hand down his chest and abdomen, then found him rigid with arousal and want. He sucked in a breath.

  “Who’s breathless now?” I asked.

  His jaw clenched. “Maybe I should be on my knees again.”

  I smiled, unzipped his trousers, letting them fall to the floor. The silk boxers he wore beneath did little to camouflage his excitement.

  “Turn around,” he said, and I did, pulling my hair back from the bustier he hadn’t yet unfastened. He slipped one hook, then another, tossed the silk away, and pulled me hard against him, his hands roaming from ribs to breasts, cupping and teasing. He bent his head to my neck, teased with kisses and the hint of fangs that he well knew would drive me crazy.

  A bit more silk, and we were naked.

  “Water,” he said, and helped me into the pool-sized tub.

  The water was just shy of scalding, my favorite kind of bath. Lavender steam rose around us, tiny purple buds floating on the fragrant surface.

  He stepped in beside me, his long legs rippling the surface of the water. He’d rippled through my life. He sat down and pulled me toward him, long fingers gripped in my hair as he plundered my mouth, taking possession of body and soul. The water lapped my breasts, but I could hide nothing from him. He wouldn’t allow it.

  Not that I had anything to hide. He knew me better than anyone, better than everyone. Every inch of my body, every mote of bravery and fear. I wouldn’t claim knowledge of every mote of Ethan’s four hundred years, but I knew the truth of him. I knew the dark and light, understood his secret symphony. He belonged to me as much as I belonged to him.

  I settled my body atop his, harbored him, and felt his shuddering response.

  “Forever,” he said, the fingers in my hair still strong, still refusing to let go, as if he still needed to bind me to him.

  “Forever,” I whispered against his mouth, and rocked against him, the fragrant water lapping our bodies. The rhythm quickened, Ethan moving faster and deeper, teeth and tongue fighting a similar battle above the water, need quickening inside me like a tangible thing, the union of pleasure and pain and desire.

  “Go,” he said, and my body responded to the command like a soldier. I gripped his shoulders as my body bowed, contracted, heat and electricity pulsing like a live connection.

  “Yes,” he growled, his pride and satisfaction giving texture to the word, so it seemed to sharpen the air. “Forever,” he said as his body contracted, a sound of beautiful agony slipping from his lips.

  “Forever,” I said, and put my hands on his cheeks, pressed a soft kiss to his closed eyes, his lips. “Forever.”

  • • •

  The wedding had been beautiful. The reception had been great fun, at least until chaos had taken her turn with it. Making love for the first time as husband and wife had been sublime.

  And later, after love had been shown and proven and we’d wrestled our own demons, as dawn had begun grapp
ling at the horizon with her rose fingers, we were on the bed in clean pajamas, a room service spread between us, and bottles of Blood4You and Veuve Clicquot on ice nearby.

  “I understand the food at the reception was divine,” Ethan said, stretched on the bed beside me, scooping caviar onto a toast point. “Not that we had time to enjoy it.”

  Not being a fan of fish eggs, I scooped guacamole with a blue corn chip. “No, and I am starving. A wedding and mass mob will do that to a vampire.”

  “So I hear. I noticed Jonah and Margot dancing.”

  I nodded. “I’m trying to hook them up. I think they’d work well together.”

  He glanced up at me. “In my experience, playing matchmaker often backfires.”

  I snorted. “When did you last play matchmaker?”

  “Juliet and Morgan.”

  I stared at him, chip halfway to my mouth, then lowered it again. “You tried to set up Juliet and Morgan.” Morgan was finally coming into his own as Master of Navarre House, but even still, I couldn’t see him with our pixie guard and fearsome fighter.

  “‘Tried’ being the operative word,” Ethan said. “It didn’t take.” His voice was flat.

  “Well, of course not.” I frowned, trying to imagine sly Juliet with the previously passive-aggressive Morgan. “Oil and water.”

  “I don’t see why they should be. They’re both senior staff, in a manner of speaking. They’re both witty and intelligent people, Morgan more so now that he’s stepped out of Celina’s shadow.”

  “Wrong personalities. Wrong chemistry.”

  “There are some who’d say the same thing about us.”

  “And they’d be wrong,” I said with a smile, and bit into the chip. “I help keep your ego in check.”

  “I am a shy and retiring vampire,” he said, with not one bit of sincerity or believability. “And I keep you from running headlong into danger.”