by Хлоя Нейл
Scott made a low whistle. “This does not bode well. Not well at all.”
The room went silent. Morgan, surprisingly, kept quiet, but a glance in his direction showed an abnormally pale cast to his cheeks. His eyes were wide, his gaze intense and centered on the tabletop in front of him, as if he contemplated grave things. I supposed more crimes perpetrated by your former Master, the vampire that made you, were pretty grave things to contemplate.
“Well,” Papa Breck said, rising from his chair, “I believe that concludes this matter.”
Nick interrupted the silence. “Wait—I want to say something.”
We all looked in his direction.
“Chicago has three Houses,” he said. “More than any other city in the United States. It is where vampires announced their existence to the world, and it is becoming the center of vampire activity in the United States. Chicago is the locus, the focus, of American vampires.
“I know about the raves,” Nick continued, and the room went quiet enough to hear a pin drop. “Maybe you had an excuse before. When you were still in hiding, when vampires were myth and horror-movie fodder, maybe it was appropriate to pretend that raves were nothing more than the subject of some lonely human’s overactive imagination. But things have changed. This is your city. The Presidium knows it. The vampires know it. The nymphs know it. The fairies know it.
“Shifters know it,” he quietly, gravely, said, then lifted his blue eyes to mine. I don’t know exactly what I saw there; I’m not sure I have words for the emotion. But it was bottomless—a well of experience, of life, of love and loss. A wealth of human history, or maybe shifter history, and a resulting world-weariness, in the depth of it.
Nick rose and stood before the table, hands on his hips. “Clean up your goddamned city, or someone else will do it for you.”
With that pronouncement, he pushed back his chair and walked away. Papa Breck followed, the vampires silent until Luc had escorted them out of the room and the door was closed again.
Ethan put his palms flat on the table. “And with that,” he said, “I believe we’ve brought this particular crisis to its resolution.”
“I’m not sure how much resolution we’ve gotten,” Scott said, pushing his own chair back, rising, and returning it to its spot at the conference table. “I wasn’t ready to go a round with the Trib or with Tate, but this Celina news isn’t exactly comforting, either. I mean, nice work in getting this thing wrapped up so quickly, but I’d rather Peter had acted on his own.”
“Although I’d have preferred that Cadogan not serve as Celina’s recruiting ground,” Ethan darkly said, “I take your larger point. I would also propose that we stay in contact in the event that information regarding Celina’s return to Chicago—or any future schemes—comes to light.”
“Agreed,” Scott said.
“Agreed,” Noah said.
We all looked at Morgan. He still stared absently at the table, pain in his eyes. Maybe he’d finally taken to heart the truth about Celina—about the havoc she was apparently willing to wreak. That couldn’t have been an easy pill to swallow.
“Agreed,” he finally—and quietly—said.
Ethan rose and walked to the office door as the rest of the vampires did the same. He opened it, offered polite goodbyes to Noah, Scott, and Morgan, and when Luc, Malik, and I were left in the room, released us.
“I believe we’ve had enough drama for a few days,” Ethan said. “Take the night, enjoy your evening. We’ll speak at dusk tomorrow.”
Luc, Malik, and I grinned at one another, smiled at Ethan.
“Thanks, Hoss,” Luc said, and went for the door.
“What he said,” I offered with a canny smile, and followed him out.
I made it around the corner of the hall before Morgan called my name. He stood in the foyer, hands in his pockets, some mix of anger and defeat in his expression and his stance.
“Can we talk?”
I nodded, my stomach suddenly knotted in anticipation of the coming battle. He opened the door, and I followed him out. Mist rose from the streets, a cool breeze blowing through Hyde Park.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked when we’d reached the sidewalk, his voice awkwardly loud in the quiet of the night. “About the threat, the story? You could have come to me with any of this. You could have told me when we were at your parents’ house.”
I looked around, realized any vampire near the front windows would be able to hear our conversation, and took his wrist. I led him down the sidewalk and through the gate, then to the street corner, which was empty of paparazzi. Maybe they melted in the rain like so many wicked witches.
“I was acting as Sentinel,” I told him, when it seemed we were far enough from canny-eared vampires to afford some privacy. “This was Cadogan business.”
Morgan crossed his arms. “It was House business. We all had a right to know.”
“Right or not, that was Ethan’s call, not mine.”
“You stand Sentinel. You act in a manner that’s best for your House. And what’s best for your House is your determination, not Ethan’s.”
I didn’t disagree with the sentiment in principle, but I wasn’t about to admit that to Morgan.
“Even if it was my decision to make,” I said, “it was my decision, not yours. I understand this is information you would have liked to have, but that’s not my problem. I don’t stand Sentinel for Navarre House.”
“Oh, I think we’re all real clear on that, Merit.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “It’s pretty obvious where your loyalties lie.”
I was tired of taking hits for the team, so I hit back. “And your loyalties didn’t lie with Celina?”
A flush of crimson crossed his cheekbones.
“Look me in the eye and tell me your Master didn’t make decisions that involved ‘House business.’ And if you knew anything, about what she’s done or how completely off her rocker she is, you sure didn’t share that with the rest of us.”
He glowered. “I knew nothing that would have put anyone in danger. I did what I thought was best.”
“And I did what I thought was best.”
“Yeah, by acquiescing to Ethan.”
I rolled my eyes. “Jesus, Morgan. He’s the Master of my House. What do you want me to do? Start a rebellion? If you were having this conversation with one of your Novitiates about disobeying your orders, would you still suborn mutiny?”
Morgan shook his head. “This is completely different.”
It was my turn to snort out disdain, and I threw up my hands, fueled by sheer irritation with the conversation. “How is that different?”
This time, he answered with fury, in loud, angry words. “Because it’s Ethan, Merit—that’s why!”
Thunder boomed in the distance, a bolt of spectacular lightning zigzagging its way across the sky.
I stared at him, felt the responsive trip of my own heart, and saw the sudden narrowing of his pupils. “He’s my Master. And I know what you think. You’ve made clear what you think.” It’s what everyone thinks, I silently added. “But he’s my Master, my boss, my employer. Period.”
Morgan shook his head, looked away. “You’re naïve.”
I closed my eyes, put my hands on my hips, and tried counting to ten so as not to commit vampiricide here on the nice sidewalk the city of Chicago worked so hard to keep free of ash. “Do you not think I’m capable of judging for myself if I’m having a relationship with someone?”
He turned back to me again, and looked at me with eyes that pulsed, for a moment, silver at the edges. “Frankly, Merit, no.”
I missed the subtext, the fact that he’d circled back around to us, and answered with sarcasm, irony. “What do you want me to say, since you aren’t going to believe what I tell you? That I’m in love with him? That we’re going to be married and start pumping out vampire children?”
“Vampires can’t have children,” was the only thing he said, and the flatness of his voice—and the fact
that I hadn’t yet considered the impact of the change on my becoming a mother—sucked the wind from my sails. Deflated, I looked at the ground, and when another peal of thunder rolled across Hyde Park, I wrapped my arms around myself.
“What are we doing, Merit?”
I blinked, looked up at him. “You were insulting me because you think I mishandled House business.”
Morgan’s expression didn’t change, but his voice softened. “That’s not what I meant.” He uncrossed his arms, stuck his hands in his pockets. “I meant us. What are we doing?”
I found I couldn’t answer him.
As if on cue, the rain began to fall again, began to pour in sheets, a silvery curtain that mirrored the emotional barrier between us. The rain came hard and fast, and soaked us in seconds.
I didn’t have an answer for his question, and he didn’t speak, so we stood there, silently together, our hair matted by water, raindrops trickling down our faces.
Drops clung to Morgan’s lashes, and the shine of the water seemed to sharpen his already sculpted cheekbones. Hair plastered to his head, he looked, I thought, like an ancient warrior who’d been caught in a storm, maybe after the fall of some final enemy in battle.
Except, in this case, the last warrior standing looked . . . defeated.
Minutes passed while we stood there in the rain, silently facing each other.
“I don’t know?” I finally said, trying to give the words the cant of apology.
Morgan closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he wore an expression of grim resolution. “Do you want me?”
I swallowed, stared at him with eyes I knew were wide and remorseful, and hated myself for not being able to answer with all the conviction I knew he deserved, “My God, yes, I want you.” I opened my mouth to give a pat response, then closed it again, deciding to honestly consider the question.
I wanted what most people wanted—love, companionship.
I wanted someone to touch. I wanted someone to touch me back.
I wanted someone to laugh with, someone who would laugh with me, laugh at me.
I wanted someone who looked and saw me. Not my power, not my position.
I wanted someone to say my name. To call out, “Merit,” when it was time to go, or when we arrived. Someone who wanted to say to someone else, with pride, “I’m here with her. With Merit.”
I wanted all those things. Indivisibly.
But I didn’t want them from Morgan. Not now. Maybe it was too soon after my conversion to vampire to try a relationship; maybe it would never be the right time for us. I didn’t know the why of it, but I knew I didn’t feel the kind of emotions I ought to have.
I didn’t want to fail him, but I couldn’t lie to him. So I answered, quietly, “I want to want you.”
It was as insulting a cop-out answer as I’d ever heard, and it had fallen from my own inconstant lips.
“Jesus Christ, Merit,” he muttered. “Way to be equivocal.” He shook his head, rain streaking down his face, and stared at the ground for what felt like an eternity. Then he lifted his gaze and blinked water from narrowed blue eyes.
“I deserve a better answer than that. Maybe you’re not the one that can give it to me, but I deserve a better answer.”
“Why would you want more from me? You don’t even trust me.”
“I could have trusted you, if you’d trusted me a little.”
“You blackmailed me into dating you.”
“Fine, Merit. Fine. Let’s just call it what it is, right?” He gave me one last look of mild disgust, then turned away. I let him go, watched him walk down the sidewalk and through the rain until he disappeared into the mist of it.
I don’t know how long I stood there in the middle of the street, rain streaming down my face, wondering what I’d done, how I’d managed to screw up the first potentially real relationship I’d had in years. But what could I do? I couldn’t feign emotions I didn’t feel, and I wasn’t naïve enough to deny the connection between me and Ethan, even if we both regretted the attraction. Ethan had kissed me, had wanted to kiss me, and I had allowed it. Whatever I felt for Morgan, however much I enjoyed his company, the pull just wasn’t the same.
Regrettably.
The rain slowed, then dissipated, mist clouding the neighborhood. I pushed the wet hair from my eyes and was preparing to turn back for the House when I heard it.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
The sound of heels on concrete.
CHAPTER 23
HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT
I turned quickly, but didn’t need to change position to know what was coming. Who was coming. The goose bumps on my arms, the uncomfortable prickle at the back of my neck, were warning enough.
The scene played out like a Bogart film. She looked as glamorous as I’d ever seen her, lithe body tucked into a pair of black wide-legged pants and a black cap-sleeved top, her wavy black hair in soft curls across her shoulders. But while she might have channeled Katharine Hepburn aesthetically, I knew who she really was, the nihilistic core of her.
She strode toward me with feline grace, heels clicking on the wet asphalt, gleaming in the light of the overhead streetlamps.
I swallowed, fear and adrenaline tripping my heart into a quick, staccato beat, and gripped the scabbard at my side.
“I could have you before you unsheathed it,” she warned.
I forced myself to keep my chin up, my body flexed and ready in case she moved. It took every ounce of strength I had not to recoil, not to take a step backward, not to run away. I couldn’t have been less confident, there in the dark, the Cadogan gate a block away. So I bluffed.
“Maybe,” I said, giving her a small smile. “Maybe not. What do you want?”
She tilted her head at me, tucking one hand around her side, one hip cocked. She had the look of a supermodel feigning confusion, or a mildly intrigued vampire. It was pretty much the same expression. “You haven’t quite figured it out yet, have you?”
I arched a brow at her, and she chuckled in response, the sound low and throaty. “I don’t think I’ll tell you. I think I’ll let you figure it out. But I’ll enjoy it when the time comes.” She suddenly snapped to attention, hands at her hips, chin thrust forward. A look of control and defiance. “And the time will come.”
Celina did love to talk, to wax prophetic. Maybe she’d give me something I could use, something that would hint at her larger plans, something I could pass along to Ethan and Luc, so I asked the follow-up. “The time? For what?”
“You took Navarre from me. All of it, all of them, from me. Certainly, there are benefits—to take a House from a Master, a Presidium member, it’s hardly done. That gained me no little bit of sympathy. So thank you, pet, for that. Nevertheless, Navarre was mine, bricks and mortar, blood and bone. You take from me, I take from you.”
“Is that why you set Peter up?” I asked. “Because you’re pissed that your plan to take over the Chicago Houses didn’t quite pan out? You figured starting a world war between shifters and vampires was the next best thing?”
She smiled coyly. “Oh, I do like you, Merit. I like your . . . moxie. But the war wouldn’t just be between shifters and vampires, would it? It was Cadogan House that threatened the Breckenridge boy. The war would be between Nicholas and Ethan. Between the old lover and the new, yes?”
I nearly growled at her.
“At any rate,” she said, “two of Chicago’s Houses would remain uninvolved. Untainted by the scandal. Grey House. Navarre House.”
Celina reached up and fingered a thin gold chain around her neck. Moonlight glinted off the disk of gold that hung from it.
My stomach tightened.
It was a House medal. A shiny new pendant to replace the one taken from her by the GP.
“Where’d you get the medal, Celina?”
She smiled evilly and rubbed the medal like she expected a genie to pop out.
“Let’
s not be naïve, Merit. Where do you think I got it? Or perhaps I should ask, from whom?”
I suddenly had a little less sympathy for Navarre’s new Master.
Celina may have kept her sway over his House, but I’d be damned if she poisoned mine. “You’ve made your play, Celina, twice now, and you lost. Learn your lesson—stay away from Cadogan House.”
“Just the House, Merit? Or its Master as well?”
I felt the blush rise along my cheekbones.
She blinked at me, and her eyes—and smile—grew wide. She laughed with obvious delight. “Oh, I had no idea my luck would be that good. Are you sleeping with him, or just lusting after him? And let’s not feign misunderstanding, Sentinel. I meant the one you want, not the one you have.” She looked up, her expression thoughtful. “Or maybe the one you lost, if I learned anything from that last little scene.”
“You’re hallucinating,” I said, but my stomach knotted. She’d been there, had watched Morgan and me fight. Had he set this up? Had he asked to talk to me outside in order to get me out here where she could find me?
Celina looked me over, head to toe, an appraisal. She’d kept her glamour in check, but I felt the slinky tendrils of it branching out, testing. “You’re not his type, I hear. Ethan does prefer blondes.” She cocked her head to the side. “Or redheads, I suppose. But I guess you know all about that. I hear you were a firsthand witness to his . . . prowess?” She looked at me thoughtfully, apparently expecting an honest appraisal.
She was right—I had been a witness to his “prowess,” having inadvertently walked in while Ethan was servicing Amber. But I wasn’t about to share that information with her. “I couldn’t care less who or what he prefers.”
“Mmm-hmm. Does that self-righteous anger keep you warm at night?”
I knew she was baiting me. Of course she was baiting me. Unfortunately, she’d picked the right bait, the conversation I was sick of having, the accusations I was sick of defending against. I could feel my blood begin to warm, the vampire I’d so carefully, cautiously, forced down peeking through, wondering at the worry, the adrenaline that woke her from sleep. My breathing quickened, and I knew my eyes had silvered. My fangs descended, and I let them.