Biting Bad (Chicagoland Vampires #8)

Biting Bad (Chicagoland Vampires #8) Page 6

WE BUILT THIS CITY ON TYPE AB

"I don't know what that means," I told Jonah.

"It means, according to the GP - and therefore every vampire under the GP's control - you're the enemy. And you're to be treated like an enemy by the GP and every vampire under the GP's control."

Ethan had warned me once, before we'd considered leaving the GP, that they wouldn't take our leaving lightly. They suffered from a strong case of "if you aren't with us, you're against us."

"That's why my text to you bounced?"

"Yeah. We aren't supposed to talk to you," Jonah said. "Interact with you. Be seen with you. We do, and we get charged with treason."

I sat down in my chair again and found all eyes on me, phone pressed to my ear.

"I'm guessing that's bad," I said.

"The GP has feudal roots," Jonah said. "The punishments for treason are equally feudal."

I'd researched medieval torture in grad school. Some of the methods were exaggerated, but some of them were very real and very painful. Metal spikes figured in surprisingly often.

"The GP wouldn't do this without a plan," I said. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure. Scott just got the call a few hours ago."

That explained why we'd suddenly gone from a training session to rejected text messages.

"You're going to talk to your friend who likes donuts?" I asked.

That secret friend was Lakshmi Rao, a member of the GP, and a friend of the RG. She also had a crush on Jonah, which made her an unusually strong ally. I'd met her in a donut shop in downtown Chicago.

"I am, if I can reach her. She's been quiet recently. I think Michael Donovan scared her."

Along with Darius West, the GP's head, Lakshmi had been one of Michael Donovan's near successes. We'd managed to find her alive, but it had been a close call, and the experience must have been jarring, especially for a GP vampire who probably believed herself generally immune to threats.

"Sit tight," Jonah said. "Even if Scott has to let this stand, the RG doesn't. I'll use burn phones to contact you, or I'll reach you through the RG. Just don't tell Darius. And keep a lookout. If the GP is going formal with this enemy-of-the-state business, there's no telling what they'll do."

"Okay," I said. "Be careful out there. And, hey, just in case, keep a lookout for a human named Robin Pope."

"Who's she?"

"We aren't sure. But possibly involved with the riot. She had a grievance against Bryant Industries."

"Noted. Thanks for the tip."

With that, he ended the call. For a moment, I stared at the phone in my hands, unsure how to break the news to Ethan and the others. I didn't look forward to advising them the GP was attempting to screw us again, and by a tactic we'd seen before - shrinking the ranks of our friends and allies.

Damn, I thought. But I sucked it up.

I put the phone on the table and looked up at Ethan.

"Merit?" he asked.

"We've been blacklisted by the GP."

The room went completely silent, at least until Ethan and Luc let loose a slurry of creative and invective-filled curses. Some were in English; some were in Swedish, Ethan's native tongue. And some made me wince.

"Since when?" Ethan asked.

"Tonight," I said. "That was a friend from Grey House." Although I trusted the vampires in the room, there was no need to give out Jonah's name, not when medieval torture was a possibility. "He doesn't know the impetus, just that the decision's been made."

"Since Darius was pleased we saved his life, I suspect the impetus is Harold Monmonth," Ethan said.

Harold Monmonth was a swarthy and smarmy example of a vampire, a man who treated humans as if they were disposable. He'd also previously attempted to steal a fairy artifact from our House to motivate them to attack us. I was the obstacle between his "attempted" and "accomplished," although we'd eventually turned the artifact over to the fairies anyway. He was untrustworthy and manipulative, and it wasn't hard to imagine he wanted to punish us for standing in his way.

"Scott believes factions are forming within the GP. Darius and his allies on one side . . . Harold Monmonth and his allies on the other."

"Your call earlier?" I asked, and Ethan nodded.

"Although neither mentioned a blacklist," he said with a frown. "This must have come down just after."

"That's not entirely surprising, given what we know about Monmonth," Luc said. "Although he probably cares less about whether Darius is or isn't capable of managing the GP than what he could get out of it."

"I would imagine you're right. Unfortunately, while I have no love for Darius, Harold is a worse option, particularly for humans, which means also for vampires. Harold Monmonth also isn't the type to believe vampires should have free will. If he ends up in charge of the GP, I doubt he'll see our independence favorably."

"So, exactly what does this mean for us?" I asked. I was pretty sure blacklisting a House hadn't been mentioned in the Canon. I wasn't sure if that was because the action was rare, or too awful, to merit a mention.

"It is intended to create a clear dividing line," Ethan said, tracing a line on the table with his fingertip. "GP Houses on one side. The blacklisted on the other. We are not merely apart from the GP; we are its enemy. It will be the American Revolution in reverse."

Just as Jonah had suggested. "So he's right - they'll punish anyone who talks to us?"

"Or does business with us, visits us, et cetera," Ethan said.

"To what end?" Juliet asked.

"Proving their mettle," Ethan said. "Demonstrating the GP is a force to be reckoned with. And for Harold Monmonth, flexing his power as a GP member, and proving he is the unqualified heir to that particular throne."

Luc clucked his tongue. "Every time you think you're out, they pull you back in, eh?"

Ethan looked at him blankly.

"It's from The Godfather. I'm paraphrasing."

"Is that a movie?"

"Seriously? The Godfather? Marlon Brando? Al Pacino?"

When Ethan shook his head again, Lindsey whistled. Luc was a bona fide movie buff, and The Godfather was often at the top of any movie buff's list. Given the look of utter shock and insult on Luc's face, I guessed his list was typical. We all needed our hobbies; Luc had definitely found his.

"That's a damn shame," Luc said, then looked at me. "Sentinel, I command you to host a movie night during which we educate this man on cinema classics - "

"I think Luc's point is," I interrupted, glancing at Ethan, "you thought you were out of GP politics, and you just got sucked back in."

"So it seems," Ethan said.

"What do you want to do, boss?"

Ethan checked his watch. "Tonight, very little. The sun is nearly on the rise. Go upstairs, sleep, and we'll try again tomorrow."

With the boss's permission, we quickly dispersed.

-

The Cadogan Master's apartments consisted of three rooms - a sitting room, a bedroom, and a bath. Four rooms if you counted Ethan's closet. Since the closet was bigger than my dorm room on the second floor, I counted it.

When we returned, we were greeted by soft lighting and the hum of a cello. Candles were lit, two bottles of water and a small box of chocolates were on Ethan's writing desk, courtesy of Margot, and the apartments smelled of gardenias and bergamot.

"I am glad to be home," I said, putting my katana on a table near the door and unzipping my boots.

"Before you leave a trail of clothing across the apartments and fall face-first into bed, you might wish to check the bath," Ethan said, taking off his suit jacket.

I ignored the insult and focused on the intriguing bit. "The bath?"

He gestured mysteriously toward the bathroom, so I made my way, pulling off one boot, then the other, hopping along the way.

The Master's bathroom was as luxe as the rest of the apartment, with a marble floor and vanities that looked more like furniture. A giant soaking tub sat in one corner, and tonight, it bore a surprise.

A bath had been drawn, the water steaming and scented, and full of bubbles. Small candles were lit around the room, bouncing circles of light across the ceiling.

My muscles sagged in relief.

"What's all this?" I asked, at the sound of footsteps behind me.

Ethan pulled the leather jacket from my shoulders. "You had a bit of an evening. I thought you could use a break."

I glanced back at him suspiciously. I didn't mean to question his motives, but in my experience a candlelit bath wasn't Ethan's usual method of coping when I'd been in a dangerous situation. He typically preferred a lecture about my having gotten into danger in the first place. In this case, of course, I'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Merit, I can all but see the gears turning."

"Sorry. This is just . . . unexpected. Very unexpected."

Ethan smiled, lips curving with sultry appeal. "On occasion, the unexpected is precisely what the doctor ordered. Or so the humans say."

"Since you, being immortal, have no need of doctors?"

"Precisely." He'd already kicked off his shoes, and he began rolling up his shirtsleeves.

"Are you joining me?" I wondered aloud.

"Patience, Sentinel. First, the bath. Then, the after."

I couldn't help but wonder about the "after."

Ethan stepped forward, and without preface, gripped my sweater by its hem.

"Arms up," he said, and when I obliged, he pulled the sweater over my head. He tossed it away, then centered his gaze on the silk and satin that covered my breasts, his lips widening in masculine appreciation.

"Patience, Sullivan," I said with a smile, and he growled out his objection. Ethan reached out and put his hands on my waist, sending goose bumps up my arms and a warm tendril of heat through my abdomen.

He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me, smelling of soap and spicy cologne, and my limbs tensed and relaxed at the same time. Ethan knotted his fingers in my hair, his tongue tangling with mine, turning up the intensity of the kiss until I was utterly relaxed - and taut like a bowstring. He put me there, at the knife's edge of tension, which was undoubtedly exactly his plan.

Ethan Sullivan rarely did anything without a plan.

He cupped my silk-covered breast in one hand, and my lips parted. His deft fingers unsnapped the buttons on my jeans, and my core went liquid from wanting.

How was it possible, I wondered, to want someone so much? To feel suddenly empty . . . and yet full of longing?

Without words, he pushed the jeans from my hips, and they pooled in a heap on the floor. His eyes burning like green fire, Ethan wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against the length of his body. He was still clothed, but that was no obstacle to his impressive arousal, which had vaulted between us.

As he kissed me again, I took advantage, arousing him through the slick fabric of his trousers until he pulled away, silver eyed and fanged. His hair had loosened, spilling spun gold around his face. The sight of him - aroused and predatory, all pretensions gone - was nearly too much to bear.

Ethan wet his lips. "I promised a bath."

"There's room for two."

He smiled wickedly. "Let's test that theory, Sentinel." He didn't bother with buttons, but pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his flat stomach and rigid abdominals, a chest that begged for touch, for fingertips drifting across curves and planes of skin.

His belt hit the floor, followed by his trousers. And then, wearing silk and cotton, we stood together in the steam, staring at each other, the heavy weight of anticipation between us.

"You first," he said, his feet planted, crossing his arms like a pirate on the swaying deck of a ship of the line.

I could just see the edge of the tattoo that marked the back of Ethan's calf. It was black script, words in a language I didn't recognize, and he'd been demurring an explanation for some time. It seemed unlikely he'd explain it now, and I wasn't about to waste time with unnecessary words or arguments I couldn't win.

I opted instead for a winning move. Playing coy, I turned my back to him, glancing over my shoulder as I freed my breasts.

"Playing the wicked Sentinel this evening, are we?"

"I'm always wicked. But most of the time, I hide it very, very well."

If vampirism had taught me nothing else, it was how to bluff when the time was right.

I removed the rest of the lingerie, giving him a good long look at my body before I dipped a toe into the bath water.

The heat was just shy of excessive, and utterly delicious. I closed my eyes for just a second as the heat sent a delicious shudder through my limbs. Before I opened them again, Ethan was behind me, utterly naked and aroused, his body pressed against mine.

He pressed his lips to my neck, to the spot that I'd sworn was more sensitive than any other on my body, as if vampires had been blessed by an additional erogenous zone, and cupped my breasts in his hands.

His fingers, long and nimble, toyed and teased until I was nearly breathless. But then he was gone, leaving my body cold again. In shock, I glanced behind me, and found his gaze, teasing and tempting.

"Now who's wicked?" he asked.

I humphed and sunk into the bath, the vessel large and deep enough that I could have almost swum to the other side. I found a perch in the corner and crooked a finger at him.

Ethan, smiling his pirate's smile, stepped in, steam rising around his naked body as if the water itself were aflame. Before a second had passed, he disappeared beneath the water, then rose again like an ancient god, skin damp and muscles taut.

Ethan had given me breath, and now he took it away again.

He moved toward me, eyes silver and shining, and captured my waist, pulling me toward him. He engulfed me in a kiss, magic rising as passion grew between us. Ethan wasted no time, claiming me as his own, claiming my body as his. He attacked with passion, using his body as a weapon - the long fingers that roused me to the line between pain and pleasure, the lips that tortured and tempted, the eyes that watched as he pushed me higher, until my body was aflame and pleasure blossomed through me.

I screamed his name, but Ethan didn't concede the victory. He pushed farther, twined my legs around his waist, burying himself inside me, and dropping his head to the nape of my neck to stifle his guttural moan.

"Merit," he whispered, teeth against my sensitive skin.

Ethan found his rhythm, challenging me to rise again, to give up rational thought for feeling, for pure and unbound sensation.

His speed quickened, his breath hitching, his fingers clenched in my skin as he sought his own pleasure, my name on his lips when he found it, grasping me like he couldn't bear to let go again.

For a moment, time stopped, and we lay together in the bath, candlelight dancing around us. And then I was airborne as Ethan lifted me from the water. He wrapped me in satin, heat steaming from our bodies, my eyes wide, my skin passion-flushed.

He placed me on the bed and tucked me into the cloud of soft and cool sheets, then lay down beside me. We held hands as the sun rose, pushing us under.

-

When the sun rose, we fell asleep in sensual bliss.

But when the sun fell again, we awoke in sloppy abandon.

We lay on our backs, sprawled sideways across the bed. The blankets were tangled around Ethan's feet, and I'd slept with a hand across his face.

Ethan nibbled at my finger to wake me. I pulled my hand back, lest it become vampire breakfast. "Sorry about that. I was out."

"Evidently," he said, sitting up and arching an eyebrow at our positions. "Did we wrestle during the day?"

"Not that I recall," I said, reaching over to pick up pillows from the floor. "Maybe we're having day terrors."

"God forbid," Ethan said. "The night terrors are bad enough."

"Speaking of," I said, "any riot developments while we were asleep?"

Ethan groaned. "To business already, Sentinel? So much for, 'Good morning, Liege. I love you, Liege.'" He managed a remarkably bad imitation of my voice, then feigned sweeping hair over his shoulder.

"I don't do that."

"You do," he said, grinning. "But my larger point still stands."

I rolled my eyes but sat up, sheet strategically around my breasts, and smiled at him. "Good morning, Liege," I said in a husky voice. "I love you, Liege."

"That's more like it," he said, then snatched up his phone from the nightstand and scanned it. He might not have appreciated the abrupt change of subject, but he knew my question was a legit one.

"Nothing new," he answered after a moment. "They're still cleaning up Wicker Park. There should be plenty for you to peruse tonight."

"Fortunate for the rioters they didn't make their way to Little Red. That wouldn't have gone well for them with Gabriel in residence."

"I imagine you're right," Ethan said. "The shifters avoid drama when they can, but they are not afraid to face a foe head-on. It would have been bad for the humans and, in the aftermath, the Pack. Violence, in my experience, only begets more violence."

I picked up his free hand and ran a finger over his knuckles, noting the scars that mottled the skin there. Ethan had been a soldier in his human life, and the scars might have come from his military service. As quickly as we healed, some scars remained. The pucker on his chest where a stake had punctured his heart was evidence of that.

"Is the city heading toward something?" I wondered aloud.

He stilled. "You feel it, too?"

His response shocked and scared me. He was supposed to say my question was silly. Overreactive, even. That he didn't dismiss the feeling only validated it, and I found I didn't want my paranoia to be validated.

"It feels like things are building to a head," he said. "The pressure rising. I don't know when the inevitable explosion will occur, and I'm not sure who will be involved, but there seems little doubt the violence will continue to rise. We have asked humans to put up with much. Celina. Tate. Mallory. And they've demonstrated they will not go gently into that good night forever."

"They certainly weren't going gently in Wicker Park last night."

"No," he agreed. "And perhaps we are being overly pessimistic. Perhaps Wicker Park was an isolated incident. Perhaps the tide has not turned completely, and will not turn at all. But if it does . . ."

He didn't finish the thought, which didn't need finishing at any rate. Humans had a long and bloodied history of destroying perceived enemies, even if the perception was only that.

"I hate to bring up another unpleasant subject," he said, "but there's an administrative matter we should attend to."

"Administrative?"

Ethan reached out and pulled a cream linen envelope from his nightstand. "I didn't want to mention this last night, given what you'd been through." He handed the envelope to me. "Open it."

Curious, but also nervous - he was building this up quite a bit - I slid a finger beneath the envelope's flap and pulled out a card in the same thick, cream-colored stock.

It was an invitation to dinner at my parents' house.

For both of us.

I made a low whistle. My family and I weren't close, owing largely to the tense relationship between my father and me. He was controlling and manipulative; I was the rebel daughter he hadn't quite wanted. He was also the reason, at least indirectly, that I'd been made a vampire, and without my consent.

On the other hand, I'd promised my father that I'd visit my older brother, Robert, and it would be nice to see my sister, Charlotte, and her brood again.

Still. Dinner at my parents' house? With Ethan? That would mean a lot of Merit eyes on our relationship.

Ethan, who'd been silent while I mulled over the invite, tapped it with a finger. "What do you think?"

"I'm not entirely sure." I glanced over at him. "Dinner at my parents' would be two hours of pure and unmitigated discomfort."

"Because you and your father have a history?"

"And because they'll probably spend the evening dissecting our relationship."

"I believe that only makes them human, darling."

"And it would be formal," I added, pointing for emphasis. "With fancy food and cocktail attire. We'd have to use salad forks."

"Instead of eating a sandwich out of a napkin, you mean?"

I elbowed him but smiled. I hadn't exactly adopted my family's formalisms. I appreciated the advantages I'd had growing up as a Merit in Chicago, but unlike Charlotte and Robert, I'd found the lifestyle - and the strictures of wealth - completely stifling. Pumas and jeans and Chicago red hots were much more my style than Emily Post manners and crystal goblets.

"I'm unfussy," I said.

"I know. And I appreciate that about you. But try as you might, you cannot choose your family or give them back. I think we should do it."

"I don't know."

"You could wear a cocktail dress."

"You're not selling this very well."

"I could remove the cocktail dress afterward as a reward for good behavior."

I paused. "You're getting warmer."

"I'll throw in a sneak peak at the new House pendants."

I sat up. "They're done?"

"They are. And they're quite lovely."

Now that was an interesting offer. When we left the GP, we'd turned in our House medals, the gold pendants that provided our House position and number. They were the equivalent of vampiric dog tags, and I felt naked without one. (Granted, I had an inadvertent backup copy in the bottom of a drawer, but since I couldn't let anyone else know it existed, much less wear it, it didn't really count.)

Ethan had promised us a replacement, something to mark our House membership, even if we were no longer members of the GP. He and Malik, his second in command, had been researching and pricing options, but they hadn't yet announced their decision. And he was offering to let me be the first to see? Granted, I'd get to see the pendants eventually, but as he well knew, I was not a patient person.

"Throw in a box of Mallocakes and you've got a deal."

Ethan arched an eyebrow. "Mallocakes? That's the best you can do?"

Mallocakes were a favorite snack cake. "World peace is out, Gabriel probably won't let you buy Moneypenny for me, and I've already got these sweet digs."

"Moneypenny?" Ethan's lips twisted in amusement.

"She looks like a James Bond car. I think it's only appropriate that she get a James Bond name."

"Notwithstanding that, you're correct. I cannot give you, ahem, Moneypenny. But a box of Mallocakes is a manageable deal."

"When is this nightmare supposed to occur?" I asked, glancing back at the invitation. "Oh good. Tomorrow. So I have plenty of time to emotionally prepare."

Ethan ignored that. "Shall I arrange for a dress?"

"I can dress myself."

He gave me a flat look.

I punched him in the arm, deservedly. "I can dress myself," I reiterated. "But we also know that you're unusually good at picking out formalwear." He'd arranged dresses for me - all in classic Cadogan black - on other occasions, when he still doubted I was mature enough to select an appropriately formal ensemble for a fancy party. This for a girl who'd had an official coming out and debutante ball.

"I believe the word you used was 'stodgy.'"

"And I meant it," I said with a grin, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I'm getting up. Feel free to ask Margot to bring up breakfast. Croissants? Crepes? Cafe Americano?" I suggested, with exaggerated accents.

"You are officially spoiled."

"I prefer to think of it as honoring the system."

Ethan laughed, and loudly. "That was unusually politic."

I faked a look of dismay. "Maybe we've been spending too much time together."

He pinched my waist, which made me yelp.

"Kidding," I said. "Kidding. I clearly could do no better than to learn from your fine example of what it is to be a vampire."

"I don't like where this is going."

"An earnest vampire," I said, continuing to spread the love. "A leader of vampires. And one, perhaps, that is open to unusual arrangements."

"What do you want, Merit?"

"So, while we're discussing uncomfortable things, I had an unusual conversation with Mallory."

He looked at me, clearly waiting for the shoe to drop.

"She wants to work for Cadogan House."

Ethan stiffened. "No."

"I know," I said, holding out my hands in detente. "I know. It's worrisome. I'm only passing the idea along. That said, we'd be able to keep an eye on her, and we're still looking for guards."

"No," he repeated, just as firmly.

"I'm not going to mention you said that. Not until we can give her an alternative idea." I climbed off the bed and glanced back at him. "At some point, the shifters will be done with their intern, and the Order has proved they can't handle her. We need a backup plan."

Ethan scrubbed his hands over his face. "I hate it when you're right."

I bit back a grin that only would have gotten me into trouble, and let my mouth do it for me. "Then you must hate me often."

I disappeared into the bathroom before Ethan could throttle me.

-

The bathroom, like the bedroom, was a bit of a shambles. I picked up clothes from the floor before getting dressed for the night, brushing my fangs like a good little Sentinel, and ensuring my weapons - my thirty-two-inch-long tempered-steel katana and the smaller, double-edged dagger Ethan had given me - were clean and ready for battle.

Not that I planned on a battle, but since a visit to a crime scene was on my agenda, I was damn well going to keep my weapons in good shape.

The bedroom was empty, but the croissants had been stocked, by the time I was dressed and armed. I grabbed a pastry and nibbled the edge while I checked my phone for messages from Jeff, Catcher, or Jonah.

I had no messages, but the phone was bristling with warnings and alerts from Luc's newest invention - an app that sent House notifications and updates for news around the city.

Most of the notifications were mundane - information about House deliveries and visitors, traffic snarls, and weather reports. But tonight there was another little reminder - a news flash sent out by the Sun-Times reminding readers that the Office of Human Liaisons was hosting its first town hall meeting tonight at the Marquesa Theater.

Now that was intriguing. The Marquesa was in Lincoln Park, a neighborhood on the north side of Chicago. It also wasn't terribly far from Wicker Park and the crime scene I'd be visiting.

My phone beeped again, and I found a text message from Catcher: VISIT TO ROBIN POPE, THEN BRYANT INDUSTRIES?

I guessed Jeff had declined to play escort, and Catcher had taken up the standard.

I passed the phone back and forth in my hands, considering my options. I definitely wanted to talk to Robin Pope about Bryant Industries and the riots. I also wanted to visit Bryant Industries and take a look at the destruction myself.

But there was also another stop I wanted to make, a conversation I wanted to have with a man who'd caused plenty of pain and suffering to Chicago vampires.

SURE, I responded to Catcher. MEET IN 1 HOUR?

I figured I didn't need much time at the Marquesa Theater. Maybe just long enough to put in an appearance, and remind him we were watching.

Catcher texted me Pope's address, and he agreed to meet me there in an hour.

With Catcher on my mind, I sent a message to Mallory: EVERYTHING OK, BLUE HAIR?

I waited for a moment for her to answer, but smiled when she did.

GABRIEL POUTING, BUT HAIR STILL BLUE, she reported.

She'd be fine, I decided. At least until she could find a route out of Shifterville.

When I was dressed and armed, I walked down to the first floor and advised Luc and Ethan I was heading out for my site visits. I also gave Luc Robin Pope's address, just in case of an emergency that I hoped wouldn't arise.

I walked to the front door, nearly forgetting my Volvo replacement wasn't parked on the street, but was tucked into its basement space.

Its warm and snow- and ice-free basement space.

That was yet another bit of high living I could definitely get used to.