Wild Things (Chicagoland Vampires #9)

Wild Things (Chicagoland Vampires #9) Page 36

“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.