by Chloe Neill
Our movements became more frantic, more desperate, as we climbed higher, grew closer, breathed faster. His thrusts deepened and he pulled away from my neck, groaning as he reached his ascent.
The sound—deep and primal—sent me over the edge, and I followed him over the top.
• • •
For several minutes—or maybe a few hours; I wasn’t really in a position to calculate—we lay together, naked and sweaty, on the top of the library table.
“He is going to lose his mind about this,” Ethan said, humor in his voice.
There was no need to ask which “he” Ethan meant. “Probably so. You’ll have to increase his budget.”
“Trust me, Sentinel. He wants for nothing.” Carefully, he climbed off the table, then offered a hand to help me up.
I had to sit on the edge of the table for the few seconds until my head stopped spinning. “I’m glad to hear it. It’s one of my”—I couldn’t help snorting—“favorite rooms in the House.”
“Well, now, certainly.”
Standing in front of the table, Ethan put his hands on his hips. And there, naked in his House and the library he’d built for it, he surveyed his demesne. “It’s very freeing, standing here naked in my library.”
“I imagine it would be. And you’ve earned it, given how much you apparently pay for it.” I hopped off the table, but kept a hand on the edge just in case my knees wobbled, and began collecting my clothes.
“Oh, I’ve earned it,” he said with a salacious grin. “Shall I earn it again?”
I put a hand on his chest. “I love you. I do. But we’re twenty minutes from dawn, and I would kick you in the shin to get to a shower right now.”
He shook his head. “And so our romance begins to fade, even before the afterglow has worn off.”
I pulled on pants and a shirt, nodded toward the windows. “We don’t get out of here soon, we’re going to experience an entirely new variety of ‘afterglow.’ And we won’t survive that one.”
“Eternally romantic,” Ethan said, but began pulling on his clothes.
When we’d dressed—or enough to make the trip up one flight of stairs and down the hallway—Ethan turned off the lights, and we left the library in darkness.
We left the books to rest, and went to find darkness of our own.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BED OF ROSES
When I woke, I found Ethan standing near the desk, staring at me. His body was tensed like that of a soldier preparing for battle, his expression was ice-cold, and a chilly wash of magic had coated the air.
He lifted his hand, held up a small, slightly crumpled piece of paper.
Shit, I thought as recognition dawned.
“Sentinel.” Every syllable was as crisp as his tone, each sound tipped with anger. “What, exactly, is this?”
It was the note from Reed, the one I’d crumpled and thrown into the trash—or thought I had. I must have missed. Ethan had seen it, picked it up, and definitely read it.
“And more to the point,” he continued, taking a step forward, “why have I not seen it before?”
There was no way to avoid it now. “Reed slipped it into yesterday’s paper, or had someone do it. He was just being an asshole, so I threw it away.”
“He threatens you, and you threw it away?”
“He doesn’t care about me, and you know it. Not any more than he cares about any of us. But he loves drama, Ethan, and I’m sure he was hoping you’d give him some.”
Ethan strode to me. “Have there been any others?”
“What? No. Of course not. Look, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just more of the same. It’s the game he plays.”
With radiating fury, he moved back to the desk, threw the note onto it. “I can’t believe you hid this from me.”
I hadn’t, not very well. But if anything, this conversation proved I’d been right to try. “He’s baiting you, Ethan. And I’m not going to let that happen.”
“He’s threatening you. And I’m not going to let that happen!” He turned back to me. “Reed’s going to be at a charity event tonight at the Chicago Botanic Garden. We’re going. And we’re going to have a word.”
“No. Absolutely not. That’s the last thing—” I stopped, realizing what he’d confessed. “Wait. How do you know where Adrien Reed is going to be tonight?”
“That’s missing the point.”
“No,” I said, rising from the bed and walking toward him. “I think that’s exactly the point. How do you know where he’s going to be?”
Ethan’s eyes glinted like stolen emeralds. “I have friends in high places, too.”
My stomach sank, and I took a step backward. Took a step away from him. I only knew one other person he might have called who knew about charity events and hated Adrien Reed. “You called my father.”
Ethan didn’t respond.
“You called my father and asked him, what, to keep tabs on Reed? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? To involve him in something like that? He’s human, for God’s sake, and he’s already in Reed’s sights. Did you put a target on his back?”
“I made a single phone call to your father, and I understand he made a single phone call in turn. Your father has his own connections, Merit, and he’s eager to use them. He’s a man with a lot of ego, and he’s not happy about Towerline.” He closed the distance between us. “But more important, Reed already got too close to this House and to you. I won’t let it happen again.”
“By putting my family in danger?”
He looked baffled. “First, I did not put your family in danger. And second, I will use whatever tools are available to me to keep you safe.”
“And yet you’re pissed at Gabriel,” I said, shaking my head and walking to the other end of the room. When I reached the opposite wall, when space was a barrier between us, I looked back at him. “You’re pissed at Gabriel because he withheld information. That’s ironic.”
“I suppose we’re both guilty in that respect. And just as likely to apologize.”
The room went quiet.
My anger banked. “You named me Sentinel. You should trust me to handle myself, to understand whether my father would be the best source. To let me make that decision.”
“I do trust you. Implicitly. And I named you Sentinel because I knew what you could be. Who you could be. If I had it to do over again . . .”
It wasn’t the first time he’d suggested naming me Sentinel was a mistake. But it was the first time I really believed he meant it.
“Your skills, your brains, your heart. The fact that you always want to do more and better—”
“Are because you named me Sentinel,” I finished for him. “Because you gave me a position that let those parts of me grow and flourish.”
“I don’t disagree,” Ethan said, stepping forward. “But none of that matters if Reed puts a target on you. I won’t let that happen, Merit. Not when he’s already proven he knows how to get to me.” His eyes clouded with fury. He was thinking about the Imposter, about what he’d done to me and tried to do to Ethan.
“I can’t be less than what I am,” I said. “Not now. Not after all this time.” Because, after all that time, after feeling for so long that I’d only been playing Sentinel, putting on a costume that wasn’t entirely mine, I’d become her. I’d become the guardian and warrior he’d wanted me to be. It was too late for me to step back, to let others fight the battles I’d been trained for, that I was now eager to fight.
Maybe he should have been more careful in what he’d wished for.
“I know. And I can’t, either. I’m going to the event,” he said into the silence that followed his declaration, “and I’m going to talk to Adrien Reed because that’s what needs to be done. Reed expects us to play his game—to react to the stimuli that he throws at us.”
“You think he didn’t anticipate this? That you’d see the note and call him out?”
“Maybe,” Ethan said. “Probably. But I doubt he thinks we’ll do it in a public place.”
I didn’t think that was true, not at all. But there wasn’t a point in arguing with him. He’d go, even if he went without me. And I’d be damned if he did it without me.
“I want it on record that I don’t think this is the right course.”
His eyebrows lifted. I argued with him, sure, but that was ego and banter. It wasn’t often that I told him his strategy was flat-out wrong.
“But that doesn’t matter,” I said. “Because I’m going with you regardless.” And that was almost not the worst part. “What do I have to wear?”
“It’s black tie. I’ll find you something.”
That was just what I was afraid of.
• • •
I guess it could have been called a gown, although that might have been generous. Couture, definitely. Edgy, certainly. But “gown” just didn’t quite fit.
There were two pieces two it, both in the deep, rich black that Ethan preferred. The first was a stiff black romper—a heart-shaped sleeveless bodice that fit as snugly as a corset and ended in a pair of hot-pant-style shorts. They covered what they needed to cover, but just barely.
And that was where the second piece came in. It was a skirt made of layers of inky black silk, one of Ethan’s favorite fabrics. It connected to the romper at the waist but was open in the front. When I stood still, it looked like I was wearing a sleeveless black ball gown. But when I moved, the silk split, revealing the shorts, my legs, and the black, strappy stiletto sandals Ethan had also provided.
I walked to the other end of the apartment, did the full catwalk toward the floor-length mirror on the way back, watched the skirt flare around and behind me as I moved. It was going to be hard to stay pissed at him in a “dress” that looked this good. It fit like a glove, made my legs look a million miles long, and even managed to pump up my slender curves.
I pulled my hair into a knot at the nape of my neck, added delicate pearl earrings that were part of my own family’s legacy, and looked, as I often did when Ethan selected my ensemble, pretty fabulous.
He was an imperious ass, but he knew how to make an impact.
There were whoops of excitement coming from the open doors of the Ops Room.
When I looked in, Luc, tousled hair falling over his brow, was bent over the conference table. In front of him was a small bundle of paper folded into a triangle. Lindsey sat at the other end, elbows on the table, her fingers and index fingers arranged in a set of mock uprights. He balanced the tip of the triangle beneath one finger, then flicked.
While half a dozen guards looked on, waiting with bated breath, the paper football flew through the air, toward the uprights. The paper hit her right index finger, bounced, and hit the table, three inches short of the goal.
“It’s no good! It’s no good!” yelled Brody, a recent guard inductee, waving his long arms back and forth like an NFL ref. Lindsey stood up and high-fived Kelley and Juliet.
Luc raised his fists to the sky. “No!” he yelled dramatically. “I could have been a contender!”
On the Waterfront, I guessed silently. Luc was one for movie quotes.
Lindsey strutted up to him, chin jutted out with pride. “I believe you just got schooled,” she said, poking a finger into his chest.
“Best two out of three?” he asked, wincing.
“Not on your life.” She took his shoulders, turned him toward me. “You have other things to deal with.”
Luc glanced at me, and what would have been a smile faded when he took in the dress and the shoes. And then he looked downright pissed . . . and maybe a little bit sympathetic.
“Damn,” Kelley said, interrupting whatever tirade he’d been about to make.
“You look amazing,” she said, fingering a bit of the skirt. “Is this Valentino?”
I hadn’t even thought to look. “I don’t know. But I’m sure it was expensive.”
She snorted. “Uh, yeah. Very.”
When she walked back to her station, Luc dropped his voice. “What the hell is this?”
“Complicated. Can I speak to you outside?”
Luc didn’t look thrilled about the request. But he rose, followed me to the door, and closed it when we were outside again. And then he crossed his arms.
“You’re getting pretty good at that Master-to-Peon expression,” I said.
“I’ve been on the receiving end plenty of times. What the hell’s he doing?”
No need to explain who “he” was.
“Long story short, Reed wrote a note to me to inflame Ethan, and it worked perfectly. Ethan wants to confront Reed at a charity thing tonight at the Botanic Garden.”
He eyes flashed, and anger flooded the hallway on a wave of magic. “Excuse me?”
“You know what I know. I can’t stop him, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let him go alone. And that’s not all.”
I told him about Ethan’s call to my father, watched his face for a sign he knew about it. I didn’t see it. Instead he looked surprised and a little appalled. “Not a good idea.”
“No, it wasn’t. But it’s done now. Is there something we can do? Protection we can offer?”
“Do you think your father would take it?”
“I don’t know. What about the human guards? Could we post a couple near his house?”
Luc put a hand on my arm. “Sentinel, considering how angry you are at Ethan for talking to your father without checking with you first, do you really think it’s a good idea to put guards on your father without talking to him first?”
I curled my lip. “Don’t try to use logic against me.”
“Perish the thought. Look, why don’t I talk to your grandfather, broach the issue with him? He might have a better sense of, let’s say, the proprieties.”
Some of the pressure in my chest loosened. “I’d appreciate it.”
Luc nodded. “This screws my plan for you to help Paige with the alchemy tonight. We need to focus on translating it.”
“You’re preaching to the choir. Unfortunately, using that metaphor, Ethan’s the bishop. He makes the rules, and I can’t just let him go by himself.”
“What do you think Reed’s got in mind?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure he’s got a plan. That’s the kind of man he is. Even when we’re aggressive, like with Hellriver, he’s still two steps ahead of us.”
“He’s the bad guy; they usually are two steps ahead until they’re caught.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “I’m going to try to keep Ethan out of trouble.”
“Do your best,” he said. “And I’m glad you came to me, told me about it. I’m pissed he didn’t, but he’s one of the more stubborn among us.”
“Stubborn barely scratches the surface,” I said, thinking of the night before at Little Red. “Have you heard anything from Gabriel? From the Pack?”
Luc’s expression darkened. “No, although we wouldn’t necessarily. I guess that’s Ethan’s complaint. At this point, not hearing anything is probably best. Means they haven’t declared war against us.”
“They wouldn’t do that.”
Luc didn’t look as convinced. “It wouldn’t be the first instance of internecine warfare.”
“I know. And I know Ethan’s pissed, and Gabriel’s probably pissed now, too. But they’re both adults. They both want what’s best for their people, and that can’t be war with each other, Luc. It can’t.” My voice had become pleading.
“Let’s hope not, Sentinel. Damn. What a night. Ethan’s probably talking to Malik, but I’ll throw myself onto that grenade if he hasn’t.”
Resigned, I nodded and began walking toward the door to the parking garage. But I glance
d back at Luc. “Do me one more favor?”
“Anything, Merit.”
“Call the lawyers, and get them ready.”
• • •
The Botanic Garden had been—and still was—a beautiful place to visit. But I knew this trip wasn’t going to go well, and the paths and gardens were still shadowed by my memories.
My mother had held my sister Charlotte’s sixteenth birthday there. I’d been stuffed into a party dress and forced to join in. She was three years older, and I felt ugly and coltish beside her friends, who already knew their ways around makeup, clothes, and pretty hairstyles. I was already uncomfortable in starchy crinoline and a training bra. I felt even more so when matched against Charlotte’s beautiful friends.
More recently, I’d walked there after Ethan’s death, when I’d wanted solitude and solemnity. That hadn’t fostered happy memories, either.
The park had closed a few hours ago. But the large black gates at the entrance were open, a man in a dark suit checking invitations and waving expensive cars into the park.
He waved us in, and Ethan pulled into a parking slot backward, the car facing the front entrance in case we needed to make a quick getaway.
“You look beautiful and formidable,” Ethan said as he opened my door and offered a hand to help me out of the car.
“Let’s hope the latter more than the former.” Once out, I adjusted the skirt so it fell appropriately around my hips. Not that it wouldn’t make an impression regardless, which was surely part of the reason Ethan had chosen it.
The deep black tuxedo he’d selected for himself certainly made an impression. He’d brushed back his hair, tucked it behind his ears, and looked very much the rich magnate. Which was true, to a point.
He didn’t say anything, but offered me his arm, and when I slipped mine into it, we walked from the parking area to the main building, where a jazz ensemble played and Chicagoland’s wealthiest humans sipped champagne.
Just inside the door, two women sat behind a table with LADIES AUXILIARY printed across the tablecloth. Ethan offered our names, and one of the women provided small silver pins in the shape of tulips. No sticker name tags or Sharpies for this crowd.
