Hard Bitten cv-4

by Хлоя Нейл

  He smirked. “It’s not so much anti-Sentinel—”

  “As anti-Merit?” I finished for him.

  “I know your sister,” he said. “Charlotte. We have mutual friends.”

  Charlotte was my older sister, currently married with two children and engaged as a full-time charity soiree attendee and fund-raiser.

  I loved my sister, but I wasn’t a part—by choice—of the fancy circles she ran in. So it didn’t exactly impress me that he knew her.

  “Okay,” I said.

  He sighed, then looked up at me a little guiltily. “I’d assumed—your being a Merit—that you were her clone.”

  It took me a moment to gather up an answer.

  “What, now?”

  “I just figured—since you’re sisters and all.

  And both Merits . . .” He trailed off, but didn’t need to finish the rest of it. Jonah wasn’t the first vampire who’d confessed he’d judged me based on my family name—and the baggage that accompanied wealth and notoriety. I’m not saying money doesn’t have its advantages, but being judged on one’s own merits—pun very much intended—isn’t one of them.

  On the other hand, that did explain why he’d been so cold the first couple of times we’d met.

  He’d expected a bratty new vampire from new-money Chicago.

  “I love my sister,” I told him. “But I’m far from being her clone.”

  “So I see.”

  “And now you believe what?”

  “Oh. Well.” He smiled, and there was pride in his eyes. “Now I’ve seen you in action. I’ve seen this avenging angel—”

  “I prefer Ponytailed Avenger,” I dryly said.

  That was the nickname ascribed to me by Nick Breckenridge (aka “the blackmailer”).

  Jonah rolled his eyes. “This avenging angel of a vampire,” he continued, “coming to the rescue of humans and roaring through the folks who cross her. And now I’m wondering if you wouldn’t be such a bad addition to the RG.”

  “As opposed to the train wreck I would have been a couple of months ago?”

  He had the grace to blush.

  “I know you weren’t impressed by me. You didn’t exactly hide it. And I wouldn’t call myself an avenging angel. I’m Sentinel of my House, and I do what I can to protect them.”

  “To protect only them?”

  I met his steady gaze. “For now, only them.”

  We stood there for a moment and let the phrase stand between us. I was again passing up the opportunity to become his partner, but admitting that I wasn’t ruling it out completely.

  Immortality, after all, lasted a long time.

  He nodded. “I should probably get you back to your car.”

  “That would be a good idea. I need to get home.” Back to the House, back to Ethan. Back to a routine that didn’t involve my fighting crazed vampires—but now involved lying to him about them.

  Jonah grabbed up keys, and we left his room.

  The sight outside it was unbelievable.

  Grey House was located in a converted warehouse near Wrigley Field, and they’d definitely made use of the space. His door was one of many along the wall, each evenly spaced like in a hotel. The hallway was open on the other side, a railing made of steel posts and thin wire giving way to a four-story atrium. Across the atrium, at the same level on which we stood, was another line of doors. Bedrooms, I supposed.

  I walked to the railing and glanced down. The middle of the space below us was filled by a forty-foot-tall tree and a lush island of greenery.

  There were also plants and trees along a path that wound through the space. Black posts stood at intervals along the path, each bearing a vertical flag of a Chicago sports team.

  It was unlike anything I’d seen before—and certainly unlike anything I’d seen in the realm of vampires.

  “This is spectacular,” I said when Jonah joined me at the rail. I glanced up at the ceiling, which was all glass. But that couldn’t work in a House of vampires. “How do the trees grow? I mean, don’t you have to close up the skylights during the day?”

  Jonah made a circle with his hands. “The roof has a parabolic canopy that rotates to close during the day.” He swiveled his fingers. “They close just like a camera shutter, so it leaves a gap in the middle for the tree. And the mechanism is photosensitive, so the circle follows the sun as the earth rotates to ensure the tree always has light.”

  “That is amazing.”

  “The technology is pretty impressive,” he agreed. “Scott’s taken the time to try new things, which we can’t always say about Masters.”

  “They do tend to be a little stodgy.”

  He made a vague sound of agreement. “The rest of the foliage gets light as the shutters turn.”

  “And if a vamp has an emergency and needs to move through the atrium during the day?”

  “They don’t,” Jonah said simply. “The interior architecture of the House is organized so you never have to cross the atrium space to get to any living quarters or exits.” He pointed below. “The rooms on the sides of the atrium are nonessential —offices and the like—and there are shaded walkways in any event.”

  He turned and began walking down the hallway, and I followed him to an elevator and a basement parking level that was pretty similar to ours: long concrete vault, lots of expensive cars.

  I stopped short when we passed a platinum silver convertible. It was small and curvy, with round lights, a hood vent, and wire wheels, and it looked exactly like the kind of car James Bond would drive.

  “Is this—is that an Aston Martin?”

  He glanced over. “Yeah. That’s Scott’s car.

  He’s been alive for nearly two hundred years. A man accumulates prizes in that time.”

  “So I see,” I said, clenching my hands to fight back the urge to run my fingers across the spotless paint. I’d never seen one in person.

  Never seen one at all outside the movies. But it was stunning. I didn’t consider myself to be a car person, but it was hard not to like long lines and sweet curves. And what I’d imagine was a pretty fast engine.

  “Lots of, you know, horsepowers or whatever?”

  He smiled and unlocked his hybrid’s door, and was still grinning when we climbed inside. “Not much of a car buff?”

  “I can appreciate a beautiful thing. But cars are only a skindeep infatuation for me.”

  “Duly noted.”

  We drove from Wrigleyville back to Magnificent Mile and my car. And I totally lucked out—my car had been parked in the same spot for nearly twenty-four hours, but while there was a ticket under the wiper, there was no boot on the tire. Street parking in Chicago was a hazardous activity.

  “Are you going to get hassled for sleeping over?” he asked through the open window as I unlocked my door.

  Only if Ethan thinks I’m sleeping with Noah, I thought to myself.

  “I’m good,” I told Jonah. “Besides, it’s not like you could escort me home. You’d blow your cover.”

  “True. We should probably plan to talk again.

  I expect this isn’t the last time we’ll hear about what went down last night.”

  “Probably not.” My stomach turned over. I wasn’t thrilled at the possibility of heading back into another “rave,” if that’s what we were calling it. I had the skills for war, but not the stomach for it. It was easy to help someone in need, but it would have been nicer if the need didn’t exist in the first place.

  “I’ll talk to the bartenders at Temple Bar, see if they’ve noticed anything suspicious. And I’ll let you know if I find out anything about the phone number. I’ll also talk to them about the drugs. They’ll want to know if illegal substances are being spread around, and what the effects are.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Keep me posted.”

  “I will. Thank you again for the help.”

  Jonah smiled thinly. “That’s what partners are for.”

  “Don’t jump the gun. We aren’t partners y
et.”

  With a final, knowing smile, he pulled away from the curb, leaving me on the sidewalk beside my lonely Volvo. What had Mallory said about not wanting to go back to your life again? And what had I told her? Something about accepting the choices you were presented with and getting the nasty stuff done regardless?

  I climbed into the Volvo and shut the door behind me, blowing the bangs from my forehead as I started the car.

  “Good times,” I muttered, as I turned the wheel into traffic. “Good times.”

  When I was parked in front of the House, I took a moment to get the next part of the investigation in motion. I dialed up Jeff’s number.

  His answer was enthusiastic. “Merit! We heard some shit went down last night. You okay?”

  “Hey, Jeff. I’m good. I’ll fill you in later. But for now I need a favor.”

  “The Jeff abides. What’s up?”

  I rattled off the phone number Jonah had given me. “It’s the number that sent out a text about the party, which may or may not have been a rave. Can you trace it?”

  “On it,” he said, and I heard the rhythmic clack of keys. “Nothing in the first round,” he said after a moment. “Give me a little bit of time.

  I’ll find it.”

  “You’re a doll.”

  “You and I both know it. I’ll call you.”

  “Thanks, Jeff.”

  That done, and the phone tucked away again, I glanced up at the House. Probably best to get the hard part over with. I headed inside—this time through a gauntlet of personal epithets from the protesters—and straight for Ethan’s office.

  The office door was open, and he sat at his desk, a phone at his ear.

  I waited until he put the phone down, and then started in. The words came out in a rush.

  “It was in a high-rise in Streeterville, but it wasn’t an intimate rave, not like we think of them. This was at least two dozen vamps. A lot of magic, a lot of glamour, and a lot of fighting.

  Everyone was on a hair trigger, like they were waiting for an excuse to rumble. There were plenty of humans, and some bloodletting. There’s also a possibility they’re being drugged to make them susceptible to glamour.”

  Ethan’s eyes shifted to something behind me.

  “Sire,” he said after a moment, “this is Merit, Sentinel of Cadogan House. Merit, Darius West.

  Head of the Greenwich Presidium.”

  Oh, snap.

  CHAPTER TEN

  LIKE A BOSS

  I froze, realizing for the first time—and much too late—that we weren’t alone in the office. I clenched my eyes closed, embarrassment rising on my cheeks. So much for keeping our infiltration of the raves under wraps.

  A few seconds later, I finally opened my eyes again, expecting to see fury in Ethan’s. Instead, he offered a gently chastising look.

  Maybe he had changed.

  “I’m so sorry,” I mouthed, before turning to Darius. He stood with Malik and Luc, in the office’s sitting area in front of leather furniture that hadn’t been there on my last visit. Helen did efficient work.

  Darius was tall and lean, with a shaved head and blue eyes. His features were sharp and nearly arrogant—straight nose, wide mouth, aristocratic chin marked by a perfect cleft.

  “That’s a very interesting tale you weave,” he said. Darius’s accent was clearly English; his diction would have made the queen proud.

  “Come have a seat. Ethan, won’t you join us, as well?”

  I had a sense the request was actually an order, so I took a seat on one of the leather chairs that faced the couch. As Ethan followed me over, Luc and Malik took seats on two end chairs. Ethan took the chair beside me.

  Darius sat on the couch, then reached into his pocket and removed a slim, silver case. He popped it open and pulled out a thin black cigarette. It wasn’t until he’d lifted it to his mouth that he looked at Ethan for permission.

  “Be my guest,” Ethan said, but it was clear he wasn’t thrilled about Darius smoking in the House.

  Cigarette at the corner of his mouth, Darius tucked the case back into his pocket and pulled out a book of matches. He lit one, leaving a sulfurous sting in the air, and touched it to the end of the cigarette before putting it out with a flick of his wrist. He dropped the wasted match into a heavy crystal dish on the coffee table that sat in the middle of the ring of furniture.

  He puffed for a moment, then lifted a single eyebrow—I guess we now knew where that tic of Ethan’s had come from—and blew a stream of fragrant smoke from the side of his mouth.

  “In this political climate,” he began, “with these challenges, you sent your Sentinel to a rave?”

  “I’m not sure it was a rave,” I put in, trying to salvage what I could. “We believed it might be a rave—or something calling itself a rave—but this is on a different scale. Very large, and very violent.”

  “Raves are always violent,” Darius said. “That is the nature of a rave.”

  I opened my mouth to disagree, but thought better of it. After all, since I’d seen only one rave, he’d definitely know better than I whether the bloodlust was unusual.

  “What is atypical,” he continued, “is an official House staff member being utilized to infiltrate such things.”

  “Infiltration was our only option,” Ethan said.

  Darius’s face radiated disbelief, and his tone was deadpan. “Your only option.”

  Ethan cleared his throat. “Seth Tate informed us that he’d learned of the alleged murder of three humans by vampires. He has a warrant for my arrest in hand, and has threatened to execute that warrant within the week if we don’t solve the problem. The opportunity to investigate arose, and we took it.”

  “Did he execute the warrant?”

  “Not yet, but he—”

  “Then you had options,” Darius said, in a tone that brooked no argument and reminded us all that while Ethan was Master of the House, Darius was master of the Houses.

  And then he turned his cold blue gaze on me.

  “You’re the Sentinel.”

  “I am, Sire.”

  “You look rather a mess.”

  I had to work not to smooth down my hair and my wrinkled tank top. I’d slept in my clothes, and while I’d cleaned up a little at Grey House, I’m sure I still looked pretty awful. On the other hand, I looked awful because I’d been working, not because I lacked basic hygiene skills.

  “I was on an assignment, Sire.”

  “Such as it was,” Darius muttered. “And you’re just now returning to the House? You have traversed Chicago looking like this?”

  I waited to give Ethan a chance to offer silent suggestions, to tell me what I was or was not supposed to tell Darius—although the cat was mostly out of the bag. When he stayed silent, I assumed that was permission enough and told the truth—and nothing more.

  “It was late, Sire. We were running close to sunrise.”

  The cigarette in his fingers, Darius wet his lips, and slowly shifted his gaze to Ethan. “Now is the time to perfect the public image, to sweeten and sharpen it, not send it rumpled and trashed through the city like some kind of well-used party girl.”

  I went stiff at the insult; Ethan stirred in his chair. “She is a soldier. That her battlefield is unusual doesn’t make it any less a battlefield, nor does it make the uniform any less a uniform.”

  I appreciated that he’d taken the hit for me, stood up for what some believed was my “mere” status as a soldier for the House. And, honestly, what more honorable service was there? Making decisions from a continent away in a dress shirt, smoking cigarettes from a silver box?

  I lifted my chin and met Darius’s gaze. “I am a soldier,” I confirmed. “And I have no qualms about that.”

  His eyebrows lifted with interest. “And you’ve returned from a battle.”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  Darius sat back in his chair again. “You said tonight’s event, whatever it might have been, was unusually viole
nt.” He took another puff, the suspicion clear on his face. “You’ve been to another rave? You have a basis for comparison?”

  “I haven’t,” I admitted. “The comparison is based on information from other sources, and the one site I visited after the fact. Our intelligence says raves in Chicago are few and far between, and that—perhaps to avoid risk of detection —they’re usually very intimate affairs. A few vampires at most. That’s not what we saw last night.”

  “Although I disagree with your conclusions, that’s not a bad report.” He turned to Ethan. “I can see why you like her, Ethan.”

  “She’s more than capable,” Ethan agreed.

  “But I assume an update on our Sentinel’s work is not what brought you across the pond?”

  Darius leaned forward and mashed the rest of the cigarette into the ashtray. “Matters in Chicago are, as you know, escalating. Shifters.

  Rogues. The attack on your House.”

  Ethan crossed one leg over another. “As you’ve seen, those things are in hand.”

  “Those things suggest a decided lack of organization and political control among the Illinois Houses. When Celina was removed, you became the most senior Master in Chicago, Ethan. It is your responsibility, your duty to the Presidium, to maintain stability within your domain.”

  And he would have, I thought, if you’d managed to keep Celina in England where she belonged.

  “What does that mean?” Ethan asked.

  “It means there’s a significant chance that Cadogan House will be placed into receivership by the Presidium until Chicago is under control.”

  I didn’t need to know the details of a

  “receivership” to get the general idea—the GP was threatening to take over the House.

  The room went silent, as did Ethan. The only sign he’d even heard Darius’s threat was the telltale line of concern between his eyes.

  “With all due respect, Sire, there’s no need for impetuous action.” Ethan’s tone was carefully neutral, his words carefully modulated. I knew he was bursting with emotion—there was no way Ethan wasn’t boiling over at the possibility that the GP was going to step in and take over his House. But he was doing an impressive job of keeping his emotions under control.