by Chloe Neill
Papa Breck, the family patriarch, was a friend of my father, Chicago real estate mogul Joshua Merit. I’d gone to school with some of the Breckenridge boys and had even dated one of them. But the Brecks had no love for vampires, which was part of the reason for the closed-door negotiations.
Ethan was the other reason. He was nearly four centuries old, and he had the stubbornness to match his age. Going gently into that good night wasn’t his style, but Luc and Malik wanted him safely away. It had been a long winter for the House—including Ethan’s premature demise and resurrection—and we didn’t need any more drama. We certainly didn’t trust Kowalcyzk and feared turning him over to a justice system that seemed to be rigged against us.
The door had been closed for an hour. Voices had been raised, and the disagreement between Ethan and his soldiers spilled tense magic into the hallway. That was my particular point of contention. I was Cadogan’s Sentinel, but I hadn’t been allowed in the office. The words “plausible deniability” had been thrown around—right before the door had been shut in my face.
“The mayor knew there’d be trouble,” I said. “The CPD already said Ethan acted in self-defense. And we just handed McKetrick to them on a silver platter. The city has absolutely nothing to complain about where we’re concerned.”
The detective’s warning had come only hours after we’d managed to prove McKetrick, the city’s now former supernatural liaison, was the source of the riots that had spread violence, destruction, and fire around the city. You’d think that would have put us in the mayor’s good graces. Alas, no.
“They won’t stay away forever,” I said. “Jacobs wouldn’t have warned us if he didn’t think they were serious. And that doesn’t give us many options. Ethan flees, or we have to fight.”
“Whatever their next move, the House will be ready,” Lindsey said. “We just have to scoot Ethan out of here.” She checked a delicate gold watch. “Not much time before sunrise. This is going to be close.”
“Papa Breck could still say no,” I pointed out, wrapping my arms around my knees. He and Ethan were different sups, but equally stubborn.
But Lindsey shook her head. “Not if he’s smart. Arresting a vampire for a bullshit reason isn’t far from arresting a shifter for a bullshit reason. If Papa Breck doesn’t take a stand now, he’ll put the Pack at risk. But if he does take a stand?” She clucked her tongue. “Then he wins, double or nothing. We’ll owe him a favor, and he’ll have stood up to Kowalcyzk. That reinforces his power, and it’s just—”
Before she could finish, the office door opened.
Luc and Malik emerged, Ethan behind them. All three were tall and bore the toughened shoulders of men in charge, but the physical similarities ended there.
Luc had tousled blond-brown hair and preferred snug jeans and well-worn boots to Ethan’s and Malik’s exquisite suits. Since Ethan’s welfare fell under his jurisdiction, Luc’s ruggedly handsome features were tight with concern.
Malik had cocoa skin, closely cropped hair, and pale green eyes that thoughtfully took in the hallway of vampires. Malik was reserved, careful, and unquestionably respected by the House. But like Luc, he also didn’t look thrilled with the circumstances.
And then there was Ethan.
He was built like an athlete—long and lean, with taut muscles and a body that fit perfectly into his trim black suit. His hair was straight, shoulder length, and golden, framing a face so gorgeous it might have been sculpted by a master artist. Straight nose, honed cheekbones, lush mouth, and eyes as sharp and green as flawless emeralds. Ethan was as alpha as they came, protective and pretentious, intelligent and strategic, and stubborn enough to match me well.
We’d had our own false starts, but we’d finally found a clear path to each other. That might have been the biggest miracle of all.
Ethan’s forehead was pinched in concern, but his eyes gave away nothing. He was the Master of our House; he didn’t have the luxury of self-doubt.
A dozen vampires jumped to their feet.
“I’ll be traveling to the Breckenridge estate,” Ethan announced. “Cadogan vampires do not run. We do not hide. We do not scurry into the dark. We face our problems—head on. But this House has been through much of late. I have been asked, for the sake of the House, to consider making myself scarce. I have agreed to do so—as a temporary measure.”
The tension in my chest eased, but not by much. He clearly wasn’t thrilled with the plan.
“In the meantime, we’ll try to put this ugly business to bed. The House’s lawyers will address the warrant. Malik has a friend in the governor’s office, and he’ll reach out to determine if the governor can encourage Mayor Kowalcyzk to act reasonably.”
That was news to me, but then again, Malik was the quiet sort. And I didn’t think he was the type to call in a political favor unless absolutely necessary.
“You’ll take Merit to the Brecks’?” Lindsey asked.
“Assuming she can fit it into her schedule,” he said.
Drama or not, there was always time for snark in Cadogan House.
“I’ll manage,” I assured him, “although I hate to leave my grandfather here.”
My grandfather was Chicago’s former supernatural liaison—emphasis on the “former”—but he and his employees, Catcher Bell and Jeff Christopher, still helped the CPD with supernatural issues. Because he’d helped us investigate the riots, McKetrick had targeted him. Grandpa’s house had been firebombed, and he’d been caught in the explosion. He was recovering, but he was still in the hospital. He’d been more of a father to me than my actual father, and although he had people to protect him, I felt guilty leaving while he was out of service.
“I’ll check in on him,” Luc promised. “Give you updates.”
“In that case,” Ethan said, “we’ll leave shortly. Malik has the House. And as you know, he makes a very capable Master when I’m . . . indisposed.”
There were appreciative chuckles in the crowd. It wasn’t Malik’s first rodeo as Master; he’d held the job when Ethan hadn’t been among the living.
“I will be honest. This may not work. We are betting that Diane Kowalcyzk is politically ambitious enough to not cross the Breckenridge family. That gambit could prove incorrect. Either way, our relationship with the city of Chicago could get worse before it gets better. But we are, and we will remain, Cadogan vampires.”
He arched an eyebrow, a habit he used frequently and usually with good effect. “Of course, those Cadogan vampires should be at work right now, not eavesdropping outside their Master’s office.”
Smiling and appropriately chastised, the vampires dispersed, offering good-byes to their Liege as they passed. Margot, the House’s brilliant chef, squeezed my hand, then headed down the hallway toward the kitchen.
Malik, Luc, Lindsey, and I stepped inside Ethan’s office. He looked over his staff.
“We have a brief reprieve,” Ethan said, “but the city may come knocking again.”
“The House is ready,” Luc said. “Lakshmi, however, is still on her way. We couldn’t convince her to delay.”
That was another sticky situation. Cadogan was no longer a member of the Greenwich Presidium, the organization that ruled North American and Western European vampire houses. Monmonth had been one of its members. The GP was no friend of Cadogan House, and they apparently weren’t willing to ignore the fact that we were now responsible for the deaths of two of their members. While we were no longer concerned about their opinion of us, they made powerful and dangerous enemies.
Lakshmi, one of the remaining GP members, was traveling to Chicago to render its verdict. It probably helped that she was one of the more commonsensical members of the GP, but it was odd that she was traveling while Darius West, the GP head, stayed under the radar in London. He’d been a political nonentity since an attack by a vampire assassin relieved him of his confidence, or so we surmised.
As it turned out, Lakshmi also was a friend to the Red Guard, the secret organ
ization that kept watch on the Houses and their Masters. I was a new member, partnered with the guard captain from Grey House, Jonah. Lakshmi had provided insider information about GP shenanigans; in return for her help, I’d offered an unspecified favor. It was inevitable she’d attempt to collect; vampires were particular that way.
“Keep her out of the House,” Ethan said. “We aren’t members of the GP, and she has no business in our domain. She may have a legitimate claim to reparations, but that can be dealt with when we’ve dealt with the city.”
“I spoke with Lakshmi’s majordomo,” Luc said, “tried to winnow information out of her. She wouldn’t budge.”
“We’ll deal with it when we deal with it,” Ethan said. “This entire situation is fraught with hazard.”
Malik nodded. “It all comes down to who blinks first.”
Ethan’s eyes flattened. “Whatever happens, Cadogan House will not blink first.”
• • •
We lived in Chicago, which meant off-street parking spots were hard to come by and the objects of envy. The House’s coveted underground parking lot was accessible through the basement, so we headed downstairs. Ethan keyed the security pad at the door and stepped inside the basement but, when the heavy door closed behind us, dropped his duffel and grabbed my hand.
“Come here,” he said, voice heavy with desire. He didn’t wait for my response, but caught me by surprise, his mouth on mine, his hands at my waist, suddenly insistent.
I was nearly out of breath when he finally released me.
“What was that?” I barely managed to ask.
Ethan brushed a lock of hair behind my ear. “I had need of you, Sentinel.”
“You’ve got me,” I assured him with a smile. “But at the moment, we have need of speed.”
“Not your best work,” he cannily said, but he put a hand on my cheek and gazed into my eyes as if he might discover the world’s secrets there. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m nervous about leaving,” I admitted.
“You’re worried about your grandfather.”
I nodded. “He was asleep when I called. He’ll understand—he always does. I just wish I didn’t have to ask him to be understanding.”
Ethan kissed my brow. “You are a good granddaughter, Caroline Evelyn Merit.”
“I’m not sure about that. But I’m trying.” Sometimes, that was the best a girl could do.
I gestured toward the gleaming silver bullet that sat in the House’s visitor spot, the antique Mercedes roadster Ethan had bought for me from the Pack leader himself. She was sweet and perfectly restored, and I called her Moneypenny. She was also still registered in Gabriel’s name, which seemed a better transportation option than taking Ethan’s car. But since he had decades’ more driving experience than me—and we were in a hurry—I held out the keys.
“Shall we?”
Ethan’s eyes widened with delight. He’d been attempting to buy Moneypenny for years and had probably wanted to slide behind the wheel for even longer.
“If we’re going to run,” he said, taking the keys from me, a spark jumping across our fingertips as they brushed, “we might as well escape in style.”
Sometimes that was the best a vampire could do.
Chapter Two
Upstairs, Downstairs
That the Breckenridges had money was undeniable when one was facing down their palatial estate in Loring Park. Chicago was a metropolis bounded by water on one side and farmland on the other. Loring Park managed to fit itself just outside the latter, a fancy suburb of rolling green hills a simple train ride away from hustle of the Second City.
Loring Park itself was a small and tidy town, with a central square and pretty shopping centers, the area newly developed and decorated with dark iron streetlights and lots of landscaping. A winter carnival had even set up shop in a parking lot, and residents undoubtedly sick of winter were trundling around amid the games and handful of rides. It would be months before green would peek through the flattened brown grass, but the snow was nearly gone. It had been a strange winter in northeastern Illinois—the weather veering back and forth between frigidly cold and practically balmy.
The estate was located a few miles outside the city center on the crest of a long, rolling hill. The house, with turrets and windows and several wings of rooms, was modeled after Biltmore and was surrounded by rolling hills of neatly manicured grass, and the back lawn sloped gently down into a forest.
As hidey-holes went, it wasn’t a bad option.
We pulled the car up to the door, covered by a stone arch, and got out, gravel crunching beneath our feet. The night was dark and moonless; the air was thick with wood smoke and magic.
“Is that what you think?” A tall, dark-haired man burst through the door, and a wave of prickly, irritated magic followed him like a cresting wave. He was broad shouldered, and he came out with arm raised, pointing an accusing finger at us. “You want to let those bloodsuckers stay here? In our home?”
The accusing gaze and shoulders belonged to Michael Breckenridge, Jr., the oldest of Papa Breck’s sons. He was in his thirties now, but he’d been a football player in his youth, and he hadn’t lost the muscle, or apparently the testosterone. He was the expected heir of Breckenridge Industries and the family fortune, and he apparently had a temper. Papa Breck was going to need to keep an eye on that.
Michael Breckenridge, Jr., I silently told Ethan, using the telepathic connection between us.
Charming, was his reply. He was even sarcastic telepathically.
“Be polite to the guests,” said another voice in the doorway.
The man who stood there was tall and lean, with dark hair that waved over his forehead and a glint in his steely eyes. This was Finley Breckenridge, the second oldest of the Breck boys. There were two others—Nick, the one I’d dated, now a journalist, and Jamie, the youngest.
I guessed Finley and Michael had been in the middle of a disagreement regarding their father’s decision to let us stay.
“Go back inside, Finn,” Michael said. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Finley took another step outside, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his trousers, but his eyes were cool, his body taut, ready for action.
“It concerns the family,” Finley said. “And it concerns Pop, who’s already made his position clear.”
Michael stalked toward us. Being good security, I shifted to block his path to Ethan. He stopped, glared down at me. “Get out of my way.”
His tone was laced with hatred, and the magic that spilled off his body was downright contemptuous. The threat began to speed my blood, but I kept my voice calm. We were guests, after all. Welcome or otherwise.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” I said, forcing a light smile. “It’s good to see you again, Michael.”
His jaw twitched, but he took a step back. “Fine,” he said, lifting his hands in the air like a cornered criminal. “But when they fuck up everything, I won’t hear a word from either one of you.”
He stepped around me and stalked off around the house, leaving the scent of expensive cologne in his wake.
Ethan glanced back at Finley, brow raised.
“Apologies,” Finley said, walking forward with a hand outstretched, ready to play peacemaker. He and Ethan shook hands, both of them obviously appraising the other.
“Finley Breckenridge.”
“Ethan Sullivan.”
“The vampire who made Merit,” Finley said. The statement was a challenge, poorly disguised by curiosity and a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I initiated the change,” Ethan confirmed. “I saved her from an attack, and I made her immortal. I find she has no complaints.” His tone was mild, his expression unperturbed. If he was irritated by the question, he wasn’t going to let Finley see it.
Finn flicked a glance at me. “It’s good to see you, Merit. If not under these circumstances.”
I nodded, the most I was willing to offer, con
sidering the attitudes. “I take it Michael’s not thrilled we’re staying here?”
“Michael and the old man disagree on various things,” Finn said, gaze falling on the point where Michael had disappeared into the darkness. “Including having vampires in residence.”
Their timing impeccable, liveried staff in dark pants and short jackets emerged silently from the house, took our bags and keys, and whisked Moneypenny down the driveway.
How very upstairs/downstairs, Ethan said.
My father would be jealous, I agreed. Although my grandfather had been a cop, my father was obsessed with money. Perhaps not surprisingly, he was very good friends with Papa Breck.
“Where will we be staying?” I asked.
“The carriage house. You got permission from the big man to stay, but he drew the line at your being in the house.” Finn gestured toward the gravel walk, which led around the house to a series of secondary buildings.
Ethan looked unimpressed with our demotion from the main house, which did ring of supernatural pettiness. But we were here because we didn’t have a better option. I thought it was best not to look that particular gift horse (shifter?) in the mouth.
The carriage house was a small brick building, its sides marked by dark green shutters around the windows that had once been doors for cars or carriages. The building was just behind the main house, completely invisible from the road and the driveway. The carriage house might have felt like an insult to Ethan, but it would be a secure location to spend a few quiet nights on the lam.
Finn pushed a key into the lock and opened the door. “Please come in.”
The invitation wasn’t strictly necessary—that particular bit of vampire myth was actually myth—but we preferred not to trespass.
The carriage house had been outfitted like a small apartment, with hardwood floors, colorful furnishings and décor, and a ceiling striped by large, oak beams. There was a sitting area and a small kitchenette, and a door led to what I guessed was a bedroom. The Brecks hadn’t spared any expense on the décor. Books and orchids were arranged just so on a coffee table, knickknacks placed here and there, one wall covered in a mix of line drawings and paintings in gilded frames.
