Biting Cold (6 page)

I grabbed pajamas and a toothbrush from my bag and disappeared into the small bathroom adjacent to the bedroom.

I probably should have checked a mirror sooner. My dark bangs were matted together, and my high ponytail barely contained a mess of tangles. Dried blood dotted a now-healed scrape above my eyebrow, and dirt still streaked my cheeks. I looked worse for wear, and certainly not like the object of anyone’s desire.

Towels and washcloths were folded on a small table on the other side of the room. I wet a cloth and scrubbed my face clean, then pulled the elastic from my hair and brushed it until it gleamed. The bathroom’s claw-foot tub had been fitted with a showerhead and wraparound curtain, and I quickly scoured away the rest of the grime from our trip into the Ditch That Ate Ethan’s Mercedes.

When I was clean and pajama clad, I walked back into the bedroom, eager for another try at the reunion we’d begun before.

But the second I stepped into the room, I knew it wasn’t meant to be. Ethan was still on the phone, and the needle sting of magic in the air foretold that Malik’s news hadn’t been good. He murmured quietly for a few more minutes, then put the phone away again.

“Give me the bad news first,” I requested.

“It seems Malik’s ‘fuck you’ to the receiver did not go over well.”

Concerned that Cadogan House was causing problems in Chicago and beyond, the Greenwich Presidium had assigned a receiver, a piece of work named Franklin Cabot, to temporarily take over the House after Ethan’s death. He’d implemented awful rules during his blessedly brief tenure, including limits on our ability to meet together and drink blood. Not exactly popular restrictions for vampires who were basically living in a fraternity house.

When Ethan had returned, he and Malik unceremoniously kicked Cabot to the curb.

“How unwell did it go?”

“No decisions have been made yet, but Darius has called a
shofet
. It’s an emergency meeting where the GP discusses matters of urgency.”

Darius West was head of the Greenwich Presidium. His rank was so high that even Ethan referred to him as “sire.”

“Like a rebellious American House that doesn’t seem to respect their authority?” I asked.

“Like that,” Ethan said, but didn’t elaborate. I began to work over mental scenarios about Cadogan’s vampires being cast out into the night. Along with the more dire problems, I’d have to find an apartment. In Chicago, in winter. That would not make me happy.

“Exactly how serious is this?”

“Serious enough.” Ethan frowned and rubbed his temples.

“Are you okay?”

He smiled a little. “Just a bit of a headache. It will pass.”

The atmosphere in the room had changed, from unfulfilled desire to political and magical anticipation. The sun chose that moment to breach the horizon; I couldn’t see it through the draperies, but the sudden weight on my eyelids was telling enough.

“It seems certain things are not meant to be,” Ethan said.

I nodded, unable to do much more. Vampires slept during the day, not just because direct exposure to sunlight would kill us, but because the rising of the sun pulled us into unconsciousness. We could fight the exhaustion, but it was a hard and losing battle. We’d succumb eventually.

He seemed to understand my hesitation.

“We both have other things, other people, on our minds,” he
said. “There will be plenty of time for the remainder when we have addressed this particular crisis.”

“And if we can’t?”

“We will,” he said. “Because I will goddamned see you naked under much more auspicious circumstances before the year is up.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that.

Ethan took his turn to freshen up, then emerged from the bathroom in pajama bottoms that didn’t leave much of his body to the imagination. His Cadogan medal hung just above the scar that puckered his chest—the mark he bore from taking Celina’s stake.

Too soon for my preference, he flipped off the light, and we climbed onto the hard, creaky mattress. Ethan wasted no time in pulling my body against his.

I relished the feeling, the glory, of having him there. Of his warmth, his scent, his energy, his
everything
.

“We can do nothing to stop the rising of the sun,” he said. “So let us rest, and we will fight the good fight tomorrow.” He pressed me back tighter against him, and his arm snaked around my waist.

Reflexively, I shivered.

“Are you cold?”

“It’s a habit. I used to have trouble falling asleep.”

“Before the sun?”

“Before the sun,” I agreed. “I’d be exhausted, but my mind would race with all the things I needed to do, papers I needed to grade, other nonsense. And so, I developed a little trick.”

“Shivering?”

“Imagining. I would hunker down into my blankets and close my eyes, and I would imagine it was wintertime and a storm was raging outside. Freezing temperatures. Chilling wind. Howling blizzard.”

“Not exactly a comforting scenario.”

“It wasn’t the blizzard that was comforting. It was the idea of being safe and warm inside.”

“And it worked?”

“I always fell asleep eventually.”

Ethan chuckled. “Then tell me your story, Sentinel. Lull me to sleep.”

I smiled and closed my eyes. “We’re off the coast of Alaska, on a freighter in the Bering Sea. It’s late summer, and the air is turning colder. The seas are calm, but there’s a brisk wind.”

Ethan shivered a bit and stretched against me. Closer to me.

“We’re in a stateroom. Nothing plush, but there’s a thick, soft mattress. We lie together, the wind whistling outside, the waves beneath us. We close our eyes, and as the world goes quiet, and the snow begins to fall, we fall asleep.”

“A nice story,” Ethan quietly said. “But I have a tale to weave, as well. Imagine a roaring fire in the dark depths of a Chicago winter. Imagine the warmth of the fire against your skin—”

“I’ll probably be wearing flannel pajamas,” I teased, but Ethan wasn’t fazed. He leaned in, his lips at my ear.

“You’ll be wearing nothing but your Cadogan medal and a smile, Sentinel.”

“Is that a prediction?”

“It’s a promise.”

And with the possibility of that promise foremost in my mind, I let my body rest and drifted off to sleep.

W
hen I awoke, the bed was empty, the sheets cool. For a horrible moment I thought I’d dreamt he was back, that his return had been a cruel figment of my imagination.

But the bedroom door opened, and Ethan walked inside, a coffee mug in one hand and small basket in the other. He looked at me and smiled. “You slept in.”

“I didn’t know vampires could do that.” I crossed my legs and pulled my hair back from my face. “I must have needed the rest.”

“Your bruises are gone, but you look pale.”

I made my confession. “I don’t think I slept very well. I’m still afraid to let you out of my sight.”

“Because I might disappear?”

I nodded.

“There’s no valor in disappearing,” Ethan said. “Really, the stake was only worth it for the points it got me. For saving your life twice,” he added, in case I hadn’t remembered that he’d made me a vampire
and
jumped in front of a stake to save me. As if either was something I could easily forget.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m giving you one week to use the stake against me, and then you’re done.”

He smiled smugly. “It won’t take me one week, Sentinel.”

I didn’t bother to ask what he was trying to accomplish.

“But for now there’s business at hand, and I prefer to have you undistracted when the time comes.”

His eyes flashed silver before falling back to emerald green again. A bolt of desire shot through my body, raising goose bumps on my arms and magic in the air.

Ethan and I were both strung taut, our physical reunion clearly on both our minds, but pushed to the back of our agendas because of, as he’d put it, the business at hand.

Mallory’s business.

When this was all said and done—and God granted that it would be—I was going to kick her ass for interrupting my time with him, even if I did owe her for bringing him back in the first place.

Ethan sat down on the edge of the bed and handed over the mug—which was filled to the brim with warm blood—and the basket. My stomach growled ominously, and I didn’t waste any time sipping the blood while Ethan picked through the contents of his duffel bag.

When the mug was empty, I peeked into the basket. There were four muffins inside: poppy seed; blueberry; one filled with chunks of fruit, nuts, and carrots; and a chocolate version studded with chunks of white and dark chocolate.

It was an easy choice.

“Paige bakes?” I wondered, plucking the chocolate muffin from the basket. It was even
warm
.

“The
Maleficium
is usually settled somewhere else,” Ethan said. “And, to paraphrase her, there are only so many Order meeting
minutes she can transcribe. She apparently has the time. Is it good?”

He glanced back at me, and I was already licking the chocolate from my fingers. “I’ll take that as a yes. You don’t mess around.”

“Not when there’s chocolate at stake.” I winced. “Sorry. I probably should wipe that phrase out of my vocabulary.”

“Don’t change on my account,” he chuckled, then grabbed the blueberry muffin.

“You know, feeding me isn’t part of your job. I’m perfectly capable of managing my own meals.”

He arched a very dubious eyebrow.

“I
am
,” I stressed.

“Not to the degree necessary to keep you healthy and able to handle matters like these. Before this is said and done, I wager you’ll need every ounce of your strength and every bit of moxie in that stubborn head of yours. Ensuring you’re well fed makes that more likely, and it makes my life easier.”

I wanted to argue with him but found that I couldn’t. Sure, it was irritating that he’d taken my measure and found a flaw. I didn’t want him aware that I
had
flaws, much less pointing them out. But it was also comforting. Instead of adding the issue to his mental “red flags” column, he’d figured out a way to cope with it.

What a strange and awesome thing.

He finished his own muffin, then glanced back at me. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said, reaching for muffin number two.

When the blood and muffins were gone, we prepared for the possibility of battle. There was no knowing, of course, whether Mallory or Tate would pick tonight or tomorrow or a week from now to seek out the
Maleficium
, but they both seemed impatient enough to force the issue sooner rather than later.

I checked the blade of my katana, ensuring the steel was clean and ready for action, then climbed into my battle-worthy leather pants, a thin, long-sleeved shirt against the chill, and my leather jacket. The leathers were, ironically, gifts from Mallory for my last birthday. It seemed appropriate and sad that I was donning them to take arms against her again tonight.

When I was ready, I watched Ethan dress—jeans and a leather jacket covering his long, lean form—and recalled my current to-do list:

1. Stop and secure Mallory.
   
2. Stop and secure Tate.
   
3. Get the hell back to Chicago.
   
4. See Ethan naked under more auspicious circumstances.
   
5. Repeat, ad infinitum.
   

Tasks four and five were, like Ethan, alluring. But for now, we had a sorceress and a something else to deal with, so I belted on my katana. Thinking we were ready to head downstairs, I put a hand on the doorknob, but Ethan stopped me.

“Merit.”

I looked back, eyebrows lifted in question.

He moved forward, as swift as a cat, stopped mere inches from me, and stared down at me with hooded emerald eyes. Even in jeans and a jacket, he was so handsome, this blond warrior, with ferocity in his eyes and a sword at his side.

“You’ll be careful.”

“About what?”

“About this mission.”

“As careful as possible,” I promised. My tone was lighthearted, but that wasn’t enough for him. He put a hand on my arm. “And if she’s a threat to you?”

I looked up at him, my heart suddenly pounding.

“She may be a threat,” Ethan said. “Mallory has attempted, and likely will attempt again, magic that has no purpose but to harm others, including you.”

The fierceness in his eyes made my stomach clench with nerves. The protectiveness was thrilling, but I was afraid it boded poorly for Mal.

“If it comes down to you or her…”

I was silent for a moment. “What?”

He didn’t finish the sentence; he didn’t need to. He was warning me, apologizing for what he might do to Mallory if—
when
—she popped into our lives again. But I didn’t want to have this conversation.

“She’s my best friend. She’s practically my sister.”

“And she’s put you down with her magic. She tried to destroy the third-biggest city in the country, and she tried to turn me into her servant because she thinks she has the right to unleash evil on the world.”

I swallowed down fear and a fierce bolt of sudden anger at Mallory, and I made myself face him. “I can’t let you hurt her, Ethan.”