Dark Debt (5 page)

Ethan rolled his eyes good-humoredly before tossing the towel in his hand back into the bathroom, dropping the second onto the floor.

That left him naked—all hard planes
and ridges of muscle, including a very impressive erection that left little doubt about his current line of thought. The seductive drowsiness in his eyes, part desire and part nearing sunrise, confirmed it . . . and enhanced the allure.

I dropped the pastry back on the tray, my appetite now shifted to something entirely different. “You are a gorgeous specimen of a man.”

“Am I?” he asked,
but when I crooked my finger in beckoning, he stalked toward me like a cat, muscles in his thighs and abdomen tightening, shifting as he moved. There was nothing about him that wasn’t perfectly sculpted. Whether caused by the vampire mutation or his Swedish genetics, the result was undeniably tempting.

“You are,” I said, and slid a hand down the flat of his abdomen, the muscle hard as steel
beneath my hand. “And since you became Master of the universe, we haven’t really had time to explore your various peaks and valleys.”

“Colorado was a bit of a bust,” Ethan agreed. He put a hand on my waist, leaned forward to nuzzle my neck, teeth just catching my earlobe. “Exploration sounds like a beautiful way to spend the last minutes before sunrise.”

I closed my eyes, smiled, and
tilted my head to improve his access . . . until my phone began to ring.

Since Ethan growled, I guessed I wasn’t the only one frustrated. “I’ll pay you not to answer that.”

“It could be about Balthasar. I have to at least see who it is.” I grabbed my phone from the side table, checked the screen, and found an equally unwelcome caller.

It was late for vampires, but early for humans,
including my father, Joshua Merit, king of Chicago real estate.

I didn’t especially want to talk to him, but seeing his name appear on my phone also didn’t do much for my libido, so I gave Ethan an apologetic look, lifted it to my ear.

“Hello?” I said awkwardly as Ethan backed away, picked up his towel, and marched toward the bed. So much for the exploration.

My father skipped the
introduction. “I’d like you and Ethan to join me tonight at an event.”

The order, framed as a request, was so brusque it took a moment to catch up. “This isn’t really the best time . . .”

“For me, either. I’m involved in the Towerline project, as I’m sure you’ll remember.”

That took a moment of memory searching. Towerline was a large real estate deal my father was trying to close.
It would put four brand-new interconnected skyscrapers along the Chicago River.

“I helped you find those account numbers,” he said, reminding me again—as if that was necessary—that to him, everything was a transaction.

Still, while his attitude was regrettable, he was right. He’d helped track down the owner of a Swiss bank account, which led us to a conspiracy to take out the GP’s former
head, Darius West.

“What’s the event?” I asked, resigned.

“A party to raise money for some art-based charity or other. The charity isn’t important.” My father, the philanthropist. “The location is—it’s at the home of Adrien Reed.”

My father paused, as if his mere mention of the name would send me into excited apoplexy.

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Yes, you do. He owns Reed
Logistics. I’m sure you’ve seen the facility near O’Hare.”

Since I hadn’t really been on the lookout for a logistics partner, or its warehouse, the explanation didn’t do much for me. “Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell.”

I could practically hear the flat stare through the phone. “He sponsors free bat night at Wrigley,” my father added, helpfully this time.

In my sunlight-tolerating days, I’d
loved attending free
anything
night at Wrigley. And there was probably a box of mini Louisville Sluggers in the basement of my parents’ home.

“Oh, Adrien Reed,” I said. “I thought you said Adrien
Mead
.” I knew it was lame, but I was committed.

Silence, then: “Given his new national reach, Reed’s expressed interest in meeting Ethan.”

And there was the pitch. Swing and a miss in my opinion,
but that was ultimately for Ethan to decide.

“I’ll mention the request and your offer, but I can’t promise anything.”

“Because of Balthasar?”

The question made me shudder with memory and concern. “How do you know about Balthasar?”

“The several ongoing live broadcasts.” His voice was flat, radiating disapproval that we were making a spectacle of ourselves again.

“I have obligations,”
I said, in answer to his question. “So I can’t make a commitment right now.”

“Family obligations trump paramours,” my father said. And with that, a four-word missive on loyalty—and apparent evaluation of my relationship with Ethan, and despite the fact that he wanted to use him for his connections—he hung up the phone.

I threw the phone into the bank of pillows on the bed, gave it a single-fingered
salute for good measure. Not exactly classy, but sometimes even messy feelings needed expressing.

Ethan emerged from the bedroom in his favorite sleepwear, a pair of green silk pajama bottoms slung low on his hips. “Another quality conversation between father and daughter, I see. Did you know you pace when you talk to him?”

I looked down, realizing I’d traversed the apartment. “I guess
I did. He wants us to attend a charity event at the house of the Wrigley ball night guy.”

“Adrien Reed?”

I looked at him. “How do you know that?”

“Reed loves business, and you love baseball. I pay attention. Why does your father want us there?”

“Because you’re ‘national’ now. That makes you a legit business lead—and a very big catch.”

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered
or not. I would like to meet Reed but don’t especially like the thought of leaving the House vulnerable.”

“Mallory and Catcher will be here, so that helps. But I’m going to need a dress.”

Ethan smiled lazily. “I haven’t proposed to you yet.”

He firmly believed marriage was in our future, and enjoyed teasing me with hints of his proposal. He knew I wasn’t yet ready to take that leap,
but the teasing certainly kept me on my toes.

“Wrong kind of dress. I could wear one of the previous ones”—this wasn’t the first fancy event Ethan and I had attended—“or you can work your sartorial magic and find something new.”

“I’ll do that,” he said, grabbing his phone and sending a message. “Confirm with your father and get the details. We’ll tell Luc at dusk.”

I pulled my phone
from the pillow array, muttering a few choice words about “obligation” and “loyalty” while I did it, but sent my father the message:
WE’LL ATTEN
D. SEND DETAILS.

I put the phone on the nightstand, felt the sudden creep of the sun over the horizon as the room’s automatic shutters closed over the windows. “That’s it for me tonight,” I said, and fell face-first into the pillows.

“Demure and
elegant as always,” Ethan said, and I felt the bed dip beside me. “Sleep well, my Sentinel. For tomorrow is another day.”

“Inevitably,” I murmured, and fell into sleep.

YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE A NATURAL VAMPIRE

M
any hours later, the sun crept below the horizon again, leaving the world dark, quiet, and cool. My eyes flashed open as the automatic shutters retracted, sending the orange glow of streetlights into the room.

I glanced beside me. Ethan’s eyes were
closed, his body resting atop a tangle of sheets—one leg bent, one arm thrown above the other, brow furrowed. A sheen of sweat covered his body, and there was a stale, lingering magic in the air.

It wasn’t hard to guess the reason for his distress. I touched the back of my hand to his forehead. Clammy, but cool.

“I’m awake,” he said, eyes still closed.

“You’re usually up before me.”

“I slept like the dead—no pun intended.” He opened one eye, cast a glance down the length of his body. “And part of me
is
up.”

“We haven’t talked about Balthasar,” I said, avoiding the direction of his gaze, lest I become glamoured by the promise of it.

“Not exactly how I’d prefer to get into the mood. Come here,
Sentinel,” he said, and waited while I climbed atop his body, hard beneath
me.

His eyes as green as glass, Ethan rocked his hips enticingly. “I can make you forget everything that worries you.”

“I worry for you,” I said, but let him slip my shirt over my head, let my head fall back when his hands found my breasts. Tension slipped from my shoulders as his hands worked cleverly to entice and arouse.

“We are immortal,” he said huskily, eyes silver and focused
on my breasts. “Let us live like it.” He pulled me down toward him, tangled his hands in my hair as his mouth found mine, attacked with brutal force, willing to give no quarter. His tongue probed and tangled as his teeth nipped at my lips, his body growing impossibly harder beneath me as he deepened the kiss.

“I want you,” he whispered, before trailing kisses along my neck. “Jesus, but I want
you. Stand up.”

“What?” I asked, brows lifted.

“Stand up.”

It wasn’t easy to stand on the mattress, but I managed it. I’d been standing only for a second when he bared the rest of me.

And then sat up, and his mouth was at my core, and my muscles went so lax I had to brace a hand against the wall in front of me to stay upright.

Hands on my hips, he pulled my body toward him
as he devoured me. I fisted my hand in his hair, called out his name as pleasure hit me like a shock of lightning.

“Ethan.”

Again, Sentinel.
His mouth and hands continued to taunt and torture, until I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep standing. He didn’t stop until I’d climaxed again.

“Knees,” he ordered. And I gratefully complied, lowering quivering thighs as I situated my body atop
his.

Ethan stripped himself of clothing, rocked his body upward, seating himself firmly inside me, then growled deep in his throat, a rumble strong enough to vibrate the bed beneath us.

He raked his gaze along my body, from strong shoulders to breasts, abdomen to thighs, to the junction where our bodies were joined. I loved watching his eyes, watching his silvered irises cloud with lust
and arousal, watching his face go utterly blank when pleasure rocked him, hearing his possessive and primal groans. Ethan was undeniably gorgeous at any time of day, waking or sleeping. But when the veil of desire covered him, he was magnificent.

His lip curled with focus, his hands found my hips, long fingers squeezing my hips as I began to move, savoring the sensation of his body around
mine, within mine, both of us becoming more than we’d been, because we were together. His hips lifted to meet mine, eyes narrowed, contorted with pleasure. Perhaps, I thought, I’d give him something to see.

I cupped my breasts, nipped my lip between my teeth coquettishly, watched his eyes widen in surprise, delight, arousal. His hips moved faster, pushed upward as I rocked above him, spinning
my hips and watching as his eyes darkened. Sweat gleamed across his chest, his breathing harsher, faster, as his pace quickened further. I took his wrist, lifted it to my mouth, touched my tongue to the spot above his rocketing pulse.

“Merit,” he said hoarsely, and, as his body rocked upward, I bit.

*   *   *

We lazed in bed, lying beside each other for a little while longer until
Ethan glanced at the clock, sighed. “We need to get moving. The party starts in two hours.”

It took me a moment to remember what he was talking about,
that we’d promised my father attendance at Reed’s party, and that I was going to have to wear a dress and fancy heels. I’d need to figure out a way to carry my phone and, if not my katana, a dagger.

I’d also need to check in with Luc and,
in case he hadn’t already heard, update Jonah, the captain of the Grey House guards, about Balthasar’s appearance.

Jonah was also my partner in the Red Guard, a secret corps of vampires who kept an eye on the Masters and the reigning council, now the AAM, to make sure they didn’t infringe the rights of Novitiates. We hadn’t spoken much since Nicole’s GP revolution, as we’d both been busy helping
our Masters with the transition. And, frankly, I’d been stung by RG comments that if Ethan had gained control of the GP, I was too enamored to keep an eye on him. I wasn’t looking forward to rehashing the love-makes-girls-dumb argument.

“How long is the line?”

I picked up my phone, scanned for Luc’s now-nightly announcement for the number of vampires who’d requested an audience with Ethan.
Ethan was the only Chicago Master who’d agreed to provide an audience to Rogues, vampires who weren’t affiliated with a particular House. That drew a lot of Midwestern vampires to Cadogan’s gate.

“Only seven tonight,” I reported back, and sent Luc the party details while I was thinking about it.

Ethan sighed. “I still won’t be able to get to them all.”

“If you don’t, they’ll come back.
And there’s a safe house if they need shelter in the meantime.” We wouldn’t house all the vampires who showed up at the door, so Ethan and Malik had established a boardinghouse down the block where traveling
vampires could safely seek refuge while they waited for an audience with the Master.

I put aside the phone, glanced back at Ethan. “Balthasar.”

“That isn’t a question.”

“It’s a
topic of discussion, which you’re avoiding.” I wrapped the sheet around myself, rose to sit on my knees so I could see his face, which was unreadable.

“Is the sheet really necessary at this point?”

“It will keep us from getting distracted.”

“I can see you naked without getting distracted.”

“That’s not exactly a compliment, and quit changing the subject.” I put a hand on his. “You
haven’t had a chance to talk about it—about him, about what happened—since it happened.”

Ethan looked away. “Is there anything to say?”

“Well, he tried to seduce me in front of you, so we could start there.”

As predicted, that got me a flaming glare. “It wasn’t seduction. It was magic.” But his tone belied his words.

“So it was. And a betrayal either way.”

Ethan blew out a
breath through puffed cheeks.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But things get a little tense between us when we let things stew.”

His look was flat. “Why do I have a sense you actually mean ‘me’ when you say ‘we’?”

My responsive look was even flatter. “Blackmail.”

“Irrelevant.”

“Since Nicole attempted to blackmail you about Balthasar, I think that makes
it pretty freaking relevant.”

Ethan growled, pushed his hands through his hair, linked his fingers behind his head. “I’d like him to respect the fact that I
intentionally separated myself from him, and perhaps take a graceful walk into the sun. But there is little chance of that.”

He looked at me. “I don’t worry about myself. I worry about you, and I worry about this House.”

“Mallory
and Catcher are here.”

“For any
direct
trouble he might try to cause,” Ethan agreed. He lowered his hands, linked his fingers across his abdomen. “But if he tries to re-create his little European kingdom here? If he treats humans in Chicago like he treated Persephone and the others?” He leaned forward, a line of worry between his eyes. “Consider, Merit, the storm that would rain down upon
us, upon vampires.”

He was right; I hadn’t even considered the damage Balthasar might cause by leaving a trail of blood and bodies across Chicago. Our relative peace with the city was short-lived, and we’d only just managed to keep the torches-and-pitchforks types at bay.

“Damn,” I said.

“Exactly.” He sighed. “But we’ve done all that we can for now. Your grandfather is alerted, and
he’ll advise the mayor if necessary.”

Mayor Diane Kowalcyzk wasn’t keen on vampires, but we’d helped the city once too often for her to use us as the political lightning rods she preferred. And since Chicago had more vampire Houses than any other city in the country, we had the largest AAM contingent. That made Diane even more interested.

“And your plan? Are you thinking about disavowal?”

“I’m considering it. But I can’t shake the fear he’d act out. I want to talk it through with Malik and Luc when we have time. Which isn’t right now, since we have a real-estate mogul to entertain. Let’s get moving.”

“Do we have to go?”

“Yes. And there’s probably breakfast waiting outside our door, if that’s any incentive.”

Of course it was. I slipped on a robe and opened the front
door, found breakfast, newspapers, and Luc’s daily security reports awaiting us.

I picked up the tray and closed the door. Ethan gestured me forward as if awaiting service. “Darth Sullivan desires breakfast.”

I shook my head, placed the tray on the farthest corner of the bed. Someone had to keep his ego in check; might as well be me.

Ethan grumbled but reached for the paper and a mug
of coffee. I grabbed a bottle of blood and headed for the closet to grab jeans and a T-shirt.

I wasn’t getting into a dress until it was absolutely necessary.

*   *   *

When we were dressed, I followed Ethan downstairs to the House’s foyer, where a small reception desk had been installed to handle the waiting vampires. It was currently staffed by Juliet, a red-haired House guard who
looked delicate but was as fierce as they came. Supplicants sat on benches installed across from the table.

Juliet glanced up, nodded at Ethan. “Sire.”

Ethan nodded at her, then glanced at the vampires—three women, four men—who waited for him.

They were a sociological sample: a variety of shapes, sizes, colors, nationalities, finances. Among them, a very tall, broad-shouldered woman
with short hair and a square face. A man of average height with dark skin and darker hair, casual clothes, and a worried expression. A blond woman I’d have described as handsome in a sleek blouse and pencil skirt. Their reasons for waiting were probably also different, but they were unified in the hope that Ethan could solve their problems.

They began to rise when they realized Ethan was approaching,
but he held up a hand. “No need. Please stay seated. Unfortunately, I have an engagement this evening, so my availability will be limited. But if I cannot see you tonight, Juliet will help you find shelter.”

A few looked worried or perturbed by the delay; the rest seemed to be in awe of Ethan.

“Sire,” they said in more or less unison, and Ethan smiled in acknowledgment before turning toward
his office. That was where we’d have parted ways had we not seen Helen waiting in the doorway of Ethan’s office, two garment bags in hand.

She was surveying Ethan’s office when we reached her, her gaze stopping at the broken bookshelves. “I hadn’t noticed these last night. It seems Malik did not exaggerate.”

“Balthasar did not employ his best manners,” Ethan said.

Helen placed the
garment bags carefully across the couch, then stood ramrod straight again and looked at Ethan.

“You know that I normally do not speak out of turn. But with
him
in town, and sorcerers in the House, that seems a recipe for trouble.”

“And if I told you the sorcerers were helping keep the House safe from Balthasar’s tantrums?”

She paused. “Then I’ll get the staff started on the repairs.”

“I appreciate it.” When she left the room, Ethan glanced at his watch. “I’m going to do what I can with the supplicants before getting dressed. You wanted to check in with Luc?”

I nodded. “I’ll go downstairs, give him a few minutes to harass me about being overly fancy and missing tonight’s training.” That brought a smile to my face. “Oh, I forgot about that. No Luc90X tonight. Maybe dating
a big shot does have its privileges.”

“Since I am the big shot, and you’re Sentinel, you could probably skip that training altogether.”

I pointed a finger at him. “Don’t tell Luc that. He likes to play boss, and you’d break his heart.” I shrugged. “The training’s good for me, and it does give me a chance to hang out with Lindsey.”

It was much more fun to be part of the guard group,
even if not quite one of them, than to stand alone as Sentinel.