Hard Bitten (17 page)

“Uncomfortable?” I asked. I probably shouldn’t have spoken, being the least-ranking vampire in the room, but sometimes curiosity won out.

Darius nodded. “The American Revolution was a difficult time for the British and American Houses, as you might imagine. The GP hadn’t yet been formed—that was still decades down the road—and the Conseil Rouge retained power.

Being French, the Conseil supported the colonies’ freedom. Being British, we did not.”

I nodded my understanding. “And immortality being what is, some of those colonists are still alive in the American Houses.”

“Indeed.”

“An excellent reason,” Ethan put in, “to preclude discussion of receivership.”

“The discussion is already under way, Ethan. I know you don’t approve of the Presidium or the actions we’ve taken, but we have rules and processes for a reason.”

So Celina can ignore them?
I wondered.

There was a knock at the door, which opened a little. A man tidily dressed in cuffed trousers, button-up shirt, and suspenders—only his wavy brown hair askew—looked inside. “Sire, your call with New York Houses is ready.” His voice was equally British and posh; he must have been part of Darius’s retinue.

Darius glanced up and over. “Thank you, Charlie. I’ll just be a moment.”

Charlie nodded, then disappeared through the door again. When he was gone, Darius stood up.

The rest of us did the same.

“We’ll chat later,” Darius said, then nodded at me. “Good luck with your continued training.”

“Thank you, Sire.”

When he was gone, and the door was closed again behind him, silence reigned. Ethan put his elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his hair.

“Receivership,” Luc repeated. “When was the last time that happened?”

“Not since the financial meltdown before World War II,” Malik answered. “Many, many years.”

“He’s being unreasonable,” I said, glancing around at them. “None of this is Cadogan’s fault.

It’s Adam Keene’s fault. It’s the GP’s fault—

Celina’s fault. We’re reaping the consequences of their bad acts, and now he wants to put the GP

in charge of the House?”

Ethan sat up straight again. “That’s the long and short of it. A receiver would come into the House, begin an investigation of House procedures, and have the authority—the GP-granted authority—to approve every decision that’s made in this House, regardless of how big or small. A receiver would report every decision back to the GP, including Darius, including Celina.”

Ethan looked up at me, his green eyes icy cold.

“And I have to wonder whether he’d be raising the issue if our Sentinel hadn’t just informed him that Chicago was heading to hell in a handbasket.” So the calm, unruffled, forgiving Ethan had been an act for Darius.

Unfortunately for him, we’d come too far for me to be intimidated by a snarky phrase or nasty look. I’d gone out and faced danger for him and the House, and I wasn’t about to shrink away because he didn’t like the consequences. I gave him back the same stare.

The room went silent, until Ethan barked out an order, his gaze still on me. “Excuse us, please.”

When no one budged, he glanced around the room. “I wasn’t asking for permission.”

That was enough to send Luc and Malik scurrying out the door, both of them offering me sympathetic looks.

It wasn’t until we were alone, the door shut behind them, that Ethan finally looked away. For a full minute, he sat quietly, his back rigid.

Finally, he walked back to his desk and settled himself behind it, putting space—and furniture

—between us.

I’d known him long enough to call it “typical Sullivan.” It was the kind of action we could have added to the Ethan Sullivan drinking game, falling somewhere between his imperious eyebrow arching and his habit of referring to any Novitiate in his House by position, rather than by name.

“Sentinel,” he finally said, linking his fingers on his desk.

I took a step forward, intent on making him believe how much I regretted what I’d inadvertently told Darius. “Ethan, I am so sorry.

You were on the phone, and it didn’t even occur to me to see if anyone was behind me.”

He held up a hand. “You told him where you’d been. I am not sure whether to throttle you now or simply hand you over to the Presidium and let them do it.”

If I were him, I’d throttle me, too. I just nodded.

When Ethan finally looked at me again, there was desperation in his eyes.

“A receiver. In my goddamned House. A House I have watched, guided, parented when necessary. Do you know what an insult that is?

To have an administrator—some organizational specialist who couldn’t guide vampires with a map and compass—replacing me? Telling me what I’ve done right or wrong, how I should ‘fix’

the things I’ve broken.”

My heart clenched sympathetically. It must have been hard to hear that not only was the supreme leader of vamps not happy with your work, but he was considering sending someone across the pond to make sure the work was done correctly. It wouldn’t have thrilled me, either.

And the worst part? This was at least partly my fault. I mean, it seemed unlikely Darius would have traveled this far if he didn’t have concerns about the House, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t pushed him over the receivership edge.

“This House is old, Merit. It is a respectable House. The appointment of a receiver is a slap in the face.” He looked away, shaking his head ruefully. “How can I not take that as an insult to all that I’ve done since Peter’s death?”

That Peter was Peter Cadogan, the House’s namesake and first Master. The man who’d held the reins until his death, when Ethan took over.

“I would take it personally, too.”

Ethan barked out a laugh. “It’s hardly that I take it personally, Sentinel. It’s that it’s a slap against me and Malik, Luc, Helen—the entire staff. Every Initiate Commended, every Novitiate who has served. Every sacrifice made. You essentially told him we don’t have things in hand.”

“We don’t if what we saw last night is commonplace. This wasn’t half a dozen vampires and a couple of humans, Ethan. There were dozens of vamps, dozens of humans. The party was huge, and it was loud, and it wasn’t just about a little private sip.”

“So it wasn’t a rave.”

“Not the kind of raves we knew about before.

The vamps were on edge, the magic thick. Vamps were picking fights all over the place.”

“Did you and Noah have to defend

yourselves?”

I hated lying to Ethan.
Hated it.
But it wasn’t fair of me to clear my conscience at Jonah’s expense, so I sucked it up and played out the story.

“Defend ourselves, yes. We weren’t involved in any fighting of consequence, although things got nasty when we made our exit. I’d found a human who needed help—drugged or glamoured; I’m not sure which. She needed out, and there were a few vamps who weren’t happy to see her go. Noah spilled blood as a distraction, and the vamps went crazy. The place erupted with fighting, but we got her out and sent her home.

She was grateful enough—embarrassed enough—that I don’t think she’ll cause us problems down the road.”

I sighed and looked away. “I hate saying that, Ethan. It mortifies me that I have to think about a woman who’s been in a bad position as a liability. She was made a commodity by those vampires. That shouldn’t happen twice. Not by us.”

I looked back at him, and appreciated the sympathy in his eyes.

“You are a very human vampire,” he affectionately said.

“So you say.”

“I once considered it a liability. And for some vampires, I still do. But for you—let us hope they don’t bleed it out of you.”

We were quiet for a moment, just looking at each other. I finally broke the silence. I reached into my pocket, pulled out the envelope, and handed it to him. “This is why we think the humans may have been drugged.”

Ethan inspected the envelope, then dropped the pills into his hand. “What’s V?”

“Don’t know. I’m assuming it stands for

‘vampire.’ And the punch line? The human who gave this to me, Sarah, had learned about the rave at Temple Bar.”

His gaze went cold. “Someone is using the Cadogan House bar to solicit humans?”

“That would appear to be the case.”

A muscle in his cheek twitched, but after a moment, he seemed to relax again.

“At least you managed not to tell Darius about that.”

There was a smirk in his eyes that made me smile.

“We’ll thank God for small miracles,” I agreed. “Sarah said she heard about the rave from a short guy . . . and a woman named Marie.”

Ethan froze, before slipping the pills back into the envelope. “There are probably thousands of women in Chicago named Marie.”

“That is true,” I agreed.

He handed the envelope back to me. “There’s no way to know that it was Celina. She hasn’t gone by that name in two centuries.”

“That is also true,” I said, tapping my fingers against the envelope.

“You’re usually much more argumentative at this point.”

“I usually have more evidence to go on.”

He smiled. “We may make a Sentinel out of you yet.”

Of course, while I did usually have more evidence that Celina was involved in something obnoxious, that didn’t change the facts. . . . “It is still quite a coincidence that the rave pusher was using one of Celina’s former aliases.”

“An alias that led us to a saboteur the last time she used it,” Ethan reminded me. He had a point—Celina sent incriminating e-mail messages to Peter as “Marie Collette.” But he’d forgotten a key fact.

“Celina doesn’t know we traced that particular e-mail address; she was using half a dozen others.

And she doesn’t know that’s how we found out about Peter. She just knows he stopped showing up to do his bidding. And, more important, she probably didn’t think she’d get caught. What are the odds that particular girl would tell me that someone calling herself ‘Marie’ was soliciting humans outside a bar?”

“What are the odds Celina would use an alias we could identify outside a bar we own?”

Okay, put like that, it didn’t sound so convincing.

“Just because I don’t currently have all the evidence doesn’t mean there isn’t evidence to be found.”

“And so it begins,” he muttered, then lifted his gaze, no longer amused. “Merit, the head of the GP is steps away from us right now. I am ordering you not to bring up her name again—”

When I opened my mouth to object, he held up a hand.

“Until you have more evidence than a name she may or may not have used. I now consider the subject to be dropped. Understood?”

“Understood,” I said, then wet my lips. “Do you trust me?”

His gaze went a little more seductive than I cared for. “Do I
trust
you?”

“It doesn’t sound like Darius wants me getting my hands dirty. But this is my job, and frankly, I’m kind of good at it.”

“Much to everyone’s surprise.”

I gave him a petulant face. “We know something weird is going on out there. If the rave scene is the way we get in and shut it down—the way we make sure vamps aren’t out there slaughtering humans en masse—then we go the rave route. I need to get out there again, and we need to keep pulling this string.”

“You cannot make an enemy of the GP. And not just because you’re a member of this House,”

he preemptively added at my narrowed gaze. “I understand your impatience and I honor your commitment. But if they believe you stand against them, they will bring you down, Merit.

Their sovereignty is important. Celina lives because she hasn’t challenged that sovereignty; if you challenge it, you pose a direct threat to Darius and the others. And that will be the beginning of the end of you.”

“I know. But that’s not reason enough to allow them to tear the city apart.”

His expression—half sorrowful resignation, half pride—mirrored my own emotions. “I didn’t train you, invest in you, so that you could give yourself over to the GP as some kind of Windy City sacrifice.”

His voice was soft, earnest, but there was emotion in his eyes. Real emotion.

“I don’t intend to be a sacrifice. And I don’t intend to let you be one, either.”

He looked away. “They have an eye on the House. They’ll know what we’re doing.”

Here comes the kicker,
I thought, bracing myself. “Not if you’re not involved.”

He paused, obviously startled, then leaned back in his chair. He might be nervous about the idea, but I’d piqued his interest. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I have powerful friends. Mallory.

Catcher. Gabriel. My grandfather. Noah.” Not to mention Jonah and the rest of the Red Guard. “I can work with them to accomplish what the GP

won’t allow you to do.”

Frowning, Ethan sat up again and absently shuffled papers on his desk. After a moment, he shook his head. “If you’re working outside my authority, you also work outside my protection.

And if you do get caught, the GP won’t like the idea of an uncontrolled Sentinel running around Chicago.”

“But they’ll allow an uncontrolled former Master to run around Chicago?”

“She only killed humans,” he dryly reminded me. “You’re talking about challenging the GP.”

“I’m talking about doing what’s necessary, and what’s right. We’ve got humans picketing outside and a mayor who’s going to try God knows what against you and the House so he can make a name for himself. We’ve also got really pissed-off vamps who’ll start a fight without provocation just for the fun of doing it. Do you want them running around Chicago? Besides,” I quietly added, knowing what he needed to hear,

“I’m stronger now than I was before. I’m more skilled now than I was before.”

He looked up at me, worry tightening his eyes.

God, I hated to see that worry. I hated what I’d done to put it there. And so I went to him, all reasons to the contrary. I slipped between his chair and the desk, and when he leaned toward me and rested his forehead on my abdomen, I slid my fingers into the thick golden silk of his hair.

“I’ll be careful.”

Ethan grunted and wrapped his hands around my waist. I ran my fingers through his hair—the same motion over and over again—and then traced my fingertips down his back. Gradually, I felt the tension leave his shoulders.