Wild Things: A Chicagolands Vampire Novel (Chicagoland Vampires) (3 page)

“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.

UPSTAIRS, DOWNSTAIRS

T
hat 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 the 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; 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 evidently 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 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 considering 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 that 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.

“Pop uses the place for visiting board members,” Finn said, stepping inside and surveying the living room, hands on his hips. “Kitchen’s stocked with blood and food, so you should find everything you need here.”

He pointed to a keypad beside the door. “The entire house is rigged to the security system, which is hooked up to the main house. There’s also an intercom in case you run into trouble.”

I glanced around, didn’t see a back door. “Is this the only door in and out?”

Finn smirked. “Yes. And I see Nick wasn’t kidding—you really are a vampire fighter now.”

“All night long,” I said, gesturing toward the windows. “What about those?”

“Ah.” Finn pressed a button on the keypad. Segmented plates descended across the windows, covering them completely. With those guards in place, we’d be safe from sunlight and marauders.

“Thank you, Finley,” Ethan said. “We appreciate your family’s thoughtfulness.”

“It was Nick’s idea.”

“In that case,” Ethan tightly said, “we appreciate his thoughtfulness. And with all due respect, as we have amply demonstrated, your family has no reason to be hostile toward us.”

Finn’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not hostile toward Merit. I’m hostile toward you. I don’t know you, except that you’ve embroiled her in a world that’s worrying her father and put her grandfather in the hospital.”

The attitude was irritating, as the facts were wrong. My grandfather had been Ombudsman before I’d become a vampire, and I wouldn’t have become a vampire without my father’s meddling. Not that Finley needed the details.

“We all make our own choices,” Ethan said, his smile thin and dangerous.

“So we do. A suggestion?”

Ethan lifted his brows, as Finley slid his glance to the sheathed katanas in our hands.

“You might want to leave the weapons here. They don’t exactly scream ‘friendship.’”

He walked back to me, concern in his eyes. He held out the set of keys, which I took, our fingers brushing. He might have played polite, but he was as angry as Michael. He spilled magic into the air, sending an electric thrill across my fingers.

“Be careful,” he said.

I nodded, not sure what to say.

With that, he opened the door and disappeared into the night.

“Well, they are just delightful,” Ethan said.

I snorted, then walked over and locked the front door. I was responsible for Ethan’s safety, after all. Not that a dead bolt would do much good against a sustained attack. I didn’t think SWAT teams, paranormal or otherwise, would drop down on us during the daylight, but I suppose that was a risk we’d have to take.

“Has Michael always been that aggressive?”

I glanced back at Ethan, who’d pulled off his suit coat and draped it on the back of a nearby chair. “Actually, yes. When we were younger and I spent summers here, Nick and I, sometimes Finn, would play together in the woods. Michael never played at anything. I mean, he participated in football, but it wasn’t a
game
to him. It was a battle. He’s always had a very serious demeanor. And it doesn’t seem like he’s loosening up with old age.”

“Times are challenging for everyone,” Ethan said. “But it’s taken some supernaturals longer than others to realize and accept that. It’s easier, I think, for them to name us enemies rather than consider the possibility they’re surrounded by millions of humans who’d easily wish them dead.”

I grimaced. “That’s not exactly a comforting thought. Especially since it’s undoubtedly true.” I was sure we had human allies—those who didn’t judge, those who were fascinated by our differentness, those who longed for our fame. But we’d been coming face-to-face with mostly the haters recently.

Ethan glanced around the apartment, gestured toward the open doorway. “Bedroom?”

“I actually have no idea.” I’d spent a lot of time at the Breck estate as a child, but I’d never ventured into the carriage house. Why bother, when there was an entire mansion to explore?

I followed him through the door, found he was right. It was a small bedroom, with tall, exposed-brick walls. A bed covered in white linens and a buffet of pillows in shades of blue and green sat in the middle of the room, the head covered by a canopy of wispy tulle that draped romantically over the sides.

“Like the world’s weirdest bed and breakfast,” I muttered, dropping my bag onto the bed. There was an old-fashioned alarm clock on the bedside table and a copy of
Cosmo
. I hoped it had been left by a former guest and not a member of the Breck family who hoped to give me and Ethan a particularly exciting evening.

There was a small bathroom on the other side of the room. Pedestal sink, black-and-white-checkered floor, shower large enough for three. Very pretty, down to the monogrammed guest towels.

When I peeked back into the bedroom, Ethan stood with one hand on his hip, the other holding his phone as he reviewed his messages with a narrowed gaze. He looked more like the head of a Fortune 500 company than a Master vampire on the lam, but I wasn’t complaining. Ethan might have been cunning, funny, brave, and generous . . . but he was also undeniably eye candy.

Tall, lean, and imperious, he’d been my enemy, and he was the opposite of the man I’d thought I’d grow to love. I’d expected to fall for a dreamer, a thinker, an artist. Someone I’d meet in the coffeehouse on a weekend with a satchel full of books, a pair of hipster glasses, and a tendency to quote Fitzgerald.

Ethan preferred Italian suits, vintage wine, and expensive cars. He also knew how to wield a sword, or two of them. He Mastered the House, and he’d killed vampires by his own hand. He was infinitely more complex and difficult than anyone I might have imagined.

And I was more in love with him than I’d imagined was possible. Not just infatuation. Not just lust. But love—complex and awe inspiring and utterly frustrating.

Nearly a year ago, I thought my life was over. In reality, it was just beginning.

Ethan looked up at me, frustration fading to curiosity.

“Sentinel?” he asked.

I smiled at him. “Go back to your domineering. I’m just thinking.”

“I hardly domineer.”

“You made several lifetimes of domineering.” I gestured toward his phone. “Any news from Chicago?”