Biting Bad: A Chicagoland Vampires Novel (33 page)

He chuckled. “Acknowledged. But a soul without passion doesn’t feel fury. Or love. And there was definitely passion in your soul. I selected the phrase because I thought it lovely. Now, I feel lucky that I can deem it true.”

Tears gathered at my lashes.

“I have eternal life,” he said. “But you are my undying passion.” He put his hands on my cheeks and kissed me deeply. There was passion in his kiss, in the nip of his tongue, but this kiss was about promise. About tenderness.

About love.

He drew back and pressed the softest kiss to my lips. “I love you, Caroline Evelyn Merit. Happy Not Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Not Valentine’s Day, Sullivan.” I moved into his arms, surrounding myself with his body, his warmth, his crisp cologne.

The wind began to lift, then rushed toward us in a gust. As I glanced back, it scattered the heart, lifting the rose petals into the sky. I watched in awe as they circled around us, love rendered aloft by forces outside our control. A fitting metaphor, I thought.

“There is actually one more small thing.”

“Is it diamonds? I like diamonds.”

“No,” he said. “It’s actually about Moneypenny.”

I perked up immediately. “Oh?”

“I talked to Gabriel. I was hoping against hope that he’d consider letting me buy her. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t allow it.”

My heart fell a bit. It’s not that I’d been expecting it, but it certainly would have been nice to drive her more.

“He wouldn’t let me buy her,” Ethan said. “But he would let me buy her for you.”

It took me a moment to realize what he’d said. “For me?” My voice came out in a squeak. “Are you serious?”

“Aspen serious,” Ethan said. “She is parked in the garage, in her newly assigned parking spot. Gabriel is awaiting your direction as to the Volvo. It’s an unkillable machine, it seems, so he’d considered donating it to a charity that accepts vehicles. If that’s all right with you, of course.”

The charity bit was awesome, but this was Chicago. “You’re serious about the parking space thing? Like really?”

Ethan chuckled, then cast a glance at the sky, which was now marked by stripes of indigo, crimson, and orange. “The sun will be rising soon. Let’s go inside.”

He took my hand, squeezing it gently, and together we walked back into the House, the crimson wind swirling behind us. For night would come soon enough again.

Also, there was cake.

We made it to the front door before trouble found us again.

“Ethan. Merit.”

We glanced back and found Detective Jacobs on the sidewalk. He was tall, with dark skin and short hair. He wore a suit and overcoat against the chill, a fedora placed just so on his head. His hands were tucked into his trouser pockets, his coat pushed aside for them.

Ethan frowned and walked back down the sidewalk. I followed behind him.

“Detective Jacobs. What brings you here?”

“Bad news, I’m afraid.”

Panic set in. “My grandfather?” I asked, but he shook his head.

“He’s fine, Merit. This is unrelated.” He looked at Ethan. “This actually involves events that transpired here a few days ago—the death of Harold Monmonth.”

Ethan’s gaze widened, and my heart began to rush again, but for a different reason. “What about it?”

“The prosecuting attorney has determined you are responsible for his death. I’m afraid a warrant has been issued for your arrest.”

I guess the GP’s silence hadn’t meant they were okay with Ethan’s handling of the attack. To the contrary: They were angry enough—at least some of them—that they’d actually brought humans into vampire affairs. And made Ethan, a four-hundred-year-old vampire, subject to their justice.

“Harold Monmonth is no gentleman,” Ethan assured. “As the CPD is well aware, he attacked this House and killed two human guards. We called the CPD, and officers took statements from everyone. They concluded it was self-defense.”

“It doesn’t matter what they think,” Jacobs said frankly. “It matters what the prosecuting attorney thinks. But perhaps there is some flexibility here. Perhaps I came to the House and found you gone?”

Ethan and Jacobs looked at each other for a long, quiet moment.

“I understand you have powerful friends who live outside the city,” Jacobs said. “Friends with strong connections?”

Jacobs meant the Breckenridge family.

Ethan moistened his lips, and nodded. “And if we did?”

“Then perhaps you pay them a visit for a few days until the appropriate conclusions can be reached, the appropriate reports filed. Otherwise, I’m afraid I’ll have to take you into custody.”

“Hardly a choice,” Ethan muttered. “But I appreciate your hypothetical advice. And I’m sorry you came to the House and found me absent.”

“In that case, my report will reflect that,” Detective Jacobs said, touching the brim of his hat. He turned and walked out the gate, leaving Ethan and me silent in his wake.

“What do we do now?”

“Apparently,” Ethan said, “we call Nick Breckenridge, and we ask him for another favor . . . and we hope to God he agrees to help.”

Chloe Neill
was born and raised in the South but now makes her home in the Midwest—just close enough to Cadogan House and St. Sophia’s to keep an eye on things. When not transcribing Merit’s and Lily’s adventures, she bakes, works, and scours the Internet for good recipes and great graphic design. Chloe also maintains her sanity by spending time with her boys—her favorite landscape photographer (her husband) and their dogs, Baxter and Scout. (Both she and the photographer understand the dogs are in charge.)

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