Twice Bitten (15 page)

“I think their turret is bigger than our turret,” I said as Ethan pulled up to the curb.

“Celina always had a flair for the dramatic,” he agreed.

I put a hand on his arm as we walked to the front door, which was all but hidden from the street by massive, leafy trees. He stopped and glanced down at my hand, then up at me.

“One of our disagreements—Morgan and me . . .” I picked over my words, trying to figure out a way to explain without being too, to use Lindsey’s word, anatomical.

“Morgan thought you and I were involved. Previously, I mean.” I stopped there, hoping Ethan got the point so that I wouldn’t have to spell out exactly what Morgan had accused me of doing with Ethan.

“Ah,” he said. “I see.”

“We weren’t, of course, but he wouldn’t be convinced. So, in addition to the other reasons he won’t be happy to see me, he may not be thrilled to see me with you.”

Ethan gave a half snort, then walked up the stairs. Without so much as knocking, he opened the front door and beckoned me inside.

“What’s funny?” I asked when I reached him.

“The irony. By accusing you of such wanton acts, he accomplished the very thing he sought to avoid.”

“I’m not sure I’d say ‘wanton.’ ”

Ethan leaned in, his lips at my ear. “I, Merit, would definitely say ‘wanton.’ ”

I couldn’t stop the grin that lifted a corner of my mouth, or the blush that warmed my cheeks.

“Besides,” Ethan whispered, following me into the House, “I’ve decided that if the
Sun-Times
story doesn’t top his list of things to accuse us of today, there is less hope for his skills as a Master than I might have imagined.”

There’d been no security outside the door of Navarre House, no ten-foot-high gate, no mercenary fairies keeping a watchful eye on the premises. Navarre vamps saved that fun for the foyer . . . but the guards weren’t the beefy types I expected.

Three women sat behind a semicircular reception desk made of glass and steel that was perched just inside the entrance. Each woman was posed in front of a sleek computer monitor. They all had dark hair and big brown eyes, and they all wore fitted white suit jackets. Each wore her hair up but in a different style—from left to right, funky bouffant, ponytail, and tidy bun.

They glanced up as we entered, then began to whisper and click keys on their respective keyboards.

I assume these are the gatekeepers?
I silently asked.

Might as well be the Greek Fates,
he replied.

“Name,” said the one in the middle, looking up from the monitor to gaze suspiciously at us.

“Ethan Sullivan, Master, Cadogan House,” Ethan said. “Merit, Sentinel, Cadogan House.”

The other two women stopped typing and looked at me. Their expressions showed a range of emotions—disgust, curiosity, sheer feminine appraisal. All emotions, I assumed, motivated by the run-ins I’d had with their former Master, Celina, and their current one, Morgan. I was zero for two in terms of Navarre Masters.

“Identification,” said the woman closest to Ethan. He reached inside his suit jacket and pulled a card from the interior pocket, then with two fingers handed it to the woman. She glanced at it, then began typing in earnest.

Thinking we were going to be here awhile, I took the opportunity to scope out the digs . . . and was surprised.

The open front room was huge, two staircases meeting at a second-floor balcony. The entire atrium was open to the roof, the room topped by a greenhouselike cage of Victorian skylights. Although those things seemed pretty European to me, the decor looked as if it had been taken from a modern-art museum. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture or knickknacks, and the few pieces there were had a sculptural quality. There was a white tufted leather sofa, a coffee table that consisted of a giant, curvaceous core of lacquered wood, and recessed lights shining onto giant canvases of black-and-white photography and pop art. All of it was set amongst gleaming, white marble floors and equally white walls.

“This is—,” I began, my gaze on a painting that looked to represent those rubbery grips that fit on number two pencils, but I found no words to describe it.

“Yes,” Ethan said. “It most definitely is.” He shifted beside me, probably not accustomed to waiting for service, then glanced down at the girls again. “We are expected.”

Without looking up, the girl in the middle pointed a long-nailed finger behind us. We both turned. A bench sat in an alcove beside the front door, three bored-looking, supernaturally attractive vampires filling it—two women and a man in between them. They all wore suits and had briefcases across their laps. They were all perfectly polished, but there was a weariness in their eyes and in the slump of their shoulders. They looked as if they’d been here a while.

“Fabulous,” I muttered.

Ethan blew out a breath, but his smile was back when he turned to face the Fates again. “At your convenience,” he grandly said.

“We have visitors’ passes, as well,” Ethan muttered, as if offended by the possibility that Navarre House was more organized—or more exclusive—than we were. He accepted a clip and added it to his suit, then looked at the women expectantly.

Silence.

He gestured toward the staircase. “Should we just—”

“Nadia will be down to retrieve you,” said the one in the middle.

“We appreciate your assistance,” Ethan said, then moved into the room’s main space.

“We need a four-story atrium,” I told him.

“Cadogan House is perfect as it is. We’re not changing it to fit the fancies of an architecturally jealous Sentinel. Ah,” he added brightly, “here she is.”

I glanced up.

A woman was trotting down the stairway, one delicate hand on the marble banister as she glided toward us.

No—not just a woman. A
supermodel
. She was all effortless beauty. Her eyes were wide and green, her nose thin and straight, her cheekbones high. Her body was long and lean, and she wore leggings, knee-high boots, and a long, belted knit top. It was the kind of outfit I might have worn while traipsing through the streets of Manhattan during my college days. Her hair was long and medium brown, and it spilled across her shoulders like silk.

I leaned toward Ethan. “You might have filled me in on the fact that Morgan’s new Second was practically a cover girl.”

“Jealous again?”

“Not even slightly,” I crisply answered, then elbowed him in the ribs. “But you’re panting, Sullivan.”

He offered a fake
oof
at the elbowing, then, hand outstretched, walked toward Nadia.

“Ethan,” Nadia said with a beatific smile, taking his hand. They exchanged cheek-to-cheek kisses and whispers that made something turn in my belly.

That would be the jealousy kicking in, I silently thought.

“Nadia, this is Merit, my Sentinel,” he said, gesturing at me. Nadia beamed at me, then held out both hands.

“Merit,” she intoned, leaning in to kiss my cheek, as well.

“It is lovely to meet you.” Her voice carried the faintest French accent, and her perfume was exotic. Equally complex and old-fashioned, like something you’d pick up in a boutique in a forgotten Parisian
arrondissement
. It sang of flowers and lemon and rich spice and sunlight, all bottled together.

“My liege is in his office, if you’ll follow me?”

Ethan nodded and fell in line behind Nadia, who trotted back up the stairs, her hair bouncing on her shoulders as she moved. Really—it was like watching a shampoo commercial. At the top of the staircase, we turned to the left, then took a wide marble hallway another twenty or thirty feet. The door was open. I blew out a breath and readied myself for drama.

The Master vampire himself stood with his back to the door, facing the glass. Nadia said softly, respectfully, “Liege. The entourage from Cadogan House.” He glanced back over his shoulder.

His dark hair seemed to have grown inches since I’d last seen him, even though that had been only a week ago. It waved around his deep-set, dark blue eyes and the long, dark brows that topped them. There were plenty of handsome men in the world, and plenty of men with lovely eyes. But Morgan’s were different. Bedroomy, I’d called them, because his gaze seemed to sink into you, inviting you, tempting you, with its depth.

That gaze skimmed Nadia, then darkened when he saw Ethan and clouded completely when he saw me. Morgan had a dramatic personality, but he shuttered the expressions in his face—anger, betrayal, sadness—fast enough. Maybe he was taking to Masterdom after all.

He turned around. “Thank you, Nadia,” he said, and Nadia nodded and left the room. From her deferential reactions, I was getting the sense that Navarre’s Master occupied a different kind of position than Cadogan’s Master. Or maybe the deference was just part of being second to a Master vampire—being acquiescent until the crown was handed to you. Malik, after all, generally seemed to defer to Ethan.

And speaking of, Ethan, crown firmly in hand, offered his opening gambit. “Merit has had no contact with Nicholas Breckenridge regarding the story. No contact at all, in fact, since the incident.”

Morgan looked at me. “True?”

I nodded.

He walked toward his desk, then took a seat. Ethan gestured toward the bank of windows. “May I?”

“Be my guest,” Morgan said crisply. They switched places, which still left me standing between them. Poetic, I thought.

“You know that Gabriel visited us after the blackmail was cleared up?” Ethan asked, his gaze on the courtyard below.

“I do now. I also know, thanks to the
Sun-Times
, that you and Merit apparently paid a visit to a bar in Ukrainian Village. Would you care to enlighten me?”

Ethan turned around, arms crossed over his chest. I guessed he hadn’t been keeping Morgan up-to-date on our shifter interactions. Not that that was a surprise; he tended to keep details to himself.

“Gabriel asked that we be present at a pre-meeting of the alphas. We obliged.”

Morgan sat back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his head. “Why did he want you there?”

“Security, most fundamentally. He also wanted vampires to be present, individuals who could remind the shifters of the purpose of the convocation.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Morgan said, then lifted up a folded copy of the
Sun-Times
. “It appears you didn’t make the best security.”

Ethan’s jaw clenched. “The attack was external. One of the Pack leaders walked out. Shots were fired at the bar a few minutes later. It’s possible those two things are connected, but Gabriel seems to have doubts. They’re investigating.” Ethan paused and looked down, as if contemplating how much to tell Morgan. Ethan, I knew, had his doubts about Morgan’s temperament, about his ability to stay calm and make the kind of difficult political decisions that needed to be made.

I glanced over at Morgan and found his furrowed stare on me, his head tilted to the side. He could have spoken with me silently; although only a Novitiate and the Master who made her were supposed to have the ability to speak telepathically, Morgan and I had made that connection when he’d challenged Ethan for an imagined slight against Celina. Maybe he didn’t want to speak. . . . He just had his own puzzles to ferret out.

Morgan’s gaze suddenly snapped back to Ethan. “So the wolves invited the sheep into their den.” He waved the paper in the air. “I’ll skip the lecture about the need to keep all of Chicago’s Masters informed, Ethan, since I doubt it would make much difference.”

Score one for the newbie Master, I thought, even if he was right—and therefore out of luck. A lecture from Morgan wasn’t going to stop Ethan from holding back information about his strategy.

“If we help them,” Ethan said, exhaustion in his voice—probably since he wasn’t used to having his decisions questioned by those of equal rank—“which we will, we show our willingness to act as a unified supernatural community. We do a favor, and we, perhaps, get a favor in return.”

“If they actually needed you for security,” Morgan said, “you might have a point. But shifters can take care of their own. Two vamps with swords won’t change that, even if they dress her up in slutty leather.”

I had to work to keep the anger off my face. Ethan could certainly be cold, but Morgan could be downright obnoxious.

“Your opinion is noted,” Ethan said flatly. “And we will act as we deem in the best interest of our House.”

“Oh, we’re well aware of that,” Morgan replied, then flung the paper across the room. Aided by Morgan’s vampire strength, it zipped through the air like a Frisbee, finally coming to rest at Ethan’s feet. Ethan glanced down at it, then raised his gaze to the Navarre Master again.

“Nothing in the article was our doing,” he said. “We had no idea it was being written, and we have had no communication with the author.”

He took a menacing step forward, his eyes cold and bright.

“But, more important,” he said, his voice an octave lower, “none of the information in that article was untruthful. You may wish to hide behind your position as a Master, but recall the House from which you arose. Celina is responsible for the deaths of humans, deaths unrelated to her need for blood. Deaths she apparently undertook because the humans were convenient pawns in her quest for power. You may find denial convenient, but she was Master of this House, and this House will bear the burden of the decisions she’s made, however horrible those decisions, however onerous those burdens. If you want to change the public’s perception of the House, then change the
House
. Make it
your
House, a House of honor, a House that reaches out to other communities, a House that defends all vampires instead of taking up arms for one who has done us all a disservice by her deeds. A
profound
disservice,” he added.

Morgan sat in his chair for a moment, then swallowed. The room was silent, at least until Ethan’s cell phone buzzed. He patted the pockets of his suit jacket until he found it, then pulled it out and glanced at the screen. He glanced up at Morgan. “May I step outside to take this?”

Morgan was quiet for a moment. The office door opened and Nadia stepped inside.

“Liege?” she asked. He must have called her telepathically.

“Ethan needs to take a call. Will you take him to your office?”

“Certainly,” she said. She smiled and gestured toward the door. Ethan walked out, and she followed suit, then shut the door behind her, leaving Morgan and me alone in his office.

Together.

I kept my gaze on the floor, trying to will myself invisible.

Without preface, Morgan spoke up. “How are things between you two?”

Given the blush on my cheeks, I was glad I’d turned back to face the window, but I ignored the undertone of his question. “I think we have a pretty good working relationship.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No,” I corrected, unwilling to answer deferentially when he couldn’t manage a civil conversation with me, “that’s not what you want to hear, but that answers your question.”

“I heard you attacked him. Was that prompted by our conversation?”

“It was prompted by Celina’s attacking me on the street.” I didn’t offer details, assuming Ethan had at least filled him in on his former Master’s ill-advised return to Chicago.

There was silence for a moment, long enough that I glanced back at Morgan. There was regret in his expression.

“You knew,” I guessed, turning back toward him. “You knew she was in town, and you didn’t tell anyone.” And then I remembered what I’d seen when Celina had attacked me. “She was wearing a new Navarre medal. She came by here,” I said with sudden realization. “She came to the House, and you saw her. That’s how she got the medal.”

Morgan looked at the floor, his gaze shifting left and right as he prepared his allocution. “She built this House,” he quietly said. “She is my Master, and she built my House. She asked for a medal to replace what was taken from her.” When he lifted his gaze to mine, I could see the conflict in his eyes. He truly wanted to honor the vampire who’d given him immortality, to do right by her. But I wasn’t sure harboring a criminal—Master or not—was the way to go about it.

And with thoughts like that, maybe I
was
ready to think about Red Guard membership. . . .

“Is she still in Chicago?”

“I don’t know.”

I played Ethan, arching an eyebrow back at Morgan.

“Honestly,” he said, both hands raised, “I told her she couldn’t stay here. I told her I wouldn’t report her to the GP, but that she couldn’t stay here.” And then something interesting happened—there was a sudden glint in his eyes, a sign of Master-worthy strategy. “But I didn’t promise not to tell you.”

Nice of him to lay that burden on me, but there was nothing to do about it now. “Any thoughts on where she is?”

Morgan leaned back in his chair. “Nothing specific. But it’s Celina—she loves fashion, elegance.” He indicated the office around him. “Case in point, this place is practically a museum.”

“An homage to her?”

He glanced up at me, humor in his eyes, and for a moment I saw the thing that had attracted me to Morgan in the first place. For all that Ethan complained about Morgan’s being “too human,” it was the humanity that sparked his precocious sense of humor and that fueled his compassion for his former Master, however undeserved.

“Something like that, yeah,” he said. “So if she had decided to camp out in Chicago, you’d expect it to be nice. She wouldn’t be sharing a fourplex. You’d have to look for her in Hyde Park, the Gold Coast, Streeterville. Somewhere with a doorman, an elevator, a view. A penthouse. A condo on the Lake. A golden age mansion. Something like that. But I don’t think she’d stay here. Her face was all over the television, and there are just too many eyes on the ground.”

I wasn’t sure I bought the argument that she’d travel all the way back to the States to harass me, then take off for Europe again. But then again, Celina wasn’t exactly operating by the same rules as the rest of us. “Then where do you think she is?”

Morgan blew out a breath. “Honestly? I’d put money on France. It’s where she’s from, and staying in Europe keeps the GP and the CPD off her back.”

My doubts notwithstanding, he had a point. “Well, I appreciate the intel.”

He shrugged. “What will you do now?”

“I’ll tell Ethan.” I wasn’t sure what Ethan would want to do, although the fact that there was a chance, no matter how slim, that Celina was still in Chicago was probably something he’d want to pursue after the convocation. But today we had enough on our plate.

“Of course you will,” Morgan said. And there was the downside of his humanity—that snarky, teenage petulance.

“You might remember that he’s my Master. So all that deference you show Celina, I show to him.”

Morgan sat up again, then swiveled in his chair to face the spread of papers on his desk. “And I’m sure your relationship is entirely professional, since you always take his side.”

“I take Cadogan’s side. That’s the point of being Sentinel.”

“Whatever,” he said. “You attacked Ethan.”

“I did.”

“And yet, here you are.” He looked me up and down, the gaze I’d once found undeniably attractive taking on an uncomfortably lascivious bent. “No punishment for the teacher’s pet?”

“I was punished,” I assured him, even if I could agree that being named House social chair, even for an introvert, was a light one. On the other hand, Celina was free after a murderous rampage. Maybe vampire punishment standards were just low.

“Mmm-hmm,” he said.

“I get that you aren’t happy, but can we just try to work together without the sniping?”

Morgan opened his mouth to retort, but before he got out words, the office door opened. Ethan walked in, tucking his cell phone into his pocket. “We have some things to take care of,” he said, looking between us, “if we’re done here?”

Morgan looked at me for a moment before finally turning to Ethan. “I appreciate your coming by.”

“Perhaps we all need to remember that there are three Houses in Chicago,” Ethan said, “and that those Houses are not enemies.” With that, he turned to me and beckoned, and we made our exit.