Twice Bitten (16 page)

“Sad to say, that doesn’t entirely surprise me. Any other information?”

“Morgan doesn’t think she’s still in town. He’s betting she’s decamped to Europe. But if she is here, he thinks she’d probably be somewhere fancy.”

“That would fit Celina’s sense of self.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, once ConPack’s done, we probably need to start taking some active steps to, I don’t know, minimize the damage she could cause?”

“There’s only so much we can do in that regard, given the GP’s protectiveness. They chose to release her, after all.”

“I know. But if the GP isn’t going to keep her from riling up the Houses and the Packs, that’s precisely why we need to do some creative thinking.”

“Perhaps,” he said, then paused. “It occurs to me that it was a mistake to encourage you to date Morgan.”

I bit back a smile. “Are you admitting you were wrong?”

“Only in a manner of speaking. There’s a tension between you that we’d have been spared if you hadn’t dated. You can hardly stand to be in the same room together.”

My stomach twisted a bit at his conclusion, and I wondered whether the next sentence out of his mouth would be something along the lines of,
And speaking of ill-advised relationships . . .
But if he had concerns about us, he didn’t raise them.

“Well, it’s water under the bridge now,” he said.

“You know, you once told me that he was too human. I didn’t agree at the time, being recently human myself, but now I get it. He’s smart, capable, funny—”

“Perhaps
you
should be dating.”

“
Ha
. But he can be really juvenile. He’s been a vampire for forty years. He should be past adolescence and midlife crisis.”

“Sentinel, there are men who’ve been human for forty years who aren’t past adolescence and midlife crisis.”

I gave him the point there. It also occurred to me that I hadn’t actually heard Ethan’s phone ring. “Did you fake a phone call to leave me and Morgan alone?”

“I did not. Although I thought it would do you both good to clear the air.”

“I see. Who called?”

“Catcher, unfortunately. The forensic unit tested Tony’s bike. They found gunpowder on the tank, some on the seat.”

“Hmm. That won’t tie it to the drive-by with one hundred percent certainty; it doesn’t look good circumstantially. Have Tony or his Pack taken credit for the hit?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Ethan said. “I plan to ask Gabriel tonight.”

Ethan switched on the radio, and we listened to a public station for the duration of the drive. The buildings and parking lots eventually gave way to trees and farmland and to the French château perched in the midst of the acres of Breckenridge land. Ethan pulled into the long driveway, flanked today by dozens of bikes arranged in two rows. They were an interesting contrast to the luxe mansion, with its chimneys, steep roof, and pale stone.

Ethan parked the car at the end of one of the rows of bikes. I hesitated, wondering if I should bring my katana along. I held up the scabbard, the question in my expression.

“Bring it,” Ethan said, belting on his own sword. “If the hit at the bar was a shot at Gabriel, we can’t be sure a member of the Pack wasn’t involved.”

“Fair enough,” I said, and belted mine on, as well.

We walked the rest of the driveway to the front door. The last time we’d visited, a white-gloved attendant had helped us out of the car, and Mrs. Breckenridge—Nick’s mom—had met us inside.

Today, our greeter was a little bit different.

She pulled the door open forcefully, then propped a hand on her hip. “I got it, Mrs. B,” she called back, then looked at us expectantly. She was tallish and fit, and wore a snug T-shirt. Knee-high black boots covered her snug jeans to the knees, and her short nails were tidy and painted glossy black. A dozen earrings dotted each ear, and her wrists were tattooed with tribally inspired bracelets. She had delicately pretty features and Gabriel’s same golden eyes, her hair a mass of sun-kissed curls that spilled around her shoulders.

Another Keene, I supposed.

She gave me a quick look, then shifted her gaze to Ethan. “Sullivan?”

Ethan bobbed his head. “And Merit.”

“You’re in the right place,” she said. “Mrs. B said you’d already jumped the vampire invitation hoop, so she extended your invite for tonight for whatever.” She stepped to the side, holding the door open to allow us entry. “Come on in.”

Ethan stepped inside; I followed, catching a cloud of citrus-and-spice perfume as I walked past the girl.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Ethan said.

She held out a hand. “Fallon Keene.”

“Ethan Sullivan,” he said, shaking her hand.

She turned to me.

“Merit,” I said, doing the same.

“I’ll tell Gabe you’re here,” she said, then looked at us askew. “Vamps at a Pack party. It’s definitely a new era.” Her tone was open enough that I wasn’t sure whether she approved or disapproved of that new era.

Ethan’s answer wasn’t nearly so equivocal. “Let’s hope so. Let’s hope so.”

Before I could react, Jeff was in front of me, arms wrapped around me, his lips pressed to my cheek. “We’re so glad you’re here.”

I smiled and hugged him back. I assumed his elation had something to do with his crush on me, at least until he reached out to Ethan and gave him the same bone-crushing embrace.

Ethan, helplessness on his face, looked to me. I winked back.

“This is huge, your being here,” Jeff said, releasing Ethan and taking a step back. “Huge. We’ve never had vamps at a potluck before.”

“This is quite a potluck,” Ethan said, his gaze scanning the crowd.

“It’s fabulous. You two should get something to eat. Did you meet Fallon?”

I nodded. “She met us at the door. She’s Gabriel’s sister?”

“His only sister. And second in line to the throne, so to speak,” Jeff confirmed. “Most of the rest of them are here tonight.” He pointed through the crowd at various lion-maned men, all of whom shared the Keene tawny hair. Adam glanced over and waved, dimples perked at the corners of his mouth. Two young boys, plastic cars in hand, suddenly ran between us, leaving
vroom
noises in their wake.

“It’s a joyful occasion,” Ethan observed.

“We’re together,” Jeff said. “A family, come together. That’s a good reason for celebration, even if ConPack means we might leave you.” He looked at me with concern in his eyes. “I wouldn’t want to leave. I wouldn’t want to abandon you.”

“I know,” I comforted, then squeezed his hand. “I wouldn’t want you to leave.”

His eyes went wide, and a crimson blush suddenly rode his cheeks.

“In a Platonic way, Jeff. A cherished-friend kind of way.”

“Whew,” he said, shoulders bobbing in relief. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”

At the blush on his cheeks, I took a guess. “Jeff, is there someone else?”

He offered some equivocal ums and uhs, but when his gaze slipped back into the crowd—and followed the bobbing curly hair of Fallon Keene across the room—I had my answer.

“Does she know?”

He looked back at me, and that boyish blush had turned into something much more mature. “Of course she does. I have some pretty serious game, Merit.”

I leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I know you do, Jeff. Now, other than your romancing Fallon Keene, what’s on the agenda for the evening?”

Jeff shrugged. “This is pretty much it. Reminiscing. Enjoying one another’s company. Gabe will say a few words later. And food, of course.” He winged up his eyebrows. “Have you seen the buffet?”

“Only across the room.”

Jeff clucked his tongue at Ethan. “If you’re going to do right by her, you’d better get the girl a plate.”

With that, he disappeared into the crowd. Ethan and I stood there quietly for a moment. “I suppose he’s my competition?”

“Then you would be correct.” I slid him a glance. “Do you have a strategy to woo me better?”

He smiled slowly, wickedly. “I believe I’ve demonstrated my prowess at wooing you, Sentinel.”

I humphed, but inwardly grinned, the repartee unexpected, and that much more fun. Were we actually
together
? Was this really happening?

“Well, I suppose I could follow his advice. Are you hungry?”

“Surprisingly enough, not at the moment.”

“Will miracles never cease?”

“Ha,” I said, then scanned the mass of shifters. Parents carried children, plates were passed among family members, and lovers embraced. “This is not your typical Breckenridge party.”

“My parents throw all kind of bashes,” said a voice behind me.

We both glanced back. Nick Breckenridge—tall, dark, and handsome—stood behind us, hands in his pockets. He wore a dark button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and dark jeans. His hair was Caesar-cut, his eyes blue. He had a Roman nose and heavy brow, and he was handsome in the manner of a Spartan soldier—stoically handsome.

At the moment, he was keeping a stoic hold on his emotions. We’d see how long that lasted. . . .

“Ponytailed Avenger?” I wondered aloud.

“Not my idea.”

“I’m assuming the story wasn’t, either?”

Nick bobbed his head. “The editor originally farmed it out to someone else. I convinced them the story would be a burden to write and took it off their hands. We don’t need an enterprising reporter poking around the bar, wondering about the guys in the NAC jackets.”

“It was awfully pro-Cadogan House. And pro-Sentinel.”

“I may have rushed to judgment,” Nick said. “I am capable of admitting when I’m wrong. But, more important, it keeps the focus on vamps—”

“And off shifters?” I finished.

He nodded.

“Understandable. I didn’t know you were working for the paper.”

“Just freelance for now.” Nick looked between me and Ethan. “It’s a big deal, your being here. Gabriel’s vetting you.”

“We’ve heard,” Ethan said. “And we appreciate the opportunity.”

They were silent for a moment, sizing each other up, I assumed, and debating whether to make peace or war.

“Speaking of Gabriel,” I said, gesturing to the room, “is this a way of mending fences?”

“As you know, I was the prime mover behind some ripples he isn’t thrilled about,” Nick darkly agreed, “but I hope eventually I can regain his trust. This is a step in that direction. As for ConPack, I don’t think the Pack will vote to stay.”

“It’s a distinct possibility they’ll leave,” Ethan said. “And if that’s the vote that’s made, we’ll figure out a way to adapt.”

I wondered if the Brecks would have to adapt, as well. From what I’d seen, they didn’t seem like typical shifters—no Harleys and no leather. Instead, they were a family with strong ties to Chicago and stronger ties to their land.

“If they vote to leave,” I asked him, “would you go? Pack up Michael and Fin and Jamie and your parents and head north?”

“I can’t answer that.”

I cocked my head at him. “Because it’s a secret?”

“Because I don’t know.”

There was defeat—and guilt—in his voice. It was the guilt of a man who wanted to believe, but who hadn’t quite decided whether to play follow the leader. Even considering the drama Nick had created for vampires, my heart clenched in sympathy. Doubt was a debilitating, frightening thing.

Nick was spared further predictions by the splitting of the crowd. I could see the ripple of people moving in our direction, and then Berna stood before us, having elbowed her way through the shifters, an overflowing plate of food in hand. It brimmed with an assortment of meats and casseroles and vegetables, a steaming yeast roll parked on top like the cherry on a sundae.

The shifters around us had quieted and turned their gazes on the two women who stood, facing off: me, the tallish, slender vampire with the dark ponytail and gleaming red scabbard, and Berna, the shortish, roundish woman with bleached hair and gnarled fingers, her arms extended in offering.

She thrust the plate toward me. “You eat.”

I started to object, but the venom in her eyes made me think better of it. “Thank you, Berna. That was very thoughtful of you to bring me a plate.”

“Humph,” she said, then pulled a fork from the chest pocket of her zip-up polyester shirt. She handed that over, too. I slid Ethan a glance and, at his nod—and to the amusement of the shifters who’d watched the exchange—dipped the fork into a heap of potato casserole, and took a bite.

My eyes closed as I savored tender potatoes, butter, paprika, and more cream than should probably be allowed in a single dish. “Oh, Berna. This is amazing.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she said, self-satisfaction in her voice. I opened my eyes to watch her turn on her heel and march away, the crowd swallowing her up again.

I speared another bite of casserole, then aimed the fork at Ethan. He regarded it for a moment, but, at my own threatening glance, leaned in.

Half a second later, his own eyes drifted shut as he enjoyed the bite.

“Told you,” I said, then took back the fork.

“You have a gift.”

“I know, right?” I absently said, but I was already gone, adrift on a sea of carbohydrates.