Biting Bad: A Chicagoland Vampires Novel (32 page)

Having children.

Generally, leaving my life as a vampire behind.

Leaving Ethan behind. For even if we stayed together despite our differences, I would age and die, and he would not. I would leave him alone to face the centuries, to find another. I would leave him in the hands of another Sentinel, someone who would have the responsibility of watching over him, of keeping him safe.

And not just Ethan. My grandfather. Mallory. My nieces and nephews. Their children, and their children’s children.

I wasn’t leaving their lives to chance. Not when I had the choice.

I had a choice . . . and I took it.

I picked up the syringe and hurried to catch up with the rest of them.

“Jonah,” I said, getting his attention and handing it to him.

He looked quizzically up at me.

“For Brooklyn,” I explained. “Maybe Dr. Gianakous can use it to find a cure for her condition.”

He smiled. “Thanks, Merit.”

The deed done, I took Ethan’s hand, and walked into the life I’d chosen.

—

Malik met us in the foyer when we walked into the House.

“Congratulations on a successful mission,” he said. “And Lakshmi Rao is on the phone.”

“I swear to God, it never ends!” Ethan roared.

“Not when you’re immortal,” Malik agreed. “That’s actually the point.”

I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh, but Ethan got the gist and gave me a withering look.

“Better she call you than show up at your door unannounced,” I reminded them, then glanced at Malik and pinched two fingers together. “Could you stall her for just a minute?”

He smiled. “For you, Sentinel, of course,” he said, then disappeared down the hallway again.

Ethan looked at me expectantly. “Well, Sentinel?”

Ethan and I were both coming to grips with the fact that we weren’t human, that our relationship would never be as simple as human relationships were. That we were supernaturals, and for the foreseeable future, drama would be an inevitable part of our lives. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t important to remember the little things, to make time for ourselves and our relationship, and to cherish what we had.

“We missed Valentine’s Day,” I said. “Even if we’re vampires, I wanted to give us something special. I thought I’d arrange dinner before dawn.”

“Meaning you’ll have Margot order pizza.”

I rolled my eyes. “No. Something better. Something special.”

He looked at me for a moment.

“Benefit of the doubt,” I dryly said.

“All right, Sentinel. You have your second chance at Valentine’s Day. But I’ll warn you in advance. I’m starving . . . and not just for food.”

That comment made me light-headed enough that it was a miracle I didn’t fall over in the foyer. That would not have helped the dinner planning, which was going to require a bit of teamwork.

—

I raced upstairs to the third floor and knocked on Lindsey’s door. I found her toweling off from the shower.

“What’s up, toots?”

“I need a favor.”

“Oh?”

“I’d like to salvage Valentine’s Day. But I need to do it within the next couple of hours. I’ve already decided on dinner—I can handle that on my own. I need something else. A treat.”

Lindsey frowned, walking around her room a bit as she pondered the question. “Stores are closed, so there’s no time for that. You’ve already planned dinner, so that’s out, unless we can spice dinner up a bit?”

She turned back at me and winged up her eyebrows suggestively.

“He already gets
that
,” I said.

She chortled. “Empathic, remember? Well aware of the twists and turns of your romantic life.”

My cheeks warmed.

“No,” she said. “I have something else in mind. Something Margot can help us with?”

“Oh?”

“It’s simple,” she said with a wink. “We’ll let him eat cake.”

—

Lindsey got dressed, after which I followed her downstairs to the kitchen. Ethan’s door was still closed, but the magic seeping beneath the door didn’t seem too crazed.

When she pushed open the kitchen door, we found the room empty but for Margot, who stood in front of one of her giant stoves in her chef’s whites, her dark bob of hair peeking beneath her hat. She stirred a small saucepot with a tiny whisk, her gaze darting between the contents of the pot and the electronic tablet propped up beside her.

“What’s cooking, toots?” Lindsey said, putting her bag on the counter and sidling up to Margot.

“Béarnaise,” Margot said, frowning as she looked back at the sauce and began to stir furiously. “The sauce I cannot master.”

“Can you buy it in a bottle?”

Margot gave her a skewering look. “A trained chef does not buy béarnaise in a bottle.” She stared down at the sauce for a moment before letting out a sound of utter exasperation. She flipped off the heat and stepped back, rubbing her hands over her face.

“What happened?” I asked.

“The sauce broke. Again.” Her expression forlorn and shoulders bent, she looked up again. “I could probably try to salvage it, but I have been beaten down by the French today, and I just can’t do it.” She glanced at me and Lindsey. “What are you up to?”

“Merit has a dilemma, and I think a cake might fix it.”

It was like a light had turned on in Margot’s eyes. Her entire expression changed, from defeat to the excitement of a new challenge.

“A cake will undoubtedly fix it,” Margot said. “What’s the occasion?”

“Valentine’s Day. Well, belated, anyway.”

Margot pressed a hand to her chest, “Oh, cute!”

“Right?” Lindsey said. “Isn’t it, like, so normal of them?”

“They’re such a cute couple,” Margot remarked, crossing her arms and leaning a hip against the counter.

“That’s why I love it. It’s adorable.”

“You know I’m standing right here,” I reminded them.

“I was thinking you could make that chocolate torte,” Lindsey said.

Margot’s mouth formed an “O.” “Oh,” she said, “the torte.”

“What’s the torte?” I asked.

Margot glanced at me. “It’s a very decadent, flourless chocolate cake. Velvety chocolate with just a hint of raspberry ganache. Very appropriate for Valentine’s Day. It’s a very sexy cake,” she said. “And Ethan loves it. It’s one of his favorites.”

I had definitely come to the right place for help. “Is this possibly something we could do tonight? I was hoping for a meal before the sun came up again. It’s been a long night.”

She checked her watch and nodded. “It comes together really quickly. We’ve got just enough time to bake it off and let it cool. How does that sound?”

“Like a phenomenal plan,” I said, beginning to smile a little. “Thanks.”

“Oh, honey, I’m not actually
making
it for you. I’m just giving you directions.” With a wink, she pointed toward a set of aprons hanging from a wall hook. “Grab your gear, and let’s get started.”

Start, we did. I’d thought, if just for a moment, that helping bake a cake would be a way to relax. And in a sense, it was. We were three girlfriends in a kitchen, mixing and measuring as we discussed boys and their various issues. But Margot took pride in her work. And just like every other vampire with the same trait, she was exacting in her methods and very, very particular.

The cocoa had to be measured in a very particular way. (“Sweep and scoop! Sweep and scoop!”)

The cocoa had to be placed in the bowl in a very particular way. (“Sift it first!”)

The sugar and butter had to be creamed just so, until the mixture was light and fluffy. (“It looks like concrete! Keep stirring!”)

The pan had to be perfectly buttered, then dusted with cocoa, in preparation for the cake. (“If I can see metal, you’re not done!”)

The oven rack had to be placed just so, neither too high nor too low, to ensure consistent baking. (“Lower it! Lower it!”)

Somehow, miraculously, we came through it still friends. And I must admit, I learned a lot. I hadn’t done much baking in the past and really didn’t have an urge to start now—I preferred dodging a katana slash to pressing the lumps out of cocoa powder—but in the short amount of time we worked with her, Margot taught us a lot.

The timer sounded, and Margot pulled a dark cake from the oven. She set it on a cooling rack, then stepped back to admire our handiwork.

“Ladies,” she said, “it doesn’t look awful.”

It wasn’t much of a compliment, but I’d take what I could get.

“You are the best.” I checked my watch. “I have to run an errand. I’ll be back in about twenty minutes. Is that okay?”

“Absolutely. I’ll prep the raspberry glaze, and you’ll be good to go. I’ll make it work,” she promised.

I had little doubt. She always did.

—

I’d missed my last chance to provide Ethan with the best pasta Chicago had to offer. So when the opportunity came around again, I didn’t miss it. I drove to Tuscan Terrace, picked up aluminum containers of pasta, and hightailed it back to the House.

I found Ethan in his office, the door open, the aura relatively mild.

I stepped inside and held up the paper bag of food. “Dinner?”

He didn’t look impressed. “In a paper bag?”

But I kept smiling, because I knew this man. I knew what he’d enjoy, and I knew that even if the packaging didn’t impress him, the food would.

“In a paper bag,” I confirmed. I closed the door and carried the bag to his conference table, where I opened the contents and set out a meal for each of us. Pasta, bread, and olive oil for dipping.

“You’re sure about this?” Ethan asked, sidling behind me and putting a hand on my waist.

“Absolutely positive. I didn’t steer you wrong about pizza, and I won’t about this, either.”

Of course I was right.

Dinner was glorious. Because the food, even in aluminum pans, was delicious. Because Ethan moaned with joy nearly every time he took a bite. Because we shared napkins and laughs and bread at the conference table in his office. Because we didn’t need thousand-dollar champagne or caviar to prove our affection or the validity of our relationship.

“There is something to be said about the satisfaction that comes from a full belly,” Ethan said.

“Couldn’t agree more. We’ll sleep well after this feast. Or we’ll have weird carb coma dreams. Hard to tell.”

Ethan chuckled, wiped his mouth, and tossed his napkin into the pile.

“So, the GP,” I said, when I’d taken my last bite. “What did they want?”

“A tithe,” he said. “Darius, through Lakshmi, has requested that we donate a sum to the GP in penance for our bad behavior.”

“Is it a lot?” Bankrupting the House seemed like something the GP would want to do.

“It is surprisingly little.”

“Little?” I asked. “Why?”

“Because, apparently, that’s only the first half of their plan for our contrition.”

“What’s the second half?”

“I’m not sure. But Lakshmi is traveling here to tell us in person.”

Before I could dive into the paranoia that upcoming event was going to foster, there was a knock at the door, and Margot peeked inside. “Special delivery?”

“Oh?” Ethan asked.

She opened the door fully and wheeled in a cart.

“Margot, how thoughtful. But you didn’t need to go to the trouble.”

“Oh, I didn’t,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Merit made the cake.”

Ethan’s eyes went dinner-plate huge. “
Merit
made it?”

“Sir, your tone is not flattering,” I advised him.

“She did. For you, on Valentine’s Day, because she’s got a thing for you, I think.” With that, she winked, and rolled the cart out again.

Ethan looked over the cake. “It looks surprisingly delicious.”

“I am not above hitting you, you know,” I said.

He chuckled. “I have something for you as well. Put on your shoes.”

“My shoes? But there’s cake.”

He gave me a look that didn’t allow argument. “Just do it.”

I slipped my boots on again, then followed Ethan silently to the door.

The rest of the House was quiet, and when Ethan opened the front door, the eastern sky was beginning to pinken with the first light of dawn.

But the sky was hardly the point.

On both sides of the front lawn, in the crisp, white snow, an enormous heart had been drawn in the snow with a thousand rose petals, a shock of crimson against the snowy ground.

“What is this?” I asked, putting a hand over my heart.

“A heart,” Ethan said. “For you. My heart, which is very much yours.”

He took my hand and led me through the snow, pausing at the edge of the heart. I picked up a petal and ran my fingertips across its surface, as soft as velvet, so soft it barely felt like I’d touched anything.

“I don’t understand,” I said, glancing back at him with wonder in my eyes.

“We aren’t human,” he said. “Nor are we average. We take on challenges and obligations that, arguably, are not our burdens to bear. We do it because it’s right. Because it matters, and we’ve decided—you’ve decided—to stand for those who cannot stand for themselves. That means, unfortunately, that we don’t always have the opportunity to enjoy human rituals.”

“Valentine’s Day?”

Ethan nodded. “Valentine’s Day. But even if the rituals can’t be the same for us, the symbolism is important.” He cleared his throat. “You’ve asked about the tattoo on the back of my calf.”

I smiled. “I have asked,” I confirmed. “More than a few times.”

“It was actually Amit’s fault. We were in India, on a night train to Varanasi, and I lost a bet. A small bet, but a bet nonetheless.”

I was stunned. That was so unlike him. “You got a tattoo because you lost a bet?”

“I did,” he said, “and in Sanskrit, because those were the terms I’d agreed to. He graciously allowed me to select the phrase.”

“What does it say?”

“Eternal life, undying passion.”

“Oh, that’s very nice.” It was a beautiful phrase, and particularly appropriate for immortal vampires.

Ethan nodded and took my hands. “I had a sense of your passion when we met, Merit. When you first stormed into my House with fire in your eyes.”

“That wasn’t fire. That was sheer, unmitigated fury.”