Biting Bad: A Chicagoland Vampires Novel (8 page)

“Appreciate it.”

“Jeff, Mr. Merit,” Ethan said, “I think we’re done with you for the moment. Thank you for the information, and let us know if you need anything else.”

“Roger that,” Jeff said, and the phone clicked off.

Ethan looked at Luc. “If they start with Molotov cocktails, they probably won’t stop any time soon. This is now our war room. Get as much information and background as you can on the rioters. Maybe we can tease from their backgrounds information about where they’re organized. It would not sadden me to identify a principal location we can report to Homeland Security as a hotbed of domestic terrorism.”

Luc leaned back in his chair, obviously pleased. “That’s a mean little idea, hoss, but I like it.” He grinned wickedly at me. “Keep doing whatever you’re doing.”

“Lucas,”
Lindsey said, elbowing him in the ribs while the rest of the Ops Room twittered in amusement and my face turned crimson. “Inside voice.”

Our business is our business,
Ethan silently told me, activating the telepathic link between us,
but he’s not wrong. Keep doing it.

I was torn between melting from the heat of his words and crawling under the table in embarrassment. Fortunately, Ethan took the stage—and the attention off me.

“In the event this is not the first of the riots, talk to Margot,” he told Luc. “Have her ensure our emergency food supply is stocked. Check the tunnels. Ensure access is available if we need it.”

Margot was the House chef. Evacuation tunnels ran beneath the House to provide an exit in the event of an emergency.

“You got it,” Luc said.

“What’s the city’s position on the riots?” Ethan asked.

“How pissed off do you want to be?” Luc asked.

Ethan’s lip curled, and he sent out a burst of irritated magic. “What are my options?”

“Well, we can show you the video of the mayor’s press conference, or McKetrick’s.”

Ethan’s angry expression only stiffened further. John McKetrick was a particular sore spot.

We’d been assembling information about him on a whiteboard on the other side of the Ops Room. The most compelling item on the board was his picture. He’d had a military look about him, and a background, we’d learned, in military special ops. Square jaw, dark hair, piercing eyes. But he’d been horribly scarred when a weapon he’d tried to use against me backfired, leaving tracks and craters in his skin and costing him an eye. He was angry and bitter, and he blamed those emotions—and his injuries—on me.

So far, our research hadn’t produced much. We knew he was employed by the city of Chicago as head of the Office of Human Liaisons. We suspected he had a secret facility, but we hadn’t found anything yet. As far as the city and county were concerned, his home in Lincoln Park was the only property he owned.

“McKetrick,” Ethan decided, and Luc hit Play.

McKetrick’s shocking visage filled the screen, a flag waving in the breeze behind him. He wore a suit and sat behind a desk like a politician, hands linked on the desktop.

“Good evening,” he said, voice carefully modulated. “A tragedy has befallen our city, violence caused by the very thing that tonight’s demonstration railed against—the destruction of the American way of life by supernaturals who do not care for our culture, our traditions, our values. We cannot condone the violence that has marred a neighborhood tonight. But we can fight back against the supernaturals’ attempt to undermine our country. I am here for you. That’s a promise, and I’ll be making good on it. Beginning tomorrow, I’ll be embarking on a series of town hall meetings across Chicago to get your thoughts on how we can make it the country’s First City.”

“The Star-Spangled Banner” began to play in the background. Luc paused the video, and McKetrick stared back at the camera, frozen in time.

“The supernatural threat is my boot up his ass,” Lindsey muttered.

“He deserves it,” Luc said. “That entire speech is nothing but a call to arms. He’s going to incite another riot.”

“He’s blaming the rioters for the violence,” I said, “all the while telling them the violence was worth it because we’re a real and present threat.”

“And hosting town hall meetings is only going to exacerbate things,” Ethan said.

I squinted at the paused image of McKetrick, staring into his gaze as if I could find and eradicate the anti-vampire sentiment that had rooted in his brain. If his words were honest, he was truly afraid we were ruining things. Destroying things.

Frankly, there were bad seeds out there. Michael Donovan hadn’t been a walk in the park, nor were half the members of the GP. But humans weren’t immune to committing heinous acts, either; the riot was a perfect example of that.

So what drove McKetrick? What drove a human—strong, politically powerful, clearly well connected—to hate us so uniformly?

“There must be something to this,” I said. My gaze was still on the screen, but I could feel the guards’ eyes on me.

“What something?” Luc asked.

I looked over at him. “I’m not sure.” I pointed at the screen. “But look at his expression, his gaze. He wasn’t just reading words off a teleprompter. He was speaking from the heart. He doesn’t just hate us,” I concluded. “He hates us for a reason.”

“We’ve checked his background,” Luc said. “There’s nothing out of the ordinary. No run-ins with the law, no obvious tragedies, no sudden disappearances.”

“Exactly,” I said. “We think he was in the military until he suddenly wasn’t anymore, and there’s nothing even mildly notable in his history after that. So maybe the tragedy happened while he was in the military.”

Lindsey cocked her head. “You think he had a bad vampire experience while he was serving?”

“I don’t know. But I think it’s worth investigating.”

“It might be,” Luc said. “But we only confirmed his military background at all because Chuck called in a favor. That’s probably all we’re likely to get.”

All we were likely to get aboveboard? Maybe. But Jeff always had a few computer tricks up his sleeve. I sent him a quick message and asked him about it.

“What about the mayor’s press conference?” Ethan asked.

“It’s largely the same,” Luc said, flipping the screen over to a photograph of Mayor Diane Kowalcyzk with a Photoshopped Godzilla, werewolf, and cartoonish Dracula behind her.

“I see it was a well-attended event,” Ethan said with the smallest of grins. Because if you couldn’t find the humor in the drama, you only had the drama.

“According to Diane,” Luc said, “the end of the world is coming, and we are the harbingers of all that evil. Not in so many words, of course, because that would cause public panic, leading to violence and riots against vampires.” His voice was bone-dry. “And, to put a cherry on it, she doubts the riot was actually perpetrated by humans because they hate vampires, and suspects this was gang activity or an isolated incident.”

“The woman is naïve beyond all measure,” Ethan said. “And we are a political minority without an advocate.”

“It may be time to discuss lobbyists and our friends in Washington,” Luc said.

Ethan nodded. “Let’s put that on the agenda.” He put his hands flat on the tabletop. “I think that’s it for now, unless anyone has anything else?”

Luc shook his head. “I’d like a hot shower and a bowl of predawn soup, but that’s not really in your wheelhouse.”

“No,” Ethan said, rising from his chair. “Nor my jurisdiction.”

My phone rang, displaying a number I didn’t recognize. Curious, I stepped away from the table and accepted the call.

“Hello?”

“Merit, it’s Jonah. Sorry—this is the first chance I’ve had to call you.”

“Hey, I tried to text you earlier, but it didn’t go through. Are you all right? I assume you heard about the riot. Did you get a new phone?”

“I didn’t, actually,” he said, a strange hitch in his voice. “I’m using a burn phone. That’s why I’m calling you.” He paused, which made my stomach knot with foreboding.

“You might want to give Ethan a heads-up—the GP has blacklisted Cadogan House.”

WE BUILT THIS CITY ON TYPE AB

“I
don’t know what that means,” I told Jonah.

“It means, according to the GP—and therefore every vampire under the GP’s control—you’re the enemy. And you’re to be treated like an enemy by the GP and every vampire under the GP’s control.”

Ethan had warned me once, before we’d considered leaving the GP, that they wouldn’t take our leaving lightly. They suffered from a strong case of “if you aren’t with us, you’re against us.”

“That’s why my text to you bounced?”

“Yeah. We aren’t supposed to talk to you,” Jonah said. “Interact with you. Be seen with you. We do, and we get charged with treason.”

I sat down in my chair again and found all eyes on me, phone pressed to my ear.

“I’m guessing that’s bad,” I said.

“The GP has feudal roots,” Jonah said. “The punishments for treason are equally feudal.”

I’d researched medieval torture in grad school. Some of the methods were exaggerated, but some of them were very real and very painful. Metal spikes figured in surprisingly often.

“The GP wouldn’t do this without a plan,” I said. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure. Scott just got the call a few hours ago.”

That explained why we’d suddenly gone from a training session to rejected text messages.

“You’re going to talk to your friend who likes donuts?” I asked.

That secret friend was Lakshmi Rao, a member of the GP, and a friend of the RG. She also had a crush on Jonah, which made her an unusually strong ally. I’d met her in a donut shop in downtown Chicago.

“I am, if I can reach her. She’s been quiet recently. I think Michael Donovan scared her.”

Along with Darius West, the GP’s head, Lakshmi had been one of Michael Donovan’s near successes. We’d managed to find her alive, but it had been a close call, and the experience must have been jarring, especially for a GP vampire who probably believed herself generally immune to threats.

“Sit tight,” Jonah said. “Even if Scott has to let this stand, the RG doesn’t. I’ll use burn phones to contact you, or I’ll reach you through the RG. Just don’t tell Darius. And keep a lookout. If the GP is going formal with this enemy-of-the-state business, there’s no telling what they’ll do.”

“Okay,” I said. “Be careful out there. And, hey, just in case, keep a lookout for a human named Robin Pope.”

“Who’s she?”

“We aren’t sure. But possibly involved with the riot. She had a grievance against Bryant Industries.”

“Noted. Thanks for the tip.”

With that, he ended the call. For a moment, I stared at the phone in my hands, unsure how to break the news to Ethan and the others. I didn’t look forward to advising them the GP was attempting to screw us again, and by a tactic we’d seen before—shrinking the ranks of our friends and allies.

Damn,
I thought. But I sucked it up.

I put the phone on the table and looked up at Ethan.

“Merit?” he asked.

“We’ve been blacklisted by the GP.”

The room went completely silent, at least until Ethan and Luc let loose a slurry of creative and invective-filled curses. Some were in English; some were in Swedish, Ethan’s native tongue. And some made me wince.

“Since when?” Ethan asked.

“Tonight,” I said. “That was a friend from Grey House.” Although I trusted the vampires in the room, there was no need to give out Jonah’s name, not when medieval torture was a possibility. “He doesn’t know the impetus, just that the decision’s been made.”

“Since Darius was pleased we saved his life, I suspect the impetus is Harold Monmonth,” Ethan said.

Harold Monmonth was a swarthy and smarmy example of a vampire, a man who treated humans as if they were disposable. He’d also previously attempted to steal a fairy artifact from our House to motivate them to attack us. I was the obstacle between his “attempted” and “accomplished,” although we’d eventually turned the artifact over to the fairies anyway. He was untrustworthy and manipulative, and it wasn’t hard to imagine he wanted to punish us for standing in his way.

“Scott believes factions are forming within the GP. Darius and his allies on one side . . . Harold Monmonth and his allies on the other.”

“Your call earlier?” I asked, and Ethan nodded.

“Although neither mentioned a blacklist,” he said with a frown. “This must have come down just after.”

“That’s not entirely surprising, given what we know about Monmonth,” Luc said. “Although he probably cares less about whether Darius is or isn’t capable of managing the GP than what he could get out of it.”

“I would imagine you’re right. Unfortunately, while I have no love for Darius, Harold is a worse option, particularly for humans, which means also for vampires. Harold Monmonth also isn’t the type to believe vampires should have free will. If he ends up in charge of the GP, I doubt he’ll see our independence favorably.”

“So, exactly what does this mean for us?” I asked. I was pretty sure blacklisting a House hadn’t been mentioned in the
Canon
. I wasn’t sure if that was because the action was rare, or too awful, to merit a mention.

“It is intended to create a clear dividing line,” Ethan said, tracing a line on the table with his fingertip. “GP Houses on one side. The blacklisted on the other. We are not merely apart from the GP; we are its enemy. It will be the American Revolution in reverse.”

Just as Jonah had suggested. “So he’s right—they’ll punish anyone who talks to us?”

“Or does business with us, visits us, et cetera,” Ethan said.

“To what end?” Juliet asked.

“Proving their mettle,” Ethan said. “Demonstrating the GP is a force to be reckoned with. And for Harold Monmonth, flexing his power as a GP member, and proving he is the unqualified heir to that particular throne.”

Luc clucked his tongue. “Every time you think you’re out, they pull you back in, eh?”

Ethan looked at him blankly.

“It’s from
The
Godfather
. I’m paraphrasing.”

“Is that a movie?”

“Seriously?
The
Godfather
? Marlon Brando? Al Pacino?”

When Ethan shook his head again, Lindsey whistled. Luc was a bona fide movie buff, and
The Godfather
was often at the top of any movie buff’s list. Given the look of utter shock and insult on Luc’s face, I guessed his list was typical. We all needed our hobbies; Luc had definitely found his.

“That’s a damn shame,” Luc said, then looked at me. “Sentinel, I command you to host a movie night during which we educate this man on cinema classics—”

“I think Luc’s point is,” I interrupted, glancing at Ethan, “you thought you were out of GP politics, and you just got sucked back in.”

“So it seems,” Ethan said.

“What do you want to do, boss?”

Ethan checked his watch. “Tonight, very little. The sun is nearly on the rise. Go upstairs, sleep, and we’ll try again tomorrow.”

With the boss’s permission, we quickly dispersed.

—

The Cadogan Master’s apartments consisted of three rooms—a sitting room, a bedroom, and a bath. Four rooms if you counted Ethan’s closet. Since the closet was bigger than my dorm room on the second floor, I counted it.

When we returned, we were greeted by soft lighting and the hum of a cello. Candles were lit, two bottles of water and a small box of chocolates were on Ethan’s writing desk, courtesy of Margot, and the apartments smelled of gardenias and bergamot.

“I am glad to be home,” I said, putting my katana on a table near the door and unzipping my boots.

“Before you leave a trail of clothing across the apartments and fall face-first into bed, you might wish to check the bath,” Ethan said, taking off his suit jacket.

I ignored the insult and focused on the intriguing bit. “The bath?”

He gestured mysteriously toward the bathroom, so I made my way, pulling off one boot, then the other, hopping along the way.

The Master’s bathroom was as luxe as the rest of the apartment, with a marble floor and vanities that looked more like furniture. A giant soaking tub sat in one corner, and tonight, it bore a surprise.

A bath had been drawn, the water steaming and scented, and full of bubbles. Small candles were lit around the room, bouncing circles of light across the ceiling.

My muscles sagged in relief.

“What’s all this?” I asked, at the sound of footsteps behind me.

Ethan pulled the leather jacket from my shoulders. “You had a bit of an evening. I thought you could use a break.”

I glanced back at him suspiciously. I didn’t mean to question his motives, but in my experience a candlelit bath wasn’t Ethan’s usual method of coping when I’d been in a dangerous situation. He typically preferred a lecture about my having gotten into danger in the first place. In this case, of course, I’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Merit, I can all but see the gears turning.”

“Sorry. This is just . . . unexpected. Very unexpected.”

Ethan smiled, lips curving with sultry appeal. “On occasion, the unexpected is precisely what the doctor ordered. Or so the humans say.”

“Since you, being immortal, have no need of doctors?”

“Precisely.” He’d already kicked off his shoes, and he began rolling up his shirtsleeves.

“Are you joining me?” I wondered aloud.

“Patience, Sentinel. First, the bath. Then, the after.”

I couldn’t help but wonder about the “after.”

Ethan stepped forward, and without preface, gripped my sweater by its hem.

“Arms up,” he said, and when I obliged, he pulled the sweater over my head. He tossed it away, then centered his gaze on the silk and satin that covered my breasts, his lips widening in masculine appreciation.

“Patience, Sullivan,” I said with a smile, and he growled out his objection. Ethan reached out and put his hands on my waist, sending goose bumps up my arms and a warm tendril of heat through my abdomen.

He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me, smelling of soap and spicy cologne, and my limbs tensed and relaxed at the same time. Ethan knotted his fingers in my hair, his tongue tangling with mine, turning up the intensity of the kiss until I was utterly relaxed—and taut like a bowstring. He put me there, at the knife’s edge of tension, which was undoubtedly exactly his plan.

Ethan Sullivan rarely did anything without a plan.

He cupped my silk-covered breast in one hand, and my lips parted. His deft fingers unsnapped the buttons on my jeans, and my core went liquid from wanting.

How was it possible, I wondered, to want someone so much? To feel suddenly empty . . . and yet full of longing?

Without words, he pushed the jeans from my hips, and they pooled in a heap on the floor. His eyes burning like green fire, Ethan wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against the length of his body. He was still clothed, but that was no obstacle to his impressive arousal, which had vaulted between us.

As he kissed me again, I took advantage, arousing him through the slick fabric of his trousers until he pulled away, silver eyed and fanged. His hair had loosened, spilling spun gold around his face. The sight of him—aroused and predatory, all pretensions gone—was nearly too much to bear.

Ethan wet his lips. “I promised a bath.”

“There’s room for two.”

He smiled wickedly. “Let’s test that theory, Sentinel.” He didn’t bother with buttons, but pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his flat stomach and rigid abdominals, a chest that begged for touch, for fingertips drifting across curves and planes of skin.

His belt hit the floor, followed by his trousers. And then, wearing silk and cotton, we stood together in the steam, staring at each other, the heavy weight of anticipation between us.

“You first,” he said, his feet planted, crossing his arms like a pirate on the swaying deck of a ship of the line.

I could just see the edge of the tattoo that marked the back of Ethan’s calf. It was black script, words in a language I didn’t recognize, and he’d been demurring an explanation for some time. It seemed unlikely he’d explain it now, and I wasn’t about to waste time with unnecessary words or arguments I couldn’t win.

I opted instead for a winning move. Playing coy, I turned my back to him, glancing over my shoulder as I freed my breasts.

“Playing the wicked Sentinel this evening, are we?”

“I’m always wicked. But most of the time, I hide it very, very well.”

If vampirism had taught me nothing else, it was how to bluff when the time was right.

I removed the rest of the lingerie, giving him a good long look at my body before I dipped a toe into the bath water.

The heat was just shy of excessive, and utterly delicious. I closed my eyes for just a second as the heat sent a delicious shudder through my limbs. Before I opened them again, Ethan was behind me, utterly naked and aroused, his body pressed against mine.

He pressed his lips to my neck, to the spot that I’d sworn was more sensitive than any other on my body, as if vampires had been blessed by an additional erogenous zone, and cupped my breasts in his hands.

His fingers, long and nimble, toyed and teased until I was nearly breathless. But then he was gone, leaving my body cold again. In shock, I glanced behind me, and found his gaze, teasing and tempting.