Wild Things (Chicagoland Vampires #9)(81)
Author: Chloe Neill

Sentinel, he silently said. You are a sight for sore eyes.

I ran like the hounds of hell were behind me, jumping into his arms and wrapping my arms and legs around him. Thank God, I said. Thank God. I said it to the universe, to him, for him.

He embraced me with bone-crushing strength, buried his head in my neck.

I fisted my hands in his hair, tears flowing over. Tears of relief, of love, of grief. Tears of gratitude that I’d been granted yet another chance with him.

He’d told me once he wasn’t certain how many of his lives he’d already given up, or how many he had yet to give. I didn’t know, either, and didn’t much care, as long as he still had one for me.

When clapping emerged from the front door, I dropped my legs and slid down his body, averting my eyes with embarrassment.

Ethan smiled, tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “I believe they were applauding you, Sentinel.”

“You’re a liar,” I said, dropping my hot cheek to his shirt. “But I’m okay with that.”

Vampires came forward, embracing him, shaking his hand, and grinning with delight.

“It’s good to be home,” he told them. “And I don’t believe I’ll request those particular accommodations again.”

There were good-natured chuckles from the vampires.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to sit. It’s been a long night.”

While Malik and Luc helped him inside, and the rest of the vampires followed, I pulled out my phone.

Ethan was home and safe, even though he’d stepped into danger to protect others from violence he believed was his responsibility to bear. He’d trusted his instincts and the skill of the people he’d gathered around him. It was time to set him free, to let him fly and hope that he returned again.

I texted Lakshmi. HE’S FREE AND HOME. HE SHOULD CONTROL OUR DESTINIES.

To the casual observer, the message would have read like I was asking her to do me a favor. But really, it was a receipt. An acknowledgment that Lakshmi had been correct, that Ethan was the right man for the job.

The rest of it was up to fate.

He made his rounds through the House, greeting his vampires, checking with Malik. By the time he found his way upstairs, I was in pajamas, in front of the fire, and his bruises were nearly healed. He closed the apartment door, placed his suit jacket across the back of a desk chair.

“And here we are again, Sentinel.” He walked forward, nearly stumbling with exhaustion, and grabbed the chair to steady himself.

I jumped to my feet. “Let me help.”

“I don’t need help,” he quietly said, but he accepted the arm I put around his waist and let me guide him to the bed. He winced as he sat down, as if every part of his body was beaten and sore.

And from the look of it as I unfastened buttons and pulled the shirt from his shoulders, it was.

“They did a number on you,” I quietly said, unsure whether I should be screaming or crying at the outrage.

“I’ll heal,” Ethan said, gaze on me as I dropped his shirt to the floor, flipped off his shoes, and helped him unbuckle his pants. Under any other circumstances, his gaze would have been demure and seductive. But tonight, he looked exhausted.

I turned off the fire, flipped off the lights, and climbed into the cool sheets beside him. The pain be damned, he pulled me against his body.

“Thank you for rescuing me, Ballerina,” Ethan drowsily said. “And if he ever so much as lays a hand on you, I will break it.”

I smiled against his chest, fell asleep to the sound of the slow and steady beating of his heart.

Chapter Twenty

THREE-RING CIRCUS

The sun fell, and my eyes snapped open. Ethan, golden and beautiful, stood beside his bureau, already dressed and pressing cuff links into place. He’d showered and cleaned up and looked perfectly healthy.

“Good morning, Sentinel.”

“Good morning, Sullivan. Sleep well?”

“I slept,” he said with a smile. “After the last twenty-four hours, that was glorious enough.”

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand, hoping for a message or update from Jeff about Regan’s position or the collection. But I found nothing.

“The kidnappings?” Ethan asked, and I nodded.

“Luc filled me in on the details last night. It was a good idea, calling Tate.”

I felt a tingle of relief. “We weren’t sure you’d see it that way.”

“If he’d hurt you, I’d have killed him myself. Fortunately, all is well. And he has a family.”

“That’s what it seems.”

“Chicago has become a very unusual world now that you’re in it, Merit.”

“I’d like it to become a smaller world. We still don’t know where Regan is.”

Ethan nodded. “Keep at it. You’ll find her eventually, and when you do, I want to know about it. I’d also like to address the House before everyone begins their days.”

A bolt of nerves shot through me. Discussions in the ballroom meant serious matters. “About?”

“The future of the House,” he cryptically said. “Get dressed.”

I gave him a salute and toddled to the shower.

I dressed in leathers and wore my katana, which made me the odd vampire out in Cadogan’s lovely second-floor ballroom. Most everyone else wore their black standard-issue Cadogan suits, their new teardrop medals winking atop pale skin. Luc, who wore jeans, and Helen, who wore a pink tweed suit, were exceptions to the general rule. I moved to Luc, stood beside him and the rest of the guards.

The mood of the vampires who filled the room was nervous but excited. Those who’d missed Ethan’s arrival were obviously glad to see him back, and I could hear the whispers about how their Liege had fared in custody, and if he was as healthy now as he’d been when he left.

Ethan stepped to the dais in the front of the room, Malik beside him. Thunderous applause filled the air. Ethan smiled, letting his gaze scan and catch the eyes of the Novitiates who stood before him.

Ethan allowed the applause to go on for a moment—he still had his ego—before lifting his hands. The room quieted instantly.

“It’s nice to be home again,” he said, which set off another round of hoots and applause.

“The city acted unfairly toward us, toward Grey House, toward Navarre. We have helped this city over the last few months with issues they were unable or unwilling to address, and they have done us no service by accusing us of wrongdoing.”

His gaze narrowed. “I can affirm, for better or worse, that they believe they are doing the right thing for Chicago. This is no political ploy or attempt to win votes. They, the mayor included, have been advised by many—and wrongly—that supernatural creatures are the enemy. Frankly, much of the trouble we’ve seen in the last few months can be laid at the feet of supernaturals. That fact is undeniable. But we also are the solution. And the vast majority of us are trying to do right by the city that we love.