Dark Debt (Chicagoland Vampires #11)(26)
Author: Chloe Neill

“Luc has the details about his location if you’d like it, or want to do any monitoring of your own.”

My grandfather nodded. “We won’t monitor per se, but I would like to stay apprised. Do you think he’s looking for access?”

“If he is, he’ll be sorely disappointed by what he finds.”

“He can’t think you owe him,” Jeff said. “Not after what happened, all the time that’s passed.”

“A rational mind would expect not,” Ethan said. “But he has rarely ever been rational. His needs are paramount, and damn anyone who stands in his way.”

“I fear there is a lot of that going around,” my grandfather said, and sighed heavily before trying a light smile. “I’d wax nostalgic about the good ol’ days, but with age comes wisdom and sight, and the realization that every day is as good or as bad as the next. The difference is only in the margins.”

Ethan nodded. “Very well said. And with that, we should probably get back to the House and begin planning our next play.”

The cards would be dealt one way or the other.

*   *   *

“This is going to be a pain in the ass,” Ethan said when we slid into the backseat of the Range Rover again.

The car shook a bit as Brody climbed into the passenger seat. “Home, Sire?”

“Please.”

“And we thought this was going to be a networking event,” I said.

Ethan laughed, a knot of mirthless sound. “The best-laid plans of vampires.” He rubbed a finger across his forehead. “We must deal with this, but Balthasar will not wait long. I suspect this will be a long night.”

“I suspect you’re right.” I glanced out the window at the lights of homes and businesses, wondered at the drama that unfolded there.

“Oh, Morgan,” I said on a sigh.

Ethan slid me a glance. “Did you just say ‘oh, Morgan’?”

“I did. In exhaustion, not desire. I’m not looking forward to dealing with him.” Morgan and I had dated briefly, and he still harbored bitterness about the end of our relationship. Not, I think, because he’d truly loved me, but because he didn’t like having been passed over for Ethan.

“I’m afraid we will not be able to avoid it. Not this time.”

“I know. What did you think about Reed?”

“I didn’t interact with him much, all things considered,” Ethan said, skimming his fingers over my hand before entwining our fingers. “Likes material wealth, likes to show it off. Imagines himself very much the king of his castle.”

“His gaudy castle.”

“Just so. He has body men, which is relatively unusual for a businessman in Chicago. Is not used to people disobeying his orders. Certainly isn’t used to those who dare breach the castle walls, interrupt his feast.”

“I can’t get a read on Sorcha. She’s either really smart and very socially awkward, or really, really dumb.”

“And she must be twenty years his junior,” Ethan said, clearly not a compliment to either of them.

I just looked at him. “What?”

“Sorcha. She’s at least twenty years younger than Reed.”

It literally took me a minute to respond. “Of all the things we’ve seen tonight, that’s what offends you? That he’s in a May-December romance? Need I point out you’re nearly four hundred years older than me?”

“That’s different.”

“How is it different?”

“Because I don’t look a day over thirty.”

The lack of logic was staggering. “That’s got to be some kind of penis logic.”

“Excuse me?” Ethan asked as Brody snickered in the front seat.

“One of your heads is significantly smarter than the other. She was pretty, though. I’ll give you that.”

Ethan sighed. “It has nothing to do with pretty.”

“Not according to your brain,” I agreed. “But once again—”

Ethan held up a hand. “No need to repeat the point.”

“When I’m four hundred, do I get to date a twenty-five-year-old?”

Ethan narrowed his gaze. “If you date anyone other than me at any point in your hopefully long and fruitful life, there will be trouble for both of us.”

“That’s definitely penis logic,” Brody said helpfully. I didn’t disagree with him.

*   *   *

By the time we arrived at the paparazzi’d House, it was two o’clock. We were both tired and grouchy, and hadn’t eaten in hours.

The jacket I’d returned draped over one arm, Ethan offered a hand to help me out of the car. When I joined him on the sidewalk, I put my hands on his face, stretched on tiptoes to reach him, and pressed my lips to his. “Thank you for standing up to my father.”

Ethan wrapped an arm around my waist as shutters began to snap around us, capturing the moment, paparazzi yelling at us to look their way, make eye contact, increase the marketability of their particular photographs.

“Sentinel,” he said quietly, the words only for me, “I will stand for you as long as I am able.” And then he kissed me well and thoroughly. The words had been for me, but the kiss was for the audience.

“You two are making out every time I see you.”

Ethan pulled away, glanced back at Catcher, who’d moved to stand beside us. “That speaks more to your interruptions than our affection.”

Catcher made a vague sound, gestured toward the gate, where my grandfather stood waiting. Jeff must have dropped him off. “Shall we?”

I didn’t especially want to, but big girl panties were made for times like this.

*   *   *

Morgan stood in the middle of the foyer, legs braced like a captain on a ship. His dark, wavy hair was short now, paired with a few nights’ worth of dark stubble that set off his deeply blue eyes. He wore dark jeans over boots, a three-quarter-sleeve Henley in a pale blue he favored, arms crossed defensively over his well-toned chest. Morgan was what I’d call broodingly handsome.

Unfortunately, he also had a disappointing tendency to brood.

He cast a glance at Ethan, then me, then the remains of the dress and scratches on my arms. His eyes flashed, and I wondered if he was bothered I’d been injured—or pissed that I’d fought with his people.

Luc and Lindsey waited nearby, moved forward when we walked into the foyer. I made a line for Lindsey.