Dark Debt (Chicagoland Vampires #11)(85)
Author: Chloe Neill

“It was so wrong of him to dump you,” said a thin and tattooed man with a heavy beard and thick waves of dark hair, currently applying dark shadow and liner to my lids, cat’s-eye-style.

Play the part, I told myself. “It was out of the blue,” I agreed quietly, trying to stay still and keep the pointier ends of his tools from puncturing my eyeballs.

“You will make him so jealous,” said a petite woman with a curling iron as long as her arm that smelled of heat and hair spray.

“That would be a bonus,” I agreed, doing my best to offer an envious pout.

“Your dress is fabulous,” said another woman, an adorable brunette with a butterfly clip in her hair and as many tattoos as the bearded man. “They’re giving it a final steam.”

“I haven’t seen it yet.”

“You’ll love it.”

“Very dramatic,” said the tiny woman, clipping a curl into place while she worked on another section of my hair. “You’re my first vampire. It’s not really that different from doing a human, I guess.”

“No,” I said, staring at myself in the mirror when she moved away.

My eyes were darkly lined and shadowed, my cheekbones highlighted, my lips full and crimson. The bustier pushed up my not terribly impressive cleavage; stilettos with thin red straps that matched the dress showed off my quite impressive legs. My hair was dark and glossy, and as the hairdresser began unfastening the clips, it fell in large, loose waves around my shoulders.

This was to my prep work for Reed’s gala what fast food was to the prix fixe at Alinea, Chicago’s fanciest restaurant. Not really in the same stratosphere.

My bangs were tucked, the waves texturized and fluffed, and a faintly floral perfume was dabbed along my neck and ears. And the bearded man shooed the others away, moved toward me with a giant brush dusted with faintly shimmering powder the color of candlelight.

“Final step,” he said, and began dusting my face, neck, torso, cleavage, which began to shimmer beneath the bulbs of the room.

“Just a hint of glow,” he said. “We want vampire glamour, not Miami Beach glitter.”

“Very nice.”

We turned, found Helen behind us, arms crossed, the hanging dress in her hands. She gave me a businesslike appraisal, then nodded.

“I believe we’re ready,” she said, and handed the dress to me.

It was featherlight, panels of amazingly detailed floral lace and fluid organza, all in a deep crimson. The bodice was a deep-cut V of lace over a virtually invisible tulle panel, the arms bare but for a few bouquets of the same lace. The waist was narrow, the crimson organza over silk dropping straight through the hips and flowing at the knees in several fluid layers, the lace panels showing plenty of skin at the hips and thighs.

I let her help me pull it on, and when we’d managed to ensure that everything was nipped and tucked in all the right places, I checked the mirror.

For Reed’s party, I’d looked wealthy and glamorous in my demure black gown.

Tonight, I looked sexy and dangerous. It took a moment of staring for me to grapple with that, accept that the striking and seductive woman reflected back was actually me.

“That,” Helen said, “is a Sentinel of this House.”

And it had only taken humans, a vampire, and a year to get me there.

Helen pressed diamonds into my ears and ensured that the thigh holster was snug and secure.

“One more thing,” she said.

“No more diamonds.”

She gave me a bland look, offered an earpiece.

“Ah,” I said, and fitted it into my ear. “Test,” I said quietly.

“You’re live, Sentinel,” Kelley said back to me, stationed in the Ops Room. “What’s your ETA?”

“Four minutes. I’m about to walk downstairs.”

“Roger that. I’m going to cue Ethan looking very, very jealous.”

That sounded more fun than it should have.

*   *   *

The House’s large backyard had been turned into an homage to spring. White canopies fluttered over tall urns of white flowers, and a string quartet played music on the back patio. A tent was set up near the square French garden, the water gurgling beautifully in the background. White paper lanterns created a stunning glow, adding to the ethereal look and the sense of rebirth. The event was about a fresh start for the Houses, but it was also about a fresh start for Ethan, a break from his past, or at least from a monster who’d attempted to assimilate it.

I’d always wanted to make a delicious entry, an adolescent dream of walking into the room and having all heads turn toward me.

Tonight, I wasn’t an awkward teenager, but an adult. I wasn’t trying to get the curly-haired quiz bowl captain to notice me—I was baiting an old, powerful vampire. And I wasn’t walking into a gymnasium or cafeteria decorated with glitter and paper to look like Paris or Rome, but a majestic white garden full of fragrant flowers, and vampires in glamorous dress.

I imagined Helen was behind me critiquing every motion and Ethan’s life was on the line, and took the demilune stairs from the patio to sidewalk. I was the only one, at least as far as I could tell, in red, and stood out among the Cadogan black and demure dresses. There was absolutely nothing demure about my dress, my expression, or now that I thought about it, the walk Helen had taught me.

Heads turned as I took the paved path toward the tent. I surveyed the crowd with an even stare, met Helen’s gaze, watched as her satisfied smile spread and she inclined her head in approval. I could hear the whispers around me, the questions and comments of vampires in demure gowns and tuxedos, wondering at the Sentinel in red who’d stepped into their midst.

They probably believed I looked like a woman begging for a man’s attention. Good, since that was exactly what I’d been trying to do. And if our luck held, he’d show.

I searched for Ethan, found him near a table beneath the canvas, champagne flute in hand. His tuxedo was trim and immaculately tailored, his hair pulled back in a short queue. He looked absolutely magnificent, like a wicked angel hoping to sway a human or two to his very convincing side.

His gaze raked my body like a spurned lover, and I swallowed back a bolt of lust. I wasn’t supposed to be lusting for Ethan, or at least giving in to it. We’d broken up.

He gave me a rough perusal before looking away, turning to the woman who stood before him, a brunette with a glossy bob of dark hair, her curvy body tucked into a sleeveless black dress with a flared skirt and black Mary Jane–style shoes with stiletto heels. His hand was on her nipped-in waist, and jealousy stronger than any I’d ever known bolted through me.