Friday Night Bites (Chicagoland Vampires 2)

"I had a hunch. Your father is incredibly well connected, but lacks relationships among supernaturals. That's no doubt why he was eager to work with you, and eager to meet with me. However, his lack of connections doesn't mean he doesn't do his homework.

Did anything about his reaction surprise you?"

"His total lack of surprise surprised me." I glanced over at him, an appreciative smile tilting one corner of my mouth. "Very sneaky, Sullivan. Without asking, you managed to get him to indicate that he's been paying very close attention to Celina's situation."

"I manage a redeemable idea now and again."

I made a sardonic sound.

"But you're right - it seems unlikely that anything we discussed came as a surprise."

"Tell him what you think you need to," I said, "as long as you know that if he thinks he can accomplish some end of his own, he'll use that information against us."

"I know, Merit. I'm canny enough to have taken his measure by now."

My stomach growled ominously, and I pressed a hand to it. I could feel the gnawing ache of hunger, and I wasn't about to risk a bout of bloodlust while strapped into a roadster with a man I already had issues with. I could admit that Ethan was a little bit delicious, but I wasn't eager to have my vampire aching for a taste.

"I need a break," I warned him. I glanced out the window and noted a freeway exit ahead of us, then tapped a finger against the glass. "There."

Leaning to the side to check out the exit, he arched a brow. "A break. A break for what?"

"I need food."

"You always need food."

"It's either food or blood, Ethan. And given that it's just me and you in this car right now, food would be considerably less complicated, don't you think?"

Ethan grumbled, but he seemed to get the larger point and aimed the Mercedes toward the exit, then coasted into the parking lot of a roadside hamburger joint. Given the hour - nearly three in the morning - we were one of only a few proud, late-night, burger-hungry scragglers in the lot.

He parked next to the building and glanced through the driver's-side window at the tacky aluminum siding, the scrubby landscaping, and the marquee at the former Dairy Blitz (the marquee now reading only DA RY LITZ), which had clearly seen better days. I rolled down the window, and the smell of meat and potatoes and hot grease wafted through the car.

Oh, this was going to be good. I just knew it.

He turned to look at me, one eyebrow arched. "The Dary Litz, Sentinel?"

"You'll love it, Sullivan. Smell those fries! That batch is just for you."

"We just had a meal of ceviche and prawn parfait." There was a snicker in his voice that I appreciated.

"Seriously - we ate whipped shellfish, can you believe that? And you've made my point.

Drive around."

He made some vague sound of disagreement, but not a very earnest one, before backing up the car and maneuvering it into the drive-through lane.

I scanned the illuminated menu, vacillating between a single or double bacon cheeseburger before deciding on the triple. It was sunlight or an aspen stake, not cholesterol, that would bring me down eventually anyway.

Ethan stared at the menu. "I have no idea what to do here."

"There's the proof positive you made the right decision by bringing me on staff."

I offered some suggestions and when he argued with me, ordered enough for both of us - burgers, fries, chocolate shakes, an extra order of onion rings. He paid with cash that he slipped from a long, thin leather folder in his interior jacket pocket.

When the Mercedes was full of vampires and fried food, he drove to the exit, then paused at the curb while I made a sleeve of the paper wrap around his burger. When I handed it to him, he stared at it for a moment, eyebrow arched, before taking a bite.

He made a vague sound of approval while he chewed.

"You know," I said, biting into an onion ring, "I feel like things would go a lot smoother for you if you'd just admit that I'm always right."

"I'm willing to give you 'right about food,' but that's as far as I can go."

"I'll take that," I said, grinning at him, my mood elevated by our escape from Nick and my father, and probably from the impact of greasy fast food on my serotonin level.

Feeling no need for ladylike delicacy, I took a massive bite of my own bacon-laced burger, closing my eyes as I chewed. If there was anything for which I owed Ethan Sullivan thanks, it was the fact that I could eat what I wanted without gaining weight.

Sure, I was hungry all the time, and had once nearly latched onto his carotid, but all in all it was a small price to pay. Life was a smorgasbord!

All that serotonin, that relief, probably motivated my next comment. "Thank you," I told him.

Wrapped burger in hand, he pulled onto the road again, and we resumed our journey back to Hyde Park. "For what?"

"For changing me."

He paused. "For changing you?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm not saying there hasn't been an adjustment period - "

Ethan snorted as he reached into the box of onion rings perched between us. "That's rather an understatement, don't you think?"

"Give me a break, I'm trying to Gratefully Condescend."

Ethan snickered at the reference to the anachronistic Canon tradition - Grateful Condescension being the attitude I was supposed to adopt toward Ethan, my Liege.

And not the kind of condescension I usually got from him - this was the old-school, Jane Austen version. The kind where you deferred to your betters and employed all the social niceties. Definitely not my bag.

"Thank you," I said, "because if I hadn't been changed, I couldn't eat this incredibly unhealthy food. I wouldn't be immortal. I'd be completely useless with a katana - and that's a skill every twenty-eight-year-old Chicagoan needs." At his flat smile, I nudged him gently, teasingly, with an elbow. "Right?"

He chuckled softly.

"And you wouldn't have me to harass. You wouldn't have my connections or my fabulous fashion sense."

"I chose that dress."

I blinked back surprise. The admission surprised me and kind of thrilled me, although I didn't admit it. I did point out that it wouldn't look nearly as good on him, and got a

"hmph" for my trouble.

"Anyway, thank you."

"You're welcome, Sentinel."

"Were you gonna eat the rest of those fries?"

We noshed until we reached the House again. We took the long way around the building, avoiding the tangle of paparazzi outside the gate. Ethan waved his access card at the parking gate, a section of it sliding aside to allow him entry to the underground ramp. After he slid the Mercedes into his parking spot, we got out of the car, shut the doors behind us, and Ethan - despite the fact that the car was parked behind a ten-foot iron gate beneath a House of vampires in a garage accessible only by secret code - beeped the Mercedes' security system.