Friday Night Bites (Chicagoland Vampires 2)

I missed the subtext, the fact that he'd circled back around to us, and answered with sarcasm, irony. "What do you want me to say, since you aren't going to believe what I tell you? That I'm in love with him? That we're going to be married and start pumping out vampire children?"

"Vampires can't have children," was the only thing he said, and the flatness of his voice - and the fact that I hadn't yet considered the impact of the change on my becoming a mother - sucked the wind from my sails. Deflated, I looked at the ground, and when another peal of thunder rolled across Hyde Park, I wrapped my arms around myself.

"What are we doing, Merit?"

I blinked, looked up at him. "You were insulting me because you think I mishandled House business."

Morgan's expression didn't change, but his voice softened. "That's not what I meant."

He uncrossed his arms, stuck his hands in his pockets. "I meant us. What are we doing?"

I found I couldn't answer him.

As if on cue, the rain began to fall again, began to pour in sheets, a silvery curtain that mirrored the emotional barrier between us. The rain came hard and fast, and soaked us in seconds.

I didn't have an answer for his question, and he didn't speak, so we stood there, silently together, our hair matted by water, raindrops trickling down our faces.

Drops clung to Morgan's lashes, and the shine of the water seemed to sharpen his already sculpted cheekbones. Hair plastered to his head, he looked, I thought, like an ancient warrior who'd been caught in a storm, maybe after the fall of some final enemy in battle.

Except, in this case, the last warrior standing looked... defeated.

Minutes passed while we stood there in the rain, silently facing each other.

"I don't know?" I finally said, trying to give the words the cant of apology.

Morgan closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he wore an expression of grim resolution. "Do you want me?"

I swallowed, stared at him with eyes I knew were wide and remorseful, and hated myself for not being able to answer with all the conviction I knew he deserved, "My God, yes, I want you." I opened my mouth to give a pat response, then closed it again, deciding to honestly consider the question.

I wanted what most people wanted - love, companionship.

I wanted someone to touch. I wanted someone to touch me back.

I wanted someone to laugh with, someone who would laugh with me, laugh at me.

I wanted someone who looked and saw me. Not my power, not my position.

I wanted someone to say my name. To call out, "Merit," when it was time to go, or when we arrived. Someone who wanted to say to someone else, with pride, "I'm here with her. With Merit."

I wanted all those things. Indivisibly.

But I didn't want them from Morgan. Not now. Maybe it was too soon after my conversion to vampire to try a relationship; maybe it would never be the right time for us. I didn't know the why of it, but I knew I didn't feel the kind of emotions I ought to have.

I didn't want to fail him, but I couldn't lie to him. So I answered, quietly, "I want to want you."

It was as insulting a cop-out answer as I'd ever heard, and it had fallen from my own inconstant lips.

"Jesus Christ, Merit," he muttered. "Way to be equivocal." He shook his head, rain streaking down his face, and stared at the ground for what felt like an eternity. Then he lifted his gaze and blinked water from narrowed blue eyes.

"I deserve a better answer than that. Maybe you're not the one that can give it to me, but I deserve a better answer."

"Why would you want more from me? You don't even trust me."

"I could have trusted you, if you'd trusted me a little."

"You blackmailed me into dating you."

"Fine, Merit. Fine. Let's just call it what it is, right?" He gave me one last look of mild disgust, then turned away. I let him go, watched him walk down the sidewalk and through the rain until he disappeared into the mist of it.

I don't know how long I stood there in the middle of the street, rain streaming down my face, wondering what I'd done, how I'd managed to screw up the first potentially real relationship I'd had in years. But what could I do? I couldn't feign emotions I didn't feel, and I wasn't na?ve enough to deny the connection between me and Ethan, even if we both regretted the attraction. Ethan had kissed me, had wanted to kiss me, and I had allowed it. Whatever I felt for Morgan, however much I enjoyed his company, the pull just wasn't the same.

Regrettably.

The rain slowed, then dissipated, mist clouding the neighborhood. I pushed the wet hair from my eyes and was preparing to turn back for the House when I heard it.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The sound of heels on concrete.

Chapter Twenty-three

HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT

I turned quickly, but didn't need to change position to know what was coming. Who was coming. The goose bumps on my arms, the uncomfortable prickle at the back of my neck, were warning enough.

The scene played out like a Bogart film. She looked as glamorous as I'd ever seen her, lithe body tucked into a pair of black wide-legged pants and a black cap-sleeved top, her wavy black hair in soft curls across her shoulders. But while she might have channeled Katharine Hepburn aesthetically, I knew who she really was, the nihilistic core of her.

She strode toward me with feline grace, heels clicking on the wet asphalt, gleaming in the light of the overhead streetlamps.

I swallowed, fear and adrenaline tripping my heart into a quick, staccato beat, and gripped the scabbard at my side.

"I could have you before you unsheathed it," she warned.

I forced myself to keep my chin up, my body flexed and ready in case she moved. It took every ounce of strength I had not to recoil, not to take a step backward, not to run away. I couldn't have been less confident, there in the dark, the Cadogan gate a block away. So I bluffed.

"Maybe," I said, giving her a small smile. "Maybe not. What do you want?"

She tilted her head at me, tucking one hand around her side, one hip cocked. She had the look of a supermodel feigning confusion, or a mildly intrigued vampire. It was pretty much the same expression. "You haven't quite figured it out yet, have you?"

I arched a brow at her, and she chuckled in response, the sound low and throaty. "I don't think I'll tell you. I think I'll let you figure it out. But I'll enjoy it when the time comes." She suddenly snapped to attention, hands at her hips, chin thrust forward. A look of control and defiance. "And the time will come."

Celina did love to talk, to wax prophetic. Maybe she'd give me something I could use, something that would hint at her larger plans, something I could pass along to Ethan and Luc, so I asked the follow-up. "The time? For what?"