Drink Deep (Chicagoland Vampires 5)

"We are," I said, and we stood there awkwardly for a moment. Time to see how far that trust extended. "Ethan, could you excuse us for a moment?"

"Of course," he said, but raised my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss there before moving toward the Mercedes.

"I suppose you've gotten your partner back," Jonah sak, excusid.

"I agreed to join the RG," I quietly reminded him. "And I don't take that lightly."

Jonah looked at me for a long time, and I could read the deliberation in his eyes: Was I committed now that Ethan was back?

He must have found merit in my honesty, as he final y nodded. And then he spoke his piece: "We have moved in and out of each others' lives. Twice now, we've crossed each others' paths - for you, both as a human and a vampire. Relationships have been built on less."

I rol ed my eyes. "And Ethan would end you for suggesting it."

He smiled. "Ethan would appreciate a man who knows what he wants - as long as I don't interfere. And I don't plan on doing that. You and I are partners. I know where the lines are, Merit, and I can respect them. I have no interest in breaking up a relationship."

I made my good-byes and walked back to where Ethan was loading our bags into the car. I expected suspicion and vitriol in his mood and tone. I did not expect to see the smile on his face.

"Your partner while I was away?" he asked.

I nodded, stil unsure of my steps.

"You can relax," he said with a canny grin, then tweaked my chin. "I trust you." And then he tossed something in the air. Instinctively, I reached out and caught it, then glanced down at my open palm - and back up at him.

He smiled cannily. "Omaha's a long drive. You can take the first shift." True to his word, he opened the passenger side door and climbed inside.

I was going to have to learn this man al over again.

I guess al journeys begin with a single step . . . or an $80,000 convertible Mercedes. God wil ing, it would move fast enough, and we could find Mal ory in time.

Want more Chloe Neil ?

Read on for the opening chapter of FIRESPELL, the first book in her Dark Elite series.

Available now!

They were gathered around a conference table in a high-rise, eight men and women, no one under the age of sixty-five, al of them wealthy beyond measure. And they were here, in the middle of Manhattan, to decide my fate.

I was not quite sixteen and only one month out of my sophomore year of high school. My parents, philosophy professors, had been offered a two-year-long academic sabbatical at a university in Munich, Germany. That's right  - two years out of the country, which only real y mattered because they'd decided I'd be better off staying in the United States.

They'd passed along that little nugget one Saturday in June. I'd been preparing to head to my best friend Ashley's house when my parents came into my room and sat down on my bed.

"Lily," Mom said, "we need to talk."

I don't think I'm ruining the surprise by pointing out that nothing good happens when someone starts a speech like that.

My first thought was that something horrible had happened to Ashley. Turned out she was fine; the trauma hit a little closer to home. My parents told me they'd been accepted into the sabbk, et nothingatical program, and that the chance to work in Germany for two years was an amazing opportunity for them.

Then they got quiet and exchanged one of those long, meaningful looks that real y didn't bode wel for me. They said they didn't want to drag me to Germany with them, that they'd be busy while they were there, and that they wanted me to stay in an American school to have the best chance of going to a great col ege here. So they'd decided that while they were away, I'd be staying in the States.

I was equal parts bummed and thril ed. Bummed, of course, because they'd be an ocean away while I passed al the big milestones - SAT prep, col ege visits, prom, completing my vinyl col ection of every Smashing Pumpkins track ever released.

Thril ed, because I figured I'd get to stay with Ashley and her parents.

Unfortunately, I was only right about the first part.

My parents had decided it would be best for me to finish high school in Chicago, in a boarding school stuck in the middle of high-rise buildings and concrete - not in Sagamore, my hometown in Upstate New York; not in our tree-lined neighborhood, with my friends and the people and places I knew.

I protested with every argument I could think of.

Flash forward two weeks and 240 miles to the Flash forward two weeks and 240 miles to the conference table where I sat in a button-up cardigan and pencil skirt I'd never have worn under normal circumstances, the members of the Board of Trustees of St. Sophia's School for Girls staring back at me. They interviewed every girl who wanted to walk their hal owed hal s - after al , heaven forbid they let in a girl who didn't meet their standards. But that they had traveled to New York to see me seemed a little out of the ordinary.

"I hope you're aware," said one of them, a silver-haired man with tiny round glasses, "that St. Sophia's is a famed academic institution. The school itself has a long and storied history in Chicago, and the Ivy Leagues recruit from its hal s."

A woman with a pile of hair atop her head looked at me and said slowly, as if talking to a child, "You'l have any secondary institution in this country or beyond at your feet, Lily, if you're accepted at St. Sophia's. If you become a St.

Sophia's girl."

Okay, but what if I didn't want to be a St. Sophia's girl?

What if I wanted to stay home in Sagamore with my friends, not a thousand miles away in some freezing Midwestern city, surrounded by private-school girls who dressed the same, talked the same, bragged about their money?

I didn't want to be a St. Sophia's girl. I wanted to be me, Lily Parker, of the dark hair and eyeliner and fabulous fashion sense.

The powers that be of St. Sophia's were apparently less hesitant. Two weeks after the interview, I got the letter in the mail.

"Congratulations," it said. "We are pleased to inform you that the members of the board of trustees have voted favorably regarding your admission to St. Sophia's School for Girls."

I was less than pleased, but short of running away, which wasn't my style, I was out of options. So two months later, my parents and I trekked to Albany International.

Mom had booked us on the same airline, so we sat in the concourse together, with me between the two of them. Mom wore a shirt and trim trousers, her long dark hair in a low ponytail. My father wore a button-up shirt and khakis, his auburn hair waving over the glasseser /div We sat silently until they cal ed my plane. Too nervous for tears, I stood and put on my messenger bag. My parents stood, as wel , and my mom reached out to put a hand on my cheek. "We love you, Lil. You know that? And that this is what's best?"