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.
“When you have a chance, can you talk to Margot, maybe arrange for drinks, blood, some snacks? It’s been a long night.”
Lindsey arched an eyebrow. “Babe, I know you better than you know yourself. Already put in the order.”
I put a thankful hand on her arm, squeezed. “Thank you. I am starving.”
“You pretty much destroyed that dress.”
“But saved an apparently despicable human from a vampire ninja death, so that’s something.”
“It’s something,” she said quietly, her gaze on Ethan as he stalked toward Morgan. “They were really from Navarre?”
She wouldn’t have doubted the truth of Luc’s report, but she’d have marveled at the involvement of Navarre guards in a mess like this.