“And you just ate what I’m guessing is a significant number of processed snack cakes. Having a degree doesn’t guarantee good choices. But you can probably analyze Chaucer like a champ.”
“Damn straight. How were the supplicants?”
“Remarkably straightforward,” he said, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the back of the desk chair we’d resituated at the desk. “How is Mallory?”
“Good. I’m not sold on this elopement situation, but she seems to have accepted it, so I’m not sure there’s anything for me to do.”
He nodded, hands on his hips. “She’s an adult, as is he.”
“I know. But it’s marriage, and I’d like him to pull that stick out of his ass. Maybe you could talk to him.”
“No.”
“Ethan—”
“No,” he said again, this time more firmly, and walked into the closet. “His relationship is between him and Mallory,” he called out. “Let her vent, if that’s your friendship. But they have to make those decisions for themselves.”
“Stubborn ass,” I murmured.
He emerged in emerald green silk pajama bottoms and an arched eyebrow. “I heard that. And I suspect Catcher’s the stubborn ass here, not me.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “Is Morgan here?”
“He’s coming tomorrow night. Wanted to stay at the House tonight, make sure the remaining vampires at Navarre were safe. Grey’s already got guards on the House, and we’ve contracted for a few humans as well. That should keep the Circle at bay during the day, at least.”
“What about the Investiture?”
“We’ve discussed it, but only generally. Scott’s and Morgan’s minds are on something else.”
I nodded, but Ethan’s furrowed brow didn’t relax.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Everything. I worry for you.”
I pointed to my trusty bracelet. “I’m covered.”
One corner of his mouth lifted, and he walked to the bed. “I’m worried about more than just tonight. He’s already tried to get to you twice.”
“He won’t get to me.”
“I know he won’t, Sentinel, because I won’t let him.”
Ethan lay down beside me, my eyes wide-open even as I felt the slow tug of sleep as the sun breached the horizon.
I was nervous, I admitted. I didn’t want to sleep, even with Mallory’s apotrope. Didn’t want to fend off pulling fingers and dripping fangs or feel as if my body was a pawn in their game. I didn’t want to fight.
“You are mine,” Ethan said, opening his arms to me, embracing me when I curled toward him. This time, I hadn’t hesitated, exhaustion at least tempering that fear.
“Let me hold you in the darkness,” he whispered, lips against my ear. “Let me fight him for you. Let me keep you safe.”
The depth of the love in his voice, the feel of his body against mine, made my pulse pound with want. But while my body was responsive, my brain was not. It was fully in protective mode. Not just that I’d think of Balthasar, but that every new intimacy with Ethan would give Balthasar another bullet to use against us.
“Soon,” Ethan promised, reading me even in the darkness of the room. “Soon, and inevitably. For you are mine, Sentinel,” he said, words slower and softer as sleep overtook him.
“Mine.”
Chapter Eighteen