Dark Debt (Chicagoland Vampires 11)

“On it, hoss,” Luc said, then glanced at me. “Assuming your ‘purely professional’ schedule allows, you’ve got small blade practice tomorrow.”

Of course I did. Because God forbid I missed a night of Luc90X.

“She’ll see you then,” Ethan assured them. And the second they were gone, his arm was around my waist, and he’d snugged me against the hard line of his body.

Before I could react, his mouth was on mine, firm and possessive, passionate and insistent. He pushed me beyond thinking, into that sweet oblivion where there was only sensation, only the feel and smell and taste of him.

When he pulled back, nipping my lip in a final tease, both of us were breathing heavily.

“Always remember,” he said. “Real lust beats old magic any day.”

There was applause from the doorway. I turned around, found Catcher and Mallory offering a slow clap at the sight of us.

Chapter Four

BOSOM BUDDIES

“What was I saying about lust beating magic?” Ethan asked quietly, and I patted his chest.

“Down, boy,” I said, and waved them in.

“We heard you’ve had an evening,” Catcher said. “Malik called Chuck, gave him a heads-up. We were closer to the House, so we stopped by to check in on things. Balthasar, eh?”

“So it seems.”

“Magic?”

“As you’d expect,” Ethan said, and slid his gaze to me. “And glamour that managed to penetrate Merit’s defenses.”

Or destroy them, I feared. And I didn’t like the thought of Balthasar penetrating anything of mine, psychic or otherwise.

Catcher looked at me, head tilted and brow furrowed, as if I were a puzzle to decipher. “He changed her immunity?”

“Or slipped past it, yes,” Ethan said.

I waved a hand. “Still in the room.” But they were too involved in their analysis to care. Mallory walked over, rolled her eyes at their single-mindedness. She handed me a picnic basket.

“Thought we’d return this,” she said. “Margot knocked it out of the park, as always.”

I nodded, put the basket on Ethan’s desk. “She tends to do that.” I thought of the announcement they’d wanted to make. “Are you guys okay? Did you want to talk about something?”

She looked back at Catcher, opened her mouth as if to answer, but quickly closed it again. “We’re good. We’ll talk about it later. Really,” she added. “It’s no big deal. But this is.” Concern crossed her face. “You okay about this Balthasar thing?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “It was, I don’t know, scary in a different kind of way. Not Catcher-throwing-fireballs scary, or even Ethan-facing-a-fiery-death scary.”

“It was dark-spike-right-into-your-soul scary?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah. That’s pretty much it exactly.” Since she’d been assaulted by a serial killer, of course she’d have understood.

I lowered my voice. Ethan was upset enough that I didn’t want to burden him with my lingering fear. “It was . . . personal.”

She reached out, squeezed my hand. “I’ve been there. Feels good when you really don’t want it to?”

I couldn’t stop the flush that warmed my neck, but nodded. “I don’t know how he’s cooking up that glamour, but he’s very, very good at it.”

“Where’s he been?” Catcher asked Ethan, who took a seat on the couch, gestured for them to join us. Mallory squeezed my hand again before releasing it, moving to sit in the chair beside Catcher’s. I took my now-familiar seat on the couch next to Ethan.

“According to him, he was kidnapped by a cult, tortured, incapacitated by extract of aspen.”