We’ll go by Portillo’s on the way home, Ethan said as we looked it over. That should satisfy Malik.
I wasn’t about to argue with that. Portillo’s had the best cake shakes in Chicago.
We’d requested no gifts and had offered suggestions for charitable donations for the guests who were determined to give something. But we still received beautifully wrapped presents, including two fancy toasters, a set of expensive towels, and a dozen crystal champagne flutes. Very generous of the thrice-removed cousins, if unnecessary.
I’m certain there are several shelters in town that would be thrilled to have these, Ethan said when I opened Toaster Number Three.
Excellent plan, I said, and I smiled at the small, wizened woman who’d given it to us. She was a great-aunt on my father’s side—my paternal grandmother’s sister—and looked to be nearly immortal herself. “Thank you, Aunt Sarah. What a thoughtful gift,” I said as my mother added the toaster to the growing pile.
When the last gift was distributed and we’d thanked two dozen people for their generosity, Great-Aunt Sarah came forward again.
“There are lazy, no-good vampires living down the street from me,” she pronounced.
We stared at her.
My mother, smile firmly in place, took Sarah’s elbow. “Sarah, I’m certain that’s not an appropriate thing to say at a party.”
Or anywhere else, I silently added. But Sarah intended to have her say.
“Up at all hours of the night, sleeping all day. Taking advantage of the system is what that is. Probably taking plenty of government handouts.”
Since Sarah lived on her late husband’s earnings and hadn’t worked a day in her life, I didn’t think she was in much of a position to judge our work ethic.
“Sarah,” my mother said again, more firmly this time, and tried to tug the woman away. “You’re being a bit rude.”
More than a bit, I thought, and slid my gaze to Ethan, watched him work to bite back the bitter words he undoubtedly wanted to say to this ignorant woman. He’d hold his tongue out of consideration for me, for the circumstances. Fortunately, I didn’t feel the same restriction.
; “I know all the recent history,” he said. “It’s the rest I’m interested in.”
“We’ll be back!” my mother said lightly, then whisked him into the arms of her chattering friends.
I wasn’t alone for long.
“Merit!”
I looked back, found my blue-haired best friend—classically pretty, pale, and petite—moving through the crowd. Mallory Bell was escorted by her husband, Catcher. He was taller and buff, with pale skin and close-cropped hair that set off intense green eyes.
“Happy wedding shower,” she said, squeezing me in a hug. “The place looks great—for a concrete box.”
“That sums it up pretty well,” I said.
She snagged a flute of pretty pink juice from a waiter with a silver tray. “These are mango and dragon fruit. You should try one.”
I held up my blood cocktail, grinned at her. “I’ll try yours if you try mine.”
“Been there, done that.”
I tilted my head at her. “You have?”
She lifted a shoulder. “You had those bottles of Blood4You at the house.”
I’d shared Mallory’s Wicker Park home before moving into Cadogan House. I’d left partly because of my obligations as Sentinel and partly to avoid her and Catcher’s any-room-goes style of lovemaking. I’d vastly exceeded my personal quota of naked sorcerer sightings.
“I had a sip one night.” She wrinkled her nose. “It was not delightful.”
I was a vampire and I wouldn’t even call blood delightful. But as much as Blood4You’s marketing team tried to pretend otherwise, it wasn’t about the taste. It was about the need, the comfort, the satisfaction. However unsavory the practice might have been to humans, blood filled a vampire’s belly like nothing else did.
“To each her own,” Catcher said, glancing around. “Where’s your fiancé?”