Friday Night Bites (Chicagoland Vampires 2)

"And so often for naught." She smirked, then clapped her hands and held them out to Olivia, who bounced in my arms and leaned toward her mother, holding out her own hands. "It's been lovely catching up, sister, but I need to get this one home and into bed.

Major's home with the rest of the troops. I just wanted to have a chance to say hi and let you visit your favorite niece."

"I love all your children equally," I protested, passing back the heavy, warm bundle of baby.

Charlotte snickered and balanced Olivia on her hip. "I'm going to be a good mommy and pretend that's true, whether it is or not. As long as you love my children more than Robert's, we're good." She leaned in, pressed a kiss against my cheek. "Night, little sister. And by the way, if you have the chance with Blondie, take it. Please. For me."

The lascivious look she cast in Ethan's direction when she pulled back left little doubt about what "chance" she meant me to take.

"Good night, Char. My love to Major. Good night, Livie."

"MEWH!" she cried, bouncing on her mother's hip. But the night had apparently taken its toll, and her blond head drooped to Charlotte's shoulder, her eyelids slowly closing. She fought it, I could tell, tried to keep her eyes open and her gaze on the dresses and partygoers around her. But when she popped a thumb into her mouth, I knew she was done. Her lids fell shut and this time stayed there.

Charlotte said her goodbyes to Ethan, managing not to wrap manicured fingers around his ass, and my mother excused herself to see to the rest of her guests.

"You're wearing a very serious expression," Ethan said, reaching my side again.

"I was reminded that I owe certain obligations to my family. That there are services I can provide."

"Because of your immortality?"

I nodded.

"It does impose a sense of obligation to one's family and friends," he agreed. "Just be careful that you don't give in to the guilt of it. That you have been given a gift, even if others cannot share in it, does not diminish its value. Live your life, Merit, the many years of it, and be grateful."

"Has that attitude worked for you?"

"Some days better than others," he admitted, then glanced at me. "I assume you'll need feeding soon?"

"I'm a girl, not a pet. But, realistically, yes. I pretty much always do." I pressed a hand to the thin black silk above my stomach. "Are you always hungry? I am always hungry."

"Did you eat breakfast?"

"I had part of a granola bar before training."

Ethan rolled his eyes. "That might explain something," he said, but beckoned a waitress in our direction. The young woman, who couldn't have been more than eighteen, was dressed, like all the waiters, in head-to-toe black. She was pale, and a flow of straight red hair spilled across her shoulders. When she reached us, she extended a square ceramic tray loaded with hors d'oeuvres toward Ethan.

"What have we got?" I asked, eyes scanning the platter. "I hope there's something with bacon. Or prosciutto. I'd take anything cured or smoked."

"You're Ethan, right?"

I lifted my gaze from what looked like prosciutto-wrapped asparagus (score!) and found the waitress - her bright blue eyes big as saucers - gazing dreamily at Ethan.

"I am, yes," he answered.

"That's just... that's just... great," she said, her cheeks mottled with crimson. "Are you - you're like a Master vampire, right? The head of Cadogan House?"

"Um, yes. I am."

"That's just - wow."

We stood there for a moment, the waitress, lips parted, blinking doe eyes at Ethan, and Ethan, much to my amusement, shifting his feet uncomfortably.

"How about we'll just take that," he finally said, pulling the tray carefully from her outstretched hands. "And thank you for bringing it."

"Oh, no, thank you," she said, grinning dopily at him. "You're just... that's just... great,"

she said again, then turned to skip away through the crowd.

"I believe you have a fan," I told him, biting back a snicker.

He gave me a sardonic look, offered his tray. "Dinner?"

"Seriously. You have a fan girl. How bizarre. And, yes, thank you." I looked over the offerings, hand poised above the tray, and settled on a wooden-toothpick-staked cube of beef accompanied by a greenish sauce. As a vampire, I didn't care for the staked-meat analogy, but I wasn't going to turn down what was probably a choice cut.

"I'm not sure if your shock about my having a human fan is insulting or not."

"Much like everything else about me, it's endearing." I popped the beef into my mouth. It was delicious, so I scanned the tray, prepared for a second dive, and nabbed a pastry cup full of a spinach concoction.

It was also delicious. Say what you wanted about my father - and I mean that literally: be my guest - but the man had good taste in caterers. You'd find no whipped shellfish at a Joshua Merit party.

"Would you like me to give you a few minutes with the tray?"

I glanced up at Ethan, my fingers poised over another beef cube, and grinned. "Could you, just? We'd really like to be alone right now."

"I think that means you've had enough," he said, turning away and setting the tray on a nearby side table.

"Did you just cut me off?"

"Come with me."

I arched a brow at him. "You can't order me around in my own house, Sullivan."

Ethan's gaze dropped to the medal at my neck. "This is hardly your house any longer, Sentinel."

I made a sound of disagreement, but when he turned and walked away, I followed. He strolled across the room like he owned it, like there was nothing unusual about a Master vampire sauntering through a crowd of Windy City bigwigs. Maybe, in this day and age, there wasn't. With those cheekbones, that sleek tux and the unmistakable air of power and entitlement, he looked like he belonged.

We reached a gap in the crowd, and Ethan stopped, turned, and held out a hand.

I stared at it blankly, then lifted my gaze to his. "Oh, no. This is not part of my assignment."

"You're a ballet dancer."

"Was a ballet dancer," I reminded him. I glanced around and saw the multitude of eyes on us, then leaned toward him. "I am not going to dance with you," I whispered, but fiercely. "Dancing is not part of my job description."

"It's one dance, Sentinel. And this is not a request; it's an order. If they see us dancing, perhaps they'll adjust to our presence a bit faster. Perhaps it will soften them up."