Hard Bitten (Chicagoland Vampires 4)

He smirked. "It's not so much anti-Sentinel - "

"As anti-Merit?" I finished for him.

"I know your sister," he said. "Charlotte. We have mutual friends."

Charlotte was my older sister, currently married with two children and engaged as a full-time charity soiree attendee and fund-raiser.

I loved my sister, but I wasn't a part - by choice - of the fancy circles she ran in. So it didn't exactly impress me that he knew her.

"Okay," I said.

He sighed, then looked up at me a little guiltily. "I'd assumed - your being a Merit - that you were her clone."

It took me a moment to gather up an answer.

"What, now?"

"I just figured - since you're sisters and all.

And both Merits . . ." He trailed off, but didn't need to finish the rest of it. Jonah wasn't the first vampire who'd confessed he'd judged me based on my family name - and the baggage that accompanied wealth and notoriety. I'm not saying money doesn't have its advantages, but being judged on one's own merits - pun very much intended - isn't one of them.

On the other hand, that did explain why he'd been so cold the first couple of times we'd met.

He'd expected a bratty new vampire from new-money Chicago.

"I love my sister," I told him. "But I'm far from being her clone."

"So I see."

"And now you believe what?"

"Oh. Well." He smiled, and there was pride in his eyes. "Now I've seen you in action. I've seen this avenging angel - "

"I prefer Ponytailed Avenger," I dryly said.

That was the nickname ascribed to me by Nick Breckenridge (aka "the blackmailer").

Jonah rolled his eyes. "This avenging angel of a vampire," he continued, "coming to the rescue of humans and roaring through the folks who cross her. And now I'm wondering if you wouldn't be such a bad addition to the RG."

"As opposed to the train wreck I would have been a couple of months ago?"

He had the grace to blush.

"I know you weren't impressed by me. You didn't exactly hide it. And I wouldn't call myself an avenging angel. I'm Sentinel of my House, and I do what I can to protect them."

"To protect only them?"

I met his steady gaze. "For now, only them."

We stood there for a moment and let the phrase stand between us. I was again passing up the opportunity to become his partner, but admitting that I wasn't ruling it out completely.

Immortality, after all, lasted a long time.

He nodded. "I should probably get you back to your car."

"That would be a good idea. I need to get home." Back to the House, back to Ethan. Back to a routine that didn't involve my fighting crazed vampires - but now involved lying to him about them.

Jonah grabbed up keys, and we left his room.

The sight outside it was unbelievable.

Grey House was located in a converted warehouse near Wrigley Field, and they'd definitely made use of the space. His door was one of many along the wall, each evenly spaced like in a hotel. The hallway was open on the other side, a railing made of steel posts and thin wire giving way to a four-story atrium. Across the atrium, at the same level on which we stood, was another line of doors. Bedrooms, I supposed.

I walked to the railing and glanced down. The middle of the space below us was filled by a forty-foot-tall tree and a lush island of greenery.

There were also plants and trees along a path that wound through the space. Black posts stood at intervals along the path, each bearing a vertical flag of a Chicago sports team.

It was unlike anything I'd seen before - and certainly unlike anything I'd seen in the realm of vampires.

"This is spectacular," I said when Jonah joined me at the rail. I glanced up at the ceiling, which was all glass. But that couldn't work in a House of vampires. "How do the trees grow? I mean, don't you have to close up the skylights during the day?"

Jonah made a circle with his hands. "The roof has a parabolic canopy that rotates to close during the day." He swiveled his fingers. "They close just like a camera shutter, so it leaves a gap in the middle for the tree. And the mechanism is photosensitive, so the circle follows the sun as the earth rotates to ensure the tree always has light."

"That is amazing."

"The technology is pretty impressive," he agreed. "Scott's taken the time to try new things, which we can't always say about Masters."

"They do tend to be a little stodgy."

He made a vague sound of agreement. "The rest of the foliage gets light as the shutters turn."

"And if a vamp has an emergency and needs to move through the atrium during the day?"

"They don't," Jonah said simply. "The interior architecture of the House is organized so you never have to cross the atrium space to get to any living quarters or exits." He pointed below. "The rooms on the sides of the atrium are nonessential - offices and the like - and there are shaded walkways in any event."

He turned and began walking down the hallway, and I followed him to an elevator and a basement parking level that was pretty similar to ours: long concrete vault, lots of expensive cars.

I stopped short when we passed a platinum silver convertible. It was small and curvy, with round lights, a hood vent, and wire wheels, and it looked exactly like the kind of car James Bond would drive.

"Is this - is that an Aston Martin?"

He glanced over. "Yeah. That's Scott's car.

He's been alive for nearly two hundred years. A man accumulates prizes in that time."

"So I see," I said, clenching my hands to fight back the urge to run my fingers across the spotless paint. I'd never seen one in person.

Never seen one at all outside the movies. But it was stunning. I didn't consider myself to be a car person, but it was hard not to like long lines and sweet curves. And what I'd imagine was a pretty fast engine.

"Lots of, you know, horsepowers or whatever?"

He smiled and unlocked his hybrid's door, and was still grinning when we climbed inside. "Not much of a car buff?"

"I can appreciate a beautiful thing. But cars are only a skindeep infatuation for me."

"Duly noted."

We drove from Wrigleyville back to Magnificent Mile and my car. And I totally lucked out - my car had been parked in the same spot for nearly twenty-four hours, but while there was a ticket under the wiper, there was no boot on the tire. Street parking in Chicago was a hazardous activity.

"Are you going to get hassled for sleeping over?" he asked through the open window as I unlocked my door.