Biting Bad (Chicagoland Vampires 8)

"How did it happen?" my mother asked.

"Rioters," Ethan said. "The same ones who attacked the vampire business and House earlier this week."

"What could they have against Charles?" she asked.

"I presume it's related to his work as a police officer?" my father asked.

"Possibly," Ethan vaguely agreed. "We aren't entirely sure. Why don't we sit down? It could be a bit of time yet."

Because he was right, we sat down in the chairs, and we waited some more.

I tried to rest, but my mind kept spinning with questions. Why had my grandfather been targeted? Because he'd supported vampires as Ombudsman? Because he was on our side? He'd been a cop for years; there seemed little doubt he'd made enemies along the way. Had those enemies become wrapped up in riots and anti-vampire hatred?

Most frighteningly, had he been targeted because he was my grandfather? Was I now a liability to my family?

Grief weighed on me, and I rested my head on Ethan's shoulder.

Be still, Ethan silently told me. Be still.

I locked away the fear and the grief, and I did as I was told.

-

Every time the hallway door opened, I jumped, anxious for news, good or bad. But we were an hour in when a tall man with a head of thick dark hair and dressed in turquoise scrubs stepped into the room.

"Merit family?" he asked, his accent thick but the origin unknown.

"That's us," my father said, standing.

The doctor nodded and walked over, then sat down in an empty chair across from us.

"Dr. Berenson," he said. "I was Mr. Merit's surgeon. The surgery went very well, and we've moved him back into his room."

I closed my eyes in relief.

"What's his prognosis?" my father asked.

"Good. He took a pretty good fall. Shattered his pelvis and broke a few ribs. It was internal injuries from the beam's landing on top of him that did most of the internal damage. He has sensation in his legs, which is great, but his pelvis took a beating."

"He'll be ambulatory?" Ethan asked.

"He's not a spring chicken, and he's going to need some pretty extensive physical therapy. But, barring complications, we have every expectation he'll be able to walk again. We'll keep him until we're sure he's stable and healing, and then you can decide on a rehab facility or home-health nurse."

Jeff whistled. "Chuck is not going to like either of those options."

"Like is irrelevant," my father said quietly. "He'll stay with us."

Chuck isn't going to like that, either, I silently told Ethan.

I suspect you are right. But your father has room and resources to ensure he's well cared for. He'll adapt, as we all must do.

The doctor nodded. "You've got some time to make those decisions. He'll say in intensive care for tonight, and as soon as he's awake and stable, we'll move him to a room." He rose. "I think that's about it for tonight. You can check with the nurse anytime you have questions. And visiting hours are posted on the wall."

"I'll stay tonight," my father said, to the surprise of all of us. "He's my father, and I wasn't there when he was injured. It's the least I can do. I'll stay." He glanced at me. "Go home. Get a shower and some sleep. You look like you need both."

This time, I found I couldn't disagree with him.

-

We drove home in silence. Jeff and Catcher volunteered to get Moneypenny back to the House, which was an offer I couldn't refuse. I was mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted, and in no shape to drive.

When we arrived at the House, less than an hour before dawn, we found security tight. Luc, Malik, Lindsey, and Margot met us in the foyer when we arrived.

"How is he?" Malik asked.

"He's okay," I said. "Long road to recovery, but he's alive. And that's something."

"That is something," Luc said, pulling me into a bear hug. It was definitely the night for unexpected shows of affection. "Glad you're safe, Sentinel."

"Thanks. Me, too."

"This is life," Ethan said. "This is Valentine's Day. Do not rue the tragedies; celebrate the victories."

"That sounds like something Merit's grandfather would say," Malik said with a smile.

"Are you hungry?" Margot asked. "Have you had time to eat?"

Not lately, considering my second effectively failed attempt at arranging a meal for Valentine's Day. I knew I'd be ravenous tomorrow, but for tonight, my appetite was gone.

"I'm not especially hungry," Ethan said. "But perhaps blood and wine?"

Margot nodded. "Absolutely, Liege. I'll get that ready for you and send it to your apartments."

That was at least a small relief - with the Grey House vampires installed at the King George, we could get our apartments and bed back. My body was going to need the rest, and I was pretty sure I'd be sleeping hard tonight.

And speaking of the new Grey House digs, "Any update on Brooklyn?" I asked Luc.

"Last we heard, she was stable," he said. "I don't have any more information."

Ethan put a hand on my back. "I think that's a sufficient update for now," he said. "It's been a very long night. Let's get ready for dawn, and we'll start fresh at dusk."

I couldn't have agreed with that more.

-

Upstairs, once again in Ethan's apartments, I dumped my ruined leathers on the floor and climbed into the shower without preface. I showered until my skin was pink, then pulled on the softest pajamas I could find. They were pink fleece, not exactly the sexiest ensemble, but they were comforting in a way that I needed.

When I emerged from the bathroom, I found Ethan in the sitting room. He wore nothing but silk green pajama bottoms that rode low on his hips, and he gazed down at a folded newspaper on the side table in front of him. Margot's tray was on the table beside it. Thinking both were worth a closer look, I padded across the room in my fuzzy pajamas, my hair still damp from the shower.

Ethan looked up with amusement. "Your coziest sleepwear?"

"Exactly. What did Margot bring?"

"Blood, wine, croissants."

I hadn't intended to eat, but my stomach growled ominously. "How long until dawn?"

Ethan glanced at his phone, which lay on the table. "Eighteen minutes."

"Croissant it is," I said. I bit into one while holding out my empty wineglass, waiting while he filled it with white wine from the carafe.

"Sometimes," Ethan said, filling his own glass when I took a sip of mine, "I think we're fortunate to make it through the night."