Midnight Marked (Chicagoland Vampires 12)

“Anyway,” she said, scooting closer, “I’m glad they’re gone. Now we can talk.”

Given the drama of the last few weeks, I assumed she had bad news about evil or magic, and prepared myself for the worst.

“I’m afraid the sex is going to become stale.”

Colin arrived with fresh drinks—a Manhattan for Mallory, another G&T for me. For one last, peaceful moment, I squeezed the lime into the glass, licked lip-puckering juice from my thumb. And then I took a drink, put the glass down on the table again, and did what I had to do. I invited her to talk to me about sex with Catcher.

“Why do you think it’s going to become stale?”

She leaned toward me, arms folded on the table. “I mean, I don’t know. We’re married, and it’s good. It’s really good. And frequent.”

I knew I’d regret it, but couldn’t help asking. “How frequent?”

“At least daily. Sometimes more so. We’re naked a lot,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I would guess so.” And I was doubly glad I didn’t share her town house anymore. Mallory owned the place, and I’d been her roommate before I moved into Cadogan House. When Catcher moved in, there’d been a lot of naked canoodling in the public areas, including the kitchen. I, for one, hadn’t needed to see Omelet à la Catcher’s Naked Ass. “So, it sounds like things are fine right now?”

“They totally are. I guess that’s the part that worries me. It’s just, I love who we are right now. And I know part of being married is becoming ‘comfortable’ with each other. I just don’t want us to become so comfortable that we’re basically just roommates or something. I want to keep that spark alive.” She looked over at him, her eyes shining with love—and a little glazed with lust. And Catcher was alpha male in and out, front and back, and all the way through to the other side.

“Yeah, I don’t think that will be a problem,” I concluded.

“I mean, we can’t keep our hands off each other. That’s why we were late,” she said, winging up her eyebrows.

We’d picked up Mallory and Catcher in one of the House’s enormous black SUVs, since Ethan’s personal vehicle—a sleek black Ferrari—had been destroyed in a car chase with one of Reed’s cronies.

So they’d been at it while we were sitting outside on the curb, completely unaware.

“Well,” I said after a stiff drink, “even if the pace, let’s say, does slow down, being comfortable with each other is awesome.”

I glanced at Ethan, who was standing on the other side of the table, cue in hand like the pike his Swedish countrymen might have used. “Having someone get you is pretty amazing.”

“He does get you, and that’s important.” She grinned. “But you can’t tell me Darth Sullivan doesn’t show you his ‘Dark Side’ regularly.”

“You’re ruining Star Wars for me. But to your point, yeah.” I grinned. “He’s plenty skilled with his, you know—”

“You’re trying not to say ‘lightsaber,’ but you really want to.”

“I really do.” I waved my hands for finality. “Let’s just say he’s got one and he knows how to use it.”

“Katana. Broadsword. Saber.”

“We were supposed to be discussing Catcher,” I reminded her. “And since I’ve seen his, ahem, broadsword plenty of times, I can verify he’s got one. I think every relationship has its ups and downs, its arcs. Sometimes rampant nakedness while a girl is trying to prep her damn ramen noodles.”

Mallory snorted into her drink. “They aren’t good for you anyway. Too much sodium.”

“I’m immortal,” I pointed out.

“You are that,” she said. “I hope you’re right. Do you think you and Darth Sullivan will be able to keep the spark alive six or seven hundred years from now?”

Immortality wasn’t something I thought about often, mostly because I couldn’t really imagine it. Ethan had been alive for nearly four hundred years. He’d seen war, violence, famine, and empires come and go. Assuming I stayed away from the business end of an aspen stake, I could see all that and more. But the expanse of time wasn’t something I could easily wrap my mind around.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I can’t imagine not wanting him, but immortality is a long time.”

“And if he proposes?”

He’d hinted about it enough, preparing me for its inevitability, that “if” was really a conservative estimate. “When he proposes,” I said, “and if I say yes, then the decision is made. The deal is done, and there’s no going back.”

I smiled at that. Immortality intimidated me; commitment did not.