Blade Bound (Chicagoland Vampires 13)
“And we’ll do what we can to set him to rights.”
The clock chimed five, each peal ominous in the silence of the room. Dawn was approaching.
“I should get to my room,” I said. “Try to get some sleep.”
“Oh, you won’t be leaving my side tonight, Sentinel.”
I felt instantly relieved. But considered the repercussions. “But tradition—the whole thing about not seeing each other?”
“I am Master of this House,” Ethan said, and, as if intent on proving it, pulled me against him, melding his mouth to mine. His kisses could be sweet or tender, teasing or incendiary. This one was possessive and promising—that he was here and I was safe.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I said when the kiss was done, burying my face in his shirt, in the scent and feel of him. “Let’s leave this night behind and get started on tomorrow.”
“I’ve no objection to that, either, Sentinel. None at all.”
• • •
Our apartments on the top floor of Cadogan House were dark and cool, a few golden lamps burning away the darkness. There was no bedtime basket from Margot tonight—she’d been out of the House and probably thought I was sleeping in the small dorm room that had been my first home in the House.
I followed Ethan to the enormous closet, where my dress and his tux hung from valet bars in matching black bags, waiting for the sun to rise and fall again.
“Are you ready?”
I glanced at Ethan. He smiled at me while working his nightly ritual, taking off watch, removing keys and wallet.
“I think everything’s ready for the ceremony and the reception, if that’s what you mean.”
“You know it isn’t.”
“I guess you’ll have to see if I show up.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me while unfastening his cuff links. “I am confident that’s a joke, since you know I would hunt you to the ends of the earth if you failed to show up.”
“I’m pretty sure I can outrun you.”
His smile went sly. “Let’s test that theory,” he said, and launched toward me.
• • •
After he’d hauled me into the bathroom over his shoulder, we brushed our fangs like good little vampires. When we climbed into the bed, the blankets fluffy and cool, the automatic shutters shushed softly over the windows, locking into place to protect us from the murderous sun.
I curled against the side of his body, his arms enclosing me.
“Much preferable to sleeping alone,” he said. “Even if it comes with a little bad luck.”
I wasn’t sure how much “a little” would change the already sizable pile of it.
“And how was your bachelorette party, at least before the darker turn?”
“Good. There was poetry and chocolate. Mallory and Lindsey did a very good job of planning.”
“And no strippers?”
“And no strippers.” I glanced at him. “And you?”
“No strippers,” he said. “Although the liquor was ample and the cigars were very definitely Cuban.”
“What is it with bachelor parties and cigars? I mean, that’s a pretty phallic symbol for a pre-wedding celebration.”