Dark Debt (20 page)

She brushed away tears. “I’m just being silly.”

I reached out, wrapped my arms around her. “You aren’t being silly at all. You’ve got needs, and you’re entitled to them. And you need to talk to him.”

She nodded, laughed a little.
“Who’d have thought you’d be giving me relationship advice?”

“Who’d have thought you’d be marrying the world’s grumpiest sorcerer? I love you, Mallory. If this is what you want, then this is what I want for you. You just tell me when and where, and we’ll be there.”

Because that’s what friends would do.

*   *   *

Once upon a time, I’d have said it was impossible to eat too many
Mallocakes. That my vampire metabolism made up for my
enormous appetite, and I could feast to my little heart’s content and never pay the price for it.

That was, shall we say, a mistakenly optimistic approach.

Four Mallocakes later, I begrudgingly admitted defeat. Which was why Ethan returned to the apartments to find Mallory and me lying on the bed, television on, pooched stomachs taking
a much-needed breather.

“Oh, this is quite a sight,” Ethan said with obvious amusement, then spied the empty box of Mallocakes. “A vampire and sorceress done in by chocolate snack cakes.”

“Mallocake ’splosion,” Mallory said weakly.
“Pew, pew, pew.”

“I think there’s one left.” I moved just enough to skim fingers against the box, tip it up. “Yep. One. You can have it.”

“Wait,” Mallory
said, and put a hand on my arm while she deliberated, as if there was a chance she might be able to squeeze in one more. “No.” She waved me off. “I can’t. Go ahead.”

“This scenario isn’t really selling the Mallocake concept to me,” Ethan said.

“We’re having girl time.”

“Not the girl time I prefer to imagine, but so be it.”

“Perv,” Mallory said with a grin, rolling off the bed and
trundling toward the door. “I’m going to roll myself downstairs.”

“Take care,” Ethan said. “And thank you for the ward.”

She burped indelicately.

“And that’s our powerful sorceress,” Ethan said, locking the door behind her.

“That is,” I agreed, and stuffed wrappers into the Mallocake box, then slid off the bed to throw it away and shake any remaining crumbs out of the duvet. “What’s
new in Cadogan House?”

“We’re trying to assure Diane Kowalcyzk that vampires don’t intend to destroy Chicago. Oh, and a ghost from my past is on the
loose, and we’ve moved a few dozen vampires into temporary housing. But, as you might say, no bigs.”

I readjusted the blankets again. “I’m not sure I’ve ever said that.”

“I’m sure you have.”

I glanced up at him. “I have nearly a Ph.D.
in literature.”

“And you just ate what I’m guessing is a significant number of processed snack cakes. Having a degree doesn’t guarantee good choices. But you can probably analyze Chaucer like a champ.”

“Damn straight. How were the supplicants?”

“Remarkably straightforward,” he said, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the back of the desk chair we’d resituated at the desk. “How
is Mallory?”

“Good. I’m not sold on this elopement situation, but she seems to have accepted it, so I’m not sure there’s anything for me to do.”

He nodded, hands on his hips. “She’s an adult, as is he.”

“I know. But it’s marriage, and I’d like him to pull that stick out of his ass. Maybe you could talk to him.”

“No.”

“Ethan—”

“No,” he said again, this time more firmly,
and walked into the closet. “His relationship is between him and Mallory,” he called out. “Let her vent, if that’s your friendship. But they have to make those decisions for themselves.”

“Stubborn ass,” I murmured.

He emerged in emerald green silk pajama bottoms and an arched eyebrow. “I heard that. And I suspect Catcher’s the stubborn ass here, not me.”

I couldn’t argue with that.
“Is Morgan here?”

“He’s coming tomorrow night. Wanted to stay at the House
tonight, make sure the remaining vampires at Navarre were safe. Grey’s already got guards on the House, and we’ve contracted for a few humans as well. That should keep the Circle at bay during the day, at least.”

“What about the Investiture?”

“We’ve discussed it, but only generally. Scott’s and Morgan’s minds
are on something else.”

I nodded, but Ethan’s furrowed brow didn’t relax.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Everything. I worry for you.”

I pointed to my trusty bracelet. “I’m covered.”

One corner of his mouth lifted, and he walked to the bed. “I’m worried about more than just tonight. He’s already tried to get to you twice.”

“He won’t get to me.”

“I know he won’t,
Sentinel, because I won’t let him.”

Ethan lay down beside me, my eyes wide-open even as I felt the slow tug of sleep as the sun breached the horizon.

I was nervous, I admitted. I didn’t want to sleep, even with Mallory’s apotrope. Didn’t want to fend off pulling fingers and dripping fangs or feel as if my body was a pawn in their game. I didn’t want to fight.

“You are mine,” Ethan
said, opening his arms to me, embracing me when I curled toward him. This time, I hadn’t hesitated, exhaustion at least tempering that fear.

“Let me hold you in the darkness,” he whispered, lips against my ear. “Let me fight him for you. Let me keep you safe.”

The depth of the love in his voice, the feel of his body against mine, made my pulse pound with want. But while my body was responsive,
my brain was not. It was fully in protective mode. Not just that I’d think of Balthasar, but that every
new intimacy with Ethan would give Balthasar another bullet to use against us.

“Soon,” Ethan promised, reading me even in the darkness of the room. “Soon, and inevitably. For you are mine, Sentinel,” he said, words slower and softer as sleep overtook him.

“Mine
.
”

DIASPORA

I
woke with a sudden start, legs sprawled across the bed, arms crossed beneath my head so that the bracelet pressed into my face.

“Sentinel,” Ethan said quietly.

“I’m all right. I’m fine.” I sat up, pushed damp hair from my face. My body was dotted with sweat, my pajamas
damp with it. I’d slept like a rock—deeply, heavily, and with no memory of Balthasar.

“Did he . . . ?”

I shook my head. But I had dreamed about a bevy of white-toqued Navarre chefs, carving me up with very large knives. No more late-night Mallocakes.

“You look a bit peaky.” He cocked his head. “You also have the imprint of a raven in your face.”

I rubbed groggily at the sleep wrinkles.
“I feel like I ran a marathon.”

“You did a lot of running yesterday, which was long enough, and you’ve slept in the embrace of magic. Blood, I think, would help.”

“Shower first. Blood later.”

He paused. “I’d like to join you. But I don’t want to push you if you aren’t ready.”

I must not have been ready, since my first reaction was to tell him no.

“He hurt you,” Ethan said,
pushing a lock of hair behind my ear. “It’s all right to take time to heal, to feel yourself again.” He smiled softly. “As I said at dawn, Sentinel, I’m not going anywhere.”

I knew what he was doing—little touches, small caresses, intended to comfort and help me adjust to him again, help me build comfort in intimacy.

“I’ll be fine,” I promised him. “I’m sorry that I’m letting him use me
to hurt you.”

“You’re doing no such thing. You’re taking care of yourself. As I love you, I prefer that you do just that.” He ran his hands down my arms. “Let me do what I can, Sentinel. Let me take care of you.”

*   *   *

Ethan Sullivan had many fine qualities. He was honorable. Intelligent. Funny. Sexy as hell. Sarcastic at all the appropriate times. And when the need arose, the
very alpha Master of Cadogan House cared for his Sentinel very, very well.

“Stay there,” Ethan said, pulling on jeans that slung low on his hips. While I lay among pillows and quilts, he opened the apartment’s door, brought in the tray Margot had left outside. I watched with amusement as he arranged and simplified the contents, then carried it to me. Blood, bacon, a still-warm croissant.

I looked up at him. “Are you wooing me?”

“I’ve been wooing you since the moment our eyes locked on the first floor of this House.”

I gave him a flat look. “No, that’s when you accused me of being spoiled.”

“Details,” he said lightly, mouth drawn into a crooked grin. “Helen is helping move the Navarre vampires, and Morgan won’t be here until that process is done. We’re allowed to
take a few minutes to ourselves before we rush out the door to solve others’ problems. Let me tend you, Sentinel.”

I could hardly have argued with that, so I nodded, watched him rise and disappear into the bathroom. A moment later, the water in the bath began to run.

I ate the croissant slowly, tried to put aside lingering nerves, the fact that the House—or vampires, anyway—currently faced
trouble from two directions—the Circle’s issues with Navarre, and Balthasar’s reemergence into Chicago, into Ethan’s life, our lives together. It would have been glorious if we could have locked the door, kept the world on the other side, and simply lived there in peace and quiet for just a little while.

With Margot occasionally leaving trays outside, of course.

When I looked up, Ethan
was in the doorway, hand outstretched, green eyes fairly glowing. “Your bath awaits.”

I smiled, thinking of a movie scene. “Are you going to paint my nails, too?”

His eyebrow popped up. “No. Should I?”

“No,” I said on a laugh, then put aside the tray and walked to him, looked up at him. He was beautiful enough to still take my breath away, and I knew I hadn’t been the first—and wouldn’t
be the last—vampire to think so.

Understanding dawned.

Once upon a time, Ethan had used women. He and Balthasar had both done so, seeing women as merely a different kind of pleasure that, like blood, was theirs for the taking. Persephone, in
particular, had died from Balthasar’s mistreatment. Ethan hadn’t been able to comfort or soothe her. But he could comfort and soothe me now.

“I don’t see you in him, you know.”

He looked up at me, green eyes fire bright and very startled. “What?”

“When you look at me. When he looked at me, even when he looked at me through your eyes—or what he imagined were your eyes—it was different. You have a depth that he doesn’t. And you don’t look at me like I’m a thing to be acquired.”

When Ethan arched an eyebrow, I couldn’t help
laughing.

“All right, you do have an unusually strong interest in acquiring me.”

“You’re mine,” he said simply, again.

*   *   *

Ethan dressed first and headed downstairs to check on Morgan and Navarre. I was dressed in my leathers and nearly out the door when my phone rang.

I frowned when I read the screen, but lifted it to my ear. “This is Merit.”

“I’m calling on behalf
of Adrien Reed,” my father said. “He’d like an update regarding the investigation, the vampires’ punishment.”

“He should talk to the Ombuds’ office about that.”

“Don’t be difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult, I’m directing you to the appropriate parties. If you want to know what the CPD is doing, you’ll have to talk to the CPD. The vampires weren’t from Cadogan, so I don’t know what
their punishment was.”

“So you could find out as easily as me, but you won’t.” He
didn’t seem to grasp the fact that I didn’t want the particular answers he was looking for.

“That’s not the issue at all, but all right.” There seemed little point in arguing with him.

“You should watch yourself. You’ve already put yourself into the middle of the vampires’ battle.”

Said the man who’d
offered to pay Ethan to make me a vampire. He said he’d done it for the immortality, to ensure that I’d live longer than the daughter my parents had lost before I was born. Unfortunately, he hadn’t asked my opinion before making the move.

“I am a vampire.”

“You know what I mean. Reed is a powerful man, with a lot of friends. It would behoove you to tread carefully where his interests are
concerned.”

Having offered his advice, he hung up the phone.

*   *   *

Ten minutes later, I was at the table in the Ops Room, fuming at my father as I sipped a bottle of water and flipped through an image search of antique notebooks, four-poster beds, candelabras, simple desks, still looking for something that would lead us to Balthasar.

I had absolutely nothing to show for it.

There were pictures of all those things. But nothing that connected to Balthasar, at least as far as I could tell, and nothing that connected that particular room—the layout or the furnishings—to anything else. It seemed to be just a random room he’d picked or invented in order to attempt his seduction. Because that, I thought, was what he’d believed it would be. He’d worn a romance novel rake’s
clothing, put me in a lush bed dotted with candlelight, and
had been holding a book when I woke up. When he’d failed to woo me on his own, he’d determined to look like Ethan, hoped that would work. It didn’t. Wouldn’t have. But he’d seemed to believe it would . . . He’d thought he’d be able to seduce me with his charm and his glamour and the scene he’d believed he could set.

“I’ve got something
about Balthasar, where he’s staying now.”

We all looked up as Juliet pulled off her headset.

Luc rose from his spot at the head of the table. “Talk to me, Jules.”

“Our guard did a very good job. She went to the real-estate company, flirted with one of the account managers, bought him drinks. He loosened up, told her about Balthasar.” She looked down at the notepad in her hand. “He
gave the manager some malarkey about how he wasn’t satisfied with the amenities in the old place. Requested another condo specifically.”

“Oh, really?” Luc said. “Where’d he go?”

“The penthouse in the Palisade Building.” That was one of the glass high-rises along the Chicago River, its sleek, stacked columns frequently a highlight of river architecture tours.

Luc whistled. “That’s quite
an upgrade.”

“Ya. Condo’s owned by Ram, LLC, but the account manager didn’t know anything about that company. But—get this—both units have been comped. Balthasar’s not paying a thing.”

Luc’s eyes went flat. “Go. Get visual confirmation he’s at the location, follow if he goes anywhere. Keep your distance, and do not approach. Report back if you get a visual, and update on every hour. Take
a temp with you, and no heroics.”

“On that,” Juliet said, and Brody followed her out the door.

Ram, LLC,
I thought. I’d heard of a lot of LLCs lately, and a lot
of three-letter LLCs. Was that really a three-letter word . . . or three-letter acronym?

I pulled out my phone.

“You got something, Sentinel?”

I held up a finger to hold Luc’s inquiry while Jeff answered my call.

“Merit!” Jeff said. “What’s the good word?”

“That’s my question for you. That list of entities Malik gave you—the ones from Navarre House. Can you send that to me?”

“The corporations? Sure. I’ll send it.”

“Thanks. I’ll call you back.” I’d barely hung up the phone when the list came through, eighteen three-letter acronyms that looked more like stock abbreviations than names . . . including
RAM, LLC.

My heart began to gallop. “It’s not Ram, LLC, Luc. It’s R-A-M, LLC. It’s one of the companies that Celina gave a limited power of attorney over the House’s investment accounts.” I scanned the list, the accompanying Navarre connection. “In this case, Navarre’s
largest
investment account.”

The room went silent.

“The Circle owns Balthasar’s condo?” Luc asked quietly. “That’s
quite a coincidence.”

“Yeah. It is. Who owned the first one? The one he moved from?”

“Uh,” Luc said, tapping the screen to pull up old data. “Company called Element, LLC.”

One of the temps, a square-shouldered kid with thick, dark hair, equally dark eyes, and a wide smile, spun around in his computer chair. “I’m not sure it’s Element, sir.”

“Merit, this is Keiji the Temp. Keiji
the Temp, Merit.” We
waved at each other. “Why don’t you think it’s Element?” Luc asked him.

“I don’t think Kelley was saying a word. I think she was saying letters.”

“Letters?”

“L-M-N.”

“L-M-N,” Luc said, playing with the sound. “L-M-N. Damn. How did I miss that? Good call, Keiji the Temp.”

Keiji nodded, smiled knowingly. “You can leave off the Temp part.”

Luc lifted a
shoulder. “I like using titles. It adds to the atmosphere. I’m gonna do it again: Sentinel?”

I nodded, having already checked the list while they enjoyed their pas de deux. “LMN, LLC is on the list. It’s got an interest in one of the House’s real estate trusts.”

Luc frowned, rose from his chair, walked from one end of the Ops Room to the other. “So Balthasar’s stayed in two condos. The
first one isn’t good enough, or he’s pissed he gets made by us, so he asks for the second one. Both of them are owned by companies that have, over the course of time, managed to get their hands in Celina’s kitty.”

I grimaced, and Luc stopped short, shook his head, considered what he’d just said. “No, undo that. Delete it. Just pretend I didn’t say it.” He glanced back at me. “That’s quite
a link, Sentinel.”

“Yeah, but to what, really? The LLCs were created by the Circle. Balthasar has apparently stayed in two condos owned by those LLCs, and therefore by the Circle. It’s a coincidence, I’ll grant you, but what does it tell us?”

Luc took a seat at the table, lowered his voice. “They could have sent him here. They could have found him, dug him up from his safe house, sent
him here.”

“Why?” I asked.

Luc shrugged. “The Circle’s mostly got Navarre. Maybe they want Cadogan, too. This would be a helluva way to get there.”

Helen appeared in the doorway. “Morgan is here.”

Luc nodded. “We’ll be up in a moment.” When she disappeared, he glanced back at me. “This could get really, really ugly.”

That seemed inevitable.

*   *   *

Morgan, in his
usual jeans and T-shirt, sat in one of the leather chairs in Ethan’s office. Ethan and Malik chatted quietly in the corner, and they looked up when we entered.

“A moment, Sire?” Luc asked, gesturing them into the hallway.

“Excuse us,” Ethan said to the room, not waiting for a response before we stepped outside and closed the door.

“Something new?” he asked, scanning our faces.

“We think we’ve found Balthasar’s new home, and I’ve got Juliet and Brody on the location. They won’t move unless we say. But your Sentinel, who has a pretty good memory, made a connection between the Circle and the condos.”

Ethan looked at me. “Oh?”

“Both condos are owned by companies Malik found in the Navarre House records.”

“The Circle’s LLCs?” Malik asked.