Blood Games

My eyes filled with tears, and I heard muted sniffles around me.

Ethan stared around the room, taking in the sight before him, the vampires who’d prostrated themselves to his service. His eyes were wide, his surprise at the turn of events still obvious.

“Rise, please,” Ethan said, and the vampires stood again, patting him on the back and calling for him to make a speech.

“You humble me,” Ethan said. “To be frank, I assumed I would leave this room tonight feeling envious and bitter. Instead, I leave it humbled. Proud. And honestly, a little relieved.”

There were light chuckles in the crowd. Ethan knew how to work an audience.

“I did not expect this—either for us, or from Nicole.” He moistened his lips. “Tonight, she showed she is willing to give the American Houses the voice they’ve long been denied.”

That was a very diplomatic way of putting it. There was no point—right now—in detailing exactly how untrustworthy Nicole Heart really was.

“We are fortunate enough to stand in the crossroads of history. For the first time, we will know independence for the American Houses. But let us not forget the challenges that we face, and the uncertainties of the future. Our path is new, untrodden, but I will do my best to serve you, the House, and the Assembly.”

“Hear, hear,” Luc shouted, and a hundred other vampires followed suit.

“I think, all things considered, that a celebration is in order.” He found Helen in the crowd, nodded at her. “Keep the champagne flowing.”

“And snacks!” Margot yelled out, which earned a whistle from me.

“In that case, let’s celebrate!” Ethan said, and a rousing version of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” filled the air when someone turned on the audio system.

Grinning from ear to ear, Ethan stepped down from the dais, began to shake the hands of the vampires who moved forward to congratulate him.

I felt my phone vibrate but resisted the urge to check the screen. I already knew who would be calling.

Ethan was now one of twelve.

The RG would have plenty to say about that.

* * *

When the festivities were over, we returned to Ethan’s office, chatting with the vampires who stopped by to congratulate him and wish him well. He opened the Glenmorangie, which had made its way back into the liquor cabinet, and still seemed to be in shock at the turn of events. But it was the best kind of shock.

Eventually, the well-wishers cleared away and we returned to our apartments.

“So,” I said, when the door was closed behind us and we had privacy and quiet again. “I guess congratulations are in order.”

“Of a type,” he agreed. “But let’s not think too kindly about her motives.”

“Oh, I don’t. She’s conniving. And I think we can safely assume this move wasn’t because she really believes in honor and valor, but because she gained eleven new allies by appointing them all to her brand-new council.”

“It was a cunning move,” he agreed. “Come here, Sentinel,” he said, crooking his finger at me. I walked into his arms, pressed my mouth to his, kissed him until my muscles went lax and he wound his fingers through my hair.

He pulled back, kissed me more softly, then released me.

I pulled off my jacket, then the boots and leather pants. Still wearing my tank, I pulled the band from my hair, shaking it until it fell around my shoulders in a dark waterfall, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“You paint quite a picture,” Ethan said.

I smiled back at him, stretched my arms behind me. If I was going to play seductress, I might as well get into the part. “There’s more canvas to be revealed,” I said with a wink.

A finger touched a sharp edge, and I glanced behind me. A small white card and envelope was propped on a blue velvet pillow on the bed. Grinning, I snatched it up and slid the card from the envelope, expecting to read words of love or seduction.

But it was neither. The card was handwritten, the ink a deep scarlet, the script small, neat, and slanted.

I have missed you, mon ami. So many centuries and continents between us. I look forward to our reunion.

—B

My hand shook, and breath escaped me. I didn’t know I’d dropped the card, or that Ethan had moved closer, until he’d bent to pick it up from the floor.

I looked up at him, hoping against hope that my fear was baseless, that the “B” who’d signed the note wasn’t the monster who’d made him, who’d put such fear into his heart, who’d come between us once even after centuries in the ground.

But Balthasar was dead.

I couldn’t form words to speak, but I begged him in silence to say we’d been pranked, to rail against the vampire who’d made a very poor joke at the end of a very long night.

But all the color had drained from Ethan’s face. My heart pounded in sympathy—and fear.

Ethan? I silently managed.

Wordlessly, he crumpled the note in his hand, walked to the fireplace, and tossed it in.

“We can’t pretend we didn’t see that,” I quietly said. “If he’s alive . . .”

“We aren’t going to pretend,” he said, looking back at me with eyes of quicksilver. “And he isn’t alive. Someone is playing a very dangerous game, and we’re going to win it.”