“If the CPD calls me,” I said, looking at Luc and Ethan in turn, “there will be hell to pay.”
“Ditto,” Lindsey said, flicking Luc’s arm.
Ethan slid his hands into his pockets, lifted his chin in amusement. “Since Catcher will be with us, the odds of an arrest are slim.”
I narrowed my gaze. “Because he works for the Ombudsman’s office, or because he could magic over any trouble?”
“Both.”
As long as it worked.
“And what do you have planned for your soiree?” Ethan asked. “I’m guessing it won’t involve tea sipping and heavy reading.”
I pretended to adjust invisible glasses. “Well, we will be reading the Encyclopaedia Britannica aloud and watching Neil deGrasse Tyson videos on the YouTubes. We might also make time for macramé.”
“I’m sure,” Ethan said. “And as long as you’re back by dawn . . .”
“I will be.”
When his gaze settled on my lips, Lindsey cleared her throat, adjusted her willow branches to check her watch. “We’re leaving in exactly one hour,” she said, then pointed at me. “Prepare to get your groove on.”
Luc narrowed his gaze at her. “You said there wouldn’t be strippers.”
“There won’t be. A bachelorette can get her groove on without strippers. And, dare I say she is entitled to do so the night before she signs up for an eternity of . . .” She glanced cautiously at Ethan. “Of what I’m sure will be faithful and obedient service.”
Ethan made a sound of doubt. “Faithful, yes. Obedient?” He gave me a considering glance. “Rarely.”
“I’m obedient when it counts.”
“And that is our cue to no longer be in this room,” Luc said. “Come on, Blondie.”
“An hour,” Lindsey repeated, stealing another look at me. They walked on, and Ethan and I continued to his office.
When we were alone, I slipped into his arms, savoring the steady sound of his heartbeat, the crisp smell of his cologne, the warmth of his body.
“There haven’t been many moments like this lately,” he said, strong arms around me, head atop mine. “Not with wedding plans and supplicants and Nicole.”
Nicole Heart was head of Atlanta’s Heart House and the founder of the Assembly of American Masters, the new organization of the Masters of the country’s twelve vampire Houses. Chicago had been through a lot supernaturally recently, mainly because a sorceress named Sorcha Reed, Chicago’s high-society version of Maleficent, had ripped through downtown Chicago. We’d taken her down—and prevented her from creating an army of supernaturals—and the mayor had been pretty happy with us. She’d escaped the CPD, but four months later, there’d been no sign of her, and the mayor had stayed happy with us. Nicole wanted to capitalize on those good feelings, which meant lots of phone calls and interviews for Ethan.
“I was just thinking the same thing,” I said. “I’ll be glad when tomorrow is done.”
He arched a single golden eyebrow, his signature move. “You’re already ready for our wedding to be over?”
“More that I’m ready for our lives to begin, and to be done with wedding planning. And,” I admitted, “to see what Mallory and Lindsey have in store.”
“You’ll be good tonight.” As if sealing the obligation, Ethan lifted my chin with a finger, then lowered his lips to mine. The kiss was soft, teasing. A hint of things to come. A promise and a dare.
“As good-bye kisses go,” I said, when I could form words again, “that wasn’t bad.”
“I’m saving some of my energy for tomorrow, of course.” His eyes went flat. “You know they want us to sleep separately.”
Vampires weren’t usually superstitious, but they did like their rules. One of those, we’d been advised, was the bride and groom sleeping in different rooms so they wouldn’t see each other, even inadvertently, on their wedding night.
“I saw Helen’s memo.” Another reason she wasn’t on my favorites list. “She wants to put me in my old room.”
Ethan smiled. “That hardly seems fair, since I’ll have our suite to myself.”
“You’re the Master,” I said in Helen’s clipped tone.
“That is a disturbingly good impression.”
“I know. I’ve heard it a lot the last few weeks.” The clock on the opposite wall began to peal its midnight chimes. “I should get dressed. Lindsey has specified our outfits.”
His gaze narrowed. “Has she?”
I patted his chest. “She has, and mine will be completely bachelorette-party appropriate.”
“That’s what concerns me. You’ll be careful?”
“I will, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. Not now.”
The union of sorcerers, finally realizing that Sorcha’s destruction had been partly their fault, had set wards around the city. We couldn’t stop her from walking into the city—that was the CPD’s job—but if she attempted to use magic within that barrier, we’d know it.
And for four months, there’d been nothing from Sorcha. And other than a run-in with some unethical ghost hunters and a murderous ghost a couple of months ago, Chicago had settled into a beautiful and golden summer.
It was weird. And wonderful.
“You’ll be good,” Ethan said, nipping at my ear. “Or I’ll be bad.”
I’m pretty sure that was a win-win.
Chloe Neill, author of the Chicagoland Vampires novels (Midnight Marked, Dark Debt, Blood Games), the Dark Elite novels (Charmfall, Hexbound, Firespell), and the Devil’s Isle novels (The Sight, The Veil), was born and raised in the South but now makes her home in the Midwest—just close enough to Cadogan House, St. Sophia’s, and Devil’s Isle to keep an eye on things. When not transcribing Merit’s, Lily’s, and Claire’s adventures, she bakes, works, and scours the Internet for good recipes and great graphic design. Chloe also maintains her sanity by spending time with her boys—her favorite landscape photographer (her husband) and their dogs, Baxter and Scout. (Both she and the photographer understand the dogs are in charge.)