House Rules (Chicagoland Vampires, #7)

by Chloe Neill

“You did attack him for changing you into a vampire,” Luc pointed out. “Only because he didn’t do it very well.” “I reject the notion I am capable of doing anything ‘not well,’” Ethan offered. “So modest, our Liege,” Luc said.

“At the risk of speaking ill of our soon-to-be former leaders, it probably won’t surprise you to learn that the Greenwich Presidium has turned a blind eye to those developments, and has refused to accept the changing world. We don’t think that’s fair, and we think it’s time for a change. This week we take our stand. We cannot predict the future,” Ethan said. “We do our best, and we hope—with love and luck and friendship—that we survive these turbulent times.”

He stopped behind my chair and held out a hand. The entire table went silent. “Dance with me,” he said. My cheeks warmed. “There’s no music.” Before he had time to respond, the quartet in the corner—a group of Cadogan and Rogue vampires with musical talents—began to play a jazzy tune. I gave him a sardonic look. “Did you just telepathically direct them to start playing that?” “What’s the point of being telepathic if you can’t use the connection for a wee bit of wickedness, Sentinel?”

The song ended, and Ethan dropped me into a dip, his smile mischievous and his eyes twinkling. The rest of the world came rushing back in a roar of sound as the vampires on the margins of the dance floor burst into applause. Ethan brought me back to my feet, my ponytail bobbing over a shoulder. “And that, Sentinel, is how you impress a crowd.”

“So you traded up?” I asked, walking toward the car and opening the door. “Do you treat your relationships in the same way?” “Yes,” Ethan gravely said. “And I spent four hundred years shopping before I met you.”

I used the fancy electronics in Ethan’s car to dial Jeff’s number, hoping he’d be sympathetic to our predicament. “Yo,” Jeff answered, his voice ringing through the Bentley’s impeccable stereo system. “Hey, it’s Merit.” “Merit. Have you finally decided to ditch the zero and get with the hero?” Ethan cleared his throat—loudly—while I bit back a smile. I didn’t see anything wrong with reminding Ethan that I had other options. Even if they were slightly goofy options I’d never actually take advantage of. “Jeff, you’re on speakerphone in Ethan’s car. He’s driving.” There was an awkward pause. “And by ‘zero,’” Jeff quickly corrected, “I meant, you know, you should . . . um . . . start liking the White Sox. Go, Sox,” he weakly added, as I was a notorious Cubs fan with an unwavering love of all things Cubbie.

I love Jeff!

“Of course, Liege.” Ethan winced at the title. “Please stop calling me that. You’re still officially the Master.” “Oh, I know,” Malik said. “But much like Merit, I find it amusing to irritate you.” As Malik walked down the hallway and around the corner, Ethan turned his pointed gaze on me. I shrugged innocently. “I can’t help it if I’m a trendsetter.”

“You wouldn’t know a good pitch from a hole in the ground. And my athletic prowess is unsurpassed,” I asserted. Ethan stopped, that eyebrow still irritatingly cocked, and put a hand against the doorjamb, leaning over me. “Your athletic prowess?” “Just so,” I said, using one of his favorite phrases. “I have all the right moves.”

“I appreciate your honesty. I don’t trust her any farther than I can throw her, but I’ll deal.” “Why don’t you trust her?” I saw the pain in his eyes; he was afraid I thought he’d be unfaithful. But it wasn’t him I worried about. “She’s still in love with you.” “She is not in love with me,” he countered, but there was a hint of pink in his cheeks. “I assure you she is, and she’s all but willing to take me out to get to you.” He looked mildly amused . . . and flattered in an ego-driven, masculine kind of way. “And you know this because?” “She stares at you, she hangs on every word . . . and she told me.” He looked surprised. “She told you?” “She told me.” Maybe not in so many words, but she’d gotten the point across. “Merit, Lacey has lived in Sheridan House for years. She is the only Master in a city with hundreds of vampires, and—I say this without personal interest—she’s a perfectly attractive woman. I assure you—if she wanted a suitor, she could find one.” Not when she’s holding out for you,

“Okay, then.” Ethan looked at me. He watched me, really checking my mood and whether that “okay” meant okay in the male sense (“okay”) or the female sense (“possibly okay; it depends on what you say next”).

“What do zombies chant at a riot?” “Grrarphsnarg?” he asked, in a surprisingly well-done bit of mindless zombie imitating. “No, but that was really good. Disconcertingly good.” “I was deceased for a time.” “True. But anyway, the rioters get all riled up, and they chant: ‘What do we want? Brains! When do we want them? Brains!’” I fell into a wave of appropriately boisterous laughter; Ethan seemed less impressed. “I truly hope the stipend we pay you doesn’t get spent on the development of jokes like that.”

His smile widened. “Michael Donovan is an attractive man, Sentinel. But I’ll do my best.” Ethan Sullivan, registered smart-ass.

You know he’s registered because that’s exactly the kind of thing he would do being all official and what-not.

“And what’s this you’re wearing?” “The ensemble of Roland of Westmere. He’s a character from ‘Jakob’s Quest’—that’s the game I was playing.” “I can’t imagine being so involved in a video game that I’d want to wear a costume. I mean, what’s the appeal?” “What isn’t the appeal? I get to have someone else’s drama for a little while instead of my own.”

“Call us what you want, Sentinel. We already have a name for you.” That was alarming. Not that there was a way to avoid it, but I wasn’t sure I wanted them discussing my relationship around the Ops Room table. “No, you don’t.” “Yes, we do.” Lindsey stirred her spoon noisily around the walls of the yogurt cup to get the remaining drops. “You’re Methan.” “We’re what?” “Methan. Merit and Ethan. Methan.” “Nobody calls us that.” Every vampire in the room turned back to look at me, sardonic expressions on their faces. They nodded simultaneously, and I sank back into my chair a little bit. “Yes, we do,”

“That guy,” Lindsey said, “is a douche. Asterisk, I hate him. Footnote, he can suck it.”

Go get him, tiger, I silently told him. Shouldn’t you be working? he asked. Yes, I said frankly. But the world outside these walls is depressing, and I need the distraction. You may begin impressing me now.

Lacey Sheridan is nearly here.” The vampires in the balcony around me went silent, all eyes on me as if waiting for my reaction, their questions obvious: Will she throw a tantrum? Scream and cry? Pout and storm out of the room? My cheeks burned at the apparently universal belief that I was an insecure basket case. “I already knew she was coming.” “Thank sweet Christ,” Luc said with much drama and obvious relief. “I did not want to drop that bomb right now.”

I just occured to me that Lacey is basically exactly like that one hot vampire in Bones and Kat’s story that used to be with Bones before.

Ethan made a vague sound that suggested we weren’t finished discussing this particular topic, but he wouldn’t push it in front of present company. Also, interesting how I was learning to interpret male clicks and grunts.

“That was your stomach growling, wasn’t it?” He put a hand against his abdomen. “I have Merititis. Gnawing hunger,” he clarified, which made me roll my eyes. “We’ve a bit of time before I speak to the House. Perhaps a bite to eat?” “Are you asking me out on a date?” He glanced around the shambles of his office—normally pristine, now covered in boxes, binders, and stacks of paper. “In these humble surroundings, yes.” “For you, I can manage ‘humble.’” “You actually meant ‘for food,’ of course, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Also consider the fact that you’re here right now because of her magic . . . and you’re eating your toast with a fork. Why are you doing that?” He shrugged. “It’s how it’s done.” “That’s very much not how it’s done, and I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you eat toast before.” Ethan was trying to lighten the mood, I realized. Doing something unbelievably pretentious—even for Ethan—and trying to make me laugh.

I took a moment before heading inside to share the evening’s most important news in a quick text to Mallory: ETHAN EATS TOAST WITH A FORK. It took a moment before she responded. DARTH SULLIVAN = PRETENTIOUS HOTTIE, she responded.

No one wanted to give up their medals, including myself. The golden disks were our dog tags, our identification, our badges of honor. They marked us as vampires, as Cadogan vampires, as Novitiates of a proud and noble House.

The moment before everything changed. Before I swore allegiance to the Red Guard. Before he pulled the House’s allegiance to the Greenwich Presidium.

“May this blade never spill your blood or mine again,” he said. “And may the steel always remind us of the strength of friendship, of honor, and of loyalty to our comrades.” He looked at me. “Do you swear your loyalty to vampires, irrespective of House, irrespective of allies, irrespective of affiliation? Do you swear to be a guardian of order, fairness, and moderation, and to rise up against any authority that threatens those who cannot defend themselves?”

“What’s this?” “Swag,” he said. Eyebrow raised suspiciously, I peeked inside the bag. Inside were Midnight High School T-shirts in two colors, a hoodie, and a windbreaker featuring the MHS mascot, a spider.

“This,” Darius said, “is our second point. The Greenwich Presidium hereby reclaims ownership of Cadogan House.” Ethan laughed with such gusto that Darius’s eyes narrowed with anger. “This House and its remaining assets belong to the vampires within it,” Ethan said. “I think you well know that.” “I know your disrespect for the GP has gone on long enough. You presume because we are located an ocean away, you can act with impunity. You are incorrect. The House’s contract includes a proprietary clause allowing us certain damages in the event you breach your obligations to the GP. We have concluded you’ve breached those obligations throughout your history, and, as such, we claim the House by right.

In true Sentinel form, I analyzed the risk, walking through every possible result of my confession: 1. Ethan, drunk on love, would tell me he was proud I’d agreed to serve vampires by joining the RG. 2. Ethan would dump me in a special ceremony in front of Cadogan House. 3. Ethan would kick me out of the House in a special ceremony in front of Cadogan House. Commemorative T-shirts would be prepared bearing the words I SURVIVED MERIT’S EXCOMMUNICATION. 4. Ethan would do both two and three, then kill Jonah. 5. Ethan would turn inward, then let loose a silent but deadly rage that would destroy Cadoga n House and most of Hyde Park. Mayor Kowalcyzk would blame it on our genetics; Catcher would blame it on love.

“Merit?” But before I could speak, she made her move. “She’s having an affair with Jonah.” My eyes went dinner-plate wide. That’s what she thought I’d been doing? “I most certainly am not having an affair with Jonah.” Ethan looked confused . . . and dubious. “Jonah? The Grey guard captain?”

Drama!

“I joined the Red Guard.” Ethan’s face went white, and his eyes went huge. He stared at me, and my heart fell to my knees. “You—you . . .” He tried to speak, but he was furious enough that he couldn’t get the words out. “You did what?” I cleared my throat, trying to find my voice and remember why I’d made the decision that I had. Because I’d been given the choice to serve, and I knew my choice had been right. “I joined the Red Guard. I’m a member now.”

“This, Merit, is an organization that presumes I’m shitty at my job, that I require guarding, that I am like them, the members of the goddamn Greenwich Presidium, which is currently trying to take my House away.” I stood a little straighter; he was making my point for me. “That’s exactly why I had to do it, Ethan—because that’s what the GP is. They’re tyrants. And we’re trying to keep that from happening. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. But for better or worse, the secret wasn’t mine to tell.”

I could see the debate in Ethan’s face: Should I show her how angry and hurt I am by asking something snarky, or lose the attitude, given the expression on her face?

“Let me check,” Jeff said. “I can run them through a program that flags image manipulation. Beep beep boop boop.” Luc, Juliet, Lindsey, and I looked around at one another. I squinted at the phone. “I’m sorry, Jeff, did you just say ‘beep beep boop boop’?” “Computer sound effects,” he said, as if I’d asked him to explain the most obvious conclusion in the world.

cloud of emotional doom

lol

“You and Ethan have major chemistry, but you also have major magical spillover. When you’re happy—when you’re doing it regular, and don’t give me that look—there’s a nice, happy vibe in the House. When you’re pissed off, the thundercloud of doom lurks above us and rains its funk down upon us all.” “I think you’re overstating this a smidge.” She shook her head, convinced. “You say that because you can’t feel it; you’re already knee-deep in angst. Problem is, you’re kicking it our way, too.” She faux shuddered. “It’s like a teenager’s emo birthday party in here.”

“She’s in love with you,” I said. He cleared his throat nervously. “I know.” “That’s why she agreed to the meeting, isn’t it?” I looked at him. “That’s how you got her to show up?” He nodded, just once. “This is just a clusterfuck. I suppose it would be wrong of me to suggest you offer to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with her so that she might give us the egg?” He looked at me askance. “You want me to offer to make out with her so she’ll save your House?” I smiled a little. “Yeah, could you?”

His tone was flat; he was still angry. That made two of us, since I’d walked in on a forthcoming chapter in Lacey’s diary entitled, “The Cozy Night I Spent with Ethan Sullivan and a Bottle of Merlot.”

“We aren’t close, not in the way you’re suggesting. Not in the way Lacey has been suggesting to you. And that has nothing to do with this investigation.” “And you’re willing to draw that line?” “Are you willing to draw a line between you and Lacey? She looked quite comfy on the couch.” “That’s completely different.” “Because Jonah knows that I’m committed to you, but she isn’t entirely sure?” His jaw clenched. “Are you suggesting I’ve been unfaithful?” “Are you suggesting I’ve been unfaithful?” “Have you?” I flinched at the comment. “How dare you ask me that.” “There are rumors, Merit, about RG partners. That they work . . . closely . . . together.”

“You will listen,” Mallory said, “and you’ll tell your book club exactly what you heard.” “But is like Twilight in real life!” Berna protested. “Sparkles!”

I arched an eyebrow at her. She made an awful sound. “God, you’re already Mrs. Sullivan.

Luc had been incredibly thorough, including creating a security “textbook” broken into chapters and thousands of footnotes. There were 142 footnotes in the third chapter alone, including lessons learned (“Garden rakes are less effective against wereracoons than you’d think”), anecdotes (“I remember when ‘message’ meant something carried on the back of a horse”), and tricks of the trade (“Honey is a good balm for a cobra lily scratch”). Luc, who’d penned the protocols, had also written tests to check our knowledge, like the following gem: Q: What’s the most effective way to corral a raging centaur? A: Ha! There’s no such thing as centaurs, newbie. Get your ass in a chair and read your Canon.

Their current state of defeat obvious, Darius and the GP members began to slink toward the front of the House, and Ethan was swamped by Cadogan vampires celebrating our very close call. But he met my gaze over the crowd, a promise in his eyes—and his words. All the chocolate in the world, he silently said.

“Ethan, I have to say this: I think it’s time you gave serious thought to your relationship with Merit.” “Lacey—” he began, but she interrupted. “You need someone strong. Someone honorable. Someone who isn’t going to run into the arms of another vampire in the middle of a crisis. You need someone worthy of this House. Someone worthy of you.”

She just doesn’t know when to quit, does she?

Ethan sensed my rising anger; he held up a hand to stop me from speaking. “It is unacceptable for you to go into our home without permission.” Our home, he’d said. Tears nearly popped to my eyes from the rush of relief prompted by those two little words, but I held them back. I did not want to cry in front of her.

I’m Sentinel of this House for a reason—because you knew I wouldn’t blindly follow your dictates or the GP’s dictates.” Ethan made a sarcastic sound. “There seems little chance of that.” I took his hands. “If I thought for one second that I needed to join the RG to keep an eye on you and make you a better Master, we wouldn’t be together. You taught me to be a vampire, to be a soldier, to stick up for those whose voices aren’t heard by the politicians in our world. Even if it doesn’t feel like it, the RG is an homage to you, not a rebellion.”

“You are mine and mine alone, and it appears you need reminding. I suggest you return to our apartment; otherwise you’ll be ravished here and now where you stand, and the door is open.”

When did this become a steamy romance novel? Oh, wait, that’s exactly what it has been this whole time.

“Ethan and Jonah are sparring.” “Oh, you cannot be serious,” I said, positive she was joking. But she definitely, definitely was not.

Oh, yeah, this is going to be good.

“Jonah volunteered for a little sparring practice,” Ethan said. The liar.

This is the perfect scene to eat a microwave chocolate cake while eating, which is what I am currently doing.

Michael sat down in one of the chairs in the sitting area and waved me over. He crossed one leg over the other. “What have you got there?” “Property maps,” I said. “From my father. I’d hoped they’d help us identify the vampire killer, but I’m not sure they’ll actually lead anywhere.” Ethan walked in just as Michael’s phone rang. Frowning, Michael excused himself from the room and began chatting with the caller.

I’m not sure why exactly but I’m a little suspicious of Michael now.

Goose bumps lifted on my arms. And then, in only a moment, the tiger shape-shifted. I’d seen it happen before, but that didn’t make the visual any less amazing. A flash lit the night as magic swirled around him, changing the massive predator . . . into Jeff Christopher. He shook out his arms and legs, then popped his head back and forth as if stretching his neck. He looked up and met my gaze, and in the eyes of this young man—often silly, sometimes costumed, always flirty—I saw a world of understanding and experience and maturity. Not that I’d had any doubts, but Jeff Christopher was a marvel.

“I would have liked children someday,” I confessed. But it wasn’t in the cards for me; no vampire had ever successfully borne children. His expression fell. “I didn’t know. You hadn’t mentioned—” I tried to smile a little. “I know it can’t happen. And it’s nothing I’m actively thinking about. But I do wonder what it would be like to be a parent. To experience the world again alongside a little person who’s only just beginning to understand it. To learn with them all the things that make life worthwhile.”