HELL HATH NO FURY
The front of the house was gone. There remained only a curtain of rising flames and burning debris. I landed in the middle of a conflagration, the fire crackling and climbing the walls to the ceiling as if it were a breathing thing. Like the fire was made of a thousand hands, all grasping upward, all climbing from some hell down below.
I'd seen a fire before, but I'd forgotten how loud it was. Loud and hazy and chemical. The smoke was blinding and seared my throat with each breath, but that was irrelevant now. I was a vampire; he was not. I'd heal. I couldn't guarantee he would.
But that I was a vampire didn't mean the burns hurt less; they'd just heal faster. I covered my face with a crooked arm, but sparks flew like horizontal rain, peppering me with stinging ash.
I ignored it.
"Grandpa!" I yelled over the roaring of the fire. I stumbled through the living room, which was empty, and into the kitchen, hands outstretched, feeling my way through the house with clumsy fingers. Thinking he might have been in his bedroom, I searched for the wall that led to the hallway. "Grandpa! Where are you?"
I pretended I was a child, sleeping over for a visit with my grandparents, moving through the house in the dark for a drink of water. I'd done it a thousand times, knew my way around the house even in utter darkness. I closed my eyes and willed my mind to remember to search for the clues that would get me where I needed to go.
I remembered, as a child, fumbling for the light switch on the left-hand wall. I reached out, groping blindly until I found smooth plastic, and then empty space. That was the hallway.
As the fire grew behind me, and the smoke thickened, I advanced. "Grandpa!"
I stumbled over an obstacle and fell down, then reached back to figure out what it had been. My fingers found a sharp corner - it was a bureau, a piece of furniture that had once stood in the hallway, holding my grandmother's tablecloths and napkins. Sentimentality hitting me, I grabbed the only fragment of fabric I could feel - probably a doily - and stuffed it into my jacket.
One grandparent down, one to go.
"Grandpa? Where are you?"
"Merit!"
I froze. The sound was faint, but distinctly his. "Grandpa? I can hear you! Keep talking!"
"Merit . . . Go . . . out . . . house!"
I caught only intermittent words - "Out . . . house!" - but the meaning was clear enough. Those words also sounded like they were coming from far away. But I was feet from the bedroom. . . .
He wasn't in the bedroom, I realized. He was in the basement.
The basement door was through the kitchen, so I'd have to backtrack and grope my way back to that side of the house - and then figure out a way to get him up again.
I dropped to the ground, where the air was still breathable and fresher, and crawled across the remains of the floor, ignoring the burning ash and glass beneath my hands. Adrenaline was pushing me now, sending me, regardless of the obstacle, toward the man who'd been like a father to me.
I crawled slowly forward, burned boards creaking beneath me as they struggled to hold up the remaining weight. I froze, not even taking a breath, before moving forward again.
My movement hadn't been light enough.
Without warning, the boards beneath me snapped, sending me free-falling to the basement.
I landed with a bounce atop a jumble of boards, debris, and the shag carpeting I was suddenly glad my grandfather had kept. The fall knocked the air from my lungs, and for a moment I sucked in air as my body remembered how to breathe again.
Unfortunately, the craving for oxygen gave way to pain as my senses returned. I'd fallen on my side, which was now racked by a piercing pain. Slowly, ignoring the stabbing sensation, I got to my feet to move again.
"Grandpa?"
"Here, Merit." He coughed, weakly enough that my heart nearly stopped.
"I'm coming, Grandpa. Hold on. I will be right there."
I searched frantically through smoke and ash, trying to fulfill my promise, but it was nearly pitch-black in the basement, and I couldn't find him.
The heat climbed as the fire roared above us. I pushed the most obvious question - assuming I survived this trip, how in God's name was I going to get him safely out again? - from my mind, and focused on the task at hand, on breaking it into its smallest components.
Step one: Find my grandfather.
A burst of fire suddenly rushed above my head. Terrifying . . . but revealing. A few feet in front of me I saw a glint of light - the firelight dancing on the face of my grandfather's watch. I dropped to my knees in ashy carpet, pushing aside half-burned books and pieces of what I assumed was Jeff's computer.
I grabbed his hands.
"Hi, Grandpa," I said, tears rushing my eyes.
He was on his back, surrounded by rubble. He squeezed my hands, which was a good sign, but across his abdomen was a gigantic wooden beam. It must have supported the basement ceiling and main floor.
Panic quickly set in, and I had to consciously remind myself to breathe slowly. A hyperventilating vampire would do no one any good.
One step at a time, I reminded myself. Step two: Put on a good face, and get him untangled from the burning remains of his house.
"What in God's name have you gotten yourself into this time?" I said with a mock laugh, brushing his hair from his face.
He coughed again, each sputter sending an uncomfortable torque through my gut.
"I need a babysitter," he said.
"Apparently so. You appear to have most of the ceiling on your legs. I'm going to try to move it now."
Like an athlete preparing for a dead lift, I squatted, knees bent, and tucked my hands under the beam. "All right, Grandpa. On three. One . . . two . . . three!"
I put every ounce of strength - biological and supernatural - into my arms and thighs, and I lifted with all my might.
The beam didn't budge.
Fear - and lack of oxygen - tightened my chest. It was getting harder to focus, and bright spots were beginning to appear in the corners of my vision.
This plan might go horribly, horribly wrong.
And for the first time, it occurred to me to actually ask for help.
Ethan? I asked, trying the telepathic connection between us. Can you hear me?
But I got no response.
"So, Grandpa, you've managed to get this thing pretty wedged. I'm going to try again." I tried again. And again. And again, until my fingertips were bloody and my arms and legs were shaking.
I reverted to screaming.
"Someone! Anyone! Get in here! I need help!"
The ceiling above us - what was left of it, anyway - shuddered and creaked ominously.
I covered my grandfather with my body, slapping at the embers that scattered my hair and jacket. A moment later, the ceiling stilled again, and I started a new set of dead lifts.
But I wasn't strong enough.
"Merit," my grandfather said, "get out."
His words and tone were forceful, but of course I ignored him. I was a vampire. He wasn't. I'd do what I could for as long as I could . . . and then I'd try again.
"You are crazy if you think I'm leaving you. I need help down here!" I yelled out.
I didn't want to leave him - wasn't going to leave him. Especially not when I could use my body to shield him if the roof fell. Hopefully, the house hadn't been constructed of aspen. Because, much like burning to death in a rather ill-thought-out plan to rescue my grandfather, that would be bad.
Okay, so terror and oxygen deprivation were making me even more sarcastic than usual.
"Merit!" Jeff's voice rang through the smoke. "Merit?"
Tears of relief sprang to my eyes. We weren't out of the predicament, but Jeff's voice - and his shifter-heightened strength - was a filament of hope. That was all I needed to hold on to.
"Down here! Grandpa's stuck, Jeff. I can't move him!"
Jeff dropped through the hole, hitting the ground a few feet away. He made the trip look stupidly easy, but I decided that would have been impossible without my having fallen through the floor in the first place.
"I was only gone a couple of hours, Chuck," Jeff said as he checked out my grandfather's position. "I want you to know I'll be seeking overtime for this."
"Only fair," my grandfather said, chuckling lightly. "Only fair."
Jeff pointed me into position. "There," he said. "On three. I'm not going to lift - I'm going to lever. When I do, pull your grandfather away." He looked at me, and I saw behind the boyish jokes and flirtations, the eyes of a man.
I nodded at him and took my designated spot a few feet away.
"Chuck," Jeff said, "we're going to lift this thing off you. I can't guarantee it won't hurt, but you know how this goes."
"I know how this goes," my grandfather agreed, wincing as he prepared himself.
I squatted again, this time reaching under my grandfather's armpits, ready to move him when the weight was lifted.
Jeff rolled his shoulders, moved to the end of the beam, and braced himself against it, one knee forward, the other leg extended back. He blew out three quick breaths in succession.
"One . . . two . . . three!" he said. He pushed the top of the beam upward, levering it just enough to lift the weight from my grandfather's abdomen. I dragged him away, his feet clearing the beam's path just as Jeff let it drop again.
My grandfather blinked. "That did hurt," he said.
And then his eyes closed, sending my heart racing again. "Jeff, we have to get him out of here," I said, but the last of my sentence was muted by a crash above us that sent a bevy of sparks over us . . . and covered the gap we'd used to get into the basement with flaming drywall.
"On it," Jeff said. He scooped my grandfather up and headed toward the back of the basement.
"Where are you going?"
"Back bedroom. Emergency window."
I hadn't even remembered there was a bedroom back there, much less a window.
"Right behind you," I said, listening for his footsteps in front of me, as I certainly couldn't see anything. I covered my mouth with a hand, smoke from the fire upstairs beginning to funnel down through the cracks in the ceiling.
Jeff moved swiftly through the serpentine basement hallway, around corners and into a small back room where, I now remembered, my grandmother had kept our Christmas presents before they were wrapped. My sister and I had dug through the closet on occasion, trying to figure out which one of us got the Lite Brite and the doll that wet itself.
But those presents were long gone. Instead, we fixed our sights on the small window that was about to become our escape route.
"Open it," Jeff directed, and I pulled a stool over to the window and unlatched the window frames, which opened into a window well.
"Get out," Jeff said. "I'll help boost your grandfather up."
I nodded, pushed myself up to the sill, and climbed outside, gulping in the first fresh air I'd had in minutes, then kicking away snow and debris to help our egress.
"Ready," Jeff said, maneuvering my grandfather's shoulders through the windows. I grabbed his torso again and pulled until I could cradle him in the window well.
"Let me help," said a voice above me.
I looked up to see a Chicago Fire Department member in a fire suit and hat on his knees at the edge of the window well.
As Jeff climbed safely from the fire and paramedics strapped my grandfather to a gurney, I said a silent thank-you to the universe.
-
The house was surrounded by vehicles - fire trucks, police interceptors, two ambulances. Their blue, red, and white lights shined across the yard, which was full of debris thrown out by the explosion.
I found my sword and cleaned away the smoke and ash, giving the EMTs room to work while they stabilized my grandfather, but I moved closer when they loaded the gurney into the back of the ambulance.
Tears welled in my eyes at the sight, and my throat constricted so tightly, I wasn't sure if I could breathe.
One of the EMTs stayed by his side; the other climbed out of the ambulance and shut the door.
"You're his granddaughter?"
I nodded.
"He's unconscious but stable," said the EMT, whose name badge read ERICK. "We'll take him to Southwestern Memorial," he said. "You wanna follow us in your car?"
"We'll get there," Jeff said, stepping beside me. He had a bandage on his head and another around his arm.
"You're hurt?" I asked, feeling suddenly numb and disconnected to the world. The adrenaline was wearing off, and fear and shock and pain were beginning to seep in.
"I'm fine. The guys said you were okay, too?"
I nodded. "Vampire healing. My lungs are sore, and I've got some minor burns, but they'll heal." I glanced down at my leathers, which were probably toast. They were pockmarked with holes from flying cinders and sparks.
"I ruined my clothes," I said, laughing. I sounded hysterical, even to me. Was I coming unglued?
Jeff put a hand on my arm. "Merit, I'm going to get the car, okay? I'll call Ethan and have him meet us at the hospital. He's probably on his way."
I nodded, and Jeff jogged away toward his car, which sat, untouched, at the end of the driveway.
I glanced around, refusing to look at the house, not ready to face the destruction or the loss of a place where I'd spent so much time as a child. A place where I'd grown up.
And what did I spy with my little eye? In front of the other ambulance sat a kid - no more than twenty - wearing a T-shirt that read CLEAN CHICAGO.
Rage coursed through me.
I picked up my sword, the handle damp with snow, and strode toward him.
"Who sent you here?"
He looked up at me and sniffed in disgust. "Nobody."
"Who sent you here?" I pressed, placing the tip of the sword against the beating pulse of his carotid artery. It throbbed just beneath the skin, a tiny echoing heartbeat that hinted at the satiation of my hunger, and the satisfaction of my sudden lust for violence.
It was a different kind of bloodlust.
I wet my lips and looked down at him, lusting for violence in a way I'd never experienced before. I'd needed blood, sure. I was a vampire. But I hadn't needed blood like this. I wanted to devour him, control him, sublimate him.
I wanted to end him.
I had sudden, new empathy for Mallory's black-magic addiction, for the mind-filling supernatural wanting that she must have experienced. Humans weren't any strangers to addiction, but this seemed almost more powerful, as if the addiction weren't simply foisted upon you by a drug, but by a living, breathing thing.
"Merit," Jeff said, "put the sword down."
"No, Jeff. This is the last time they hurt us. This has to be the last time. We have sat around for too long and let them get away with this. I say, fuck them, fuck this little shit. What's the worst thing that can happen?"
"Retribution," he said, more calmly than I would have. "Violence, martial law, litigation. I know you love your grandfather, Merit. I don't doubt it, and never would. But we have to consider what will help . . . and what will hurt."
I was a woman, a Sentinel, a vampire. A monster. But mostly . . . I was me. Irrespective of what else I might have been, I was me. I was my grandfather's granddaughter. I was a Cadogan Novitiate, from a noble House. And I couldn't dishonor either my grandfather or my House with murder in cold blood.
Biting was one thing. Biting bad was another.
I looked away, furious that Jeff wasn't going to let me have my way, my violence. I was a vampire, for fuck's sake. I wanted action. I wanted to sweat through my blinding fury, to let it find its home somewhere else, outside of me, where it couldn't gnaw at me anymore.
I walked away and threw my sword across the yard, then fell into the snow.
There, on my knees, in the middle of my grandfather's front yard, I looked at what had become of the home he'd shared with my grandmother. The house was virtually destroyed. The fire had spread from front to back, which was the only reason we'd managed to escape without worse injuries. The walls in the back were still standing, but the front had caved in, leaving a gaping chasm of charred wood and furnishings.
And the structure wasn't the only thing lost. The photographs and mementos had been burned. My grandfather's belongings had been destroyed. Even Jeff's computer was probably a pile of smoldering plastic toast right now.
The loss and fear and grief hit me, and I began to sob. I cried until my knees were numb and my eyes burned. I cried after a fireman covered me in a silver blanket for warmth, and until I doubted there was a tear left to shed.
I opened my eyes again and looked out over the yard. The work would have to start: rebuilding, finding a place for my grandfather to live, finding a place for the Ombuddies to work.
Work.
I realized, in my haste to get inside, what I was missing. The syringe. I'd dropped the plastic bag in the snow. We had to have it - it was the only piece of real physical evidence we had.
Frantically, I crawled forward, pushing through the chunks of ice and snow with my hands, sifting through rubble as I looked for the plastic bag - not an easy venture in the dark.
"Merit?"
Startled by the sound of my name, I glanced around.
Ethan stood behind me.
"I lost the syringe, Ethan. I can't find it."
His gaze softened. "Don't worry about that now, Merit. We'll find it."
"No, we need the syringe. It's our evidence. We need it, Ethan."
"Okay," he said, gently pulling me to my feet. "I'll look for the syringe, okay?"
I nodded, my mind still racing, my heart still racing. "It's our evidence," I repeated.
Ethan put his hands on my face and searched my eyes. "Merit. Breathe."
I shook my head. I'd already been overwhelmed once. I didn't want to be overwhelmed again. I just wanted a solution.
"I was so afraid," I said. "I thought I'd lost my grandfather."
Ethan smiled. "You didn't lose him. You saved him, Merit. You rushed into a burning building to save him, and I have never been so proud or so angry. You could have gotten yourself killed."
"I'm okay," I said. "I had to go in there. I couldn't not go in there."
"I know," he said, brushing bangs from my face. "And that's the only reason I'm not throttling you right now."
"The house was firebombed. There were rioters. One of them is over . . . there," I said, pointing to the second ambulance, but the rioter was gone.
"Jeff nabbed him," Ethan said. "He's in the back of the CPD car."
I turned around to check that out. Sure enough, the pouty rioter was in the back of the cruiser. I couldn't hear his words, but he appeared to be screaming at the top of his lungs, probably about the unfairness of his arrest and the injustices he was facing at the hands of vampires . . . after he'd firebombed my grandfather's house.
"My grandfather's house is gone," I said.
"But your grandfather is not," Ethan pointed out. He kissed me hard, reminding me that I had my own life to be grateful for, then wrapped his arms around me and held me tight. My tears began anew.
"I'm here," he said. "Be still."
-
Half an hour and one retrieved piece of evidence later, we sat in the dated waiting room of a hospital on the south side of Chicago. Grandpa was in surgery, and we were waiting for an update.
Chairs with pink tweed cushions and rounded wooden arms were grouped together in seating areas for family and friends, and televisions showing twenty-four-hour news channels played quietly in the corners. There was a small area for children to play, with a handful of wooden books and plastic toys with the decals and paint worn off. They seemed tired, and sadder for it.
I'd washed the soot from my face in the sink of the bathroom down the hall, using hand soap and brown paper towels. Soot was weirdly greasy, and it took a few tries before my skin was clean again. On the upside, I wouldn't need an exfoliating mask any time soon.
I sat beside Ethan, our hands entwined, my head on his shoulder. The rest of the Cadogan House vampires had stayed at the house out of fear the rioters might seek another target. They clearly meant business - whatever that business might have been.
Other vampires were also absent, but Jonah sent a text message: SOUNDS LIKE I MISSED ALL THE FUN.
YOU DID, I responded. BUT YOU SHOULD STAY WHERE YOU ARE. KEEP YOUR PEOPLE SAFE.
YOU'RE ONE OF MY PEOPLE, he messaged. AND I'M GLAD YOU'RE OKAY. BEST WISHES TO CHUCK.
My grandfather was well loved, and the waiting room was stuffed with people who'd been able to check in and wish him well. Catcher and Mallory sat on the chairs across from us. Catcher looked guilty, I assumed because he hadn't been at the house when the shit went down. Not that that would have done anything.
Jeff and Marjorie were there, as were a handful of supernaturals I knew only through vague acquaintance - a couple of the snub-nosed River trolls and a small gaggle of River nymphs - but they kept to themselves.
Detective Jacobs and some of my grandfather's friends from the CPD were there. Ethan had passed the syringe over to Catcher, who in turn gave it to Detective Jacobs. He promised to have the lab take a look as soon as he could.
Gabriel, Tanya, and Connor even dropped by to wish my grandfather well. Connor was asleep in his father's arms, and Tanya looked sleepy, too. I hadn't realized how late it was - only a couple of hours from dawn, I thought.
"You're all right?" Gabriel asked, giving me a half hug and pressing a kiss to my cheek. That act of kindness, so personal and so unusual for Gabe, nearly made me break into tears again.
"I'm okay," I said. "Hanging in there."
"Only thing you can do," he said, shaking Ethan's hand.
"Your compatriot was a brave man tonight," Ethan said. "Jeff helped rescue him."
We glanced at Jeff, who was now cradling Connor in his unbandaged arm, Tanya looking over them both with a smile.
"He's a good man," Gabriel said. "And a good member of our Pack."
"Any word on my car?" I asked. "I don't want to wear out my welcome with the Mercedes, I mean."
Gabriel and Ethan shared a look I couldn't decipher, but I bet it was related to the car's history - and the fact that Ethan wanted it.
"As it turns out," Gabe said, "they're having trouble tracking down a windshield."
I frowned. "I thought Mallory had said it was repaired?"
"Only the hood," Gabe clarified. "That was easy enough to find. Intact glass for a Volvo that was manufactured before you were born is trickier. And don't worry about the car. You have bigger things to think about. Family things. That comes first."
"Agreed," Ethan said, slipping his hand into mine.
The Keenes didn't stay long, begging off in order get Connor home and safely tucked in. They were quickly replaced by my parents, who were the last to arrive. Both were formally dressed; she in sequins, he in a tux. They probably hadn't learned about the fire until after whatever event they'd been attending.
My mother was teary eyed. My father looked haunted, as if he'd suddenly been reminded of his own mortality.
We rose when they came in. My mother practically ran to me, embracing me in a hug strong enough to leave sequin imprints on my arms.
"You've talked to the doctor?" my father asked.
"Not yet," Ethan said. "He's still in surgery."
My father looked at me, and for the first time that I could remember, there was fear in his eyes. The man who'd bought his way through life had discovered that death always had a card to play and rarely lost a hand.
He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed. "You could have gotten yourself killed, Merit. You could have gotten yourself killed."
It was tragedy's unique ability to cross rifts between people, even deep crevasses between family members.
"I'm all right," I said, patting him on the back. I appreciated the hug, but that didn't make it any less awkward, considering our history. "I'm fine."
"How did it happen?" my mother asked.
"Rioters," Ethan said. "The same ones who attacked the vampire business and House earlier this week."
"What could they have against Charles?" she asked.
"I presume it's related to his work as a police officer?" my father asked.
"Possibly," Ethan vaguely agreed. "We aren't entirely sure. Why don't we sit down? It could be a bit of time yet."
Because he was right, we sat down in the chairs, and we waited some more.
I tried to rest, but my mind kept spinning with questions. Why had my grandfather been targeted? Because he'd supported vampires as Ombudsman? Because he was on our side? He'd been a cop for years; there seemed little doubt he'd made enemies along the way. Had those enemies become wrapped up in riots and anti-vampire hatred?
Most frighteningly, had he been targeted because he was my grandfather? Was I now a liability to my family?
Grief weighed on me, and I rested my head on Ethan's shoulder.
Be still, Ethan silently told me. Be still.
I locked away the fear and the grief, and I did as I was told.
-
Every time the hallway door opened, I jumped, anxious for news, good or bad. But we were an hour in when a tall man with a head of thick dark hair and dressed in turquoise scrubs stepped into the room.
"Merit family?" he asked, his accent thick but the origin unknown.
"That's us," my father said, standing.
The doctor nodded and walked over, then sat down in an empty chair across from us.
"Dr. Berenson," he said. "I was Mr. Merit's surgeon. The surgery went very well, and we've moved him back into his room."
I closed my eyes in relief.
"What's his prognosis?" my father asked.
"Good. He took a pretty good fall. Shattered his pelvis and broke a few ribs. It was internal injuries from the beam's landing on top of him that did most of the internal damage. He has sensation in his legs, which is great, but his pelvis took a beating."
"He'll be ambulatory?" Ethan asked.
"He's not a spring chicken, and he's going to need some pretty extensive physical therapy. But, barring complications, we have every expectation he'll be able to walk again. We'll keep him until we're sure he's stable and healing, and then you can decide on a rehab facility or home-health nurse."
Jeff whistled. "Chuck is not going to like either of those options."
"Like is irrelevant," my father said quietly. "He'll stay with us."
Chuck isn't going to like that, either, I silently told Ethan.
I suspect you are right. But your father has room and resources to ensure he's well cared for. He'll adapt, as we all must do.
The doctor nodded. "You've got some time to make those decisions. He'll say in intensive care for tonight, and as soon as he's awake and stable, we'll move him to a room." He rose. "I think that's about it for tonight. You can check with the nurse anytime you have questions. And visiting hours are posted on the wall."
"I'll stay tonight," my father said, to the surprise of all of us. "He's my father, and I wasn't there when he was injured. It's the least I can do. I'll stay." He glanced at me. "Go home. Get a shower and some sleep. You look like you need both."
This time, I found I couldn't disagree with him.
-
We drove home in silence. Jeff and Catcher volunteered to get Moneypenny back to the House, which was an offer I couldn't refuse. I was mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted, and in no shape to drive.
When we arrived at the House, less than an hour before dawn, we found security tight. Luc, Malik, Lindsey, and Margot met us in the foyer when we arrived.
"How is he?" Malik asked.
"He's okay," I said. "Long road to recovery, but he's alive. And that's something."
"That is something," Luc said, pulling me into a bear hug. It was definitely the night for unexpected shows of affection. "Glad you're safe, Sentinel."
"Thanks. Me, too."
"This is life," Ethan said. "This is Valentine's Day. Do not rue the tragedies; celebrate the victories."
"That sounds like something Merit's grandfather would say," Malik said with a smile.
"Are you hungry?" Margot asked. "Have you had time to eat?"
Not lately, considering my second effectively failed attempt at arranging a meal for Valentine's Day. I knew I'd be ravenous tomorrow, but for tonight, my appetite was gone.
"I'm not especially hungry," Ethan said. "But perhaps blood and wine?"
Margot nodded. "Absolutely, Liege. I'll get that ready for you and send it to your apartments."
That was at least a small relief - with the Grey House vampires installed at the King George, we could get our apartments and bed back. My body was going to need the rest, and I was pretty sure I'd be sleeping hard tonight.
And speaking of the new Grey House digs, "Any update on Brooklyn?" I asked Luc.
"Last we heard, she was stable," he said. "I don't have any more information."
Ethan put a hand on my back. "I think that's a sufficient update for now," he said. "It's been a very long night. Let's get ready for dawn, and we'll start fresh at dusk."
I couldn't have agreed with that more.
-
Upstairs, once again in Ethan's apartments, I dumped my ruined leathers on the floor and climbed into the shower without preface. I showered until my skin was pink, then pulled on the softest pajamas I could find. They were pink fleece, not exactly the sexiest ensemble, but they were comforting in a way that I needed.
When I emerged from the bathroom, I found Ethan in the sitting room. He wore nothing but silk green pajama bottoms that rode low on his hips, and he gazed down at a folded newspaper on the side table in front of him. Margot's tray was on the table beside it. Thinking both were worth a closer look, I padded across the room in my fuzzy pajamas, my hair still damp from the shower.
Ethan looked up with amusement. "Your coziest sleepwear?"
"Exactly. What did Margot bring?"
"Blood, wine, croissants."
I hadn't intended to eat, but my stomach growled ominously. "How long until dawn?"
Ethan glanced at his phone, which lay on the table. "Eighteen minutes."
"Croissant it is," I said. I bit into one while holding out my empty wineglass, waiting while he filled it with white wine from the carafe.
"Sometimes," Ethan said, filling his own glass when I took a sip of mine, "I think we're fortunate to make it through the night."
The wine was crisp and fresh, and it provided a nice, sharp contrast to the flaky, buttery croissant.
"You aren't wrong," I said, nibbling the edge of it.
"Here," Ethan said, holding out a hand for my glass. "Let's have a seat by the fire."
I glanced back at the onyx fireplace in one corner of the room, which I'd rarely seen lit. "I don't think we have time to get a fire going."
"Of course we do," he said. He walked to the corner of the room and flipped a switch behind one of the curtains. The fireplace roared to life, and Ethan looked back at me with a grin.
"Yes, yes, and yes," I said, joining him and sitting cross-legged on the floor. He handed my wineglass back, then did the same.
For the second time tonight, I watched a fire rage. But this time, I was safe at home, with guards outside to keep the monsters away. And, best of all, Ethan was beside me.
"Tell me more about this Scottish estate of ours," I said.
It took him a moment to remember the conversation we'd had earlier. "Ah, yes. Well, there would be much old wood and tall windows. And maybe a hound or two. We'd watch the wind race across the moors like Catherine and Heathcliff might have."
"But with a happier ending, I hope?"
"Absolutely. And without your Sentinel duties to attend to, you could learn to knit. Or embroider. Or perhaps tatting."
"I'll stick to reading, thank you very much. You could learn those things. Or how to cook."
"I can cook, Sentinel."
I looked at him, obviously suspicious. "You've never cooked for me."
"I've not yet done a number of things for you. That doesn't mean I'm not capable of doing them." He put an arm around me.
"We've many years to go yet, Sentinel. And many things to learn about each other. He clinked his glass against mine. "Happy Valentine's Day."
"Happy Valentine's Day, Ethan," I said.