“I’m not sure about that. But I’m trying.” Sometimes, that was the best a girl could do.
I gestured toward the gleaming silver bullet that sat in the House’s visitor spot, the antique Mercedes roadster Ethan had bought for me from the Pack leader himself. She was sweet and perfectly restored, and I called her Moneypenny. She was also still registered in Gabriel’s name, which seemed a better transportation option than taking Ethan’s car. But since he had decades’ more driving experience than me—and we were in a hurry—I held out the keys.
“Shall we?”
Ethan’s eyes widened with delight. He’d been attempting to buy Moneypenny for years and had probably wanted to slide behind the wheel for even longer.
“If we’re going to run,” he said, taking the keys from me, a spark jumping across our fingertips as they brushed, “we might as well escape in style.”
Sometimes that was the best a vampire could do.
Chapter Two
Upstairs, Downstairs
That the Breckenridges had money was undeniable when one was facing down their palatial estate in Loring Park. Chicago was a metropolis bounded by water on one side and farmland on the other. Loring Park managed to fit itself just outside the latter, a fancy suburb of rolling green hills a simple train ride away from hustle of the Second City.
Loring Park itself was a small and tidy town, with a central square and pretty shopping centers, the area newly developed and decorated with dark iron streetlights and lots of landscaping. A winter carnival had even set up shop in a parking lot, and residents undoubtedly sick of winter were trundling around amid the games and handful of rides. It would be months before green would peek through the flattened brown grass, but the snow was nearly gone. It had been a strange winter in northeastern Illinois—the weather veering back and forth between frigidly cold and practically balmy.
The estate was located a few miles outside the city center on the crest of a long, rolling hill. The house, with turrets and windows and several wings of rooms, was modeled after Biltmore and was surrounded by rolling hills of neatly manicured grass, and the back lawn sloped gently down into a forest.
As hidey-holes went, it wasn’t a bad option.
We pulled the car up to the door, covered by a stone arch, and got out, gravel crunching beneath our feet. The night was dark and moonless; the air was thick with wood smoke and magic.
“Is that what you think?” A tall, dark-haired man burst through the door, and a wave of prickly, irritated magic followed him like a cresting wave. He was broad shouldered, and he came out with arm raised, pointing an accusing finger at us. “You want to let those bloodsuckers stay here? In our home?”
The accusing gaze and shoulders belonged to Michael Breckenridge, Jr., the oldest of Papa Breck’s sons. He was in his thirties now, but he’d been a football player in his youth, and he hadn’t lost the muscle, or apparently the testosterone. He was the expected heir of Breckenridge Industries and the family fortune, and he apparently had a temper. Papa Breck was going to need to keep an eye on that.
Michael Breckenridge, Jr., I silently told Ethan, using the telepathic connection between us.
Charming, was his reply. He was even sarcastic telepathically.
“Be polite to the guests,” said another voice in the doorway.
The man who stood there was tall and lean, with dark hair that waved over his forehead and a glint in his steely eyes. This was Finley Breckenridge, the second oldest of the Breck boys. There were two others—Nick, the one I’d dated, now a journalist, and Jamie, the youngest.
I guessed Finley and Michael had been in the middle of a disagreement regarding their father’s decision to let us stay.
“Go back inside, Finn,” Michael said. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Finley took another step outside, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his trousers, but his eyes were cool, his body taut, ready for action.
“It concerns the family,” Finley said. “And it concerns Pop, who’s already made his position clear.”
Michael stalked toward us. Being good security, I shifted to block his path to Ethan. He stopped, glared down at me. “Get out of my way.”
His tone was laced with hatred, and the magic that spilled off his body was downright contemptuous. The threat began to speed my blood, but I kept my voice calm. We were guests, after all. Welcome or otherwise.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” I said, forcing a light smile. “It’s good to see you again, Michael.”
His jaw twitched, but he took a step back. “Fine,” he said, lifting his hands in the air like a cornered criminal. “But when they fuck up everything, I won’t hear a word from either one of you.”
He stepped around me and stalked off around the house, leaving the scent of expensive cologne in his wake.
Ethan glanced back at Finley, brow raised.
“Apologies,” Finley said, walking forward with a hand outstretched, ready to play peacemaker. He and Ethan shook hands, both of them obviously appraising the other.
“Finley Breckenridge.”
“Ethan Sullivan.”
“The vampire who made Merit,” Finley said. The statement was a challenge, poorly disguised by curiosity and a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I initiated the change,” Ethan confirmed. “I saved her from an attack, and I made her immortal. I find she has no complaints.” His tone was mild, his expression unperturbed. If he was irritated by the question, he wasn’t going to let Finley see it.
Finn flicked a glance at me. “It’s good to see you, Merit. If not under these circumstances.”
I nodded, the most I was willing to offer, considering the attitudes. “I take it Michael’s not thrilled we’re staying here?”
“Michael and the old man disagree on various things,” Finn said, gaze falling on the point where Michael had disappeared into the darkness. “Including having vampires in residence.”
Their timing impeccable, liveried staff in dark pants and short jackets emerged silently from the house, took our bags and keys, and whisked Moneypenny down the driveway.
How very upstairs/downstairs, Ethan said.
My father would be jealous, I agreed. Although my grandfather had been a cop, my father was obsessed with money. Perhaps not surprisingly, he was very good friends with Papa Breck.
“Where will we be staying?” I asked.
“The carriage house. You got permission from the big man to stay, but he drew the line at your being in the house.” Finn gestured toward the gravel walk, which led around the house to a series of secondary buildings.
Ethan looked unimpressed with our demotion from the main house, which did ring of supernatural pettiness. But we were here because we didn’t have a better option. I thought it was best not to look that particular gift horse (shifter?) in the mouth.
The carriage house was a small brick building, its sides marked by dark green shutters around the windows that had once been doors for cars or carriages. The building was just behind the main house, completely invisible from the road and the driveway. The carriage house might have felt like an insult to Ethan, but it would be a secure location to spend a few quiet nights on the lam.
Finn pushed a key into the lock and opened the door. “Please come in.”
The invitation wasn’t strictly necessary—that particular bit of vampire myth was actually myth—but we preferred not to trespass.
The carriage house had been outfitted like a small apartment, with hardwood floors, colorful furnishings and décor, and a ceiling striped by large, oak beams. There was a sitting area and a small kitchenette, and a door led to what I guessed was a bedroom. The Brecks hadn’t spared any expense on the décor. Books and orchids were arranged just so on a coffee table, knickknacks placed here and there, one wall covered in a mix of line drawings and paintings in gilded frames.