Vampires were different then, closer to animal than human. They were roaming bands of scavengers, taking what blood they could find. Within that band, that first band, there was a leader. Balthasar. He'd been watching the camps, knew my position, decided I'd know enough about war, about strategy, to be an asset to the rest of them."
So in a way our changes had been similar. Ethan, changed in the midst of war, the victim of an attack.
The change, although giving him life after a certain death, undertaken without his consent. Pulled into a corps of vampires to be a warrior, to offer his strategic services. Me, changed in the midst of Celina's battle for notoriety, the victim of her staged attack. Changed by Ethan to save my life, without my consent. Brought into Cadogan House to be a warrior, a soldier protecting the House.
When I began the genetic change from human to vampire, he'd drugged me. He said he didn't want me to have to experience the pain of the transition since it wasn't a transition I'd asked for.
Maybe I now knew why.
Ethan paused, his gaze on the floor, his eyes tracking as he recalled some ancient memory. "When I arose after the change, I imagined myself a monster, something unholy. I couldn't go home, couldn't bring that home to my family. Not like I was. Not like that. So I joined Balthasar and his band, and we traveled together for a decade."
"What happened after that?"
"An enterprising young vampire - a vampire Balthasar had made - decided that the band would be better under his authority. And that was the end of my relationship with those particular vampires. After that, I traveled. Wars were common in those years, and I had knowledge about strategy, skills. I joined a battalion here and there, traveled south until I found a peaceful bit of earth to call my own. I lived off the land. Learned to read and write. Tried to build a new life and not attract too much human attention." My voice soft, I asked, "Did you ever marry?"
"No," he said, shaking his head. "No. As a soldier, I didn't feel I had the luxury of keeping a family at home." He smiled wistfully. "My sisters were children enough for me. I was a coward, I suppose, that I didn't go back to them, didn't give them a chance to accept what I'd become. But that was a much different time, and I'd have been returning home a demon. A true monster. I couldn't bring myself to do it."
"When did you join the House?"
"Many, many years after I left Sweden, I met Peter. He founded Cadogan House, and I joined him in Wales. And when he was gone, I became Master. I moved the House here to Chicago" - he spread his arms, gesturing to the mansion around him - "and here we are."
"And here we are," I agreed. I knew that wasn't all of his history. But I knew enough about some of the more scandalous recent parts - his affair with Amber; his relationship with Lacey Sheridan, a former Cadogan guard turned Sheridan House Master - not to ask more than I'd probably want to know.
"A suggestion, Sentinel," he said. "Write down the things you wish to remember, and keep those records close. Secured. It's surprising how much you forget as the years go on." With that advice, he pushed off the desk and walked toward me. He stopped just in front of me, our toes close enough to touch, and just . . . stood there. My heart began to pound as I waited for action - a touch or kiss - some end to the anticipation that lifted goose bumps on my arms. I opted to end the tension myself. "You shouldn't have shielded me when the shots were fired." He offered me an imperious look.
"Ethan, it's my job. I'm supposed to protect you, not the other way around. Luc would have put my head on a pike if you'd taken a hit."
"How do you know I didn't?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. "Did you?" His eyes went to sultry slits. "Do you want to look and see?"
"Not especially." Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Ethan arched an eyebrow and began to lean in. . . . Then he reached around to pluck something from the table behind me. When he pulled back, folder in hand, I rolled my eyes at my reaction. The man just unbalanced me.
He opened the file and began to peruse it, pacing across the floor as he considered its contents. I blew out a breath, relaxing incrementally at the realization that however he might flirt, we really were here on business. Whatever the attraction between us, he was first and foremost a leader of vampires. A knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," Ethan said without glancing up.
The doors opened, but with considerably less fanfare than the last time food had been delivered. After giving me a devilish look, Margot wheeled in a cart sans steel covers. The pizza had been mounted on a footed platter, an army's worth of supplies around it: red chili flakes; grated parmesan cheese; small glass bottles of water; napkins; silverware; wineglasses; and, of course, the wine.
Ethan looked it over. "You did a respectable job of finding dinner this time, Sentinel." I put my hands on my hips and looked over the tray and the plateau of pizza. "Well," I said, "even a born-and-bred Chicagoan needs a break from red hots and double cheeseburgers now and again."
"More's the pity," Margot snickered, and I smiled. I had a pretty good sense that I was going to like that girl. And then I was distracted by chocolate. I pointed at two three-leveled stacks of it in varying shades of brown. "Chocolate cakes?"
"Chocolate mousse cakes," Margot corrected. "A chocolate genoise bottom, topped by layers of milk chocolate mousse and ganache. We're training a new pastry chef, and he wanted to practice his mousse-making skills." She glanced at Ethan expectantly. "Anything else I can do for you, Liege?"
"I believe you've made our Sentinel happy enough for the both of us."
"Very well. Bon appetit," she said, then bowed a little before turning for the doors.
"Thank you, Margot," Ethan said, and she disappeared into the hallway, the doors closing behind her, but the bounty left behind. We had our fill of pizza and ridiculously fabulous wine. Ethan had been right - expensive or not, it paired incredibly well with the saucy, cheesy pizza. By the time Gabriel called, we'd moved to the sitting area, a landline conference phone and our wineglasses on the ottoman between us. I sat cross-legged on the floor, my boots kicked to the side. Ethan sat on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other.
Gabriel hit it out of the park on his first at-bat. "Kitten," he asked, "did Sullivan give you a raise?" I crossed my hands on the table and leaned toward the phone. "Sadly, Gabriel, he did not. I believe my skills are sorely underappreciated."