"I have trouble believing that's true, Kitten. But vampires are vampires." I had a feeling shifters used that phrase quite often, and not flatteringly. But when I glanced up at Ethan, he wore a look of amusement. He had one bent elbow on the chair back, his chin between his thumb and forefinger. His head was tilted, his smile crooked and kind of drowsy, as if he were actually . . . relaxed.
"Any developments in the investigation?" he asked.
"Nothing I wanted to know about. Tony's bike was found about a half mile from the bar. The forensic team has it now. The Ombud is serving as liaison. He let us know the CPD's testing it for gunpowder residue, that kind of thing."
Ethan frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"You and me both," Gabe said. "This meeting is supposed to be about plotting out a new course for shifters, not tired, old attitudes." He sighed audibly. "Ah, well. Shit is what it is, right?"
"That's what we hear," Ethan said. "So I assume that means Tony has been bumped up to the top of the suspect list?"
"That would appear to be the case. It complicates things, of course. Endangering alphas isn't looked highly upon, as you might imagine. I don't want to bring the Packs together with that kind of sword above our heads, but we may not have a choice."
"Have you settled on a location for the convocation?"
"We have. We'll be at St. Bridget's Cathedral. It's here in the neighborhood." I couldn't stop the words from popping out of my mouth. "St. Bridget's? You're meeting at a church?"
"We are indeed, Sentinel. Did you think shape-shifters were on the outs with all things holy?" A blush warmed my cheeks at the chastisement. "Of course not. It's just . . . Well, it's a church. It's not the first place that comes to mind." Especially as the location for a meeting of, as Gabriel had put it, hog-loving and Jack-drinking bikers.
"Fewer prying eyes and less collateral damage," Gabriel said. "Sullivan, I don't know what you'd like to see beforehand; I can have my people send Luc the building specs, that kind of thing."
"Fine by me," Ethan agreed. "I assume that's all you need from us tonight?"
"Actually, it isn't." Gabriel paused for a moment, long enough for Ethan to offer me a look of curiosity. I shrugged.
"I appreciate what you did tonight - both of you. You volunteered to jump into a conflict that isn't yours, and I can't thank Merit enough for what she did with Berna. She took a risk - took a chance - to protect her. You did good, Kitten. You did real good." I smiled earnestly back at the phone. "Thank you, sir."
"Anywho, we've got a Pack social gathering tomorrow night. Jeff suggested you two might be interested in joining us - meeting a few more of the Keenes, getting a sense of who we are as a group. Partly, it's a thank-you. And I don't think we'll have the same kind of security issues to worry about." I glanced up from the phone to Ethan to gauge his reaction. His eyes were wide with surprise, his lips curled into a very self-satisfied grin. "We'd be honored, Gabriel. Thank you for the invitation."
"Well, good. One small issue - we'll be at the Brecks'. They have a large house, as you know, so there's room to hold us all."
There was an awkward pause. "And how are things between you and the Brecks?" I asked.
That prompted an even longer pause. "They've offered to host the potluck to help mend the fence," he said. "Beyond that, it's between the Brecks and the Pack. Is the location going to cause any discomfort for you?"
At my reassuring nod, Ethan offered, "We'll be fine."
"Good to hear it. Ten p.m. tomorrow. I'm out."
With that, he hung up.
Ethan reached forward and tapped a button on the phone, then looked at me. "Back into the den, I suppose?"
"It looks that way. I wonder if this will be our chance to mend fences with the Brecks - "
"Or if we'll irritate them further by crashing a shifter party?"
"That had occurred to me," I agreed. "Either way, there's only one thing to do about it now." I unkinked my legs and stood up again. Ethan smiled lightly. "Two or three centuries of peace?"
"Well, that, sure. But I was thinking chocolate mousse." I'd somehow become Ethan's culinary guide to Chicago. I'd gotten him to eat deep-dish pizza, to try Chicago-style hot dogs, and to dive into a double bacon cheeseburger. I wasn't sure I could take credit for the chocolate since Margot put the tray together, but I figured my sheer enthusiasm counted for something. While Ethan called Luc to advise him that Gabriel would be forwarding convocation materials, I plated up the chocolate cakes. When the columns of chocolate - from the cake layer to the pillowy mousse to the deep chocolate top - stood in the middle of crisp, white dessert plates, I grabbed two silver forks. I turned to carry the plates back to the sitting area, but he was already standing behind me. I offered up a plate and fork, and pricked the tip of it into the top of the dessert, piercing through the layers.
I happened to glance up at him as I prepared to take a bite, and found his gaze on me, his head tilted, a softness in his eyes.
"What?" I asked.
A corner of his mouth tipped up. "You probably don't want to know."
"Ha," I said, assuming his thoughts were lascivious, then lifted the tiers of velvet brown to my lips. I closed my eyes as I reveled in it. It truly was chocolate heaven, and Margot was a goddess.
"Good?" he asked, his voice so low and slow, I wasn't sure he was asking about the dessert. I told myself to focus on the dense taste of chocolate, and not on the question in his tone.
When I opened my eyes again, he was still looking at me, his eyes crystal pools of green.
"What?" I asked.
He arched up a sardonic eyebrow.
I shook my head. "Chocolate or no chocolate, we're not doing that." Ethan humphed, then stepped forward. "You missed a little," he said, raising his hand to my face. His fingers at my jaw, he swept his thumb across my lips. And while we stood there, staring at each other, he lifted his thumb to his own beautiful mouth and sucked away the chocolate. My lips parted. Although my very skin was on fire and my lips felt swollen from his touch, I managed to whisper, "You aren't playing fair."
"I'm not playing, Sentinel."
For a moment, we stood silently, neither of us responding to the obvious invitation. Ethan took the plate and fork from my hands and placed them on the cart. Then he took my hand and pressed it to his chest, to the crisp cotton of his shirt. His heart thudded beneath my palm, his blood racing beneath my fingertips. I had a sudden memory of the blood we'd shared - me on my old bed in Mallory's house, Ethan on his knees before me, his wrist offered to sustain me through the rest of the change. But even half crazed from the bloodlust, I'd rejected it. I couldn't drink; I wasn't ready to take that step, especially not with him. Sharing blood had seemed too intimate a thing to do with someone I was already conflicted about. But then he'd carefully bitten his own wrist and offered it again. And while his control was usually momentous, he had surrendered and allowed me to see the silvering of his eyes. He had allowed me to see his want, his desire. That was enough for me. I'd gripped his arm and brought his wrist to my lips. I drank - for the first time really, truly drank - and while I fed my fevered need we stayed there together beneath an arc of hunger and desire and lust strong enough to electrify the air. The memory hit me like a freight train, and I yanked back my hand, shocked by its intensity.