Biting Cold: A Chicagoland Vampires Novel (CHICAGOLAND VAMPIRES SERIES)

whose eyes were closed in relief.
    “She’s gone,” he said. “Oh, thank God, she’s gone.”
    Thank God , I thought, a silent prayer to whoever might be listening, and wrapped my arms around him. He embraced me.
    “She’s gone,” he said again.
    “So I heard. Congratulations.” For both of us , I thought.
    “You were amazing. A sight to behold. And the swing set was inspired.”
    “I had a good teacher.”
    “And don’t you forget it,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to my temple.
    “She meant me,” Catcher said. “Vampires are so arrogant.”
    I couldn’t help but smile. Maybe things could finally get back to normal around here. Whatever that might be.

C HAPTER T WENTY-FOUR

    EXODUS
    W hile the ballot box was being filled below us, we celebrated the end of drama with SuperDawgs, fries, and the chocolate-covered cherries Margot brought me as congratulations for felling an evil foe.
    Ethan growled happily as I sat across his lower back, rubbing his shoulders. He’d decided he needed a shoulder rub after dinner to erase away all that he’d been through. Since “all he’d been through” had been my idea, I didn’t think I had much room to argue.
    I kneaded his shoulders carefully, then trailed my fingertips down his back and up his spine again.
    Oh, Merit .
    I froze. “You just called my name.”
    “No, I didn’t. You’re hearing things.”
    “No, not aloud. In your mind. I heard you.”
    I crawled off him, and he flipped over again.
    You can really hear me?
    I smiled at him . I can indeed . “Maybe you didn’t lose the ability to speak silently. Maybe Mallory’s magic just interfered with the frequency or something.”
    Ethan’s smile blossomed. It clearly meant a lot to him to be able to converse with his Novitiates—and more that the power he’d had for so long hadn’t been lost to him forever. I believe this calls for a celebration .
    We have chocolate-covered cherries , I reminded him.
    I was thinking something a bit more physically taxing , he silently intoned, and then he pounced, his fingers trailing the sensitive skin at my hips until I was wiggling and squealing in a really unflattering way.
    I hated being tickled.
    But I’d power through it.
    I dreamt of Ethan, but the dream wasn’t a harbinger of grief . . . it was ecstasy. He found me on a boardwalk beside a vast blue sea and we danced until the sun lifted above the sky, my skirt of liquid black silk flowing around us. Boats with huge white sails bobbed upon the water, dancing around our island retreat as we spun to the melody of a song I couldn’t hear.
    I woke to the sound of a light tap on the door with a smile on my face. Ethan was still asleep; the automatic shutters still covered the windows.
    I unlocked the door and peeked into the hallway. It was quiet and empty, but a silver tray sat on the floor just outside the door.
    “What is this?” I quietly asked, holding the door open with a foot while I picked up the tray and brought it inside. I sat it down on a table near the door and looked it over. Two pastries. A cup of coffee and a cup of hot chocolate, both still steaming. Orange juice, cutlery, and a tidily folded newspaper.
    “This, I could get used to,” I murmured, picking up the paper.
    “Talking to yourself, Sentinel?”
    “Just ruminating on how much Margot spoils you. Pastries and coffee, delivered nightly?”
    “A man cannot live on meat and potatoes alone. What’s in the news?”
    I glanced down at the paper. “Sex. Violence. Rock and roll.”
    Ethan was already out of bed and on his way over. That he was half-naked—clad only in thigh-hugging boxer briefs—was even more distracting than you’d expect.
    He grabbed a pastry and took a bite.
    “I’m going to take a shower,” he said, then turned and walked away. I appreciated the view and also got a pretty good look at the dark tattoo that marked the back of his calf.
    “Hey, what does the tattoo mean?”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, then stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
    It was worth a shot.
    It wasn’t until I’d dressed and rebelted my katana that I saw the small burgundy box that sat on the bed. It was bound in a white silken ribbon and topped with a perfect bow.
    “Ethan Sullivan,” I murmured. “What did you do?” My heart thudded in anticipation.
    I picked it up and shook it gently. Something moved around in there, and I didn’t hear any obvious ticking. I pulled off