Midnight Marked (Chicagoland Vampires, #12)(107)

The explosion felt as if the sun had settled onto the roof, and shook the building so hard I nearly lost my footing and was afraid it would crumble to the ground beneath us.

Shrapnel flew across the roof, stabbing into the walls and showering over the sides of the roof. As rock and metal shards rained down around us, I looked up. The sky was clear and dark, the lines of the QE gone.

Freed from the magic Sorcha had wrought, Ethan stumbled forward. I caught him, waited until he’d blinked confusion from his eyes.

“You’re all right?” I asked, helping him find his footing again.

“I’m fine.” He lifted a hand to my face. “You’re all right?”

I thought of Logan, of the decision I’d made. “I will be.”

We were interrupted by screams of frustration.

“No!” Reed shrieked, staring at the remains of the machine that his money had built, and which had ultimately failed him.

He walked to Sorcha, cracked a hand across her face. “What have you done? What have you done? You’ve ruined everything!”

Ethan growled and, before I could stop him, moved toward Reed with the gaze of a very pissed-off alpha male.

Mallory pulled Sorcha away from the fray, her cheek flaming red from Reed’s violence, and kept her still with the threat of magic that percolated in her hand.

As Ethan approached him, Reed looked gratifyingly unsure of his steps. I decided Ethan needed to handle him, and it didn’t take him long. Adrien Reed was a man who’d gained power through others’ work: others’ misery, others’ criminality, others’ fights. When push came to shove, and he had no minions to protect him or magic to back him up, the facade crumbled.

He offered Ethan a couple of testing jabs, but those seemed to be for form. And when Ethan used a right cross—one of his favorite moves—Reed hit the deck.

“And that,” Mallory said, “is how we do it in Chicago.”

? ? ?

My grandfather found me standing over Logan, Ethan standing over Reed, and Mallory standing over Sorcha Reed. We probably all looked happier than we should have been. Well, Mallory and I. Ethan still looked disappointed that Reed hadn’t put up more of a fight, had proven to be the coward we’d suspected.

We walked out of what remained of Towerline’s lobby to screams and applause. In the madness and chaos, humans had encroached on the CPD’s barricades. They’d been kept off the plaza, but they filled Michigan Avenue and celebrated as if the Cubs had won another pennant.

I could understand the enthusiasm.

They probably didn’t understand what they’d seen, or what we’d done. That we’d been protecting ourselves as much as them. But they understood victory, and that we’d been victorious against the magic that had threatened to tear their city apart.

The plaza looked miserable, scattered with steel and glass and broken granite. Reed and Sorcha screamed obscenities as officers escorted them from the building to the car. Logan’s tranq must have worn off, as he shot me nasty looks, so I waved back pleasantly. I wouldn’t be afraid of him anymore.

“You know,” my grandfather said as he joined us, “I don’t think the Reeds are going to enjoy prison. I don’t think they’ll find it up to their standards.”

“No,” Ethan said with a grin, “I suspect you’re right.”

“Robert?” I asked.

“Hospital,” my grandfather said. “He stabilized when the Reeds went down.”

Relief rushed me. “Thank God.”

My grandfather nodded. “Morgan saw him out, fought back a few monsters to keep him safe.”

“He’s got good instincts,” Ethan said. “Only gets into trouble when he ignores them.”

My grandfather looked around at the destruction. “And isn’t that true of all of us?”

Then he shifted his gaze back to us, smiled. “You did good tonight, kids. Good by Chicago, good by your family, good by your House. I’m proud of both of you.”

The weight of disappointing him dissipated, replaced by the warm glow of approval. “Thanks, Grandpa,” I said, and, when he pointed to his cheek, leaned forward to press a kiss there.

“I’m going to get the paperwork started,” he said, then glanced back at the building and whistled. “And attempt to mollify your father.”

“Actually, Chuck, you might want to wait for a moment.”

I looked back at Ethan, surprised at the comment, and found him staring at me, his gaze utterly serious.

“Are you all right?”

“I am,” he said. “More right than I’ve been in many, many years.” He put his hands on my face. “You are the bravest person I have ever known.”

“You aren’t so bad yourself,” I said with a grin, but Ethan’s expression stayed serious.

“What?” I asked, afraid for a moment that he’d been hurt or someone else had. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, his thumb tracing a line across my cheek as he stared down at me. “I am precisely where I should be.”

And there, in the middle of the broken plaza, Ethan Sullivan went down on one knee. He stared up at me with eyes wide with love and pride and masculine satisfaction. He held out a hand, and I put my fingers in his palm.