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

“Treated?”

“Your arm,” he said.

Those two words were enough to remind me of the wound and send it throbbing again.

“Ah. Right.”

He crooked a finger at me, and I fell into step behind him as we took the stairs to the House’s first floor.

The first floor was as lush as the basement was utilitarian. The scent of peonies and roses filled the air from an arrangement on a gorgeous antique table, which complemented the gorgeous woodwork, expensive rugs, and priceless artwork.

There was a desk in the foyer now, where a Novitiate vampire dealt with the supplicants who now requested an audience with Ethan. As one of the twelve members of the Assembly of American Masters, they looked to him for help, advice, and arbitration of disputes.

Ethan acknowledged them before directing me to his office, which was as luxe as the rest of the House. There was thick carpet, an imposing desk, and a comfortable sitting area with leather club chairs. Bookshelves lined the left side of the room, and an enormous conference table spread across the back in front of a bank of windows. They were open now, and would be shuttered automatically when the sun began to rise.

At the moment, the room was full of vampires. Malik, Ethan’s second-in-command, leaned against Ethan’s desk. He was dressed in the Cadogan uniform—fitted black suit, white button-down shirt that contrasted against his dark skin and pale green eyes.

Luc, the House’s guard captain, had tousled blond hair and the face and body of a well-practiced cowboy. He’d been excused from the House’s black-suit dress code. He wore jeans, boots, and a T-shirt with CADOGAN HOUSE GUARD CORPS printed in a circle across the front, the image of a bacon rasher in the middle. SAVIN’ YOUR BACON SINCE 1883 was printed across it. He’d created the design because, to quote him, “nothing fuels a vampire like a good rasher.”

His girlfriend and fellow guard, Lindsey, stood beside him. She was pretty, blond, fashion-conscious, and a very good friend. Tonight, she’d paired neon yellow stilettos with her House uniform. Matched with the jaunty high ponytail and small neon earrings, she added a little flair to the otherwise unrelieved black.

Juliet, another House guard, stood nearby with a bottle of green juice in hand. She was petite and looked delicate, with cream and roses skin and red hair, but she was a ferocious and determined fighter.

She’d recently decided “juicing” would further enhance her butt-kicking abilities, and she’d tried to foist one of her liquid kale concoctions on me. I declined to drink anything that looked like lawn clippings. Besides, if I wasn’t pumping my body with trans fats, I wasn’t fully utilizing my immortality.

When we stepped into the doorway, the vampires took in my blood-spattered T-shirt and bandage and Ethan’s own ripped and bloodied T-shirt.

“You two can’t even go to a damn sporting event without trouble,” Luc said.

“I grabbed shirts for you,” Lindsey said, offering folded black cotton to me and Ethan. “Fresh from the swag room.”

“You aren’t technically a Guard,” Luc said to me, “but since you just took another shot on behalf of your House and Master, we figured you deserved one.”

“That, and the fact that I train and work with you guys?”

Luc winked at me. “That helps.”

“What’s the House record for gunshots?” I asked.

“Five,” Ethan said. He’d walked behind his desk, was scanning his computer screen. “Peter had that prize. Would that he’d been here for a sixth,” he muttered, undoubtedly angry that he couldn’t deliver that sixth shot.

Peter was a former Cadogan Guard who’d betrayed the House for Celina Desaulniers, the former Master of Navarre House.

Given the night we’d had, I was determined to keep the mood light. “And what’s the prize for beating the record?”

“House arrest,” Ethan said. He glanced up, smiled thinly. “And you wouldn’t enjoy that, Sentinel.”

No argument there.

“Am I late?” A woman with dark skin and dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and wearing pink scrubs stood in the doorway. Delia was the House’s doctor.

“You’re right on time,” Ethan said. “Your patient awaits.”

“Patient?” I asked.

“Treatment, Sentinel. Your wound should be addressed.”

I didn’t like the way that sounded, especially since my arm was already itchy with healing. “I’m fine.”

Delia walked toward me, a tray in her hands. “Hello, Merit. How are you?”

“Hello, Delia. I’m fine.”

“Got shot again, did you?”

“I did. Although I didn’t pass out this time.” The last time, I’d hit my head and been knocked unconscious.

“That’s something at least.” She put the tray on Ethan’s desk, then walked to the sink in the small bar in the bookshelves, washed her hands to the elbow. I appreciated the effort, even if it seemed unlikely a vampire would die of sepsis.

With cool and careful fingers, she lifted my arm, surveyed the bandage before glancing back at Ethan, taking in the ripped shirt. “Homemade bandage?”

“Make-do,” he agreed. “We were chasing a suspect.”

“Again,” Luc said, “only you, too.”