“Now, this is the kind of kitchen a Novitiate vampire deserves,” I approvingly said, taking in the sights and sounds and smells.

“Margot?” Ethan asked aloud. One of the chefs smiled back at him, said something in French, and pointed farther into the kitchen. Ethan bobbed his head at her, took the pizza box from my hand, and started down the aisle between the chefs’ stations. He said hello to the men and women along the way; since I didn’t know any of them, I offered polite smiles as I passed.

I also didn’t know Ethan spoke French.

But I did, of course, know Margot. She sat on a stool beside a giant slab of marble, watching as a young man with dark hair rolled out dough on the floured marble.

“Watch your pressure,” she said before lifting her gaze and smiling at Ethan.

“Liege,” she said, hopping off her stool. “What brings you and”—she slid her gaze my way, measuring whom Ethan had brought into her lair, then offered me a sly smile—“Merit to my neck of the mansion?”

Ethan placed the pizza box on a clean spot of counter. “Merit and I will be waiting on a call in my rooms. Could you arrange this and deliver it upstairs with some plates and silverware?”

She arched a curious eyebrow, then lifted the pizza box, her lips twisting into a smile. “Saul’s Best,” she said fondly, one hand over her heart. “He got me through culinary school. And given our culinary history to date, I’m assuming, Liege, that our Sentinel had some input on this choice?”

“It’s not my usual fare,” he agreed.

Margot winked at me. “In that case, excellent choice, Merit.”

I smiled back.

Margot closed the box again, then clapped her hands together. “Well, let’s get this going. Something to drink, Liege? You still haven’t opened the bottle of Château Mouton Rothschild you picked up in Paris.”

Being a Merit, and having been raised by my father to appreciate the difference between Cabernet and Riesling, I knew she was talking about high-dollar wine . . . and pairing it with junk food. “You want to drink a Mouton Rothschild with pizza?”

Ethan looked amused. “I’m surprised at you, Sentinel. Given your diet, I’d have thought you’d appreciate the combination. And we are in Chicago, after all. What better to drink with Chicago’s finest than something nice from France?”

A girl couldn’t argue with logic like that.

“The Rothschild is fine,” Ethan said, putting his hand at my back to turn me toward the door again. “Merit is hungry, so all due haste would be appreciated.”

Since he was right, I spared him a sarcastic retort, but I couldn’t stop myself from glancing back to check Margot’s expression. It didn’t look good: arched eyebrow, crossed arms, and much-too-curious stare.

I was so going to hear about this later.

I sat my scabbard carefully on a side table.

“Make yourself at home,” Ethan said, “such as it is.” He slipped off his jacket, flipped it around like a matador’s cape, and placed it carefully on the back of a desk chair.

When he plucked his PDA off the desktop and began to thumb through it, I took the opportunity to give the room another perusal. It was, after all, a record of Ethan’s four-hundred-year existence. If the stuff didn’t give some clue to the puzzle that was Ethan Sullivan, I wasn’t sure what would.

Hands behind my back, I walked to the wall opposite the Fabergé egg, where an embroidered heraldic crest was mounted in a cherrywood frame. The crest bore an oak tree with red acorns, a symbol I’d seen before.

I pointed to it, then glanced back at him. Ethan stood with one hand on the back of the chair, his BlackBerry in the other.

“This is the same crest that’s on the shield in the Sparring Room?”

He glanced up, nodded, and turned back to his PDA. “It’s my family crest. From Sweden.”

“What was your name?” I asked. Morgan had once told me that vampires switched identities every sixty or so years in order to keep from arousing too much human suspicion when they failed to age like their friends and families. “Ethan Sullivan” was his current name, but I assumed he hadn’t been born to that name—not in Sweden nearly four hundred years ago.

“My family name was Andresen,” he said, thumbs clicking at the keys. “I was born Jakob Andresen.”

“Siblings?”

He smiled wistfully. “Three sisters—Elisa, Annika, and Berit—although I was often away from them. I was in the army—a man-at-arms before our lieutenant asked me to run an errand. When I came back, information about our opponents’ positions in hand, he promoted me.”

Apparently done with his messages, Ethan placed the PDA on the desktop, slid his hands into his pockets, and glanced up at me. “I was an artillery captain when my time came.”

Ethan wasn’t usually this talkative about his past, so I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him my full attention. “When you were killed?”

“When I was changed,” he corrected. He gestured toward a spot at the crux of his left shoulder and neck. “An arrow at dusk. Night fell, and the vampires emerged, stripping the battlefield of blood, including my own. It was easy to come by on a battlefield, of course, not that they were particular. 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 appétit,” 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.

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.”

“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.”

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.

As I looked at him now, I saw the knowledge in his eyes. He knew what I’d remembered, but also that the memory wasn’t going to change my mind. “You are so stubborn.”

I gave him a pointed look. “You’ve always known that. You’ve known who I am from the very beginning.”

“I know you aren’t the same as the rest of them.”

“I wasn’t made like the rest of them,” I pointed out. “I didn’t ask to become one of your vampires. I became a vampire because you chose to make me one.”

“And what, Sentinel, did I make you?”

The room was silent for a moment, until I lifted my eyes to his. I wondered what he saw in mine as he stared back. Did he see the same, strong desire, tempered by my own hesitation?

“Did I make you strong?” he asked. “Did I make you capable?”

A corner of my lip lifted. “I am who I am. You just made me vampire.”

While I still had the strength to do it, I took a few steps backward. “We aren’t far to dawn. I should probably head to my room. Did you need me for anything else?”

“I need you for many things.”

Oh, but it was so easy to be flattered by the thought that a man so intensely handsome wanted me so fiercely. Of course, that was exactly the problem. “You want me for physical satisfaction.”

When I got no response, I glanced up at him again, thinking my flippancy had angered him. But there was no anger in his eyes, just liquid, rich quicksilver—the color of hunger.

My spine tingled, not just with arousal, but with something baser—a kind of vampiric appreciation, an interest in whatever game we were beginning to play.

The question was, was I prepared to lose?

He moved forward and took my hand, then joined our fingers together, raising our linked hands between us. “You would be worth any cost.”

“Whether I’m worth it isn’t the question.” My voice was lush and low, and surprised me with its depth. Apparently the bravado I’d been faking with Lindsey hadn’t been all a show—as a vampire, I had plenty of confidence in my feminine wiles. And, more important, I would be the one to decide whether he was worthy of my attentions.

“Why do you doubt me?”

“Because we’ve had this conversation before. At Mallory’s. In the library.”

“I am beginning to remember—” He stopped, shook his head, then started again. “I am beginning to remember what it means to need things. Laughter. Companionship. Love.” He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to mine. “And I need you, Merit.”

I swallowed. Those were words I hadn’t expected to hear, hadn’t been prepared to hear. I want you, sure. I desire you, maybe. But not need—not the admission of it, of the weakness he connoted with it. That simple, four-letter word laid me bare, stripping away the defenses I’d so carefully constructed.

“Ethan.” My voice was barely a whisper, barely enough to push through the thick silence, but there was still warning in my tone.

A warning he ignored.

That was when he moved—when he reached up, cupped my face in his hands, and pressed his lips to mine. He stayed there, his mouth on mine, for a long time, before he finally drew away. But he kept his hands on my cheeks and kept his shining eyes on my face.

“You undo me, Merit. Wholly and completely. You don’t take me at my word. You challenge me at every opportunity. And that means when I’m with you, I am less than the head of this House . . . and I am more than the head of this House. I am a man.” He stroked my cheeks with his thumbs. “In my very, very long life, I need you more than I have ever needed anything.”

This time, I didn’t wait for him to move.