Authors: Chloe Neill

Drink Deep (3 page)

He held out his hand. “Trust me,” he said. “And keep your knees soft when you land.”

It was the certainty in his eyes that did it—the confidence that I could achieve the goal. Once upon a time, I’d have seen suspicion in his gaze. Jonah hadn’t been a fan when we’d first met. But circumstances had forced us together, and whatever his initial doubts, he’d apparently learned to trust me.

Now was a good time to make good on that trust.

I held out my hand and death-gripped his fingers in mine. “Soft knees,” I repeated.

“You only have to take a step,” he said.

I looked over at him, ready to “Roger” my agreement. But before I could open my mouth, he winked and took a step, pulling me along with him. Before I could protest, we were airborne.

The first step was bone-chillingly awful—the sudden sensation of the ground—and our security—disappearing beneath us, a sickening lurch that flipped my stomach and shuddered through my entire body. My heart jumped into my throat, although that at least kept me from screaming out a bubble of fear.

But that’s when it got good.

After the nasty initial drop (
really
nasty—I can’t stress that enough), the rest of the journey wasn’t much like falling at all. It felt more like hopping down a staircase—if the distance between each tread was a lot longer. I couldn’t have been in the air for more than three or four seconds, but time actually seemed to slow down, the city decelerating around me as I took a step to the ground. I hit the ground in a crouch, one hand on the sidewalk, with no more impact than if I’d simply jumped up.

My transition to vampi heion to re had been scattershot, and my abilities had come “online” slowly enough that it still surprised me when I was able to do something the first time around. This move would have killed me a year ago, but now it left me feeling kind of invigorated. Jumping nine stories to the ground without a broken bone or bruise? That was a home run in my book.

“You’ve got hops,” Jonah said.

I glanced over at him through my bangs. “That was phenomenal.”

“I told you it would be.”

I stood up and straightened the hem of my leather jacket. “You did tell me. But the next time you throw me off a building, I will bring the pain.”

He smiled teasingly, which made my heart flutter uncomfortably. “In that case, I
think
we have a deal.”

“You ‘think’? You couldn’t just agree not to throw me off a building?”

“What fun would that be?” Jonah asked, then turned and headed down the street. I let him get a few paces ahead before following behind, that teasing look he’d given me still in mind.

And I’d thought the first step off the roof had been nerve-wracking.

Cadogan House was located in Hyde Park, a subdivision south of downtown Chicago. It was also home to the University of Chicago, whose grad school I’d been attending when I’d been made a vampire. Ethan had changed me, beginning my transformation only seconds after I’d been attacked by a rogue vamp—one not tied to a particular House—sent by Celina Desaulniers. She was the narcissistic vamp I’d staked just moments after Ethan had been killed; she’d sent the rogue to kill me to piss off my father. As I’d later discovered, my real estate–peddling father had offered Ethan money to make me a vampire. Ethan declined the offer, and Celina had been miffed by my father’s refusal to make the same offer to her.

The girl was a piece of work.

Anywho, Ethan named me Sentinel of the House. To help protect the House, and to avoid listening to Mallory’s midnight (and noon . . . and six a.m. . . . and six p.m.) romantic escapades with Catcher, I moved into Cadogan.

The House had all the basics—kitchen, workout room, an Operations Room where guards kept an eye on the House, and dormlike rooms for about ninety of the three hundred Cadogan vampires. My room was on the second floor. It wasn’t huge and it wasn’t lush, but it was a respite from the drama of being a vampire in Chicago. It had a bed, bookcase, closet, and small bathroom. Plus, it was just down the hall from a kitchen loaded with junk food and bagged blood provided by our awfully named delivery service, Blood4You.

I parked my orange Volvo a few blocks up, then hiked back to the House. It glowed in the darkness of Hyde Park, new security floodlights—installed when the House was renovated after an attack by growly shape-shifters—pouring across the grounds. The neighbors groused about the floodlights until they considered the consequences of
not
having them—the protection darkness would afford supernatural trespassers.

The House was relatively quiet tonight, a band of protesters snuggled into blankets on the grass between the sidewalk and the wrought iron gate that surrounded the House. Their numbers were down from the masses that had swarmed the grass before Mayor Tate had been stripped of his office, arraigned, and imprisoned in an undisclosed location. The change in leadership had calmed down the city’s voters.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t calmed down the politicians. Diane Kowalczyk, the woman who’d replaced Tate, had her eye on the oval office, and she was using Chicago’s supernaturals to prop up her future campaign. She was a big supporter of the proposed supernatural registration law, which would require all sups to register our powers and carry identification papers. We’d also have to check in every time we entered or left the state.

Most sups hated the idea. It was antithetical to being American, and it sang of discrimination. Sure, some of us were dangerous, but that was true of humans, as well. Would human Chicagoans have supported a law that required them to prove their identity to anyone who asked? I doubted it.

The humans who’d decided we were all untrustworthy dedicated their evenings to letting us know just how much they hated us. Sadly, some of the protestors were beginning to look familiar. In particular, I recognized a young couple—a boy and girl who couldn’t have been more than sixteen, and who’d once chanted hateful words at me and Ethan.

Yes, I had fangs. Daylight was lethal, as were aspen stakes and beheadings. Blood was a necessity, but so were chocolate and diet soda. I wasn’t undead; I just wasn’t human. So I’d decided that if I acted normal and was polite, I could slowly challenge their preconceptions about vampires.

Chicago’s Houses also were getting better about challenging misinformation. There was even a bulletin board in Wrigleyville with a picture of four diverse, smiling vampires beneath the words COME ON OVER! The billboard was supposed to be an invitation to get to know Chicago’s Houses. Tonight, it was a reason for forlorn-looking teenagers to wield hand-painted COME ON OVER—AND DIE! posters.

I smiled politely as I passed them, then held up the two gingham bags of burgers and crinkle-cut fries. “Dinnertime!” I cheerfully announced.

I was greeted at the gate by two of the mercenary fairies who controlled access to the Cadogan House grounds. They offered the merest of nods as I passed, then turned their attention back to the street. Fairies were notoriously antivampire, but they were even more antihuman. Cash payments from the House for their security services kept that balance.

I hopped the steps to the portico and headed inside, where I was greeted by a knot of vampires staring at the wall where Frank had been hanging his declarations.

“Welcome to the jungle,” said a voice behind me.

I turned to find Juliet, one of the remaining Cadogan guards, watching the vamps with a forlorn look. She was slender and redheaded, and had an elfish look about her.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“More rules,” she said, gesturing to the wall. “Three new additions to the wall of shame. Frank has decided vampires are not to congregate together in groups larger than ten other than in officially sanctioned gatherings.”

“All the better to revolt against the GP?” I wondered.

“I guess. Apparently ‘freedom of assembly’ isn’t one of the GP’s favorite rights.”

“How very colonial,” I muttered. “What’s the second?”

Her expression went flat. “He’s rationing blood.”

I was so stunned by the idea it took me a moment to gather my wits. “We’re
vampires
. We need blood to survive.”

She looked disdainfully at the paper-dotted wall. “Oh, I know. But Frank, in his infinite wisdom, decided Ethan spoiled us by having bagged blood too readily available. He’s cutting the Blood4You deliveries.”

Although we usually drank bagged blood, Cadogan was one of the few vampire Houses in the United States—and the only one in Chicago—that allowed its vampires to drink blood from humans or other vamps. The other Houses had abolished the practice to better assimilate with humans. Personally, I had taken blood from only one man—Ethan—but I could appreciate that the option was available.

“Better us than Grey House,” I mused. “At least we have other sources.”

“Not this time,” Juliet said. “He’s also banned drinking.”

That idea was equally preposterous—but for a different reason. “Ethan made that rule,” I protested. “And Malik confirmed it. Frank doesn’t have the power—”

But Juliet cut me off with a shrug. “It’s part of his evaluation, he says. A test to see how well we handle our hunger.”

“He’s setting us up for failure,” I quietly said, looking over the crowd of vamps, now chattering nervously. “There’s no way we’ll make it through a receivership, two months after losing our Master and with protestors at the gates, without someone freaking out from lack of blood.” I looked back at her. “He’ll use that as an excuse to take over the House, or close it altogether.”

“Quite possibly. Has he scheduled your interview yet?”

Not surprisingly, Frank had required each vamp to participate in a private interview. From what I’d heard, the interviews were fairly standard “justify your existence” deals. I was one of the few vamps he hadn’t yet spoken to. Not that I was bummed, but each day that passed without an interview made me that much more suspicious.

“Still nothing,” I told her.

“Maybe it’s a show of respect or something. Trying to respect Ethan’s memory by not interviewing you first?”

“I doubt our relationship would sway the GP’s evaluation of the House. Maybe it’s strategic—he’s holding out so I anticipate the conversation, worry about it.” I held up my dinner. “At least I have comfort food.”

“And speaking of which, it’s a good thing you brought that in.”

“Why?”

“The third rule: Frank has banned convenience food in the kitchens.”

Strike three for Frank. “What’s his rationale for that one?”

“It’s unhealthy, overly processed, and expensive, he says. It’s all apples and cabbage and granola in there right now.”

Because I’m a vampire with an appetite, that almost hurt more than anything else Frank had done.

Juliet checked her watch. “Well, I should get back to it. You heading upstairs to eat?”

“Luc and Malik wanted to talk, and I promised I’d bring grub. What are you up to?”

She gestured toward the stairs that led to the House’s basement level, where the Ops Room was located. “Just finished a shift on the monitors.” She meant the closed-caption televisions that captured security footage from the House grounds.

“Anything newsworthy?”

She rolled her eyes. “People hate us, blah blah blah, wish we’d go straight to hell, or maybe Wisconsin, since it’s closer, blah blah blah.”

“Same old, same old?”

“Pretty much. If Celina thought outing vampires was going to usher in a happy vampire fairy tale, she was sorely mistaken.”

“Celina was mistaken on a number of fronts,” I said.

“That is true,” she softly said, and I caught the hint of pity in her voice. But pity was as exhausting to bear as grief, so I changed the subject.

“Any sign of McKetrick?” I asked. McKetrick, first name unknown, was a military type who’d decided vampires were the republic’s new enemy. He had black gear, combat weapons, and a strong desire to clean us all out of the city. He’d harangued Ethan and me one evening and promised we’d be seeing more of him. There’d been a couple of sightings since then, and I’d gotten a few more details about his military background from Catcher—think questionable tactics and chain of command issues—but if he had a master plan for vampirocide, he hadn’t yet made it clear.

I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better, or worse.

“Not even a ruffle.” She tilted her head to the side. “What were you up to outside?”

“Out. Working out, I mean.” I stumbled a little on the explanation, as I hadn’t yet confessed to the guards that I’d been working with Jonah. Our time together had been triggered by our Red Guard connection, and that secret wasn’t mine to tell, so I’d avoided the subject of Jonah altogether.

One more lie woven into the already tangled web.

“It’s always good to stay in shape,” Juliet said with a wink.

A wink that suggested I hadn’t been so sneaky after all.

“Well, it’s been a long night,” she said. “I’m going to head upstairs.”

“Juliet,” I called out, before she’d gotten too far. “Have you ever jumped?”

“Jumped?” she asked with a frown. “Like in the air?”

“Like off a building.”

“I have.” Understanding dawned in her eyes. “Why, Sentinel—did you make your first landing tonight?”

“I did, yeah.”

“Congratulations,” she said. “Just be careful that you don’t go too far or fall too fast.”

Words to live by.

Frank had co-opted Malik’s office—the office that had once belonged to Ethan. Malik had barely had two weeks in the room before Frank arrived and announced he needed the space to evaluate the House.

Malik—tall, cocoa-skinned and green-eyed—was deliberative. He picked his battles carefully, so he’d deferred and moved back into his old office down the hall.

It wasn’t large; the room was nearly filled by Malik’s desk, shelves of books and personal mementos. But the small size didn’t keep us from meeting there regularly. Bound together by our grief, we were more likely to be crammed into the office in our spare time than anywhere else in the House.

Tonight, Malik and Luc sat on opposite sides of a chess set atop Malik’s desk, and Lindsey sat cross-llle sat cregged on the floor a few feet away, magazine in hand.

Malik’s wife, Aaliyah—petite, gorgeous, and as humble as they came—joined us on occasion, but she was absent tonight. Aaliyah was a writer who spent more time in their apartment than out of it. I could completely understand the urge to hunker down and avoid vampire drama.

Luc, now House Second and former captain of the Cadogan guards, was blond, tousle-haired, and laid back. He’d been born and raised in the wild west, and I assumed he’d been made a vampire at the barrel of a gun. Luc had pined for Lindsey, my House BFF and a fellow guard who’d apparently stolen some time away from the Ops Room tonight.

Their relationship had been stop and go for a long time, albeit more “stop” than “go.” She’d been afraid a relationship would lead to a breakup, and a breakup would destroy their friendship. Despite her initial commitment-phobia, craving comfort after Ethan’s death, she’d finally agreed to give Luc a chance.

I’d spent the first week after his death in a haze in my room, Mallory at my side. When I’d finally emerged and Mal had gone home again, Lindsey showed up at my door in a total tizzy. She’d gone to Luc in her grief, and consolation had turned to affection—a supportive embrace to a passionate kiss that totally rocked her socks (or so she said). That kiss hadn’t erased her doubts, but she’d belayed her fears enough to give him a chance.

Luc, of course, felt completely vindicated.

“Sentinel,” Luc said, fingers hovering over one of the black knights, apparently debating his options. “I smell those burgers, and you’d better have brought enough for everyone.”

Decision made, he plucked up the knight, set it down heavily in its new position, then raised his arms in the air triumphantly. “And so we advance!” he said, winging up his eyebrows at Malik. “You got a response to that?”

“I’m sure I’ll figure something out,” Malik said, his gaze now fixed on the board, scanning left to right as he calculated odds and evaluated his options. The chess game had become a weekly ritual, a way—or so I’d guessed—for Malik and Luc to exert some minimal control over their lives while the GP’s talking head sat a few yards down the hallway, deciding their fate.

I put the bags of food onto the desk, pulled out bacon-laced burgers for me and Lindsey, and took a seat beside her on the floor.

“So,” I said, folding down the burger’s paper wrapping. “Blood rationing?”

Luc and Malik growled simultaneously.

“The man is a stone-cold idiot,” Luc said, taking an impressive bite of his triple-layer burger.

“Unfortunately,” Malik said, moving his chess piece and sitting back in his chair, “he is an idiot with the full authority of the GP.”

“Which means we have to wait until he royally screws the pooch before we can act,” Luc said, hunched over the board again. “All due respect, Liege, the guy is a douche.”

“I have no official position with respect to his douchery,” Malik said, pulling a box of fries out of the bag, applying a prodigious amount of ketchup, and digging in. I appreciated that Malik, unlike Ethan, didn’t need to be schooled on Chicago’s best and greasiest cuisine. He knew the difference between a red hot and a hot beef, had a favorite pizza joint, and had been known to take a late-night trip with Aaliyah to a roadside dinerme adside outside Milwaukee to get Wisconsin’s “best cheese curds.” More power to them.

“But we will allow him to hang himself with his own rope,” Malik added. “And in the meantime, we will monitor the vampires and intervene when the time is appropriate.”

The tone was all Master vampire, something Malik had gotten better at using over the last few weeks. I took the hint, dropped the subject and dug into my burger while Luc used a fry to point to various chess pieces he was again deciding between.

“Deliberative, isn’t he?” I whispered to Lindsey.

She smiled too knowingly for comfort. “You have no idea how deliberative he can be. How . . . thorough.” She leaned toward me, nibbling on a bit of bacon from her burger. “Have I ever waxed poetic about the glory that is the fuzzy-chested vampire wearing nothing but cowboy boots?”

Midbite, I squeezed my eyes closed, but it was too late to block the image of Luc wearing nothing but his birthday suit and sassy, red boots. “That’s my former boss you’re talking about,” I whispered. “And I’m trying to eat.”

“You’re thinking about him naked, aren’t you?”

“Unfortunately.”

She patted my arm. “And to think—I was actually hesitant about dating him. Oh, and speaking of which. Chaps. Enough said.”

“Enough most definitely said.” Lindsey was becoming my new, in-House Mallory, complete with conquest details. Sigh.

“In that case, I’ll leave you to your imagination. But I strongly recommend the therapeutic application of fuzzy-chested vampire to grief. It works miracles.”

“I am sincerely glad to hear that. But if you keep talking, I will poke your eyes out with a toothpick.” I shoved a handful of napkins in her general direction. “Shut up and eat your burger
.”

Sometimes a girl had to lay down the law.

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