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

medal and a smile, Sentinel.”
    “Is that a prediction?”
    “It’s a promise.”
    And with the possibility of that promise foremost in my mind, I let my body rest and drifted off to sleep.

C HAPTER F OUR

    INTO THE DEEP
    W hen I awoke, the bed was empty, the sheets cool. For a horrible moment I thought I’d dreamt he was back, that his return had been a cruel figment of my imagination.
    But the bedroom door opened, and Ethan walked inside, a coffee mug in one hand and small basket in the other. He looked at me and smiled. “You slept in.”
    “I didn’t know vampires could do that.” I crossed my legs and pulled my hair back from my face. “I must have needed the rest.”
    “Your bruises are gone, but you look pale.”
    I made my confession. “I don’t think I slept very well. I’m still afraid to let you out of my sight.”
    “Because I might disappear?”
    I nodded.
    “There’s no valor in disappearing,” Ethan said. “Really, the stake was only worth it for the points it got me. For saving your life twice,” he added, in case I hadn’t remembered that he’d made me a vampire and jumped in front of a stake to save me. As if either was something I could easily forget.
    I rolled my eyes. “I’m giving you one week to use the stake against me, and then you’re done.”
    He smiled smugly. “It won’t take me one week, Sentinel.”
    I didn’t bother to ask what he was trying to accomplish.
    “But for now there’s business at hand, and I prefer to have you undistracted when the time comes.”
    His eyes flashed silver before falling back to emerald green again. A bolt of desire shot through my body, raising goose bumps on my arms and magic in the air.
    Ethan and I were both strung taut, our physical reunion clearly on both our minds, but pushed to the back of our agendas because of, as he’d put it, the business at hand.
    Mallory’s business.
    When this was all said and done—and God granted that it would be—I was going to kick her ass for interrupting my time with him, even if I did owe her for bringing him back in the first place.
    Ethan sat down on the edge of the bed and handed over the mug—which was filled to the brim with warm blood—and the basket. My stomach growled ominously, and I didn’t waste any time sipping the blood while Ethan picked through the contents of his duffel bag.
    When the mug was empty, I peeked into the basket. There were four muffins inside: poppy seed; blueberry; one filled with chunks of fruit, nuts, and carrots; and a chocolate version studded with chunks of white and dark chocolate.
    It was an easy choice.
    “Paige bakes?” I wondered, plucking the chocolate muffin from the basket. It was even warm .
    “The Maleficium is usually settled somewhere else,” Ethan said. “And, to paraphrase her, there are only so many Order meeting minutes she can transcribe. She apparently has the time. Is it good?”
    He glanced back at me, and I was already licking the chocolate from my fingers. “I’ll take that as a yes. You don’t mess around.”
    “Not when there’s chocolate at stake.” I winced. “Sorry. I probably should wipe that phrase out of my vocabulary.”
    “Don’t change on my account,” he chuckled, then grabbed the blueberry muffin.
    “You know, feeding me isn’t part of your job. I’m perfectly capable of managing my own meals.”
    He arched a very dubious eyebrow.
    “I am ,” I stressed.
    “Not to the degree necessary to keep you healthy and able to handle matters like these. Before this is said and done, I wager you’ll need every ounce of your strength and every bit of moxie in that stubborn head of yours. Ensuring you’re well fed makes that more likely, and it makes my life easier.”
    I wanted to argue with him but found that I couldn’t. Sure, it was irritating that he’d taken my measure and found a flaw. I didn’t want him aware that I had flaws, much less pointing them out. But it was also comforting. Instead of adding the issue to his mental “red flags” column, he’d figured out a way to cope with it.
    What a strange and awesome thing.
    He finished his own muffin, then glanced back at me. “What?”
    “Nothing,” I said, reaching for muffin number two.
    When the blood and muffins were gone, we prepared for the possibility of battle. There was no knowing, of course, whether Mallory or Tate would pick tonight or tomorrow or a week from now to seek out the Maleficium , but they both seemed impatient enough