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

Chicago. I haven’t heard Noah mention any kind of GP harassment.”
    Noah Beck was the unofficial leader of Chicago’s un-Housed vampires; he was also a member of the Red Guard, like me and Jonah.
    “For now, it’s only a cold war,” he said. “The GP believes Rogue vampires will sabotage the Houses; the Rogues believe the Houses exist solely to perpetuate the more fascist tendencies of the GP. The current peace isn’t the usual state of affairs.”
    “So the GP might actually attack us?”
    “Should circumstances call for it, yes. Both the GP and the Houses within it.”
    “Even Sheridan House? You made Lacey Sheridan a Master. She’s from Cadogan House, and her alliance insignia is hanging over our front door.” Also, Lacey Sheridan had a crush—or more—on Ethan, which made it unlikely she’d take up arms against him.
    Glass in hand, Ethan walked to one of the club chairs in the seating area and leaned against it. “Haven’t you ever wondered why we bear other Houses’ alliance insignia if we’re all members of the GP? It’s a promise not to take up arms in the event worse comes to worst—or the GP orders them to act.”
    “Good grief,” I said, moving to the chair beside him. No wonder Jonah had joined the RG.
    Ethan finished his glass. “Vampires existed long before the GP was formed, and they will exist long after it’s gone. We can survive. We just might need to remind our Housed brothers and sisters of that.”
    And some would take more convincing than others. “Morgan will be a terror.”
    “Quite possibly. Scott Grey, less so.”
    And Scott’s crew, including the RG member masquerading as a guard captain, even less than that. But that wasn’t information Ethan needed right now.
    “Maybe we should beat the GP at its own game,” I suggested.
    “How do we do that?”
    “We could jump ship.”
    He laughed mirthlessly. “The vampires of Cadogan House do not ‘jump ship.’”
    “Not even if they get dumped?”
    “Not even if,” he said. “What’s the phrase? You should dance with the one who brought you?”
    “Not if you found out the one who brought you made out after third period with the head of the chess club, who was totally not as cute as you.” I felt my cheeks warm. “But that’s a personal issue we don’t need to discuss here. The thing is, we can do better. If they don’t want us, we find someone who does.”
    He chuckled a little, and I felt the wall of tense magic in the room crumble a bit.
    “He said he wants to interview you. Do you think he can be convinced to back off?”
    “I don’t know. Darius would prefer an official House policy of ‘shut the fuck up,’ which we aren’t particularly skilled at. I hardly think he’d waste time on interviews if they weren’t for a purpose, but I can’t imagine him standing down a decision of the shofet .”
    “Are you going to tell the House?”
    “I doubt it. I’m not sure there’s any point in raising a flag until the decision is firm and final.”
    Until then, we’d all have to wait and see what happened, which wasn’t a comfortable position for anyone. And speaking of which, for the sake of my own sanity, it was time to discuss the thing we were steadfastly avoiding . . .
    “Are we okay?” I asked.
    Ethan brushed a lock of hair over my shoulder. I glanced at him, but when our eyes met, he froze and looked away.
    My stomach twisted. Now he wouldn’t touch me at all?
    “I can’t have you. Not now.”
    I could hardly form words. “What? Is this about the bruise?”
    He stood up straight. “The mark I put on your body because I was upset? Yes, Sentinel, it is about that.”
    “That wasn’t you,” I insisted. “It only happened because of Mallory, because she was close and upset and her emotions were affecting you.”
    “And we’re back in Chicago together,” he said. “She’s close enough. What if she’s upset? What if she becomes angrier than she’s been before? What if a bruise is the least harm I could do?”
    I understood his point, understood well the risk he was trying to avoid. But he’d saved my life twice. I trusted him implicitly, and not because I feared him or what he might do. “I’m not afraid of you.”
    “You should be.” Ethan walked back to the bar and put his glass on the counter, putting space—an obstacle—between us.
    After a moment, he turned around, and his eyes had gone cold.
    My stomach did the same.
    “I’ve been thinking . . .”
    “That’s