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

his connection to Mallory or change his mind, I still had work to do, and I wasn’t going to let an irritating man get in the way of that.
    He strode to our table and surveyed the mess with his hands on his hips.
    “No luck?”
    “Not even a little. We’ve found plenty of descriptions of conjuration. But not a single mention of anything remotely like what we saw. Nothing about one creature splitting into two identical creatures. I like books, but I don’t like it when they fail me. And tonight, they have failed me.”
    Ethan glanced around. “Where’s Paige?”
    “With the librarian. They seem to be getting along well.”
    He looked impressed. “Our librarian and the Order’s archivist. I suppose that’s fitting.”
    Clearly, Ethan was trying to act like everything was okay between us. And in a sense, it had to be—we had to work together, regardless of our personal drama. But if that’s what we were doing—pretending all was well—then two could play at that game.
    “They do have books in common. But then, I love books, and I’m not exactly hitting on him. We’ll see how it goes. How are the transition plans coming along?”
    “Slowly. Our ties to the GP are complex and contractual. Tentacular.”
    I looked up at him. “Tentacular. Nice word.”
    “I aim to impress.” He glanced at his watch.
    “Busy night?” I hated that I had to ask him, that I had no idea what his schedule held.
    “On occasion it feels as though I exist to move from one meeting to the next.”
    “You could let Malik handle those meetings.”
    He gave me a flat look, the look of a Master vampire who couldn’t believe the Novitiate before him had said something so ridiculously naive.
    “I am not officially the Master of this House,” he admitted, “but nor will I relinquish my responsibilities.”
    “I wouldn’t dare suggest otherwise. What’s the next meeting about?”
    “The vampire registration laws. One of Mayor Kowalcyzk’s aides has requested a meeting. There’s talk of stationing a booth in the foyer.”
    “Intrusive, but convenient.”
    “My thoughts exactly.”
    Paige stepped out of a row, a couple more books in her hands and a frown on her face.
    “No luck so far?” Ethan asked.
    “Nothing at all.” She pulled out a chair and took a seat. “But you can’t fault the resources.”
    “I shelve a nice library,” Ethan agreed. “Well, I’ll be off. Good luck, and let me know if you find anything.”
    “Of course,” I promised. I wasn’t going to miss a chance to tweak him a little more. On the other hand, I was the one who took in the view as he crossed back to the library door.
    I’m pretty sure I sighed.
    “Have you been together long?” Paige asked when I turned around again.
    “We’re not together now.”
    She looked decidedly skeptical.
    “It’s a long story.” I leaned forward. “Listen, about this connection between him and Mallory—do you know anything that would stop it?”
    Paige frowned. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure why he still has the connection, especially since the book was destroyed. But there could be methods or work-arounds I’m not familiar with.”
    I nodded. “Okay.”
    “Maybe he could learn to control it? He does seem to have a lot of willpower.”
    “That is an understatement,” I agreed. “Tall, blond, and stubborn.”
    Paige laughed. “Tall, blond, and stubborn is usually right in my wheelhouse. I’m actually kind of surprised I’m interested in the librarian.” Her cheeks went a little pink. “Put two guys side by side—a fair one and a dark one—and I am usually tuned in to the tall, blond, and handsome type.”
    Something she said rang familiar in a deep part of my brain. “What did you say?”
    “What? Oh, I was just saying I normally prefer blonds.”
    But it wasn’t her taste in men that interested me—it was the phrase she’d used. “Dark one,” I repeated, my gaze shifting back and forth as I searched my memory. “Why does that sound familiar?”
    “Like, as a phrase?” Paige frowned. “I don’t know it. When did you hear it?”
    “When we were in Nebraska,” I realized, and the memories clicked into place. “Todd, the gnome, called Tate a ‘dark one.’ I thought he was referring to the color of Tate’s hair—because it’s dark brown. But maybe that’s not what he meant. Maybe it’s not a description. Maybe it’s a name, or a species.”
    “I’m not familiar with the term, but I can look it up.” She