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

they slept at all. Something about the idea of sleeping under the flood of a spotlight in the middle of an otherwise dark plain made me nervous. I’d feel too vulnerable, like I was on display.
    After fifteen minutes of driving, we reached the address Catcher had given us, large steel numbers hammered into a post that stood sentinel at the end of a long gravel driveway. A farmhouse much like the others sat at the end of it, a few hundred yards back from the road, glowing under its security light. Its wooden clapboards were dark red, and it was accessorized with white awnings and wooden gingerbread in the corners of the small front porch. It had a pitched roof, with one gable over a large picture window. I had a Little House on the Prairie –esque image of a girl in a gingham dress sitting behind that glass, spending long winter days staring out at endless winter snow.
    Audrey pulled to a stop, and we grabbed our swords and bags, offered prolific thank-yous, and watched the cloud of dust whisk her back toward Omaha.
    “She’ll be fine,” Ethan said.
    I nodded, and we walked down the driveway, the world silent except for our footsteps and an owl that hooted from the windbreak. I had a sudden mental image of great, black wings swooping down to pluck me up off the driveway and deposit me in the hayloft of an ancient barn. I shivered and walked a little faster.
    “Not much of a farm girl?”
    “I don’t mind being in the country. And I love woods—lots of places to hide.”
    “It appeals to the predator in you?”
    “Precisely. But out here, I don’t know. It’s a weird mix of being isolated and completely on display. It’s not my bag. Give me a high-rise in the city, please.”
    “Even with parking permits?”
    I smiled. “And the 90 bumper-to-bumper during rush hour.” I looked around. Beyond the halo of the floodlight, the world was dark, and I wondered what might be hunkering around out there. Watching.
    Waiting.
    The owl hooted again, sending goose bumps up my arms. “This place gives me the creeps. Let’s get inside.”
    “I don’t think owls feed on vampires, Sentinel.”
    “I’m not in the mood to take chances,” I said. “And we’re not long for sunrise.” I gave Ethan a gentle push toward the house. “Let’s go in, sunshine.”

C HAPTER T HREE

    AN ORDERLY HOME
    T he worn wooden porch steps creaked as we took them, and the doorbell sounded with a long, old-fashioned chime.
    A moment later, a woman opened the door in a pale silk robe she’d pulled tight around her chest. It looked old-fashioned, something a woman might have worn in the 1950s. Her hair was a tousled bob of brilliant red waves, and her eyes were shockingly green—emeralds against her alabaster skin. In a word, she was gorgeous.
    Still muddy and bruised from the rollover, I felt mousy and awkward. She gave me, then Ethan, an appraising look. “Can I help you?” she asked, but then filled in the blank. “You’re the vampires.”
    “I’m Ethan Sullivan,” he said, “and this is Merit.”
    “I’m Paige,” she said. “Please, come in.” The required invitation offered, Paige turned and padded down the hallway in bare feet, the door open behind her.
    I glanced at Ethan, intent on letting him go first, but his gaze was on the woman disappearing down the hallway.
    “Ethan Sullivan,” I said, jealousy fluttering in my chest.
    “I’m not looking at her, Sentinel,” he admonished with a wink, “although I’m not blind.” He pointed at the hallway.
    My cheeks warming, I looked back again. The walls were filled with vertical stacks of books, one beside another, packed so tightly together there was scarcely room between them. And these weren’t just discount-table paperbacks. These were the old-school, leather-bound type—the kind you might see in the house of an Order archivist . . . or on the basement table of a rebellious sorceress. As much as I loved books, that made me nervous to step into a space full of magical tomes.
    I followed Ethan to the sitting room at the end of the hall. It was small but comfortable, with vintage fabrics and cottagey decor. A small fireplace put the smell of woodsmoke in the air, which mingled with the scents of ancient paper and fragrant tea.
    Paige curled up on a couch and picked up a teacup from a small end table. “Sorry I’m a bit of a mess. She hasn’t shown up yet, and I wanted a few minutes of peace and quiet. Have a seat,” she said, pointing at a facing couch