Ethan stood in front of the windows, hands in the pockets of his black suit, back to me. Malik stood to his right, a sheaf of papers in his hands.
Both looked back as I walked in, took in the torn clothes, the blood. The magic that poured through the room was a heady cocktail of relief, anger, and Masterly irritation.
Ethan looked at Malik, who nodded at some unspoken command. Malik situated his papers, walked toward me. He paused when he reached the door.
“You’re all right?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”
He nodded, left the room, and closed the door.
It took a solid minute for Ethan to say anything. And when he did, his voice was low and dangerous. “Would you like to explain what the hell you were doing, running off by yourself to chase a murderer? A man who’s already shot you once? Who killed a shifter in cold blood?”
I’d been prepared for Ethan’s anger. It was rooted in fear for my safety, and I could understand that. What Ethan feared, he would try to control.
But I found I wasn’t at all interested in apologizing, in bearing the weight of his heavy emotions. Mine were burdensome enough. So much so that I didn’t yet have the words to voice them.
Telling my grandfather and Jeff about this vampire, who he was to me—that was a report. Emotional, sure, but still just relaying the facts of what had happened, however hard it had been.
Telling Ethan was different. He and I were bound together eternally by this vampire, this careless monster who’d tried to kill me but hadn’t succeeded precisely because of Ethan’s intervention. Telling Ethan would be exposing myself all over again. Because he’d been there. He’d seen.
He knew.
So I played it off, kept my defenses in place until I was ready to release them. And if that pissed him off, so be it.
“I really wouldn’t,” I said. “And I don’t like your tone.”
An eyebrow arched and his anger rose, peppering the room with magic. “I don’t much care if you like my tone, Merit. I’ll be damned if you take chances with your life.”
“Yes, I would like to have a drink,” I said by way of answer, apropos of nothing. I walked to the bar, poured Scotch into a crystal glass, and took a heady sip. The liquid warmed through my chest, took just enough of the edge away.
I finished the glass, put it back on the shelf with a little too much force. As if that had been the last of my strength, I braced my hands and caught my breath.
Ethan’s banked fury crested, broke across the room. “Just let me know when you’re done making use of my office.”
There was a bite in his voice, irritation that I was ignoring the chain of command, or maybe hurt that I was putting him off. I understood both, because both were true. But that didn’t change anything.
Because I hadn’t answered him, he’d moved closer. He might have been angry—so very angry—but he loved me and had guessed that something was wrong. The magic in the room shifted from fury to concern.
“Merit,” Ethan said, and this time the word held naked concern.
I closed my eyes. If I couldn’t be vulnerable with Ethan—with my lover, my likely future husband, the future father of my child—who could I be vulnerable with?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE CLOSER YOU GET
I fisted my hands so they wouldn’t shake, turned back to face him. He watched me the way a man might watch a caged panther. Cautiously, and with great care.
“Mallory probably told you I saw someone outside the House,” I said.
“A vampire who worked for Adrien Reed,” he bit off.
“The vampire who killed Caleb Franklin. He saw me coming, and he ran.”
“And you followed him. Without backup, without weapon.” Without me, I guessed, he’d left unspoken.
“If I’d waited or delayed, he’d have disappeared. I told Mallory to get inside, to lock the gate, and then I chased him to the train. You saw the rest?”
Ethan nodded, just once. “What there was to see.” He watched me for a moment. “And what aren’t you telling me?”
I gathered up courage, held it tightly. “He’s not just the vampire who killed Caleb Franklin.” I paused. “He’s the vampire who attacked me in the Quad.”
Ethan went very, very still. Fury and possessiveness flared together in his magic, spun together in the room. “He’s the one who attacked you.”
I nodded. “I didn’t recognize him at first. But when we were on the train, and the light was better—when I could see his face and, I don’t know, sense something familiar in his scent or his magic—I knew it was him.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know his name. I still don’t know his damn name.” That seemed so important to me right now, so much that my voice trembled, and I shook my head, swallowed hard, as emotions rose.
The wave of anger crested, followed by a flood of sympathy. “Merit,” he said, voice full of emotion, concern.
I just shook my head, held up a hand. I wasn’t ready for sympathy yet.
“He works for Reed. He’d planned to get to me to throw you off. You’re Reed’s real target. He wants to hurt you. To manipulate you. That’s who he is.”