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"We are what we are. Predators. Humans, plus a little genetic restructuring. We don't change forms to disguise ourselves." He took a step back, then gestured at his body with his hands. "This is me. This is us," he said, frustration in his voice, then turned back to the shelves from which he started plucking volumes.
"Whenever humans have tried to take out supernaturals, the shifters have still pretended they were humans."
I managed not to argue that vampires had been hiding in plain sight for centuries, pretending to be humans in order to avoid staking. Frankly, I didn't think he'd appreciate the comparison. This was the kind of prejudice that didn't bend to logic.
"Is that what they did in the Second Clearing?" I wondered aloud as the librarian began stacking books in my arms. "Pretended to be humans and ignored that vampires were being killed?"
"I think that's enough, don't you?" he asked darkly.
I guess that explained the prejudice. I knew the wound caused by the shifters' failure to help vampires during the Second Clearing - to put themselves on the line to save vampires - was a deep one. And not just deep, but still jagged and unhealed, even more than a century later. I'd seen the animosity from the shifters'
side; they'd shown it clearly enough. Their urge to retreat sounded as if it was based on fear of what would come, so I still wasn't sure why so many shifters seemed so bitter about the past.
But even as enlightened as Ethan imagined his vampires to be, the anger, the bitterness, were just as present in our camp, as well. . . . Even in this archive of learning and knowledge, it lingered.
He finally stopped pulling books from the shelves, then glanced back at me. "That should be all you need," he said. "These will give you the basics."
I nodded, working to keep my smile neutral, then watched as he walked around me and back into the main aisle.
"I know what you think," he said when he reached it, glancing back, hands on his hips. His expression had turned stern, concern evident in the tightness around his eyes. "That I'm just ignorant, or that I'm pissed about something that happened a hundred years ago." His eyes suddenly flashed silver, and the hair at my neck stood on end as magic spread through our corner of the library, leaking as his emotions rose.
"We are immortal, Sentinel. These were not harms done to our ancestors, to our forebears. They were harms done to us. Our families. Our lovers. Our children. Ourselves." With that, he walked away.
A foot-high stack of books in my arms, I blinked after him for a moment, thinking not just about the anger in his voice, the pain over acts that had happened, but the fear, the worry that without vigilance, such things could happen again.
And I thought of the passion I'd heard in Gabriel's voice, his desire to protect his Pack members. I thought of the anger I'd once heard in Nick's voice, his desire to keep his family safe.
I matched all that disdain and contention together . . . and I still wondered who was the bigger threat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
JUST DANCE
The next night dawned cool and clear. I pulled open my anti-sun shutter and cracked my window. A welcome breeze was blowing through the city, clearing out a little of yesterday's humidity. I was scheduled to train with Ethan again, so I got up and headed over to the kitchen, grabbed some orange juice, blood, and a bacon-topped donut shellacked in maple frosting. Yes, you heard that correctly.
Bacon. And maple. In a donut. Sure, I wasn't thrilled about training again. I'd seen a lot of Ethan over the week, and I wouldn't have minded an evening to myself, without political drama or relationship conflict, without swordplay or side kicks. But what could I do? Because I'd sworn my oaths, camping out in my room, donut in hand, wasn't an option. So, after I'd scarfed down breakfast, I slipped into flip-flops and pulled on a track jacket, then headed down the hallway. I was about to take the stairs to the basement when I saw her. She stood on the landing between the first and second floors in a black suit, her arms crossed and one eyebrow arched.
She was a Master made in her own Master's image.
I took the steps but stopped a riser or two above the landing, my eyebrows arched. "Waiting for me?"
"You and Ethan have a unique relationship," Lacey said.
"We have a relationship?"
"I don't play games, Merit."
All evidence to the contrary, but I forced myself to be polite. "Respectfully, ma'am, I don't, either. May I help you with something?"
"I don't give up easily. He and I are perfect for each other." I almost snarked out a response, but held back. If she truly believed that, more power to her.
Besides - he'd invited her here, so maybe he believed it, too.
"You know what?" I asked instead, moving past her. "Good luck with that."
She followed me down to the first floor. Ethan, timing as impeccable as always, picked that moment to begin the climb upstairs toward us, his suit jacket discarded, body hugged by lean, dark trousers, a white button-down, and black tie. He must have been on his way up to change. His eyes widened at the sight of us together, as if he wasn't quite prepared for the meeting of old and slightly less old lovers - his own fault, since he'd thrown us together under one roof.
"How was your call?" Lacey asked. "And how are things in London?" It was easy to read between the lines on that one - Dear Sentinel: Your boss made a phone call to the GP he didn't tell you about. Guess you aren't in the loop about everything! Love, his most bestest protege.
Her second time at bat, she'd swung for the fence. I had to stifle down a growl.
"Not as helpful as I'd have liked, but so goes the GP," Ethan said. When he glanced at me, the line of worry had appeared between his eyes. "I'll meet you in the Sparring Room momentarily." I nodded. "Liege."
He walked past me. "Lacey, with me, please," he said, and she obediently followed.
I glanced behind me and watched her trail after him like a puppy on a string as they took the stairs to the third floor. Something struck me as she followed him. Ethan was, and always would be, her Master. And although I'd heard her disagree with him, raising concerns about my being a "common soldier," there was something acquiescent even in her posture. She moved as if she were his property, as if there were nothing she wanted more than to be at his side. Even though she had her own House, she wanted back in Cadogan.
Lindsey had told me that Lacey was a Very Strong Strat. So maybe part of the adoration was political.
Maybe, like him, she was worried about alliances, wanted to ensure her link to the fourth-oldest House in the country.
