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"I love you," he said.
Tears swam in my eyes, blurring my vision. I wiped them away with the edge of my sleeve. "I love you, too."
"Anytime now, kids!" Jonah yelled out.
"Jump!" Ethan said, and I didn't bother to hesitate. I hit the ledge at a full run and bounded over it toward the ground. Jonah did the same, with Darius in his arms, then Ethan, with Lakshmi in his.
We jumped.
* * *
For a split second, the entire city swam before us, the edges bent by the curvature of the earth. And then, as if gravity bowed to us instead of the other way around, the world slowed, and that single, gigantic leap became one small step.
But one small step with a hell of a lot of acceleration.
We hit the ground, buckling the asphalt before us. My knees ached with the force of the fall, but we were all still standing.
The percussions began to sound behind us. "Time's up," Ethan yelled out. "Run!"
Pain and fear disappeared. We were driven only by survival, by the need to escape the heat of the blasts that had already begun behind us.
We ran with speed that would have blurred our movements to any onlookers, then vaulted the fence just as the heat of the explosions began to grow. We made it a few more feet before the shock wave pushed us forward. Jonah and Ethan put me, Darius, and Lakshmi on the ground, then covered us with their bodies as the explosions shook the earth.
I'd felt earthly and magical earthquakes, but the building's detonation was a force of an altogether different magnitude. My chest rumbled from the vibrations, and my eardrums ached from the noise. They went on for an eternity; even when the detonations stopped, the building crumbled into a pile behind us with earth-shattering force.
A minute later the percussion was over, and the air was filled by a thick cloud of dust and the sounds of sprinkling dirt, steel, glass, and gravel.
"Everybody okay?" Jonah asked above me.
"I'm good," I said. "Ethan?"
He grunted, which I took as a good sign.
"How's Lakshmi?" I asked.
Another grunt. "She just elbowed me in the ribs, so I think she's good."
I didn't bother asking if Darius was okay.
CHAPTER TWENTY
LET THEM FLY
When we returned, dusty and victorious, to the House, Ethan thanked me with steak and chocolate. The healthy members of the Greenwich Presidium thanked us with effusive praise and their promise they'd note the House's courageous actions toward the GP.
I guess only near-death experiences were sufficient to prove to the GP that we weren't common criminals.
Regardless, a bit of postcrisis praise wasn't enough to make me feel better about the GP. Although we'd made a pretty large bang, rescuing Darius and Lakshmi wasn't the first good deed we'd done as a House, and the GP had ignored the others.
Besides, Darius was still recuperating from his injuries; it remained to be seen whether his opinion of us had truly changed.
But those were worries for another night. Tonight, when we were clean once again, we raided the kitchen before returning to the bedroom - and the bed.
"You're all right?" I asked him.
"I am angry at myself for what I missed. That I didn't see who Michael Donovan was. But there's little to be done about that now."
"Would you feel better if I slugged you in the arm?"
He gave me an arched eyebrow. Classic Sullivan. "How would that make me feel better?"
I shrugged. "It would make me feel better, which would make you feel better."
My only warning was the narrowing of his eyes . . . and then he pounced. I squealed as he pushed me back onto the mattress, but not because I was in pain.
"You know," I said, "we're still going to have to deal with McKetrick."
"And his mayoral dispensation? Yes, I know. It's unfortunate our primary witness to McKetrick's wrongdoings made a very bad decision in the vicinity of an angry shifter."
Not that Michael would have come out any better in the hands of the Rogue or Navarre House vampires who would have liked to get a piece of him.
I frowned up at Ethan. "Will there be a time when things are normal? When vampires are loved or hated just like everyone else? When we live simpler lives?"
Ethan settled himself on an elbow, and pushed a lock of hair from my eyes with his free hand. "I'm not sure you were cut out for a simple life, Merit. You don't seem a suburban type of girl."
I understood his point, but the comment made me suddenly melancholic. "I would have liked children someday," I confessed. But it wasn't in the cards for me; no vampire had ever successfully borne children.
His expression fell. "I didn't know. You hadn't mentioned - "
I tried to smile a little. "I know it can't happen. And it's nothing I'm actively thinking about. But I do wonder what it would be like to be a parent. To experience the world again alongside a little person who's only just beginning to understand it. To learn with them all the things that make life worthwhile."
Ethan's eyes, green and fathomless, seemed to grow larger.
I thought, just for a moment, of a prophecy Gabriel had once made. Of the pair of green eyes he'd seen in my future - eyes that looked "everything and nothing" like Ethan's. Children were impossible, but that begged the question: Whom had he seen?
Ethan caressed my cheek. "You are a remarkable woman, Caroline Evelyn Merit."
"I try. But it's exhausting."
"I am your Master and your servant. Just tell me how to please you."
"Just hold me," I said, moving closer to him.
He stilled. "That's not entirely what I had in mind."
"Long night, tired Sentinel."
Ethan wrapped his arms around me and nestled his chin atop my head. "In that case," he said, "try to stop me."
Those were the last words I heard before dawn closed my eyes.
* * *
The next evening, Ethan asked us to assemble on the lawn at the fire pit. He'd refreshed the stack of wood the GP had used for its ceremony, and the flame there now glowed with a wonderful warmth.
Ethan turned toward us, his face lit by the fire. "We have made a decision no vampires before us have made. We have chosen liberty and self-respect. Darius and the GP have undertaken the rituals they believe in. It is, in my estimation, important that we have our own rituals, as well. Rituals that remind us who we are, and why we make difficult decisions instead of letting others justify their ignorance and decide for us.
"Helen," Ethan called out, and she stepped forward, a square of white gossamer paper in her hands. She extended it to Ethan.
