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Our apartments on the top floor of Cadogan House were dark and cool, a few golden lamps burning away the darkness. There was no bedtime basket from Margot tonight—she’d been out of the House and probably thought I was sleeping in the small dorm room that had been my first home in the House.
I followed Ethan to the enormous closet, where my dress and his tux hung from valet bars in matching black bags, waiting for the sun to rise and fall again.
“Are you ready?”
I glanced at Ethan. He smiled at me while working his nightly ritual, taking off watch, removing keys and wallet.
“I think everything’s ready for the ceremony and the reception, if that’s what you mean.”
“You know it isn’t.”
“I guess you’ll have to see if I show up.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me while unfastening his cuff links. “I am confident that’s a joke, since you know I would hunt you to the ends of the earth if you failed to show up.”
“I’m pretty sure I can outrun you.”
His smile went sly. “Let’s test that theory,” he said, and launched toward me.
• • •
After he’d hauled me into the bathroom over his shoulder, we brushed our fangs like good little vampires. When we climbed into the bed, the blankets fluffy and cool, the automatic shutters shushed softly over the windows, locking into place to protect us from the murderous sun.
I curled against the side of his body, his arms enclosing me.
“Much preferable to sleeping alone,” he said. “Even if it comes with a little bad luck.”
I wasn’t sure how much “a little” would change the already sizable pile of it.
“And how was your bachelorette party, at least before the darker turn?”
“Good. There was poetry and chocolate. Mallory and Lindsey did a very good job of planning.”
“And no strippers?”
“And no strippers.” I glanced at him. “And you?”
“No strippers,” he said. “Although the liquor was ample and the cigars were very definitely Cuban.”
“What is it with bachelor parties and cigars? I mean, that’s a pretty phallic symbol for a pre-wedding celebration.”
“It’s a bachelor party,” he said with a wink. “We aren’t celebrating the wedding. We’re celebrating the bachelor.”
“You hardly need celebrating. I think your ego’s big enough.”
I’d barely gotten the words out of my mouth when he pounced, covering my body with his and pressing me back into the bed. Pitched forward on his elbows, he brushed the hair from my face.
“You had something to say about my ego, Sentinel?”
I smiled at him, pushed a lock of hair behind one ear. “You’re doing just fine, I think.”
Eyes closing, he lowered his mouth to mine, teased with kisses that were soft and sweet, hints of things to come. “You are mine, Sentinel. Bachelor party or not, that is an undeniable truth.”
“I think I was always yours,” I said, and his eyes darkened. “There’s something inside”—I put a hand over my heart, then his—“that was always waiting for you. I just had to get ready for it.”
He grinned. “You had to ripen.”
“I don’t like the sound of that. And even if that’s true, I’m not sure what it says about you.” I patted his cheek. “But four hundred years isn’t that long.”
