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“Connor,” I said, a plea, and he began to move, and we began to move together, as the moon tracked across the sky and the stars turned and we soared through the universe toward our fates, whatever they might be.
I gripped his back like I could capture him, us, this moment in time. One of his hands was braced near my head, the other on my jaw as he kissed me, seduced me, destroyed me.
Stars burst again, and he cried out his triumph, with the darkness above us.
***
I didn’t consider myself prudish, but I also wouldn’t have predicted I’d be lying naked on a bed of grass in the middle of Chicago, feeling very smug, and with an equally naked and smug prince beside me.
“Well,” I said. “I guess I can check ‘outdoor sex’ off the list.”
He turned his gaze to me, surprise in his eyes, chased by whatlooked like sympathy. Made sense, coming from a shifter. “Seriously? You never—”
“I never,” I finished, and narrowed my eyes. “And you never had sex outdoors that was as meaningful as this, right?”
Connor rolled on top of me, a lock of dark hair falling rakishly across his forehead, his eyes brilliantly blue. “It is the most. The only.”
And proceeded to prove itagain.
SIXTEEN
We slept together in his third-floor bedroom, which was as luxe as the rest of the house. A bed big enough for a Pack of wolves, covered in sumptuous fabrics, a sitting area near a silver-tiled fireplace of large pillows and faux-fur blankets, a glass artscreen across one large wall of a deep and foggy forest.
He was gone when I woke, and the hallway was dark and silent. When I made my way downstairs, it took my brain a moment to understand the scene in the living room: Lulu and Alexei twined together on the couch, both still in yesterday’s clothes, both still asleep.
They weren’t embracing. His head was at one end, hers at the other, their legs tangled in a position that looked remarkably uncomfortable. But Alexei held one of her legs, his cheek snuggled against one of her socked feet like it was the softest pillow a shifter could ask for.
I stared for a full five minutes, confident Lulu would raise her head and explain she’d lost a round of truth or dare. But still they slept.
I was going to need coffee to emotionally process this. And since Connor hadn’t stocked any, I grabbed a jacket, pulled it on over jeans and a fitted V-neck T-shirt. Then I used my screen to search for the nearest Leo’s, confirmed the location, and headed for the door. Thinking it would be better if I didn’t disappearwithout a word, I left a note on the counter:why is there still no coffee?
I didn’t bother to sign it. They’d know it was me.
I checked the street through the window before stepping outside, and closed my eyes to focus on the presence of magic. The only power I sensed was behind me among the still sleeping. I opened the door as quietly as I could, closed it the same way, and walked into the darkness.
The weather had changed; there was a new chill in the air. Winter would be here soon, bringing its tough wind and layers of ice and snow. Not that a few months cuddled up with Connor would be a hardship.
Lights were on in the town houses I passed as I walked, families visible in some as they worked through their evening routines. Dinner. Homework. Toys. Catching up.
Normalcy. And it was wonderful to see—to remember. This had been a good idea, I thought, and walked into the coffee shop, which smelled of smoky beans and vanilla. It was tiny, a narrow slice between larger restaurants, and just big enough to host a few small tables and a glass-fronted counter of pastries.
I bought coffee for the group because I was a thoughtful soul, and moved aside to wait while paper cups were filled. And felt my screen buzz.
Given the kind of messages I’d been getting lately, I considered chucking it into the recycling bin and being done with it. But I didn’t have the privilege of ignoring it, so I glanced at the screen.
thirty-six hours remaining, it read.we look forward to your commendation or surrender.
My hand shaking with sudden anger, I stuffed the screen back in my pocket. God forbid I should forget our bargain, or the amount of my remaining freedom.
“Troublemaker,” a woman nearby muttered. “Typical vampires.”
Startled, I looked up, thinking she’d seen the message. Then I followed her gaze to a large screen mounted near the counter, with the sound off, but the closed captions on.
“Elisa Sullivan,”the screen read, as video of me stepping off the plane from Paris played,“daughter of Ethan Sullivan, the head of Chicago’s Cadogan House, has agreed to surrender herself after a tense standoff at Cadogan House last night. Sullivan is accused of breaking vampiric protocols and assaulting those sent to capture her. More on this story as developments occur.”
It was lies. All lies, if effectively spun by Clive or his colleagues to whichever reporter decided to listen. Vampires causing trouble was a much sexier story than vampires paying their bills on time.
“Troublemaker,” the woman murmured again. “I’m sure she did whatever they’re accusing her of. She looks the type. Spoiled.”
