“There haven’t been many moments like this lately,” he said, strong arms around me, head atop mine. “Not with wedding plans and supplicants and Nicole.”
Nicole Heart was head of Atlanta’s Heart House and the founder of the Assembly of American Masters, the new organization of the Masters of the country’s twelve vampire Houses. Chicago had been through a lot supernaturally recently, mainly because a sorceress named Sorcha Reed, Chicago’s high-society version of Maleficent, had ripped through downtown Chicago. We’d taken her down—and prevented her from creating an army of supernaturals—and the mayor had been pretty happy with us. She’d escaped the CPD, but four months later, there’d been no sign of her, and the mayor had stayed happy with us. Nicole wanted to capitalize on those good feelings, which meant lots of phone calls and interviews for Ethan.
“I was just thinking the same thing,” I said. “I’ll be glad when tomorrow is done.”
He arched a single golden eyebrow, his signature move. “You’re already ready for our wedding to be over?”
“More that I’m ready for our lives to begin, and to be done with wedding planning. And,” I admitted, “to see what Mallory and Lindsey have in store.”
“You’ll be good tonight.” As if sealing the obligation, Ethan lifted my chin with a finger, then lowered his lips to mine. The kiss was soft, teasing. A hint of things to come. A promise and a dare.
“As good-bye kisses go,” I said when I could form words again, “that wasn’t bad.”
“I’m saving some of my energy for tomorrow, of course.” His eyes went flat. “You know they want us to sleep separately.”
Vampires weren’t usually superstitious, but they did like their rules. One of those, we’d been advised, was the bride and groom sleeping in different rooms so they wouldn’t see each other, even inadvertently, on their wedding night.
“I saw Helen’s memo.” Another reason she wasn’t on my favorites list. “She wants to put me in my old room.”
Ethan smiled. “That hardly seems fair, since I’ll have our suite to myself.”
“You’re the Master,” I said in Helen’s clipped tone.
“That is a disturbingly good impression.”
“I know. I’ve heard it a lot the last few weeks.” The clock on the opposite wall began to peal its midnight chimes. “I should get dressed. Lindsey has specified our outfits.”
His gaze narrowed. “Has she?”
I patted his chest. “She has, and mine will be completely bachelorette-party appropriate.”
“That’s what concerns me. You’ll be careful?”
“I will, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. Not now.”
The union of sorcerers, finally realizing that Sorcha’s destruction had been partly their fault, had set wards around the city. We couldn’t stop her from walking into the city—that was the CPD’s job—but if she attempted to use magic within that barrier, we’d know it.
And for four months, there’d been nothing from Sorcha. And other than a run-in with some unethical ghost hunters and a murderous ghost a couple of months ago, Chicago had settled into a beautiful and golden summer.
It was weird. And wonderful.
“You’ll be good,” Ethan said, nipping at my ear. “Or I’ll be bad.”
I’m pretty sure that was a win-win.
CHAPTER TWO
THE GOOD WORD
“Well,” I said, staring at the white stretch limo that sat at the curb, “at least you didn’t get the one with the hot tub.”
“Only ’cause it was booked,” Lindsey said. She’d worked soft waves into her hair and squeezed into a short black bandage dress that looked absolutely phenomenal. She glanced at me, gestured with a finger in the air. “This was a good call.”
We all wore black dresses—that was the rule Lindsey had set for us—and I’d been decked out in a knee-length number with a square neck and cap sleeves. The fabric was snug and stretchy and left very little to the imagination. Thank God for my forgiving vampire metabolism, since dealing with Helen and my mother, who’d become a united front, had me raiding the kitchen’s chocolate stash a lot more than usual.
We were sharing the limo with Margot, the House chef. Margot had dark hair and plenty of curves, and she’d opted for a fit-and-flare dress.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” There was clipping down the sidewalk as a petite woman with blue hair ran toward us. “I’m late!”
Mallory’s LBD was knee-length, sleeveless, and flowy, which she had the petite frame to pull off. She’d styled her ombre blue hair so it curled across her shoulders, and wore enormous silver earrings in the shape of flowers.
She reached out and squeezed me, smelling faintly like lavender and herbs. Probably something she’d concocted in her craft-slash-magic room. “Happy Darth Sullivan Eve!”
I couldn’t help but snort. “Is that the official title?”
“It is,” Mallory assured me, and pulled a satin sash out of her tiny clutch purse. It read FUTURE MRS. DARTH SULLIVAN in glittery letters.
I’d been prepared to say no to any “Future Mrs.” or “Bride-to-Be” sashes, but I decided I couldn’t pass up glitter and snark together, so I let her pull it over my head.
“Oh, that turned out nicely,” Lindsey said, hands on her hips as she surveyed it, then smiled at Mallory. “Is your house just covered in glitter now?”
Mallory stepped back, adjusted my sash carefully. “It’s every-freaking-where. It’s probably the perfect vector for worldwide contagion, should any bad guys figure that out.”