Хлоя Нейл: Twice Bitten

Luc busied himself by picking at a bit of dust on the egg’s glass case. “Not really ready to talk about that, Sentinel.”

I nodded, not entirely surprised by Luc’s reaction. He’d punched a divot into the Ops Room conference table when he’d discovered Peter’s treachery. The hole had been repaired, but the table hadn’t yet been refinished. It was like a stain marking Peter’s betrayal. And it wasn’t surprising Luc wasn’t eager to invest in someone else.

I wanted to say something—to offer my condolences or even a simple “I’m sorry”—but a knock on the hallway doors stopped me short.

“Preparations for our guest,” Luc said as the doors were opened by a man in a white chef’s jacket. He smiled politely at Luc and me, then moved aside so that a second chef, this time a woman in white, could wheel a cart into the room.

The cart was piled with trays, and the trays were topped by silver domes.

It was room service.

“What guest?” I asked as, with hotel-like efficiency, the woman began removing the domes and stacking them one atop the other.

She revealed a spread of food: crackers; cheeses; a rainbow of fruit, from lush berries to slices of buttercup yellow mango to spring green coins of kiwi; and tiny sausages speared by toothpicks. I had a pang—Mallory loved those things. But we were still on the outs, and thinking about her still hurt. So for now, I focused my attention back on the movable feast . . . and the tray of small pastries arranged around a poppy-seed-dotted pink dip.

“The guest is Gabriel Keene,” Luc said. “He’s dropping by to talk to your liege and mine.”

I gave a soft snort. “I assume that means you’re involving me in shifter shenanigans this week?”

“I’m surprised at you, Sentinel.”

Ethan walked back into the sitting room. He was in black suit pants and a white button-up, no tie. The top button was unbuttoned, and he’d skipped the suit coat. Luc and I were still in workout gear, so it was practically business casual in here today.

“We so rarely involve you in shenanigans,” Ethan said, then nodded at the woman who’d wheeled in the cart. “Thank you, Alicia. My compliments to the chef.”

Alicia smiled, then collected her stack of steel covers. She turned and left the room, and the man who’d held open the doors gave us a final smile before he walked out again, closing the doors behind him.

“You involve me in shenanigans at every opportunity.”

“She has a point, Liege.”

Ethan clucked his tongue. “Captain of my Guards and he carries the standard of my Sentinel. Oh, how quickly they turn.”

“You’re first in my heart, Liege.”

This time, Ethan snorted. “We’ll see. Well, at any rate, we’ll see where Gabriel’s allegiances lie.”

He looked over the trays before nabbing a bottle of water, twisting off the top, and taking a drink.

“Nice spread,” I told him.

He nodded. “I thought it polite to offer Gabriel something to eat, and I assumed I’d have a greater chance of keeping your attention if I fed you first.”

I’d have to give him that one. I loved to eat, and the non-stop vampire metabolism hadn’t done much to dampen my appetite—quite the opposite. “Let’s just remember, Sullivan, that I want you for your smoked meats and your smoked meats only.”

He barked out a laugh. “Touché, Sentinel.”

I grinned at him, then plucked a piece of cheese from the tray and popped it in my mouth. It was rich and earthy, but it had that weird aftertaste that fancy cheese always seemed to have. “So,” I began, after I’d nabbed a couple more chunks for good measure, “why’s Gabriel coming to the House?”

“You’ll recall he wanted to speak about security arrangements for the convocation?”

I nodded. Gabriel had mentioned it when he’d dropped by a week ago.

“As it turns out, you were the security arrangement.”

I blanched. “I’m the security arrangement? What does that mean?”

Ethan took another drink before recapping the bottle. “It means, Sentinel, that we’re throwing you to the wolves.”

CHAPTER THREE HIDE-AND-SEEK

“I’ve loaned you to Gabriel,” he added by way of explanation.

I could only blink. “I’m sorry; it sounded like you said you’ve loaned me to Gabriel?”

“Well, well,” said a voice at the threshold. “Aren’t I lucky, getting a loaner Sentinel?” Without so much as a sound, Gabriel Keene, Apex of the North American Central Pack of shape-shifters, had made his way into Ethan’s apartments. He stood in the doorway, hands still on the knobs, light from the hallway spilling around him into the room.

Gabe walked inside, then shut the doors behind him. “Your second in command ushered me up. I told him no introductions were necessary.”

“Gabriel,” Ethan said, extending a hand and walking toward him. Gabriel shook it, his heavy black boots clunking on the hardwood floors as he moved.

They were an interesting contrast: Ethan—blond, rangy, and dressed in a crisp shirt and suit pants; Gabriel—tousled brown hair, broad shouldered, and dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt. Ethan was no slouch, but Gabriel was just so masculine, and all that shifter energy practically sucked the air from the room. I considered his very pregnant wife, Tonya, a very lucky girl.

When he and Ethan had finished their manly handshaking, Gabriel looked over at me. “What’s the going rate for a loaner Sentinel these days?”

“Patience,” said Luc and Ethan at the same time.

A hint of a smile crossed Gabriel’s face. I rolled my eyes.

“You remember Luc, Captain of my Guards?” Ethan said, gesturing toward Luc. “And Merit, of course?”

Gabriel nodded at each of us in turn.

“Help yourself to the food,” Ethan said, extending an arm toward the cart.

Gabriel shook his head, then gestured toward one of Ethan’s tailored sofas. “Can I sit?”

Ethan nodded graciously, then joined Gabriel at the seating area. Luc followed. I grabbed a cracker and did the same, but sat cross-legged on the floor.

“Just finished training,” I told Gabriel with an apologetic smile, then pointed at the empty Louis XIV chair beside Luc’s. “I’d prefer not getting a lecture about ruining the antiques.”

“My Sentinel is currently high on a mix of cheese and carbohydrates,” Ethan chummily told Gabriel. “Respectfully, I’d ignore her if I were you.”

“I’ll leave that job to you. Perhaps we should get to the point?”

“Feel free.”

Gabriel frowned, then crossed his right ankle over his left knee. “It might be best if I started at the beginning. Shifters are an independent bunch. I don’t mean that we live a solitary existence—quite the opposite. We are organized into Packs, after all. But we tend to live in the margins of human society. Vamps tend to think of us as a tent and Jeep crew, a hog and Harley crew, a rock ’n’ roll and straight Jack Daniel’s crew.”

Although I’d heard that description, the only shifters I knew other than Gabe—Jeff Christopher, a shifter/computer genius and one of my grandfather’s employees, and Chicago’s Breckenridge family, who were as rich and well-heeled as they came—were exactly the opposite. On the other hand, the Brecks had tried to blackmail us. . .

Gabriel shrugged, and his voice softened a bit. “That description isn’t entirely untrue. And that means that from a temperament standpoint, Pack members are generally uninterested in humans, in other sups. They aren’t interested in strategy.”

“What are they interested in?” Luc asked.

“Family,” Gabriel said. “Their families, their children, the unity of the Packs. They’re loyal, and to a one, they’ll follow as the Pack decides. But that attitude can make them, let’s say, insular.”