“Lancelot and Tristan?” he asked.
Embarrassed at the love-struck teen implication, I stammered out, “I am—was—working on my dissertation. Before.”
Ethan finished his drink and put the glass on the bar, then leaned back against it, arms crossed. “I see.”
“Honestly, I doubt that you do. But if you hoped changing me would help you access Merit money, you’re out of luck. I don’t have it—either the money or the access.”
Ethan looked momentarily startled, and didn’t meet my gaze when he pushed off the bar and moved back to the desk. When he was seated again, he frowned at me—not in anger, I thought, but in puzzlement. “What if I said that I could give you things? Would that ease the transition?”
Across the room, Mallory groaned.
“I’m not my parents.”
I was the recipient of another long stare, but this one held a glimmer of respect. “I’m beginning to see that.”
Finally finding my footing—he may have been a vampire, but he was subject to human prejudices just like everyone else—I relaxed back into the chair, crossing my legs and arms, and arching a brow at him.
“Is that what you thought? That I’d see the Armani and the Hyde Park address, and I’d be so excited I’d forget that I hadn’t consented?”
“Perhaps we’ve both misjudged the situation,” he allowed. “But if there’s such animus in your family, why do you go by ‘Merit’?”
I glanced over at Mallory, who was picking a bit of lint from one of the heavy velvet curtains that lined the windows. She was one of only a handful of friends who knew the entire story, and I wasn’t about to add Ethan Sullivan to that group.
“It’s better than the other option,” I told him.
Ethan seemed to consider that before averting his gaze to a pile of papers on his desk. He shuffled them. “And you aren’t undead. You aren’t undead, or the walking dead, and Buffy isn’t a reliable anatomical resource. You didn’t die that night. Your blood was taken and replaced. Your heart never stopped beating. You’re better now, genetically, than you were before. A predator. The top of the food chain. I’ve made you an immortal, assuming you manage to keep out of trouble. If you follow the rules, you can have a long, productive life as a Cadogan vampire. Speaking of, did Helen give you everything you need? You received a copy of the Canon?”
I nodded.
“Have you had blood yet?”
“Bagged blood was delivered to the house, but I haven’t had any. To be honest, it didn’t look that appetizing.”
“You got plenty during the transition, so the thirst hasn’t hit you yet. Give it another day. You’ll want it badly enough when First Hunger strikes.” Ethan’s lips tipped up, and he smiled. It was a little disarming—that smile. He looked younger, happier, more human. “Did you say bagged blood?”
“That’s what was delivered. Why is that funny?”
“Because you’re a vampire of the Cadogan line. You can drink directly from humans or other vampires. Just don’t kill anyone.”
I put a hand across my stomach, as if the touch could still the greasy wave that suddenly rolled through it. “I’m not going to bite someone. I don’t want to drink at all, bagged or otherwise, people or not. You can’t just go around and”—I waved a hand in the air—“chew on people.”
Ethan clucked his tongue. “And to think—we were so close to having a normal conversation. Merit, you’re an adult. I suggest you learn to accept your circumstances, and quickly. Like it or not, your life has changed. You need to come to terms with exactly who you are.”
“I know who I am,” I assured him.
A golden eyebrow winged upward. “You know who you were. I know who you are, Merit, and who you’ll come to be.”
“And what is that?”
His face was completely, serenely confident. “Mine. My vampire. My subject.”
The possessiveness called my anger, and it rose, flowered and rushed across my body with a warmth that curled my toes. That warmth was delicious, and yet the emotion felt strange—separate, somehow. As if it wasn’t my anger, but an anger inside me. Whatever the source, it was pervasive, strong, and thrilling.
I stood up and asked him, my voice huskier, lusher, “Would you like to test that theory?”
Ethan’s gaze dropped to my lips, and he wet his own, but when he responded, seconds later, his tone was chill. Composed. The tone of Master-subduing-rebellious-peon. “You forget yourself, Initiate. You’re two days old. I’ve three hundred and ninety-four years. Do you really want to test your mettle against me?”
I wasn’t completely stupid. I knew my answer to that question should have been a resounding no. But that didn’t stop my body, which I was beginning to learn was operating on a completely different frequency from the rest of my brain, from responding with all the bravado it could muster, “Why not?”
A heavy silence descended, the only sound penetrating it the solid thud of my heart. Ethan pushed back his chair. “Come with me.”
“What did you just do?”
Mallory and I followed Ethan back through the first floor of Cadogan House.
“I don’t know,” I whispered back. “Vampire Merit’s a lot braver than People Merit.”
“Yeah, well, you better figure out a way to reconcile the genetics, ’cause Vampire Merit just landed you in some serious shit.”
We took a right, descended a flight of stairs, and followed Ethan through another hallway to a set of antique wooden doors. The room we entered was huge and bright, the center of its wooden floor covered with a set of tatami mats. Half the height of the twenty-foot-high walls was covered in gleaming wood; the remainder, up to an overhanging balcony supported by massive wooden columns, showcased an impressive collection of antique weaponry, including swords, maces, bows, axes, and wicked-looking knives.
This was a room for sparring.
It took a moment for the implication to settle in.
“You’re kidding, right?” I asked, turning to him. “You can’t actually think I’m going to fight you?”
Ethan regarded me coolly and began unbuttoning his shirt. Question answered, I thought, and averted my eyes after the first peek of toned chest.
I walked into the middle of the floor, thinking I’d feel better if I had a better grasp on my surroundings. Ethan’s arsenal was impressive—a set of crossed pikes, blue ribbons hung from their ends; a hefty broadsword; a black wooden shield bearing a golden oak tree, the acorns painted red; rows of unsheathed katanas.
“Experience?” Ethan called out behind me.
“Ballet and jogging. And whatever extra strength two days of being fanged will give me.” I made the mistake of turning around just as he was pulling the button-up shirt over his head. My mouth went dry. His shoulders were broad and perfectly sculpted, as was the rest of his torso. His chest was firm, his stomach flat and lean, dotted only by the pucker of navel and a thin line of dark blond hair that disappeared into the waist of his trousers. Around his neck was a thin gold chain, on which hung a tiny oval of gold with a design stamped into it. It looked like a saint’s medal, although I doubt any saints would have approved of a Master vampire wearing it.
Ethan caught me staring and lifted a brow, and I looked quickly away. Mallory yelled my name, waving me frantically toward where she stood at the edge of the mats. When I reached her, she shook her head at me.
“You cannot seriously think you’re going to fight this guy. He could kick your ass with one arm tied behind his back, much less with all his voluminous vampire powers. He’s probably stronger than you, faster than you. He can probably jump higher. Hell, he can probably glamour you into making out with him right there on the mats.”
We simultaneously looked over to where Ethan, half naked, was toeing off black leather loafers. The muscles in his abdomen clenched as he moved. So did the lines of corded muscle across his shoulders.
God, but he was beautiful.
I narrowed my gaze.
Beautiful but evil. Wicked. The repugnant dregs of foul malevolence. Or something.