Page 144 of Wicked Hour (Heirs of Chicagoland 2)

His cheeks actually pinked a little.

Blue and red lights flashed as Sheriff Paulson’s vehicle pulled into the parking lot. He got out, looked around. “What the hell is happening out here?”

“We’re just visitors,” Connor said, and we limped back to the cabin. “Talk to Cash. He’s got all the answers.”

EPILOGUE

I woke to a single message, the one I’d been hoping for—and dreading at the same time:SHE’S AWAKE. That was the bat signal, the green light for Connor and me to drive back to the coven’s house.

I was nervous about the trip. Not sure of the expectations, of my beloved rules. Not certain what I’d feel for the girl I’d changed so profoundly. And I didn’t relish the idea of playing politics with Ronan.

“It’s like he’s playing at being a vampire,” I said when we were in Georgia’s SUV and driving toward the house. We’d decided it would be safer, all things considered, to take a vehicle that offered more protection than his bike.

Connor glanced at me. “What?”

“Sorry. Finishing a conversation I started in my head. He talks about doing what’s necessary to keep his people safe, but when I made a hard choice to protect someone—in the way only vampires can protect them—he accused me of disloyalty. Of threatening his kingdom. Isn’t that hypocrisy?”

“I imagine he’s not well-versed on how well-socialized vampires behave. Not as isolated as they are.”

“Maybe,” I said. But I guessed that was just one of the many dysfunctions caused by the coven’s isolation.

We pulled beneath the covered drive, and I looked up at the dark and imposing doors.

One of the vampires who’d accompanied Ronan to the resort opened the door, escorted us into the house.

I didn’t want to go back inside, to feel oppressed by red velvet and dark wood—or the emotional weight that layered over it. But I recognized that feeling for what it was now. It was the magic that had been laid down, frosted over the house and seeping into the furniture and fabric, designed to dull the senses of humans and keep their questions at a minimum.

“The spellseller did this,” I said to Ronan, who waited in the foyer.

He wore a dark suit today with a low collar over a V-neck shirt. “Yes,” he said, nodding at me, at Connor. “To protect us.”

“And are you better for it?”

He looked at me for a long time. “Let’s go upstairs,” he said by way of answer, and moved to the staircase.

Despite their obvious age, the treads were silent as we walked upstairs. Perfectly built or magically honed? Their inconsistencies wiped away or the sounds muffled?

Light shifted as we walked beneath the dome and rays of moonlight that filtered through the iron bars that held the glass in place.

We reached the landing, took another impeccably paneled hallway, and then turned into a room on the right. It was simpler by far than the rest of the house. A small rectangle of a room, with a window opposite the wall, a bureau, a desk, a small four-poster bed. Moonlight streamed through the window, cutting across the dark furniture.

The room was lit by a Tiffany-style lamp, or maybe an original, whose glass shade matched the style of the dome and cast soft gold-tipped light.

She sat cross-legged on the bed, a burgundy T-shirt over dark leggings. Her feet were bare. A book was in her lap, her gaze focused as her eyes tracked the lines of print.

Carlie looked up. She was still pale, but that was an improvement over the gray pallor she’d worn when I’d last seen her. She looked stronger—not just healthier, although, being immortal and now self-healing, she almost certainly was. But a little more sculpted. Cheekbones slightly rounder, muscles slightly tighter. It happened to most who were transformed—bone and muscle rearranging to make the package just a little more beautiful. All the easier to capture a wary human.

“Carlie,” Ronan said quietly. “You have a visitor.”

He stepped to the side as Carlie looked up, revealing me behind him. I made myself meet her eyes and braced myself for anger, for hatred, for the lash of words—and, depending on how angry she was, for fangs.

Her eyes went huge, went silver, and she leapt off the bed, was in front of me before I’d even considered grabbing a weapon.

She was fast. So fast.

And she wrapped her arms around me, embraced me with fierce strength she probably didn’t yet know she had.

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

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