Blood Games

Family. Couldn't live with them, couldn't run a stake through them.

Oh, François,” I breathily said. “You’ll have to hurry. My boyfriend will be back soon.” Ethan grunted and slipped his arms around mine, pulling him tight against my body. “My desire is impatient,” he said in a French accent that was surprisingly believable. “It will not wait, and damn your boyfriend.” I turned to face him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and caught his bottom lip gently between my teeth. “Then by all means, François, let’s get to it.

Go ahead,” I told him. “Go see your admirers. Sign some autographs. It’s good PR for the House.” He slid me a glance, smiled. “Not concerned one of the fans will try to sweep me away with words of love?” “Oh, they’ll try to sweep,” I said. “But I have no worries you’ll come back to me.” His smile was meltingly handsome. “Because I love you without measure?” “Of course,” I said. Also, I had the car keys.

You’re my world,” he said, putting down the glass. “You’re mine to protect.

Because I love you. Because love, to some, is a weakness. A pressure point. Because I would give up anything for you, including the GP. And because I don’t mean to give up either.

I accept that he has a past. I wasn’t a saint before we met.” She slid me a glance. “I wasn’t.” “You were a nerdy English lit student; you were as close as it gets without beatification.

Oh, I get it. You’re doing the girlfriend—what’s her name? Megan?” “Merit,” answered the girl at the table. “And it’s a pretty good costume.” I opened my mouth to object, to proclaim that I wasn’t doing Ethan’s girlfriend, I was Ethan’s girlfriend, and I was doing Ethan.

Catcher pulled out his phone,rose,and walked away from the table to make the call. "I'm going to advise Chuck of our little breakthrough. Good job, Mallocake." We all looked at Mallory. "Did he just call you Mallocake ?" She blushed to the roots of her blue hair, shrugged one shoulder. "It's a nickname" It was also my all-time favorite snack food- a log-shaped chocolate cake with a marshmallow center. They were absolutely delectable. And that was kind of adorable, especially for someone like Catcher, who made Eeyore seem like an optimist.

The sword’s a really nice touch—did you get it at Faire Makers?—but I’m not buying the attitude. It’s not really Merit. You should be channeling your inner vampire sex warrior. Like this,” she said, then put her hands on her hips, canted out one leg, and smiled sensually. “What?” was all I could think to say. “Maybe a little more cleavage, too.” “Cleavage.” She nodded, winked. “A vampire sex warrior can never show too much cleavage.

He wore a gray hoodie with the green Jakob’s Quest logo across the front. Dear God, I thought. The RG had a Jeff.

Make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men’s blood. —Daniel Burnham

Ethan chuckled. “It hasn’t escaped my attention, Sentinel, that you cringe every time I mention our future.” “I don’t cringe. I only cringe when you pretend-propose.” He had a penchant for going down on bended knee—and straightening a hem or helping me with a shoe. “Nobody finds that amusing.” “I find it excessively amusing. You do realize, don’t you, that the proposal won’t always be fake?

I believe there’s something you’ll need, Sentinel.” Ethan slid from his chair, dropped to one knee on the carpet. My mind had to race to keep up, but my heart pounded madly. Ethan looked up at me, grinned. “That thing, of course, is this.” He held up a small dessert fork. “You dropped your fork, Sentinel.” My blood pounded in my ears. I stood up, swatted his arms with slaps. “You are a jerk.” He roared with laughter. “Ah, Sentinel. The look on your face.” He doubled over with laughter. “Such terror.” I kept swatting. “At the thought of marrying you, you pretentious ass.” He roared again, then picked me up and carried me to the bed. “My pretentions are well earned, Sentinel.” “You have got to stop doing that.” “I can’t. It’s hilarious.” Only a man would think fake proposals were so funny.

If you’re going to yell at me, do it in English, please. I’d like to understand the insult so I can frame an appropriately pithy response.

Phones on, and stay alert,” Luc said. “And tell Jonah we said hello.” “Lucas,” Ethan politely said, “kiss my ass.

Dear God,” I said, dodging a pair of zombie cheerleaders to cross the busy pathway to the “Hunkiest” table, staring down at the assortment of pink, white, and pale blue panties, Ethan’s green eyes staring out from the front triangle.

I knew there were Web sites devoted to Ethan. I might, in a moment of curious weakness, have visited Ethan SullivanIsMyMaster.net and smiled at the bloggers’ obvious adoration. But underwear? Underwear! “Pretty hot, isn’t he?” asked the clerk. I was bewildered. Of course he was hot. But he was my hot.

I am a vampire sex warrior, I thought, with much satisfaction.

past is immutable. Only the future can be written.