I COULD HAVE DANCED ALL NIGHT

Back at the House, I showered and arranged undergarments, then slipped on my thigh holster and strappy heels. I opted for an updo tonight, twisting my hair into a knot at the back of my neck. All the basics accomplished, I slithered carefully into the dress. Short timing or not, the fit was exquisite. The dress was exquisite. Pale skin, dark hair, glossy lips, black dress. I looked like an exotic princess. A vampire princess.

But the lingering sting of my fight with Mallory lessened a little of the fairy tale.

As ready as I could be, I grabbed my clutch and scabbard and went downstairs, where Mallory's devil waited.

He stood in the foyer, hands in his pockets, lean body clad in a tuxedo. Black, crisply shouldered, a perfect bow tie at his neck. His hair was down, the gold of it straight around his face, highlighting cruelly perfect cheekbones, emerald eyes. He was almost too handsome, untouchably handsome, the face of a god - or something altogether more wicked.

"What's wrong?" he asked, without looking up.

I reached the first floor, shook my head. "I'd rather not talk about it."

That lifted his gaze, his lips parting infinitesimally as he took in the waterfall silk. "That's a lovely dress." His voice was soft, somehow that much more intensely masculine.

I nodded, ignoring the undertone. "Are we ready?"

Ethan tilted his head to the side. "Are you ready?"

"Let's just go."

Ethan paused, then nodded and headed for the stairs.

He let me be silent for most of the ride to Oak Park, which was considerably faster than the trip to the Breckenridge estate. But while he didn't talk, he kept turning to look at me, casting worried, surreptitious glances at my face, and a few more lascivious ones at other parts of my anatomy.

I noticed them, but ignored them. In the quiet of the car, my thoughts kept going back to my conversation with Mallory. Was I forgetting who I'd been, my life before Cadogan House? I'd known Mal for three years. Sure, we'd had a spat or two along the way.

We'd been roommates, after all. But never something like this. Never an argument where we questioned the other's choices, where we questioned our roles in each other's lives. This was different. And it was, I feared, the harbinger of unfortunate things.

Of the slow dissolution of a friendship already weakened by physical separation, new ties, supernatural disasters.

"What happened?"

Since Ethan's question was softly spoken and, I thought, sincere, I answered it. "Mallory and I had a fight." About you, I silently added, then said aloud, "Suffice it to say, she's not happy with the person, the vampire, I'm becoming."

"I see." He sounded as uncomfortable as you might expect a boy, even a four-hundred-year-old boy, to sound.

I skipped a responsive nod, fearful that the movement would trip the tears, smear my mascara, and leave track marks down my face.

I really, really wasn't in the mood for this. Not to go to Oak Park, to play dress-up, to be in the same room as my father, to pretend at being that girl.

"I need a motivational speech," I told him. "It's been a pretty awful night so far, and I'm fighting the urge to take a cab right back to Cadogan House and spend an intimate evening with a couple of deep-dish meat pies. I could use one of those 'Do it for Cadogan!' lectures you're so fond of."

He chuckled, and the sound of it was comforting somehow. "How about I tell you that you look radiant?"

The compliment was probably the best, and worst, thing he could have said. Coming from him, it felt weightier, more validating, than it should have. And that bothered me. A lot.

Scared me. A lot.

God, was Mal right? Was I sabotaging my relationship with Morgan for this man? Was I exchanging real friendships, real relationships, for the possibility of Ethan? I felt like I was spiral ing around in some kind of vampire whirlpool, the remnants of my normal life draining away. God only knew what would be left of me.

"How about I remind you," he began, "that this is your opportunity to be someone else for a few hours. I understand, maybe better than I did before, that you're different from these people. But tonight you can leave the real Merit in Hyde Park. Tonight, you can play make-believe. You can be... the girl they weren't expecting."

The girl they weren't expecting. That had kind of a nice ring to it. "That's not bad," I told him. "And certainly better than the last speech you gave me."

He made a Master-vampire-worthy huff. "As Master of the House - "

" - it's your duty to give me the benefit of the doubt," I finished for him. "And to motivate me when you can." I glanced at him. "Challenge me, Ethan, if you need to. I understand a challenge; I can rise to it. But work from the assumption that I'm trying, that I'm doing my best." I glanced out the window. "That's what I need to hear."

He was quiet so long I thought I'd angered him. "You are so young," he finally said, poignancy in his voice. "Still so very human."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult."

"Frankly, Merit, neither am I."

Twenty minutes later, we pulled into the circle drive in front of my parents' blocky Oak Park home. The house was a stylistic orphan, completely different from the Prairie-style,

Wright-homage houses around it. But my parents had had enough sway over Chicago's political administration to get the plans approved. So here it sat, a rectangular box of pasty gray concrete in the middle of picturesque Oak Park.

Ethan stopped the Mercedes in front of the door and handed the keys to one of the ubiquitous valets that apparently haunted these kinds of galas.

"The architecture is... interesting," he said.

"It's atrocious," I replied. "But the food's usually pretty good."

I didn't bother knocking at the front door, nor did I wait to get an invitation into the house. Like it or not, this was my ancestral home; I figured I didn't need an invitation.

More importantly, I hadn't bothered on my first trip back to the house shortly after I'd been changed. And here I was, the prodigal daughter, making her return.

Pennebaker, the butler, stood just inside the concrete-and-glass foyer, his skinny, stiff frame bowing at each passing guest. His nose lifted indignantly when I approached him.

"Peabody," I said in greeting. I loved faking him out.

"Pennebaker," he corrected in a growl. "Your father is currently in a meeting. Mrs. Merit and Mrs. Corkburger are entertaining the guests." He slid his steely gaze to Ethan and arched an eyebrow.

"This is Ethan Sullivan," I interjected. "My guest. He's welcome."

Pennebaker nodded dismissively, then looked back to the guests behind us.

That hurdle passed, I led Ethan away and began the trek toward the long concrete space at the back of the first floor where my parents entertained. Along the way, bare, angular hallways terminated in dead ends. Steel mesh blinds covered not windows but bare concrete walls. One stairway led to nothing but an alcove showcasing a single piece of modern art that would have been well suited to the living room of a maniacal serial killer. My parents called the design "thought-provoking," and claimed it was a challenge to the architectural mainstream, to people's expectations of what "stairways" and "windows" were supposed to be.

I called the design "contemporary psychopath." The space was packed with people in black-and-white clothing, and a jazz quintet provided a sound track from one of the room's corners. I glanced around, looking for targets. There were no Breckenridges in sight, and my father was equally absent. Not that that was a bad thing. But I found something just as interesting near the bank of windows that edged one side of the room.

"Prepare yourself," I warned him with a grin, and led him into the fray.

They stood together, my mother and sister, eyes scanning the crowd before them, heads together as they gossiped. And there was no doubt they gossiped. My mother was one of the ruling matrons of Chicago society, my sister an up-and-coming princess.

Gossip was their bread and butter.

My mother wore a conservative gown of pale gold, a sheath and bolero jacket well suited for her trim frame. My sister, her hair as dark as mine, wore a pale blue sleeveless cocktail dress. Her hair was pulled back, a thin, glossy black headband keeping every dark strand in place. And in her arms, currently chewing on her tiny, pudgy fist, was one of the lights of my life. My niece, Olivia.

"Hi, Mom," I said.

My mother turned, frowned and touched fingers to my cheek. "You look thin. Are you eating?"

"More than I've ever eaten in my life. It's glorious." I gave Charlotte a half hug. "Mrs.Corkburger."

"If you think having my daughter in my arms will prevent me from swearing at you,"

Charlotte said, "you are sorely mistaken." Without batting an eyelash - and without explaining why she planned on swearing at me - she passed over my eighteen-month-old niece and the nubby burp cloth that rested on her shoulder.

" Mehw, mehw, mehw," Olivia gleefully sang, hands clapping as I took her in my arms. I was pretty sure she was singing my name. Olivia, having missed out on the dark-haired Merit gene, was as blond as her father, Major Corkburger, with a halo of curls around her angelic face and bright blue eyes. She was wearing her party best, a sleeveless pale blue dress the same color as Charlotte's, with a wide blue satin ribbon around the waist.

And by the way, yes. My brother-in-law's given name really was Major Corkburger. But for the fact that he was a blond-haired, blue-eyed former college quarterback, I'd have assumed he got the crap beat out of him in high school on a daily basis for that one.

Nevertheless, I rarely failed to remind him that he was, in fact, a major Corkburger. I don't think he thought that was funny.

"Why are you going to swear at me?" I asked Charlotte, once I'd arranged Olivia and placed the cloth prophylactically on my shoulder.

"First things first," she said, eyes on Ethan. "We haven't been introduced."

"Oh. Mom, Charlotte, this is Ethan Sullivan."

"Mrs. Merit," Ethan said, kissing my mother's hand. "Mrs. Corkburger." He did the same to my sister, who nibbled the edge of her lip, one eyebrow arched in obvious pleasure.

"It is just... lovely to meet you," Charlotte intoned, then crossed her arms. "And how have you been treating my little sister?"

Ethan snuck a glance my way.

Don't look at me, I silently told him, assuming he could hear me. This was your idea.

You got yourself into it, so you can get yourself out. I couldn't hold back a grin.

Ethan rolled his eyes, but seemed amused. "Merit is a very unique vampire. She has a certain..."

We all leaned forward a little, eager to catch the verdict.

"... star quality."

He looked at me when he said it, a hint of pride in his emerald green eyes.

I was stunned enough that I couldn't quite manage to get out a thank-you, but there must have been sufficient shock in my eyes that he couldn't have missed it.

"You have a lovely home, Mrs. Merit," Ethan lied to my mother. She thanked him, and the conversation about the benefits and disadvantages of living in an architectural masterpiece began. I figured that gave me at least ten or fifteen minutes to catch up with Charlotte.

Charlotte looked at him with approval, then smiled smartly at me. "He is delish. Tell me you've hit that."

"Ugh. I have not 'hit that.' Nor do I plan to. He's trouble in a very pretty package."

Head tilted, she gave Ethan's body a complete scan. "Very pretty package indeed. I'm thinking he might be worth the trouble, little sister." She looked back at me, then frowned. "Now, what's going on with you and Daddy? You're fighting, and then you're a vampire, and then you're still fighting, and now, all of a sudden, you're here. At a party.In a dress."

"It's complicated," was my admittedly weak retort.

"You two need to sit down and hash some things out."

"I'm here, aren't I?" She didn't need to know exactly how much I'd dreaded it. "And as for the fighting, he's threatened to disinherit me twice in the last month."

"He threatens to disinherit everyone. You know how he is. You've known for twenty-eight years."

"He hasn't threatened Robert," I pointed out, my voice sounding every bit the petulant little sister.

"Well, obviously not Robert," Charlotte dryly agreed, reaching out to straighten the hem of Olivia's dress. "Dearest Robert can do no wrong. And speaking of family drama, did I get a phone call to tell me my baby sister was a vampire? No. I had to find out from Daddy." She flicked the tip of my ear with her thumb and index finger.

I guess that explained why she wanted to swear at me. "Hey!" I said, covering an ear with my non-baby-cradling hand. "That wasn't funny when I was twelve, and it's not funny now."

"Act your age, and I'll act mine," she said.

"I am acting my age."

"All evidence to the contrary," she muttered. "Just do me a favor, okay?"

"What?"

"Just try, for me? For better or worse, he's the only father you've got. And you're the only immortal Merit, as far as I'm aware anyway. I don't think Dearest Robert has acquired immortality yet, but that might only require a few dollars pressed into the right hands."

I smiled and relaxed a little. Charlotte and I weren't close, but I could appreciate her hands-on approach to sarcasm. And, of course, we shared a heady dose of sibling rivalry with Robert.

"About that immortality thing," she said. "Maybe now is the time for you and Daddy to mend some fences."

My eyes widened at the sudden seriousness in her voice.

"You'll be here longer than the rest of us," she said. "You'll be alive long after we're gone. After I'm gone. You'll watch my children and my grandchildren grow up. You'll watch them, and you'll watch over them. And that's your responsibility, Merit. I know you have duties to your House; I've learned enough in the last two months to understand that. But you're also a Merit, for better or for worse. You have the ability - you're the only one of us who does - to keep them safe."

She let out a haggard sigh, a motherly sigh, and settled serious eyes on her daughter, tugging again at her dress. I wasn't sure if it was a nervous movement, something to do with her hands, or just the simple comforting act of touching her child.

"There are crazy people in the world," she continued. "Being made a vampire certainly doesn't inoculate against crazy. They say - what was her name?"

No need to ask who she meant. "Celina."

"Celina. They say she's been confined, but how would we know that?"

She turned her gaze back on me, and I saw a mother's concern, and a mother's suspicion, in her eyes. She may have wondered if Celina had been released, but she didn't know. My father, apparently, had kept his word, and hadn't revealed what Ethan had told him.

I could have spilled the beans to Charlotte, told her things that would frighten her further, things that would impress upon her the need to keep her family close, to keep them safe.

Instead, I kept the burden in my hands. "It's taken care of," I said simply.

It wasn't, of course, taken care of. Celina was out there somewhere. She knew where I was, and she probably wasn't above going after my family to show how irritated she was with me. I assumed that's what I was to her - an irritation. An unfinished project.

But if I could swear two oaths to a stranger - in front of a House full of strangers - I could swear a silent one to Charlotte that I would watch over Olivia and her older brothers and sister, and if I stayed alive long enough, over their children. I could promise that I would stand Sentinel for the family that had given me my name, just as I would for the family I'd given a name for.

"It's taken care of," I repeated, meaning it, instilling my voice with the sincerity of belief that I'd take a stake myself before I'd let anything happen to Olivia.

She looked at me for a long, quiet time, then nodded, our understanding reached, the deal done. "P.S., that dress is foul."

Startled by both the abrupt change in conversation and the comment, I shifted Olivia's weight to the side to look down at my dress.

Charlotte shook her head. "Not yours. Lucy Cabot's." She pointed into the crowd at a woman draped in a polka-dotted tent of organza. "Horrendous. No, yours is lovely. I saw it at Fashion Week, can't remember who designed it. Badgley? I forget. Regardless, your stylist did good." She cast a sly glance back at Ethan, who was chatting up my mother. "And your accessories are fabulous."

"He's not my accessory," I reminded her. "He's my boss."

"He's fine, is what he is. He could sexually harass me any day."

I glanced down at the youngest Corkburger, who blinked wide blue eyes at me as she gnawed the end of her burp cloth. "Earmuffs, much?"

" Murf," Olivia said. I wasn't sure if that was gas or an attempt to mimic my words. I bet the latter. Olivia adored me.

"Honey," Charlotte said, "it's the twenty-first century. Vampires are chic, the Cubs have a pennant, and it's perfectly acceptable for a woman to find a man attractive. These are all things my daughter needs to know about."

"Especially the Cubs part," I said, waving the burp cloth at Olivia to her joyful cheers.

She clapped her hands with the slow awkwardness and simple glee of a child.

"If you could live at Wright and Addison, you would," Charlotte predicted.

"That is true. I do love my Cubbies."

"And so often for naught." She smirked, then clapped her hands and held them out to Olivia, who bounced in my arms and leaned toward her mother, holding out her own hands. "It's been lovely catching up, sister, but I need to get this one home and into bed.

Major's home with the rest of the troops. I just wanted to have a chance to say hi and let you visit your favorite niece."

"I love all your children equally," I protested, passing back the heavy, warm bundle of baby.

Charlotte snickered and balanced Olivia on her hip. "I'm going to be a good mommy and pretend that's true, whether it is or not. As long as you love my children more than Robert's, we're good." She leaned in, pressed a kiss against my cheek. "Night, little sister. And by the way, if you have the chance with Blondie, take it. Please. For me."

The lascivious look she cast in Ethan's direction when she pulled back left little doubt about what "chance" she meant me to take.

"Good night, Char. My love to Major. Good night, Livie."

"MEWH!" she cried, bouncing on her mother's hip. But the night had apparently taken its toll, and her blond head drooped to Charlotte's shoulder, her eyelids slowly closing. She fought it, I could tell, tried to keep her eyes open and her gaze on the dresses and partygoers around her. But when she popped a thumb into her mouth, I knew she was done. Her lids fell shut and this time stayed there.

Charlotte said her goodbyes to Ethan, managing not to wrap manicured fingers around his ass, and my mother excused herself to see to the rest of her guests.

"You're wearing a very serious expression," Ethan said, reaching my side again.

"I was reminded that I owe certain obligations to my family. That there are services I can provide."

"Because of your immortality?"

I nodded.

"It does impose a sense of obligation to one's family and friends," he agreed. "Just be careful that you don't give in to the guilt of it. That you have been given a gift, even if others cannot share in it, does not diminish its value. Live your life, Merit, the many years of it, and be grateful."

"Has that attitude worked for you?"

"Some days better than others," he admitted, then glanced at me. "I assume you'll need feeding soon?"

"I'm a girl, not a pet. But, realistically, yes. I pretty much always do." I pressed a hand to the thin black silk above my stomach. "Are you always hungry? I am always hungry."

"Did you eat breakfast?"

"I had part of a granola bar before training."

Ethan rolled his eyes. "That might explain something," he said, but beckoned a waitress in our direction. The young woman, who couldn't have been more than eighteen, was dressed, like all the waiters, in head-to-toe black. She was pale, and a flow of straight red hair spilled across her shoulders. When she reached us, she extended a square ceramic tray loaded with hors d'oeuvres toward Ethan.

"What have we got?" I asked, eyes scanning the platter. "I hope there's something with bacon. Or prosciutto. I'd take anything cured or smoked."

"You're Ethan, right?"

I lifted my gaze from what looked like prosciutto-wrapped asparagus (score!) and found the waitress - her bright blue eyes big as saucers - gazing dreamily at Ethan.

"I am, yes," he answered.

"That's just... that's just... great," she said, her cheeks mottled with crimson. "Are you - you're like a Master vampire, right? The head of Cadogan House?"

"Um, yes. I am."

"That's just - wow."

We stood there for a moment, the waitress, lips parted, blinking doe eyes at Ethan, and Ethan, much to my amusement, shifting his feet uncomfortably.

"How about we'll just take that," he finally said, pulling the tray carefully from her outstretched hands. "And thank you for bringing it."

"Oh, no, thank you," she said, grinning dopily at him. "You're just... that's just... great,"

she said again, then turned to skip away through the crowd.

"I believe you have a fan," I told him, biting back a snicker.

He gave me a sardonic look, offered his tray. "Dinner?"

"Seriously. You have a fan girl. How bizarre. And, yes, thank you." I looked over the offerings, hand poised above the tray, and settled on a wooden-toothpick-staked cube of beef accompanied by a greenish sauce. As a vampire, I didn't care for the staked-meat analogy, but I wasn't going to turn down what was probably a choice cut.

"I'm not sure if your shock about my having a human fan is insulting or not."

"Much like everything else about me, it's endearing." I popped the beef into my mouth. It was delicious, so I scanned the tray, prepared for a second dive, and nabbed a pastry cup full of a spinach concoction.

It was also delicious. Say what you wanted about my father - and I mean that literally: be my guest - but the man had good taste in caterers. You'd find no whipped shellfish at a Joshua Merit party.

"Would you like me to give you a few minutes with the tray?"

I glanced up at Ethan, my fingers poised over another beef cube, and grinned. "Could you, just? We'd really like to be alone right now."

"I think that means you've had enough," he said, turning away and setting the tray on a nearby side table.

"Did you just cut me off?"

"Come with me."

I arched a brow at him. "You can't order me around in my own house, Sullivan."

Ethan's gaze dropped to the medal at my neck. "This is hardly your house any longer, Sentinel."

I made a sound of disagreement, but when he turned and walked away, I followed. He strolled across the room like he owned it, like there was nothing unusual about a Master vampire sauntering through a crowd of Windy City bigwigs. Maybe, in this day and age, there wasn't. With those cheekbones, that sleek tux and the unmistakable air of power and entitlement, he looked like he belonged.

We reached a gap in the crowd, and Ethan stopped, turned, and held out a hand.

I stared at it blankly, then lifted my gaze to his. "Oh, no. This is not part of my assignment."

"You're a ballet dancer."

"Was a ballet dancer," I reminded him. I glanced around and saw the multitude of eyes on us, then leaned toward him. "I am not going to dance with you," I whispered, but fiercely. "Dancing is not part of my job description."

"It's one dance, Sentinel. And this is not a request; it's an order. If they see us dancing, perhaps they'll adjust to our presence a bit faster. Perhaps it will soften them up."

The excuse was hokey, but I could hear the mumbles of the people around us, who were wondering why I was standing there, why I hadn't yet accepted his hand.

I had the strangest sense of deja vu.

On the other hand, I was at home, which meant a meeting with my father was imminent.

My stomach was beginning to knot. I needed something to keep my mind off of it, and dancing with a ridiculously handsome, if often infuriating, Master vampire would probably do the trick.

"You owe me," I muttered, but took his hand, just as the quintet began to play "I Could Have Danced All Night."

I slid a glance to the members of the quintet, who grinned like they'd made their very first vampire joke. And maybe they had.

"Thank you," I mouthed to them, and they nodded back at me in unison.

"Your father hired comedians," Ethan commented, as he led me to a spot in the middle of the empty floor. He stopped and turned, and I placed my free hand on his shoulder.

His free hand, the one that wasn't clutching mine, went to the back of my waist. He put pressure there, pulling me closer - not quite, but almost, against the line of his body. His body around mine, it was hard to avoid the scent of his cologne - clean, crisp, irritat ingly delicious.

I swallowed. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. On the other hand, best thing to do was keep the mood light. "He has to pay people who have a sense of humor. Since he's lacking one," I added, when Ethan didn't laugh.

"I understood the joke, Merit," he quietly said, sparkling emerald eyes on me as we began to sway. "I didn't find it funny."

"Yes, well, your sense of humor leaves something to be desired."

Ethan spun me out and away, then pulled me back again. Stuck-up or not, I had to give him props - the boy could move.

"My sense of humor is perfectly well developed," he informed me when our bodies aligned again. "I merely have high standards."

"And yet you deign to dance with me."

"I'm dancing in a stately home with the owner's daughter, who happens to be a powerful vampire." Ethan looked down at me, brow cocked. "A man could do worse."

"A man could do worse," I agreed. "But could a vampire?"

"If I find one, I'll ask him."

The response was corny enough that I laughed aloud, full and heartily, and had the odd, heart-clenching pleasure of watching him smile back, watching his green eyes shine with the delight of it.

No, I told myself, even as we danced, even as he smiled down at me, even as his hand at my waist, the warm weight of it, felt natural. I looked away, saw that the people around us watched us dance with obvious curiosity. But there was something else in their expressions - a kind of sweetness, like they were watching a couple's first wedding waltz.

I realized how it must look. Ethan, blond and handsome in his tuxedo, me in my black silk ball gown, two vampires - one of whom was the daughter of the host, a girl who'd disappeared from society only to reemerge with this handsome man on her arm -

locked together, smiling as they shared a dance, the first couple to take the floor. If we'd actually been dating and had wanted to announce our relationship, we couldn't have staged it better.

My smile fell away. What had felt like a novelty - dancing with a vampire in my father's house - began to feel like a ridiculous theatrical production.

He must have seen the change in my expression; when I looked back at him, his smile had melted.

"We shouldn't be doing this."

"Why," he asked, "should we not be dancing?"

"It's not real."

"It could be."

I snapped my gaze up to meet his. There was desire in his eyes, and while I wasn't na?ve enough to deny the chemistry between us, our relationship was complicated enough between Sentinel and Master. Dating wasn't going to make things easier.

"You think too much," Ethan quietly said, approbation in his voice.

I looked away at the couples finally beginning to join us on the dance floor. "You train me to think, Ethan. To always think, strategize, plan. To evaluate the consequences of my actions." I shook my head. "For what you're suggesting - no. There would be too many consequences."

Silence.

"Touche," he finally whispered.

I nodded almost imperceptibly, and took the point.