Lucky Break by Chloe Neill Page B

discussion,” Vincent said.
    Rowan nodded. “We’ll sit with you.”
    That, I hoped, would be the beginning of something new.
    ***
    The guesthouse smelled gloriously like pasta, tomatoes, rich garlic, and spicy meat.
    Damien, thank God, had been busy.
    He’d already piled food on the dining room table—bowls of pasta and sauce, freshly grated Parmesan, steaming meatballs, and crusty bread for dipping.
    I stared at the table and sighed with sensual approval.
    â€œYou’d better propose to her quickly, Sullivan,” Gabriel warned, taking a seat at the table. “Before she proposes to Damien or the food.”
    Ethan made a sardonic sound, pulled out a chair for me. I sat down and began to stuff my face.
    I didn’t stop until I’d had thirds, until I’d eaten enough to pooch out my stomach like I’d swallowed a volleyball. A delicious volleyball.
    That’s when all the blood rushed to my stomach and my eyes began to close.
    Gabriel pressed a napkin to his mouth, then tossed it onto the table. “You’d better get to bed before you fall into your food, Kitten. We’ll keep watch today.”
    â€œYou’re sure?” Ethan asked.
    He nodded. “You’ve done your part to help us. Least we can do is return the favor. We’ll head out at dusk when you’re awake. I presume you’re going back tomorrow?”
    Ethan nodded. “The jet will be waiting at dusk.”
    â€œPerfect timing,” Gabriel said.
    â€œDo you ever sleep?” I groggily wondered. Most supernaturals didn’t have vampires’ sensitivity to the sun but slept during the day, anyway. I’d assumed they wanted to be awake for the action—or the havoc.
    â€œNot as much as you do,” Gabriel said, grinning. “We prefer cat naps.”
    I smiled back, covered a yawn with the back of my hand. “Of course you do.”
    â€œGet to bed.”
    I didn’t argue with him. While Ethan cleaned up, I hit the bed in my clothes and was out before he returned.

6
    I woke with a start, my body jolting upright. I blinked, oriented myself, realized I was very naked.
    My clothes hung neatly on a bedside chair. Ethan must have taken them off before the sun rose.
    The room was dark, shutters still over the windows, the sun’s journey though the sky not yet complete. Ethan slept soundly beside me, and the rest of the guesthouse was utterly silent, utterly still.
    I rarely stirred before Ethan, and it was odd to experience twilight’s quiet while he slept soundly. The question was—why? I threw back the covers, scrubbed hands over my face, tried to remember the dream I’d been having or the noise that had stirred me.
    I rose, walked into the bathroom, splashed freezing water on my face until my brain began to function, then walked back into the bedroom, looked around. My gaze kept shifting back to the Barrymore landscape, to the representation of the valley on canvas.
    And then I thought of Christophe’s journal entry:
Fiona is painting. She isn’t very good yet, but she is trying very diligently.
    My heart began to pound. “Could it be that simple?” I asked, eyes widening.
    â€œSentinel?”
    Ethan’s voice was groggy. When I looked back, he sat up, fingers combing through his hair, sheet pooled at his abdomen. “What’s wrong?”
    I looked back at the painting. “I think I know what happened to Fiona McKenzie.”
    ***
    We asked the pilot to hold the jet and gathered together on a rugged hill at the head of the valley, the same hill we’d emerged onto the night before. Tom, Rowan, and a few of his trusted shifters. Vincent and Nessa. Me and Ethan.
    â€œWell, Merit,” Tom said. “This is your party. Go right ahead.”
    I nodded, glanced at Vincent. “You said some of Fiona’s possessions were missing, so they believed she was dead. What was missing?”
    Vincent frowned. “I