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  • Home > Chloe Neill > Chicagoland Vampires Series > Blade Bound (Chapter 50)      Page
  • Blade Bound(Chicagoland Vampires #13)(50) by Chloe Neill
  • “I’ve heard the hot dog truck is pretty good,” Catcher said.

    “I’m starving,” I said, to absolutely no one’s surprise. “But I don’t have any cash.” I rarely carried anything other than my ID and transit card. I glanced at Ethan. “At the risk of sounding anachronistically wifely, can you pay?”

    “I can spare some money for you,” Ethan said. “Probably. How hungry are you, exactly?”

    “You’re hilarious,” I said, but held his hand as we dashed between cars to the other side of the street.

    We all opted for the hot dog truck, joining the line of people who hadn’t been fazed by the weather. But that didn’t stop them from speculating about it.

    “It’s the vampires,” said the man in front of us, his voice thick with Chicago. He talked with his companion, who wore a Blackhawks jersey that matched his own.

    “They work black magic in that House of theirs. Drove past it once, saw lights blazing in the middle of the night. I know what they were doing.”

    Probably taxes or something equally dull, Ethan silently said. But who are we to argue?

    Ethan was becoming increasingly frustrated with willing human prejudices.

    “No,” said the woman in front of him, turning around to join the conversation. “It’s the witches. This is witch magic, and I’d put good money on it.” She glanced at his jersey, nodded. “Go, Hawks.”

    “Go, Hawks,” the men said. Even if they couldn’t agree on magic, they could agree on hockey.

    Perhaps we’d better just plan our meal, Ethan said, gaze narrowing at the dry-erase menu on the side of the truck. What is a “Funyun”?

    The child of an onion ring and a pork rind. You wouldn’t like them.

    Which means you adore them, he said.

    I really do. Which was why I’d settled on the “Garbage Dog.” You should stick to Chicago style, I told Ethan. That’s your favorite.

    He glanced at me. A year of knowing me, and you’ve already figured me out? Am I so predictable, Sentinel?

    That’s Mrs. Sentinel to you. And yeah, I have a pretty good sense of you. Good enough that I could have penned the Novitiate’s Guide to Ethan Sullivan, if I’d had the time. You enjoy being in charge, fine china, food served on fine china, bespoke suits, twenty-year-old Scotch, and, for reasons I don’t understand, Doctor Who.

    He smiled as the line shuffled forward. He’s a Time Lord. I can relate.

    I just shook my head. Ethan had enough honorifics, and certainly didn’t need to add “Time Lord” to the list.

    When we reached the window, we were greeted by a man with tan skin and dark hair, and broad shoulders beneath his SPOTTED DOGS T-shirt. “What can I get ya?”

    “Chicago Dog,” Ethan said.

    “And for the lady?”

    “Garbage Dog,” I said.

    Ethan gave me a sidelong glance. “And?”

    “And . . . fries. And onion rings, too, if we’re already throwing stuff in a fry basket.”

    The man winked. “I like a woman with an appetite.”

    Probably not my particular appetite, given last night’s activities, but whatever. “And a drink.”

    “I recommend the chocolate shakes. We make the best in town.”

    My gaze narrowed, and Ethan just chuckled, pulled bills from his pocket, and offered them to the vendor. “You may have started a conversation you don’t have time to finish.”

    “How chocolate is chocolate?” I asked.

  • Romance | Fantasy | Vampire