Midnight Marked

Praise for Chloe Neill’s Chicagoland Vampires Novels

“Neill creates a strong-minded, sharp-witted heroine who will appeal to fans of Charlaine Harris’s Sookie Stackhouse series and Laurell K. Hamilton’s Anita Blake.”

—Library Journal

“One of my all-time-favorite vampire series. . . . It’s witty, it’s adventurous, there’s political intrigue, murder, magic, and so much more.”

—USA Today

“The pages turn fast enough to satisfy vampire and romance fans alike.”

—Booklist

“Despite all that has and continues to be thrown at her, Merit’s courage, guts, and loyalty make her one amazing heroine. Terrific!”

—RT Book Reviews

“I was drawn in . . . from page one and kept reading far into the night.”

—Julie Kenner, New York Times bestselling author of the Devil May Care novels

“Action, supernatural politicking, the big evil baddie with a plan, and, of course, plenty of sarcastic Merit one-liners. . . . Chicagoland Vampires is one of my favorite series.”

—All Things Urban Fantasy

“All I can say is wow.”

—Bitten by Books

“An absolute treat not to be missed.”

—A Book Obsession

“Delivers enough action, plot twists, and fights to satisfy the most jaded urban fantasy reader.”

—Monsters and Critics

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

THE DEVIL’S EYE

Late April

Chicago, Illinois



I stood at the corner of Clark and Addison in jeans and a Cubs T-shirt, my long hair pulled into a ponytail through a vintage Cubs cap.

At a quick glance, I probably didn’t look much different from the thousands of humans around me. But I was a vampire, and I’d caught the devil’s eye. So there was a House medal around my neck, a Master vampire beside me, and a dagger tucked into one of my boots.

I stared up at the building, excited as a kid at her first baseball game. The famous red marquee glowed over the hologram of Harry Caray smiling behind thick black glasses that was projected onto the sidewalk.

I’d been a vampire for three hundred and eighty-four days. This was going to be one of the best of those, because I was home.

For the first time since becoming a vampire, I was at Wrigley Field.

“Do you need to take a moment, Sentinel?”

I ignored the teasing tone of the man who stood beside me, the four-hundred-year-old Master vampire who ruled Chicago’s Cadogan House and the parts of my heart that weren’t devoted to great books and good pizza.

I turned to give him a pithy look, expecting to see sarcasm on his face. But there was something softer in those deep-set green eyes. Love tinged with amusement. His hair, thick and gold like summer silk, was tied at the nape of his neck, showing off knife’s-edge cheekbones and a square chin. And although he wasn’t much of a baseball fan, and even though we lived on Chicago’s South Side, he wore a vintage Cubbies shirt that fit his lean body like a very fortunate glove. Ethan Sullivan didn’t wear casual clothes very often, but he wore them as well as he did his bespoke, thousand-dollar suits.