Hard Bitten - Chloe Neill [11]
Tabitha stepped in front of us, heels clacking on the floor as she marched deeper into the mansion. “Follow me,” she called back.
Ethan and I exchanged a glance.
“What just happened?” I asked.
“For some unknown reason, your father has suddenly become friendly?”
There was undoubtedly a business-related reason for that, which I assumed we’d find out soon enough. In the meantime, we did as we were told, and followed Tabitha down the hallway.
Seth Tate had the look of a playboy who’d never quite reformed. Tousled, coal black hair, blue eyes under long, dark brows. He had a face women swooned over and, as a second-term mayor, the political chops to back up the looks. That explained why he’d been named one of Chicago’s most eligible bachelors, and one of the country’s sexiest politicians.
He met us in his office, a long, low room that was paneled floor to ceiling in wood. A gigantic desk sat at one end of the room in front of a tufted, red leather chair that could have doubled as a throne.
Both the desk and throne stood beneath an ominous five-foot-wide painting. Most of the canvas was dark, but the outlines of a group of suspicious-looking men were visible. They stood around a man positioned near the center of the painting, his arms above his head, cowering as they pointed down at him. It looked like they were condemning him for something. It wasn’t exactly an inspiring painting.
Tate, who stood in the middle of the room, reached out a hand toward Ethan, no hesitation in the movement. “Ethan.”
“Mr. Mayor.” They shared a manly handshake.
“How are things at the House?”
“I’d say the mood is . . . anticipatory. With protesters at the gate, one tends to wait for the other shoe to drop.”
After they’d shared a knowing look, Tate turned to me, a smile blossoming. “Merit,” he said, voice softer. He took both my hands and leaned toward me, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek, the scent of sugared lemon floating around him. “I just met with your father.”
“We saw him on the way out.”
He released me and smiled, but as he looked me over, the smile faded. “Are you all right?”
I must have looked shaken; being held at gunpoint could do that to a girl. But before I could speak, Ethan sent a warning.
Don’t mention McKetrick, he said. Not until we know more about his alliances.
“There was a protest outside the House,” I obediently told Tate. “It was unnerving. A lot of prejudice was thrown around.”
Tate offered an apologetic look. “Unfortunately, we can’t deny the protesters their permits for First Amendment reasons, but we can always step in if matters escalate.”
“We had things well in hand,” I assured him.
“Gabriel Keene’s announcement that shape-shifters exist hasn’t done much for your popularity.”
“No, it hasn’t,” Ethan admitted. “But he came to the fight at the House when our backs were against the wall. Going public—getting his side of the story out there—was the best of a bad set of options for protecting his people.”
“I don’t necessarily disagree,” Tate said. “He doesn’t make the announcement, and we end up having to arrest every shifter there for assault and disturbing the peace. We couldn’t just let them off without some justification. The announcement gave us that reason, helped the public understand why they’d joined the fight and why we weren’t arresting them on sight.”
“I’m sure they appreciate your understanding.”
Tate offered a sardonic look. “I doubt that kind of thing interests them. Shifters don’t strike me as the most political types.”
“They aren’t,” Ethan agreed. “But Gabriel is savvy enough to understand when a favor’s been done, and when a favor needs to be returned. He wasn’t happy about making the announcement, and he has even less interest in his people getting pulled into the public’s fear of vampires. He’s working on that now, keeping his people out of the public’s notice.”
“That’s actually the reason I’ve asked you to meet with me,” Tate said. “I realize it’s an unusual request, and I appreciate your coming on such short notice.”
He sat down in the