House Rules - Chloe Neill Page 0,53

marked the entrance, and a black-and-yellow-striped bar kept cars from driving in.

Not entirely sure how to proceed, I drove up to the security gate and cranked down the window. The woman who sat inside looked me over, then pressed a button to lift the gate.

A friend of Jonah’s, perhaps? Or the Red Guard’s?

I got out of the car and zipped up my jacket, then glanced around. The small parking lot was virtually empty except for a few cars scattered here and there.

The lake was dark and quiet, filled with ice even in the unseasonably warm temperatures.

A line of concrete and rocks led away from the pier and into the water, forming a harbor for boats and leading to the harbor lighthouse, which flashed its warning across the water.

I took a long, hard look at the boulders and concrete blocks that made up the harbor wall. They were large, icy, and, by the looks of them, treacherous. Then again, they’d been placed in the harbor to provide protection for boats, not to provide a winter path for vampires.

“This had better be worth it,” I muttered. Arms extended, I began to pick my way across the rocks.

I’d danced ballet for many years, and that certainly helped me keep my balance. But the leather soles of my boots weren’t made for slick rocks, and I was only ten feet into the journey when I lost traction. I went down on my knees, which sent a shock of pain right up my spine.

“Mother lover,” I muttered, wincing there on my knees for a moment, waiting for the pain to subside. When it felt slightly less like someone had taken a mallet to my kneecaps, I rose and continued the journey.

After a few minutes of half walking, half crawling, I reached the ladder that led up to the concrete platform surrounding the lighthouse.

“You made it.”

The words, quietly spoken, seemed tremendously loud in the silence of the lake. I glanced up.

Jonah stood at the top of the ladder, hands tucked into the pockets of a black, calf-length wool coat. He wore jeans and boots beneath it, and his auburn hair swirled around his face in the wind. His cheeks, honed like sculpted marble, were pink from the cold.

“Merit.” He gestured me up, and I climbed the ladder—which was cold, rusting, and rickety—hand over hand until I reached the platform at the top. Jonah helped me scoot onto the platform.

“Nice location,” I said, stuffing my hands into my pockets against the chill. It was colder on the water, with no protection from the wind or elements.

He smiled at me, Buddha-like in his calm. “The RG path isn’t easy, and that lesson shouldn’t be forgotten.”

“My knees will remember,” I assured him.

We looked at each other for a moment, magic and memory sparking between us.

Jonah and I had complementary magic—magic that operated on a similar frequency. A supernatural kinship, of a sort. He’d also once confessed that he’d had feelings for me, but had gracefully withdrawn when I’d told him of my feelings for Ethan.

Now we were partners, and we were about to make that official. Ironically, only hours before Cadogan’s political breakup with the GP.

“Let’s go inside,” he said.

“Inside?” I hadn’t imagined I’d be out here on the lighthouse platform, much less actually going inside it. It excited the nerd in me.

“Membership has its privileges,” Jonah said, as I followed him around the platform to a red wooden door on the other side. He flipped aside a brass plate that looked like a doorbell, revealing a small scanner. He pressed his thumb to it, and the door unlocked with an audible thump.

“Fancy,” I said.

“Only the best at RG headquarters.”

“This is RG headquarters?”

“It is,” he said, closing the door behind me as I took a look around. The building consisted of two small rooms that flanked the central lighthouse like bookends . . . or something decidedly more genital. The floors were tile, and all the walls were marked by windows with views of the water or the city. The decor was sparse and probably last updated in the 1970s. A spiral staircase split the middle of the room in half and led, I presumed, up to the actual light.

“Well, such as it is,” he said.

“So this is what the inside of a lighthouse looks like.”

“At least in 1979, when this place was last staffed,” Jonah said.

“That explains the faux wood and brass.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “It’s not like we’ve filled it up with equipment, so I guess it’s more