THE BEST OFFENSE ISN'T A GOOD DEFENSE - IT'S A GOOD OFFENSE

When I woke the next evening, my assorted cuts and scrapes were gone.

But the House, I knew, would still wear scars.

I got up and showered, scrubbing off soot and dried blood I'd been too exhausted to clean at dawn.

Expecting to help rehab and reorganize the House, I dressed down - jeans, T-shirt, and Pumas; my hair in a ponytail; the ever-present Cadogan medal around my neck. In case I suddenly forgot whom my allegiances were to.

But there was no chance of that. Whatever our personal issues, Ethan and I had proven we worked well together. We even fought well together. I'd had enough jobs - and glimpses of my father butting heads with his staff - that I knew what a rarity that was. Our personal issues notwithstanding, we were good colleagues. And just as he had chosen not to risk the professional by dabbling in the personal, I had my own sacrifice to make. I couldn't leave my House without a Sentinel in the middle of a war.

So I found Noah's phone number and dialed. He answered after two rings.

"Beck."

"It's Merit."

"Sentinel," he said, his voice gravelly, "how are things at the House?"

"We're pulling things back together."

"I'm glad to hear it. It's going to take time, but I'm glad to hear it."

"I can't thank you enough for what you did last night. For showing up, for sacrificing your anonymity.

For helping us fight."

"The time comes when we all have to sacrifice."

He was almost too right. "About your offer - I'm declining." There was silence for a moment. "I'll be honest - I'm surprised to hear that."

"My loyalty is to the House," I explained. I'd chosen, as my grandmother once taught me, to dance with the one who brought me.

"Things can always change," Noah said. "But we may not have a slot if you wait."

"I understand the risk," I assured him. "And thank you for making the offer, even if I have to say no."

"Well, it would have been interesting. Good luck with the renovations."

"Good evening, Noah." I hung up the phone, then squeezed it in my hand. "Well," I murmured, "I suppose that's that."

There was a knock at the door. I assumed it was Lindsey, coming to gather me up for breakfast and rehab work, so I opened it without hesitation. It was Ethan. He was back in jeans, paired again with a T-shirt and dark boots. I guessed our Master was ready for work, as well. "How are you feeling?"

"Well healed," I told him. "You?"

"So far so good."

"Excellent."

"Mmm-hmm."

We stood there for a moment, the pink elephant dancing around us as we studiously worked to avoid her. Ethan held out his hand. In his palm was a glossy blue box with a silver "C" engraved in the top.

Brow furrowed, I took it from him.

"What's this?"

"An apology, of sorts."

I made a moue, but slipped the lid from the top . . . and then my breath left me.

Inside the box sat a baseball, its well-worn white leather marked by the signatures of every Cubs player from the team. It was just like the one I'd had - just like the one I'd told him about the night we made love.

I blinked down at the box, trying to take in the gravity of the gift. "What - where did you get this?" Ethan slid his hands into his pockets. "I have my sources."

"You shouldn't have - "

He stopped me with his hand at my jaw, thumb against my chin. "Sometimes, people must adapt.

Immortality doesn't make the things we love less important; it means we must learn to treasure them.

Protect them."

I swallowed hard and made myself lift my gaze to him, fear and joy and more fear bursting in my chest.

"It is an apology," he said, "for not believing in you . . . or in us. Yesterday, I thought I'd lost you, and then we fought together," he said. "I pushed you away for fear of what our relationship would do, could do, to this House. And then we protected this House together. That is the true measure of what we could do."

He paused, then tapped a finger against the box. "This is a wish," he said quietly, "that even after four hundred years of existence, a man can be strong enough to accept the gifts he's given."

"Ethan - ," I began, but he shook his head.

"I'm prepared to wait for a positive response."

"That's going to take a while."

Ethan lifted a single eyebrow, a grin lifting one corner of his mouth. "Sentinel, I am immortal." He turned on his heel and began down the hall, then called back, "And we'll need to chat about your running off campus and into the arms of shifters without so much as a telephone call." Sometimes, he was so predictable.

THE END