Free House Rules by Chloe Neill Page A

liked. When I was just clean enough, I toweled through my
     hair, pulled it into a high ponytail—my signature move—and brushed out my bangs.
    Ethan dipped into the shower as I walked back into the bedroom to dress. My clothes
     were easy to assemble—leather pants, shirt, leather jacket, and boots. An ensemble
     that would protect me against the chill in the air and serve me well in a fight . . .
     in case that became necessary.
    I already wore the gold medal around my neck that identified my name and position
     and marked me as a member of Cadogan House. I tucked a sleek dagger—a gift from Ethan
     that bore a coin in the hilt similar to my House medal—into my boot, and grabbed my
     scabbarded katana from the table near the door. I hadn’t pulled it last night, but
     I was planning on visiting the Ombuddies tonight, including Catcher. He’d given me
     the katana and trained me in how to use it, and there was no way I’d carry it near
     him without ensuring it was clean.
    With a
whip
of sound, I unsheathed it, the light pouring down its honed steel. It looked pristine,
     but out of caution I pulled a sheet of rice paper from a drawer in the table—the sword-cleaning
     drawer, as I’d named it—and wiped down the blade. Better safe than sorry, especially
     when a gruff sorcerer might demand an inspection. It wouldn’t be the first time.
    “You’re going to see Catcher, I presume?”
    I looked up. Ethan stood in the doorway in unbuttoned slacks, scrubbing a towel through
     his hair.
    It was not an unpleasant sight.
    “Yes,” I said, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “I’m going to call him as soon as
     I grab some blood and breakfast.”
    “And Jeff?”
    There was a funny little twinge in Ethan’s voice. Surely not jealousy, as he’d sworn
     he was so sure of our relationship that he wasn’t capable of it. Jeff did, admittedly,
     have a pretty obvious crush on me. But since he was in some kind of on-again/off-again
     relationship with a shifter named Fallon—the only sister of the head of the North
     American Central Pack—I didn’t think Ethan had much to worry about. Even if I weren’t
     in love with him, and even if I did have a thing for Jeff, I was not about to cross
     a shifter, much less one in line for the Pack throne. I hoped to squeeze at least
     a few years out of my immortality, thank you very much.
    “Yes, and Jeff. I enjoy seeing him, and he enjoys seeing Fallon,” I reminded Ethan.
    “Fair enough. Keep your wits about you, Sentinel.”
    “I will. And I’ll be back in time to say hello to our guests.” I might have wanted
     to refuse Lacey’s entrance into the House, but Ethan wanted her here, so I could take
     one for the team.
    “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said with a wink.
    But before I could make my brilliant exit, there was a knock at the door.
    “Likely Helen,” Ethan said, “with information about ceremony planning.”
    He was partially right. Helen, who was basically the House’s den mother, stood in
     the hallway when I opened the door, but she didn’t look pleased about it. She stepped
     inside, her gaze searching for Ethan, with a cloud of floral perfume and nervous magic
     about her.
    Ethan stepped into the room, hair still damp, but now dressed. “What is it?” he asked,
     concern in his expression. He must have picked up the same magical notes.
    “They’re here. Early.”
    Ethan’s expression went stone cold. “They” could only have been the GP, and their
     arrival a day early couldn’t have signaled anything good.
    “Sentinel,” he said, grabbing his suit coat and heading for the door.
    I pushed my sword into its scabbard and tied the belt around my waist. “Right behind
     you,” I said, and followed him down to the House’s first floor.
    In addition to Malik and Luc, seven men and women stood in the foyer in an inverted
     V, with Darius West, head of the Greenwich Presidium, directly in the middle. These
     were the members of