The vampires adapted, working together like the predators they were. While the vampire with the katana parried, the other moved around the bodyguard’s back, peppering him with kicks to the legs and knees to keep him off-balance.
They were trained, which didn’t bode well. Vampires trained in classic fighting styles meant someone with equal skills had done the training. And there weren’t many vampires in Chicago with training like that.
The bodyguard stumbled, and the vampire with the sword jumped forward, blade disappearing into the bodyguard’s gut. He screamed like a wounded animal, went down heavily. Someone reached out, helped him scoot across marble and back toward the crowd, applied pressure to the wound.
“Goddamn it,” Reed muttered.
The vampires looked at each other, scanned the crowd. “Sanford King!”
Adrenaline became a dull itch beneath my skin. Ethan, I said again, this time the sound imploring, begging for action.
Ethan pulled out his dagger, light gleaming along the brilliant blade. “That’s our cue,” he said, not bothering to check Reed’s response—or get his permission.
I shouldn’t have been grinning, and my blood shouldn’t have been thrumming like a Corvette engine at the thought of getting out there and mixing it up with these two idiots, and yet . . .
Without taking my eyes off the men, I pulled the dagger from my purse, shoved the purse back to Sorcha for safekeeping. You want the right or left?
The one on the right looks smaller.
I narrowed my gaze at the vampire, grinned. Then I’ll take the one on the left.
You were beautiful before, Ethan said silently, but with the fire in your eyes, you are a goddess.
We’ll see how divine I am, I said and, just as my grandfather had taught me decades ago, put two fingers in my mouth and whistled with earsplitting volume.
The vampires looked up at us, and fresh fear wafted up. They clearly weren’t thrilled to see Ethan and me standing at the top of the stairs, blades in hand, and ready to rumble. And if they were Housed vampires, Chicagoland vampires, they’d have known who we were and what we could do . . . and what the penalty would be for fighting Ethan.
Winner buys ice cream, I said as Ethan and I took the stairs one (careful) step at a time.
Done, Ethan agreed. And gets to decide what to do with it.
I barely suppressed the delicious shiver that rolled up my spine.
“Gentlemen,” Ethan said, his gaze on the vampires. “You’ve made rather a mess here. I don’t know you—yet—but I suspect you know who I am, and who stands beside me. And you know that what has happened here—your violation of this home, and what I suspect was a trespass without invitation—will not go unanswered. This is your one and only opportunity to lay down your weapons and peacefully surrender. There is no shame in knowing when to walk away.”
The vampires looked at each other, made their decision, and turned to face us. They’d already brought war to Reed’s house; they apparently weren’t going to back down now.
“In that case,” Ethan said, lifting his blade, “may the best vampire win.”
The battle was on.
* * *
I moved slowly, methodically, kept my eyes on the vampire I’d selected. I hope it looked intentional, as if I were baiting him into impatience and an unwise move. I was, of course, trying not to trip on the stairs.
Since there seemed little doubt the voluminous garment was going to get nicked, I made a silent apology to the gods of fashion, flipped the dagger in my hand, and when I hit the first floor, dove in.
The vampire met me, blade for blade, steel against steel. A slice to my right, and I matched it with the dagger, used the force to spin him away. A slice to my left on his return spin, and I used the dagger to block, forcing the blade down and causing him to shift his center of balance. He bobbled backward but caught himself again.
I took the offensive. I sliced forward, using my blade as I might have used a paintbrush, with quick, fluid strokes designed to keep him moving at my speed, to keep him dancing and dodging instead of planning new attacks.
It was a good plan, but he was well trained. Really well trained. I wanted to smack the mask off his face. I wanted to know who he was, and who’d trained him to attack humans.
He was smart enough not to open his body completely, or give me access to delicate organs. There was something gentlemanly about his fighting style—and maybe that was something I could use against him.
I bobbled forward, pretending to trip on the hem of my dress—not entirely improbable. For a moment, he paused, instinct telling him to help me instead of hurting me. That put him off-balance, and I used a spinning sidekick against the back of his leg with enough momentum to send him lurching forward . . . but not enough to put him on the floor. It was the dress—it was too snug around the knees to give me kicking room. But crescent kicks, side kicks, front kicks were key pieces of my fighting repertoire. Which meant, unfortunately, that dress would have to die.
I’m sorry about this, I said silently to Ethan, before grabbing the hem and rending the dress up one side, giving me room to maneuver—and probably showing more thigh than I should have. The rip was audible, and I’m pretty sure I saw him flinch at the sound of thousands of dollars being shredded in the interest of victory.
But victory trumped fashion.
My legs freed of constraints, I spun the dagger in my hand, beckoned the vampire to strike again. He didn’t waste time, moving forward with a jumping spin that sent the blade whistling. The human barrier shifted as we moved, morphing and changing shape around us like an amoeba to give us room to fight. I turned aside, outside his range, and punched forward with the dagger. I made contact, and the scent of vampire blood—the faint spice of it—blossomed in the air like a crimson flower—but he didn’t react, and gave no ground.
Well trained, I said silently to Ethan, hoping he was faring well against his own opponent, but afraid to take his eyes off mine.
The vampire shook off the injury, regripped his katana, lifted it above his head in a perfectly telegraphed downward strike. I lifted my dagger to his, using our joined blades as a pivot point, and spun away. The katana struck only air.
“You missed,” I said, and should have known better than to tempt fate. He struck again, and although I spun away, his aim was true enough that the tip of the blade caught my forearm, seared a trail of pain there.
I grunted as the scent of blood—mine, and not willingly shed—filled the air. “Ow,” I said, and when he stopped to look, cuffed him in the ear with an elbow.
“You cut me, you ass!” I said, and reached out for the mask. It was time for our mysterious vampire friend to reveal his identity.
He ducked the grab, but responded with one of his own, grabbing the tulle at my shoulder, but the fabric ripped and tore away in his hand, the bodice coming perilously close to dropping, but managing to stay in place. It was one of the rare times I was glad not to be especially buxom; had the girls been any larger, the gaping bodice would have put on quite a show.
A pulse of magic filled the air—and there was something familiar in it. The memory faded when I tried to grab on, like a faint star disappearing when you tried to look too closely. It was frustratingly out of reach, but close enough to bluff.
“I know you,” I said.
He froze, just for a moment, and that was just enough time for me. I kicked his hand, breaking his grip and sending the sword through the air. I spun, grabbed it, and pivoted to aim the point at the pulse in his throat. His eyes moved from sword point to me and back again as he debated what he could do.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warned him.
With obvious concern, he lifted his hands into the air.
Chest heaving, I glanced at Ethan, a lock of hair across my face, tulle around one shoulder, my skirt slitted to the thigh, a
nd my enemy’s sword in my hands.
Ethan stood above his vampire, the vampire’s katana in his hand, tilted down and just above the vampire’s throat. His hair had come unloosed, gold spilling around his regal face, his tuxedo pristine but for a slice on his left arm. I relaxed incrementally; he was safe.
Ethan took in my near state of dishabille, and his eyes went hot . . . at least before he registered the dress’s unfortunate state.
You’ve ruined another garment.
Technically, I corrected, this asshat made me ruin the garment.
I got a lifted eyebrow for my trouble, but since he hadn’t lost his gleam of arousal, I decided he wasn’t all that irritated. It was his fault for putting me in expensive dresses.
Men and women in their gowns and finery rushed toward King to offer aid.
He hadn’t actually been part of the battle, but he certainly looked worse for wear. His face was red and puffy, his collar unbuttoned, chest pumping to pull in breath.
Sanford waved off some of the men and women around him, loosened his tie. “Give me room. Let me breathe, for Christ’s sake.”
He looked up at Ethan, then me. “You saved my life.”
“We did what anyone would have done,” Ethan said, belied by the humans who’d taken the time to record the fight but hadn’t offered to help, and probably so they could sell the video to the highest bidder.
Adrien Reed stalked down the stairs, fury radiating in his expression, his eyes on us, then the men on the floor.
Reed leaned down, ripped the mask off the vampire Ethan had bested. He was pale, with blond hair so light it was nearly white, and watery blue eyes. I didn’t recognize him, and from Ethan’s flat expression, he didn’t, either.
Reed looked up at us. When we shook our heads, he moved to the second vampire, ripped the mask away, revealing familiar curly blond hair.
Oh shit, was my first thought.
Why? was my second.
As I’d suspected during the fight, I knew him. It was Will. The captain of the Navarre House guards.
* * *
I’d seen men angry before. Powerful men, supernatural men, whose anger seemed to rage like fire.
I’d never seen a man whose anger was as cold as Adrien Reed’s.
The vampires sat on the floor of Reed’s office beneath the point of our blades, and the barrels of handguns held by more of Reed’s bodyguards.
We hadn’t yet had a chance to talk to the vampires, so we were still in the dark about why, precisely, they’d come to Reed’s house to attack Sanford King. I had found my purse and taken a moment to update Brody and my grandfather, asked him to ensure that an ambulance for the bodyguard was en route, and to pass word to Morgan, the Master of Navarre House. He’d have to deal with this one way or the other.
Reed hadn’t spoken a word. Instead he watched with silent condemnation. His body was rigid, his eyes like frozen granite, hands in his pockets, lording his power over them.
“Mr. Reed,” said a man in a dark suit over a dark shirt, his voice as prim and proper, his stance slightly subservient. A butler, I guessed. “The police have arrived.”
Ethan and I exchanged a glance. It wasn’t surprising the CPD had been called—God knew there’d been plenty of humans to make that call—but it promised the incident wasn’t over.
Reed nodded, then crouched down in front of the intruders. “Who sent you?”
Both of them looked away, like schoolboys with secrets.
But Reed wasn’t accustomed to anyone defying him. He took Will’s chin roughly between two fingers. “I asked you a question. Who . . . sent . . . you . . . here?”
The tone, equally frigid and furious, lifted goose bumps on my arms.
Will was either brave or stupid. Or worse, and more likely, a deadly combination of both. He jerked his face away, Reed’s grip leaving red marks across pale skin. “Sanford King is a monster.”
So they’re vigilantes? I wondered. They believe they’re on some sort of mission?
If so, Ethan asked, why fight us? We’re not the enemies. And why here, putting so many humans at risk? That doesn’t fit with the notion they’re punishing King for transgressions against humans.
He had a point. This was clearly a targeted attack—an attempt to get to Sanford King—and an oddly planned one.
The office doors opened, revealing my grandfather, in khaki pants and a button-up plaid shirt. He moved quickly with the help of a cane it didn’t seem he’d need much longer.
In addition to several uniforms, my grandfather was followed by Arthur Jacobs, a CPD detective and good friend to supernaturals. Relief sang through me. Vampires attempting to kill an unarmed human was horrific, and having detectives unfamiliar with the city’s vampires wouldn’t have helped the aftermath.
Ethan pulled off his tuxedo jacket, draped it over my shoulders.
So as not to shock and awe your grandfather, he said as I pushed my arms into the sleeves and pulled the front panels together. I thought my bodice would hold, but I was essentially naked beneath, so there was no point in tempting fate.
My father, who’d only recently learned of my grandfather’s position and hadn’t been thrilled about it, certainly didn’t look excited to see him now. He should have. My grandfather was the only thing currently standing between humans, vampires, and full-on panic.
“Mr. Reed,” my grandfather said. “I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances.”
Reed’s expression didn’t change. “I’m interested in answers. Not excuses.”
“And you’ll get them,” Jacobs said, stepping forward and introducing himself.
He and my grandfather looked at us, nodded. My grandfather’s eyes widened at the sight of my dress beneath the jacket, and the gash on Ethan’s arm.
“The EMTs are downstairs with your bodyguard,” Jacobs said to Reed. “Let’s take the rest of this one step at a time. Your guests are excited and nervous, and we’ll need to interview the vampires before we book them. Why don’t you speak to your guests while we do that? Then Chuck can get your statement. That seems most efficient, and we won’t want to make tonight any more difficult than it’s already been.”
Arthur Jacobs was a good man and a good detective. He’d never been particularly argumentative, but I’d also never seen him quite as ingratiating as this. Reed, I guessed, had friends in very high places. I wondered how much that was going to cost us.
“Very well,” Reed said. He walked toward the door but stopped when he reached my father, whispered something fierce that had my father putting a hand on Reed’s arm, attempting to soothe.
When Reed disappeared, his butler behind him, my father looked at me and Ethan, and there was nothing pleasant in his accusatory gaze or his tone. “Is this your doing?”
Beside me, my grandfather sighed. “Joshua, really.”
“It’s all right, Chuck,” Ethan said, smiling politely before sliding his gaze to my father. His smile narrowed to something much more predatory.
“If he believes even asking that question is appropriate considering that his daughter and I just battled these men in front of several hundred witnesses, he’s savvier than I’ve given him credit for.”
My father’s eyes flashed hot, and he pointed at Ethan with obvious fury. “Now, you wait—”
“No, I will not wait,” Ethan said, voice as calm as my father’s was angry. “We came here to repay a favor to you, and we resolved a problem on the verge of turning very, very ugly. That problem clearly had nothing to do with us, except that the perpetrators were vampires. And instead of offering thanks, you blame us? You have the nerve to ask if we planned it? You go too far.”
I had never loved Ethan more than at that moment. My father’s feeling, given the look on his face, was quite the opposite.
Jacobs sidestepped the heat and magic, walked toward the
vampires. And any sense of graciousness or patience disappeared. “We know you’re Will, Navarre’s guard captain,” he said, then glanced at the other vampire. “And your name?”
He didn’t answer.
“Two hundred witnesses,” Jacobs said slowly. “Your best option is to come clean and tell us the truth. Why you came to be here, and why you’ve done what you’ve done.”
The vampire kept his lips pressed together.
Ethan rolled his eyes, peppering the air with irritated magic. “May I?”
Jacobs nodded. “Please.”
“Name and House?” Ethan said.
When the vampire didn’t answer, Ethan took a step closer. Where Reed’s anger had been frosty, Ethan’s was red-hot.
“I am speaking to you, Novitiate,” Ethan said, bending toward the vampire, his tone low and dangerous, an inferno only temporarily banked. “For several reasons, including my rank and yours, you do not want to ignore me. Name and goddamned House!”
“Zane,” Will finally threw out, answering for him. “Of House Navarre.”
“And do you, Will and Zane, have any excuse for what you’ve done here tonight? For attempted murder? For treachery? For acting precisely like the monsters humans believe us to be?”
“Humans attack each other all the time,” Zane said, not realizing it was in his best interest to keep his damn mouth shut.
“We do not set our behavior by the lowest common denominator,” Ethan said, magic flaring around him with a rush of searing heat. “We aspire to more, and we are held to a higher standard. We will be excoriated for this. I hope you and your Master are prepared for the punishments you have earned tonight. And where, dare I ask, is your Master?”
Ethan already had doubts about Morgan Greer’s ability to hold Navarre House. This wasn’t going to help.
“He doesn’t know we’re here,” Will said quickly, with a warning look at Zane. “He doesn’t know anything about this.”