Biting Cold (39 page)

But she looked at me, and I saw the fight in her eyes.

She wasn’t succumbing to the dark magic. She was just trying to hold it in.

“Paige, Catcher. Help her. She needs to let the magic go!”

When they rushed to her aid, I turned back to Dominic and Seth. I blew out a breath.

“Now or never,” I muttered, and called out his name. “Dominic!” I twirled the sword in my hand once, then twice.

Dominic glanced back at me, grinned maniacally, then stood up. Seth was still in the mud, and he didn’t move. There were bleeding gaps in his wings, and a deep red gash across his shoulder.

If this was going to happen, I was going to be the one to do it.

“Hello, Ballerina.”

“You don’t have the right to call me that.” I backed up a bit, moving the fight away from everyone else.

“Don’t I?” he said. “I was there for all of it. I saw everything that he did, all of your interactions.”

One of his wings shot out, and I rolled across the ground to get away, popping up muddy and bruised again.

“You weren’t invited,” I pointed out. “You were a spy.” His other wing whipped out. The claws at the edge of this wing grazed the ground, and I jumped into the air to avoid it, popping down in a crouch on his other side.

“You’re all flair,” he said, turning to face me.

He thrust out with his sword, and I silently apologized to my katana for any nicks I was about to create, and met his thrust directly.

The jolt sent a wave of pain down my arm.

Dominic laughed and thrust down. I parried, pushing his sword to the side, and used the momentum to swing myself into a butterfly kick. I managed a punch to his kidney, but his wing dipped forward. I still caught the tip of a claw, and it ripped a gash in my calf. The pain was sudden and intense and carried a nauseating sharpness that had to be magical in nature.

I stumbled away, regripping my sword, and turned to face him.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?”

Water dripped into my eyes from my ratty, muddy bangs. “It doesn’t feel like purring kittens,” I admitted. The pain be damned, I ran forward, slicing down with a shot that put a four-inch gash in the top of his left wing.

He screamed out and tossed me away like a doll. I landed on my back again in a puddle of cold water, promising myself a hot bath if I’d only get back on my feet.

One hand behind me, I arced my body and popped up again.

His wing gashed and bleeding, and obviously in pain, Dominic limped toward me. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“I’d say the same for you.” I regripped my sword.

He was tired and injured, and his next shot was sloppy but still powerful. A forward thrust I had to drop down under. I rolled across the ground, clenching my sword to keep from losing my muddy grip, and kicked his leg out from under him, knocking him onto the ground. I scrambled away, but he caught the hem of my pants.

“We weren’t done,” he said, dragging me backward again.

“We were totally done,” I assured him, kicking his brick-solid chest until he reflexively let me go again.

Now breathing a little harder than I did in my practice sessions,
go figure, I made it to my feet again. I could keep fighting for a while, but he was going to nail me in terms of brute strength and endurance. I would lose a war of attrition against him.

I remembered what I’d said earlier.
Change the odds.

While Dominic got to his feet again, I looked around…and spied something useful.

Sword in front of me, I faked a limp and hobbled backward.

Dominic, the gleam of success in his eyes, stalked me like prey. I called on my musical theater background and made some pretty convincing noises of pain.

He grinned devilishly, then lifted his sword, and, when I faked a backward stumble, ran forward into the tangled skein of swing-set chains.

That was my chance.

Dominic may have been back in human form, but I wasn’t. I still had vampire speed and strength, and I was sure as shit going to use them now. I dropped my sword.

With speed so quick my motion was blurred, I ripped the chains from their moorings. The links were still solid, but as I’d hoped, their connections to the swing set had rusted through. I ran around Dominic, and as he tried to stumble back to his feet, his wings caught in the side supports. I wove the chains around him until he was good and caught and roaring with the indignity of it all.

He was really big on the roaring.

I picked up my sword and stood in front of him, arms raised, sword pointed down, ready to finish this.

“Then do it,” Dominic said. “Suffer your witch to live, and put an end to me.”

“I don’t take joy in it,” I told him. “That’s the difference between us.”

“Are we so different, Sentinel? You kill because you believe it’s right. As do I.”

“I kill to save the lives of others. Unlike you, I have no illusions it makes me a better person.” My hands trembling, I prepared to strike.

“No!”

I froze and glanced back. Seth limped toward us, still holding his wounded arm, one wing dragging on the ground pathetically. “Stop, Merit. This is not your task.”

Wincing, he held out his good hand. “I’ll do it,” Seth said. “I will end his life.”

I looked back at him. “You’ve never killed before. Are you sure you want to start now?”

“He was part of me for centuries. He is, for better or worse, my brother. His blood shouldn’t be on your hands, but mine.”

I wasn’t sure how to argue with him. I wasn’t keen on the idea of killing a man already down, but there was no question he’d keep killing if the opportunity arose. On the other hand, Seth was already racked by grief, and I didn’t want to add to his burdens.

“It would bring me peace,” he said, “to know that you weren’t forced to take another life at my expense. It would help me atone for the trouble I have already caused. For the pain. For the suffering.”

There was no doubting the earnestness in his gaze. He was a grown man—well grown, as it turned out—so I handed over the sword.

He nodded, and as he closed his fingers around the handle and his eyes slipped shut, I’d have sworn he shivered. “The blade was tempered with
your
blood.”

I nodded.

Seth bowed, his shoulders dipping forward over the gleaming steel of the blade. “I am honored, Merit of Cadogan, to use a blade you have so honorably prepared.”

I blinked back surprise and, when Ethan slipped his fingers into mine, squeezed hard.

Seth walked to Dominic, his wings still pinned, and stood over him. “Messenger, you have failed in your mission, and you have darkened the name of justice. You refused to leave this world when your name was called into the book. Tonight, justice shall be done.”

Dominic swallowed hard, but then he nodded. “Justice shall be done.”

Seth lifted the katana, held it horizontal to the ground. And with a single slice, ripped through Dominic’s chest. Dominic and Seth screamed simultaneously, and light burst forth from the wound Seth had made, angry and red, rays of it shooting across the night like furious lasers. The burst of light opened farther, and then Dominic’s entire body was engulfed in light. The light pulsed, then again, then faster and faster like a beating heart until it exploded into a trillion red sparks.

They rushed across the sky, fading as they moved, and then the light was extinguished, and Dominic was gone. The only trace of him was the bit of blood that still stained my sword.

Without a word, Seth wiped the sword upon his pants, then placed it carefully on the ground. “It is done.”

It became D-Day all over again. The only things missing were soldiers and nurses locked in exuberant embraces. Instead, we had vampires and sorcerers.

Jeff and Paige hugged each other. On their knees in the mud, Catcher hugged Mallory to him, his arms around her. “It’s over. It’s over.”

I looked up at Ethan, whose eyes were closed in relief.

“She’s gone,” he said. “Oh, thank God, she’s gone.”

Thank God,
I thought, a silent prayer to whoever might be listening, and wrapped my arms around him. He embraced me.

“She’s gone,” he said again.

“So I heard. Congratulations.”
For both of us,
I thought.

“You were amazing. A sight to behold. And the swing set was inspired.”

“I had a good teacher.”

“And don’t you forget it,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to my temple.

“She meant me,” Catcher said. “Vampires are so arrogant.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Maybe things could finally get back to normal around here. Whatever that might be.

W
hile the ballot box was being filled below us, we celebrated the end of drama with SuperDawgs, fries, and the chocolate-covered cherries Margot brought me as congratulations for felling an evil foe.

Ethan growled happily as I sat across his lower back, rubbing his shoulders. He’d decided he needed a shoulder rub after dinner to erase away all that he’d been through. Since “all he’d been through” had been my idea, I didn’t think I had much room to argue.

I kneaded his shoulders carefully, then trailed my fingertips down his back and up his spine again.

Oh, Merit.

I froze. “You just called my name.”

“No, I didn’t. You’re hearing things.”

“No, not aloud. In your mind. I heard you.”

I crawled off him, and he flipped over again.

You can really hear me?

I smiled at him.
I can indeed
. “Maybe you didn’t lose the ability
to speak silently. Maybe Mallory’s magic just interfered with the frequency or something.”

Ethan’s smile blossomed. It clearly meant a lot to him to be able to converse with his Novitiates—and more that the power he’d had for so long hadn’t been lost to him forever.
I believe this calls for a celebration.

We have chocolate-covered cherries,
I reminded him.

I was thinking something a bit more physically taxing,
he silently intoned, and then he pounced, his fingers trailing the sensitive skin at my hips until I was wiggling and squealing in a really unflattering way.

I
hated
being tickled.

But I’d power through it.

I dreamt of Ethan, but the dream wasn’t a harbinger of grief…it was ecstasy. He found me on a boardwalk beside a vast blue sea and we danced until the sun lifted above the sky, my skirt of liquid black silk flowing around us. Boats with huge white sails bobbed upon the water, dancing around our island retreat as we spun to the melody of a song I couldn’t hear.

I woke to the sound of a light tap on the door with a smile on my face. Ethan was still asleep; the automatic shutters still covered the windows.

I unlocked the door and peeked into the hallway. It was quiet and empty, but a silver tray sat on the floor just outside the door.

“What is this?” I quietly asked, holding the door open with a foot while I picked up the tray and brought it inside. I sat it down on a table near the door and looked it over. Two pastries. A cup of coffee and a cup of hot chocolate, both still steaming. Orange juice, cutlery, and a tidily folded newspaper.

“This, I could get used to,” I murmured, picking up the paper.

“Talking to yourself, Sentinel?”

“Just ruminating on how much Margot spoils you. Pastries and coffee, delivered nightly?”

“A man cannot live on meat and potatoes alone. What’s in the news?”

I glanced down at the paper. “Sex. Violence. Rock and roll.”

Ethan was already out of bed and on his way over. That he was half-naked—clad only in thigh-hugging boxer briefs—was even more distracting than you’d expect.

He grabbed a pastry and took a bite.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said, then turned and walked away. I appreciated the view and also got a pretty good look at the dark tattoo that marked the back of his calf.

“Hey, what does the tattoo mean?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, then stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

It was worth a shot.

It wasn’t until I’d dressed and rebelted my katana that I saw the small burgundy box that sat on the bed. It was bound in a white silken ribbon and topped with a perfect bow.

“Ethan Sullivan,” I murmured. “What did you do?” My heart thudded in anticipation.

I picked it up and shook it gently. Something moved around in there, and I didn’t hear any obvious ticking. I pulled off the ribbon and dropped it on the bed, then lifted off the top.

A small white card was tucked inside, bearing only the letter
E
.

I lifted the card.

Beneath it, on a small pillow of white satin, was a silver key.

I didn’t need to bother asking what door it opened; its small white tag was inscribed:
MASTER’S SUITE
.

Ethan had given me a key to his apartments.

For a moment, I stared down at the unfamiliar weight in my hand and considered the access it offered me. It wasn’t the key to a consort suite, where Ethan could stash me as a lover. It was a key to his room—his
home
—allowing me access whenever I liked, whenever I chose.