Some Girls Bite (37 page)

He spoke the word as if it was a question, but I had the sense he knew exactly what I meant. “The vampire. My vampire.
Me
. I don’t know. It’s probably nothing.”

Silence again, then: “Probably nothing.”

Blocks passed, and then I was turning onto Woodlawn, cell phone still pinched between shoulder and ear.

“If you need to look threatening, can you silver your eyes? Pull down you fangs? On purpose, I mean?”

I hadn’t tried, but imagined I’d learned enough in the last week about what silvered my eyes to be able to manufacture the effect. Method vampirism, as it was.

“I think so, yeah.”

“Good. Good.” I pulled the car up to the curb in front of Cadogan House. There were no guards at the gate. The House looked empty, and that foretold nothing good.

“Shit,” I muttered and grabbed the door handle. “The House looks deserted.”

“Merit, listen.”

I paused, one hand on the door, the other wrapped around my cell phone.

“Cadogan House hasn’t had a Sentinel in two centuries. You got the job because he believed in you. Do the job. Nothing more, nothing less.”

I nodded, although he couldn’t see it. “I’ll be fine.”

Or I wouldn’t, I thought, as I threw the phone in the passenger seat, walked down the empty sidewalk, and tugged at the hem of the leather jacket I’d zipped over the midriff-baring bodice.

Either way, we’d find out soon enough.

 

The front door was partially ajar, the first floor empty of vampires. I heard rumblings upstairs and, with a hand on my sword, took the staircase. Luc stood on the landing, legs braced, arms crossed, a katana belted on his left side.

I gave him a nod, waited for him to look over my ensemble. When he’d taken me in, I asked, “Where are we?”

He inclined his head toward the ballroom, and we walked together toward it. His voice was all business. “Ethan tried to schedule a meeting about the murders. He invited representatives from Grey, Navarre. The meet was supposed to happen later tonight. Then the Rogues found out. Noah Beck—he’s their rep—showed up half an hour ago.”

A chunk of time had passed then, since the page. I
did
need to move into Cadogan House.

“They’re pissed about not being included,” he continued, his expression pulled tight, “about our existence being leaked—no,
announced
—to the press.” Clearly Ethan wasn’t the only one who doubted Celina’s decision making in that regard.

We stopped in front of the closed ballroom doors, and I planted my hands on my hips, slid him a glance. “How many?”

“Twelve Rogues, maybe thirty vamps from Cadogan. Scott Grey and four of his people; they showed up early for the meet. Lindsey, Jules, and Kelley are in there, but they’re hanging back.”

I lifted brows. “You ever think the ratio of six guards to three hundred Cadogan vamps ain’t quite right?”

“It’s peacetime,” he explained, irritation in his voice. “We hold too many swords, and we’re showing animosity, risking war.” He shrugged. “Too few, of course, and we risk a Rogue taking a shot at Ethan.”

It took me a moment to realize he wasn’t being metaphorical. “A shot? I thought vampires used blades?” I motioned to the katana at his waist, but he shook his head.

“That’s House
Canon
, tradition. Rogues reject the system, reject the pretense, the rules. They’ll have weapons. They’ve got their own Code, such as it is. They might have one blade visible, maybe more hidden. But they’ll have guns—probably handguns, probably semiautomatic. Probably a forty-five. They’re partial to the nineteen eleven.”

I nodded, remembering the picture I’d seen in a Kimber catalog in the Ops Room. That was all I needed—stray bullets flying around the room during my first real fight.

“I can’t defend shots,” I told him, belatedly realizing the weapon I was expected to use in a gunfight was my body—between Ethan’s and the racing bullets.

As if catching my concern, probably easy given the expression of sheer terror on my face, Luc offered, “Shots won’t kill him, unless they let loose a spray. Just do what you can. And one more thing.”

He paused so long I looked over, saw his brow furrowed.

“Your position,” he said, before pausing again, “it’s more political than ours. We’re considered field soldiers, even me. Sentinel’s still soldiering, but traditionally vamps see it as more of a strategic position. And that means more respect.” He shrugged. “That’s history, I suppose.”

“Which means,” I concluded, “I can get a little closer to him than you can. I’m less a declaration of war, more a show that the situation’s being taken very, very seriously.”

Luc nodded again, relief that I understood evident in his expression. “Exactly.”

I blew out a slow breath, trying to assimilate this new information—which would have been helpful before the crisis—and not panic at the pressure. I stroked my thumb over the handle of the katana, prayed for calm. Two weeks into vampiredom and I was being asked to defend the House against a band of marauding unHoused vampires.

Lucky me.

Not that it mattered. I had a job, and while I panicked at the thought of actually doing that job, doing it was the only thing I could do. Enter the fray, take the step, and bluff like my life depended on it. Because it probably did.

I accepted the tiny earpiece Luc offered, slipped it into my ear. “Let’s go.”

When Luc nodded, I took a breath, put my hand on the door, and opened it.

 

There were fifty people in the ballroom, but even in the giant space, it seemed like a much larger swarm. Even the air seemed thick. It fairly prickled with bitter magic, with a flowing energy that called my vampire. I felt her shift, awaken, stretch, and wonder why the air felt barbed. My lashes shuddered, and I had to force my palm against the sword’s handle until cording bit into my skin, to force her back, to keep my mind clear. But later, I promised her, she’d feed.

The vampires stood in a mass, backs to the door. I recognized the black-suited Cadogan vamps, but from the back, couldn’t tell where anyone else, including Ethan, was standing. I glanced at Luc, mouthed,
Where is he?

Kelley’s voice sounded in my ear. “Nice of you to join us, Sentinel. Ethan’s in front of the platform, facing the crowd. The Rogues are facing him, their backs to us, and the Cadogan vamps are in a circle around everyone. We’re just trying to keep things calm.”

I scanned the crowd, looking for an in, and saw Kelley’s straight dark hair. She glanced back, slightly inclined her head at Luc and me, then turned back to the crowd.

I looked over the mass of bodies and tried to imagine where to go, where I could be close enough to see, to guard, but not so close that I, as Sentinel, escalated matters. The room was tense enough as it was, the vampires leaking energy as they dealt with the possibility that a murderer was among them.

I motioned to the left, indicated my direction, and Luc nodded, pointed to the right, then made a hand signal indicating we’d meet in the middle.

At least, I hoped that was what it meant.

I took a breath, blew it out slowly, stabilized the scabbard and stepped forward. I skirted the edge of the crowd, trying to will myself invisible as I moved to the left, as I eased around the border of Cadogan vampires. My attempt at glamour didn’t help—the Cadogan vamps watched as I moved, a few nodding in quiet acknowledgment, a few giving looks that suggested something altogether different than respect—but I was glad, even in the face of bitter stares, that they played buffer between me and the rest of the interlopers.

Seconds later, I was close enough to see the action. Ethan, with Malik at his side, stood in front of the platform at which I’d been Commended into the House only days ago. Standing perpendicular to Ethan was a tall, dark-haired man in a Cubs T-shirt and jeans who I guessed from the athletic bent of his clothing was Scott Grey. Across from Ethan, striking standouts in a room of tidy, chic suits, and sports gear, were the Rogues.

They stood in a tight pyramidal cluster and were, just like the Cadogan vampires, clad in black. But this wasn’t Michigan Avenue black. This was vampire warfare black. Black boots. Trim black pants. A chest piece of black leather body armor. There was enough black in the cluster of them to suck the light from the ballroom. Punctuating the look was silver—belts, rings, wrist-bands, wallet chains, and in the middle of each chest, a silver pendant—an anarchy symbol on a silver chain.

This was the look Morgan wanted to achieve. Urban, rebellious, dangerous.

But this was real.

This was
actual
bad ass.

That said, all the Rogue vampires were dressed the same. Wasn’t it kinda ironic that the herd mentality affected even the disaffected? That warranted pondering, but not today. Today was business.

One of the Rogues—tall, broad-shouldered, muscled—stood point, facing Ethan. Where the rest of the vamps in the room, the Housed vamps, looked polished, he looked a little fierce. He was ruggedly handsome, a couple days’ worth of stubble across his face and jaw. His brown hair was an inch or two past a hair-cut, and stood in kind of messy whorls. And his eyes, big and blue, were ringed with kohl. He stood with arms folded across his broad chest, head cocked slightly to the side, listening as Ethan discussed the ongoing investigation.

They were definitely here for business. At their waists were holsters with handguns snapped inside, probably the 1911s Luc had mentioned. While the feel of them was different than Housed vampires anyway—the energy a bit less focused than House vamps, a little more scattershot—it was obvious they were carrying more than just the guns. The power flowed differently around their bodies. I couldn’t see it, but I could sense it, the change in the current, like rocks altering the flow of a stream.

When I was where I wanted to be, a few bodies behind the edge of the crowd and still out of the players’ direct line of sight, I checked Ethan, saw that he was unharmed and managing to mask the frustration I knew he felt. His body was loose, his hands in the pockets of the ubiquitous black trousers, half of his blond hair pulled back in a tie. His gaze was on the Rogue in front of him.

“Frankly, Noah,” Ethan was saying, “it wasn’t an oversight that you weren’t invited to talk, nor was it a sign of disrespect. It was a choice, based on my assumption, apparently incorrect, that you weren’t interested in participating. The humans only know about the Houses. As far as I’m aware, your existence is still a secret, and I’d imagined you’d be happier keeping it that way.”

Noah gave Ethan a flat stare. “It was an assumption of uninterest, then. The assumption that because we’re not affiliated with a House, because we aren’t sheep, we’re unconcerned about our fellow vampires.” His tone was all sarcasm.

Ethan lifted a blond brow, responded crisply, “That’s not what I said.”

Thinking it might be helpful to say hello, to let him know that he had backup should the worst occur, I reported in, opening my mind to Ethan.
I’m here
, I sent him.

He didn’t respond, but the Rogue in front of him, Noah, did. Not, I think, because Noah heard me, but because there was scuffling behind us, which drew his eyes across the crowd. As he looked for the source of the trouble, gazed across the sea of watching vampires, he met my eyes, lifted both brows. The subtext was easy enough to read:
And who are you? Friend or foe?

I blinked, trying to guess how I was supposed to react—was there etiquette for this? The unintroduced Sentinel responding to a flicker of interest from the spokesperson for Chicago’s Rogue vampires? Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to fully evaluate, so I just did what felt natural given the awkward position we were in: I gave a half smile and a shrug.

I’m not sure what I expected from him. Maybe the reaction Ethan would have given—a condescending look, a roll of the eyes.

But Noah wasn’t Ethan. Noah smirked, squeezed his lips together to keep in the laugh that shook his chest, and quickly looked away, mouth curved. My first real political act, and it sparked a bubble of laughter from the man who’d allegedly breached the walls of Cadogan House. A good enough reaction, I decided, hoping his amusement would defuse the obvious strain in the room.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to test that theory. Our exchange took only seconds, but that was more than enough time for trouble to call. The vampire whose shuffling we’d heard behind us revealed himself, Morgan pushing through the crowd, through the Rogues, until he stood before Ethan. Perhaps sensing his obvious anger, the waves of it radiating from his body, the other vampires moved back, gave him space.

He looked like a man possessed—hair sexily mussed, his leather jacket over a green T-shirt and jeans, black sneakers beneath the cuffs. And although he vibrated with the energy I knew he was capable of, that wasn’t the only reason he roiled. He was carrying. And not a sword, not a weapon obviously belted or sheathed. This was hidden. A medium-sized blade, I guessed, by the differential weight of him. Too small to be a sword, but bigger than your average kitchen knife.

I tightened my grip on the sword’s handle, my thumb on the latch that would release the blade from its scabbard, and waited.

“You fucking son of a bitch.” The words were tight, forced through his clenched jaw.

Ethan blinked, but made no other move, his stance still relaxed, confident. “Excuse me?”

“You think this is right? That you can do this?”

I flinched when Morgan lifted his arm, nearly pushed through the couple of vampires who separated Ethan and me, but held back when I saw the white paper he held in his hand. A small square of it, a black curve of handwriting across one side. Having seen something similar weeks before, I guessed what might be written on it.

Ethan probably knew, too, but bluffed. “I don’t know what that is, Morgan.”