Хлоя Нейл: Twice Bitten

But Ethan decided that circumstances (i.e., Celina) necessitated more training. I hadn’t been equipped to take on Celina when she’d shown up at the House a week ago to attack me. And if I, the vampire Ethan was convinced was stronger than most, couldn’t do it, he was understandably nervous about the safety of the rest of Cadogan’s three hundred nineteen vampires.

So I’d made the trek from my second-floor room to the Sparring Room in the basement of Cadogan House. Lindsey, a fellow House guard and my bestest vampire friend, had joined me so we could learn how to better protect ourselves from Chicago’s special brand of vampire crazy.

We hadn’t expected to get a peep show in the bargain.

“Dear God,” Lindsey said breathlessly as we stepped into the Sparring Room. We stopped at the edge of the tatami mats that covered the floor, lips parted and eyes wide as we surveyed the sight before us.

Two vampires in the prime of their immortal lives moved across the floor, muscles flexing as they grappled, bare-handed, in attempts to throw the other down.

They were sparring without weapons, no swords or steel, using hands and feet, elbows and knees, and the extra physical bite of being vampire.

And they were half naked. Both were sparring barefoot and shirtless, wearing martial arts-style white gi pants, the gleaming gold disks of their Cadogan House medals around their necks.

Lindsey’s gaze was locked on Luc, Captain of the Cadogan House guards. Luc was a former cowboy turned vampire soldier, complete with broad shoulders, fuzzy chest, and curly, sun-streaked hair that he suddenly stopped to push out of his face, muscles tensing as he moved.

Across from Luc was his opponent: Ethan Sullivan, Master of Cadogan House and the three-hundred-ninety-four-year-old vampire who’d brought me into the world of the fanged—without my consent, but admittedly because my other option had been a speedy death. He stood a little more than six feet tall, and the top half of that six feet—the long, lean line of flat stomach and high pecs, along with the trail of blond hair that dipped down from his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his pants—glistened as he swiveled for a roundhouse kick.

Luc, I think, was supposed to be playing the attacker, but Ethan was doing a fine job of holding him off. For all the Armani suits and supermodel-good looks, Ethan was a skilled warrior—something I’d been forced to remember when I’d swung my katana at his throat a few nights ago.

As I watched him fight, goose bumps pebbled my arms. I assumed my blue irises were shifting to silver as heat began to rise through my body, the fire fanned by the sight of Ethan in motion, dipping and weaving and spinning as he faced down his opponent. I wet my lips, suddenly bloodthirsty even though I’d had convenience blood, bagged by our supplier, Blood4You, less than twenty-four hours ago. And, more important, I’d taken blood directly from a vampire only a week ago.

I’d taken blood directly from him.

He’d fed me during the final chapter of my transition to vampire, when I’d awoken with a thirst so strong for blood I would have killed to get it. But I hadn’t needed violence. Ethan had offered his wrist willingly, and I’d taken full advantage, watching his eyes silver as I took the nutrition that somehow sealed my transformation to predator, to vampire.

I smoldered as I watched him, his muscles shifting and flexing as he moved with the slinking grace of a panther. I could have justified the warmth in my belly, called my reaction a consequence of my now fully functioning vampire biology, the result of watching a predator in his prime, or a Novitiate’s attraction to the Master who made her.

But that didn’t do Ethan Sullivan justice—not even close.

He was almost too handsome to be real, with blond hair framing a gorgeous face, cheekbones that New York models would pay for, eyes that shone like chips of emerald. Six feet of golden skin stretched taut over muscle, and I could attest that all six feet were equally perfect. I’d caught an accidental glimpse of Ethan as he was satisfying his former mistress, who’d betrayed him to join Celina’s band of merry evildoers.

It wasn’t hard to imagine that he was the top of whatever food chain we belonged to—not when you watched his long, lean lines moving across the room.

Not when you watched the tiny bead of sweat that was slowly—ever so slowly—tracing its way down the middle of Ethan’s flat abdomen, one brick of muscle at a time, just threatening to slip into the waistband of his pants.

To be sure, Ethan felt the attraction as well. He’d offered to make me his mistress even before Amber decamped to join Team Desaulniers. We’d shared a couple of kisses, but I’d managed to resist taking him up on the rest of his offers. Ethan wanted me, without doubt. And I wasn’t stupid enough to argue his attractiveness, which was undeniable.

But Ethan was also completely infuriating—slow to trust, easy to accuse—and still not entirely sure how he felt about me. Not to mention his baggage: his smug sense of superiority and his willingness to use those around him, including me, to meet political goals. There was also the fact that our last kiss had occurred less than twenty-four hours before I’d broken off my fledgling relationship with Morgan Greer, the vampire who replaced Celina as Master of Navarre House. I’d walked away from that kiss with fire in my blood and guilt in my heart.

Surely I could find a relationship with a better concoction of emotions. Once I had that thought in mind, my rationality returning, my blood began to cool.

“It should be illegal for smug vampires to look that good,” Lindsey said, clucking her tongue.

“That is so true,” I agreed, thinking a little less hotness would make my relationship with Ethan a lot simpler. I lifted my gaze away from the fighting vampires to scan the rest of the room. The balcony that ringed the Sparring Room was filled with vampires, men and women. The women, and a few of the men, stared at the action below them, eyes hooded, cheeks flushed, all of them enjoying the sights below.

“On the other hand, they’re the ones creating this pec-tacle.”

I slid her a glance, arching an eyebrow. “Pec-tacle?”

“You know, like spectacle”—she paused to point at her breasts—“but with more dude nipples. Do you disagree?”

I returned my gaze to the Master vampire who was currently leaning over to pick up a bokken, a wooden practice weapon, from the mat. Muscles clenched and tensed as he moved, nipples pert on his chest.

“Far be it from me to disagree,” I said. “They have created quite a pec-tacle. And when they put it out there like that, they can hardly expect us not to look.”

Lindsey gave me a nod of approval. “I don’t know where the bravado comes from, but I like it.”

“I’m trying it on,” I whispered back, which was true. The transition to vampire hadn’t been easy—psychologically or physically—but I was beginning to get the hang of it. I’d essentially gone through the physical change twice, since the first time around hadn’t quite taken. (Ethan, in a fit of guilt, had drugged me through the first transition, which apparently forestalled the complete change.) That was on top of my move out of the Wicker Park brownstone I’d shared with my former roommate—and former best friend and nascent sorceress—Mallory, and into Cadogan House. I’d managed to hold my own when dealing with my parents and their fusty friends, a step I’d taken at Ethan’s request when we were trying to keep vampire raves out of the press. And, not counting the two times I’d faux-battled Ethan, I’d managed to subdue Celina approximately fifty percent of he times she’d come looking for a fight, which wasn’t awful, as batting averages went.