Хлоя Нейл: Twice Bitten

With that excitement under my belt, here I was, a new vampire in the historic position of Sentinel, guarding the House against creatures both living and dead.

I’d gone from graduate student to vampire fighter nearly overnight. And now Noah Beck wanted to be the one to capitalize on that.

“Merit. Merit.”

Although Lindsey said my name at least a couple of times, it was the jostling that finally did it, breaking me from the memory of my meeting with Noah and bringing me back to the Cadogan House Training Room, to Lindsey, who’d nudged me with her shoulder to get my attention, and to Ethan, who stood before me, hands on his hips, shoulder-length blond hair tied back, one eyebrow arched condescendingly. Luc was nowhere in sight . . . and all eyes were on me.

“Um, yes?” I asked.

The vampires snickered.

“If you’re finished with your daydreams,” Ethan said into the silence of the room, “perhaps you might consider joining me?”

“Sorry, Liege,” I muttered, and stepped out of flip-flops and onto the mats, sheathed katana in hand. I was already in my training ensemble—a black sportsbra-type top and yoga pants.

I followed Ethan to the middle of the floor, very aware that dozens of vampires were following our movements. He stopped, turned to face me, and bowed. I did the same.

“It is important,” he began, loud enough for all to hear, “that you be prepared, should the need arise, to fight. And to master that fight, you must first master the steps. As you also know, our Sentinel hasn’t yet mastered the art of sparring. . . .”

He paused just long enough to give me a pointed look. So sparring wasn’t my thing. I was good at the Katas—the building blocks of vampire sword fighting. I’d been a ballet dancer, and there was something very dancerly about the moves. They were positions, forms, steps that I could memorize and practice and, by repetition, perfect.

Sparring was different. Having grown up with my nose in a book, I had no experience at fighting beyond a couple of experimental kickboxing classes and a few run-ins with Celina and her assorted minions. I knew my weakness. I spent too much time trying to think through the fight—trying to find an attacker’s weaknesses, to exploit them—while at the same time trying to keep from overthinking the fight. That had become even harder in the last week, as I’d worked with Luc to keep the cacophony of smells and sounds that threatened, post-change, to overwhelm me, down to a dull roar.

“But her work with the Katas is unparalleled.” He arched an eyebrow at me—half challenge, half insult—and took a step backward. “Sentinel,” he said, his voice lower now, the order just for me, “Katas, if you please.”

“Liege,” I said. I lifted my sword with both hands, my right hand on the handle, left hand on the sheath, and moved my hands apart, unsheathing it with a quick whistle of sound, light glinting from the polished steel. I walked to the edge of the mat and placed the lacquered sheath on the floor beside it.

Then, with all the confidence and bravado I could muster—easier now that I’d been asked to join a secret corps of vampire warriors—I returned to him, faced him, and gripped the katana in both hands.

“Begin,” he ordered, and took steps backward, giving me room. There were seven two-handed Katas and three more single-handed moves. Those were new to me. But I’d been practicing the traditional Katas since I’d become a vampire, and, frankly, I wanted to show off a little. In the week that we’d been working together, Ethan had seen me practice the Katas only in traditional fashion—one Kata at a time, my movements timed and precise. But that wasn’t all I could do. .

I bladed my body, katana poised before me. “Fast or slow?”

He frowned. “Fast or slow?”

I smiled cannily beneath my fringe of bangs. “Pick your speed.”

“Vampires?” he asked aloud, but his gaze on me. “Fast or slow?”

There were “slow” stragglers, but the majority requested “fast.”

“Fast, it seems,” he said.

I nodded, centered my weight, and moved. The first kata brought the sword arcing across my body, then returning to the center position. The second was a downward strike. The third and fourth were combinations. The fifth, sixth, and seventh were combinations with spins and parries.

In traditional form, when the focus was on precision and control, each Kata took ten or fifteen seconds.

But done fast, I could work through the entire set in twenty seconds. I’d learned speed from my former trainer, Catcher, a sorcerer with a penchant for katanas and sword fighting. (He was also, not coincidentally, Mallory’s boyfriend and my grandfather’s employee.) Catcher demanded I practice the moves over and over, thinking repetition would force the muscle memory. It had—and it had allowed me to use my increased vampire strength, speed, and agility to push the forms into a single dance of movement so quick my body blurred with the speed of it.

After I’d challenged Ethan in our second duel, he decided he needed to supplant Catcher as my trainer. But he didn’t know how much Catcher had taught me.

I finished the seventh form, spun to a stop, sword between my hands, perpendicular before my body. The lights above us caught the gentle curve of the steel, the entire room suddenly silent.

Ethan stared.

“Do it again,” he said, his words barely audible, a glint in his eyes. I didn’t mistake the glint for lust. Although the chemistry between us was keen, Ethan was unambiguously, ubiquitously political—always maneuvering.

I was a weapon.

I was his weapon.

That glint? Avarice, pure and simple.

“Liege,” I said, tilting my head in acknowledgment and returning to the beginning position.

I completed the moves again, sword arcing perpendicular to the floor, slicing downward, an across-and-up combination, then the arc-and-spin combinations, the backward thrust, the overhead strike. I ended in the final position.

“Again,” he ordered a third time, and I obliged.

By the time I’d run through the Katas in sequence again, and then done seven or eight repetitions of one or two favorite Katas at his request, my chest was heaving with the effort, my hands slippery around the rayskin-wrapped handle of my sword. I glanced up and saw that the vampires in the wooden balcony that ringed the Training Room were leaning forward, arms on the railing, curiosity in their expressions. They tended to look at me that way—either, because of my strength, as a curiosity or, because of my unfortunate habit of challenging Ethan to duels, as a freak.

For what it’s worth, I was really planning on breaking that habit.

“Well done,” Ethan said quietly, then addressed the balcony. “I believe that answers more than a few questions about our Sentinel. And while she’s onstage”—he tilted his head toward me—“anything our new social chair would like to add about upcoming Cadogan events? Picnics? Mixers?”

A blush spread to the roots of my hair. Ethan had named me House social chair as punishment for challenging him. As punishments went, it was pretty light.

But it was also mortifying, and it took me a moment to get myself together.

“I’m thinking about something for summer solstice. A barbecue, probably. I thought we’d invite vampires from the other Houses.”

The room went silent as Ethan considered the idea—and his audience waited for the verdict.

“Good,” he finally said with an authoritarian nod, then looked back at the crowd. His expression changed to something much more serious.

“We thought at one time,” he began, “that our superiors believed assimilation with humans was best. That staying under the radar was the best way to ensure our survival and to keep peace with the supernaturals around us.