Хлоя Нейл: Some Girls Bite

Master secured, I grinned at Morgan beneath the fringe of my bangs and called up all the bravado I could muster. “You’re here. I’m here. We gonna dance?”

I kept my sword level, saw Morgan’s gaze flick behind me, then back to me again. His eyes widened in surprise, his lips parting. I had no idea what that was about. But Morgan began pulling off his jacket, then held it out to the side, revealing the straps of a sheath. A vampire, presumably one who’d arrived with him from Navarre House, stepped forward to claim his jacket, and reaching behind him, Morgan pulled a gothic-looking dagger from its mount. The blade glinted, all weird curves and angles, and I couldn’t say that I was impressed by the fact that he hid it beneath clothes.

I stifled a sudden sense of panic that, at twenty-eight, I was about to be in my first real fight—not a sibling spat, but a duel, combat, my first battle on Cadogan’s behalf. Honestly, I still wasn’t sure Morgan would go through with it, that he would actually attempt to draw my blood in front of Ethan, Scott, the Rogues, and witnesses from Cadogan House, and on Cadogan territory. Especially because he lacked concrete evidence that Cadogan was involved in the threat, because he knew I’d received a threat of my own, and maybe most important, because he’d kissed me.

But here we were, in this circle of fifty vampires, and he’d brought this on himself, so I called his bluff. Carefully, slowly, I lowered the sword, flipped the weight of it so the pommel was up, and held it out to the right, waiting until Lindsey stepped forward to take it.

Morgan’s eyes went wide when I unzipped the jacket, but not as wide as they did when I slipped it off. The only thing beneath was snug leather band, which left my abdomen and hips bare to the top of the leather pants. I extended the jacket with my left hand, felt the weight of it disappear, then held out my right to retrieve the sword. When the body-warmed handle was back in my hand, I rolled it in my wrist, getting used to its weight, and smiled at him.

“Shall we?”

His expression darkened. “I can’t fight you.”

I assumed the basic offensive position Catcher had taught me—legs shoulder width apart, weight on the balls of my feet, loose knees, sword up, both hands in position around the handle.

“That’s unfortunate,” I commented, then lunged forward slightly and sliced a stripe in the sleeve of his long-sleeved T-shirt. I pursed my lips, blinked up at him, gave him a look of doe-eyed innocence. “Oops.”

“Don’t push me, Merit.”

This time my expression was flat. “I’m not the one who’s pushing. You challenged my House. You’re here to take up arms against Cadogan, against Ethan, because you think we have something to do with the deaths of these women. And you do this on the basis of a note that someone placed in the bedroom of your Master. I doubt Ethan made it into Celina’s boudoir without notice.” The crowd snickered appreciatively. “So how else did you expect us to respond to this, Morgan?”

“He shouldn’t have called you here.”

“I stand Sentinel, and this is House business. He didn’t have to call me here. I’m honor-bound to fight—for the House and for him—and I will.”

I don’t know what I said to spark it, but Morgan’s expression changed so suddenly I doubted what I thought I’d heard in his voice when he’d sought to protect Celina from her would-be attacker only moments ago. He looked at me slowly, a head-to-toe perusal that would have melted a lesser woman. He looked at me, Morgan of Navarre, and his gaze went hot, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “Yield, damn it. I won’t fight you. A fight isn’t the thing I want from you, Merit.”

I felt the blush warming my cheeks. I could take threats, I could take blustering, but propositioning me in front of fifty vampires was completely uncalled for. So I leveled the sword at the height of his heart.

“Don’t say it. Don’t suggest it. Don’t even think it. I’ve told you before”—I grinned up at him evilly—“I don’t do fang.”

The crowd gave an ironically appreciative snicker.

I took a step forward, took satisfaction in the fact that he moved a step back. “Yield, Morgan. If you want out of this, then yield. Apologize to Ethan, take your note, and leave the House. Or,” I added, thinking about the strategy of it, “decide to stay, to be part of the dialogue, to figure out a solution to the problem of sudden human attention on our Houses.”

I could practically feel the glow of Ethan’s approval at my back. I’d given Morgan options, including at least one that would allow him to salvage his pride, to back down from the point of the sword without ruining his reputation.

And then the tunnel rushed me again. But this time, it was Morgan’s voice that rang through my head, my sword trembling as I focused all my will on the blade in my hand, trying to maintain my stance and my composure. I thought telepathy was something shared only between Master and Novitiate. It seemed wrong somehow for Morgan to be inside my head. Too personal, and I wasn’t comfortable knowing that he had a psychic “in.”

I can’t back down without a boon, he told me . I represent my House as well, Merit, and I have my pride. His name was on the note.

I arched a sardonic brow. You know that no one from Cadogan is involved in this.

He was quiet for a moment, then gave me the slightest inclination of his head, a signal that he’d understood, was willing to admit our innocence. Perhaps, but Ethan knows something .

I couldn’t argue with that. I already suspected Ethan knew more than he let on, but I had no more evidence for that than I did for the possibility that he’d written the note himself.

Then stay, and talk, and find out what that is , I told Morgan. Stay and work this out with conversation, not with swords. You know that’s the right thing to do. No one will condemn you for running to Celina’s rescue. You’re her Second.

For what seemed like a long time, he looked at me, a smirk on his face. A boon, then . If I back down, I want something in return.

You brought the fight, I reminded him. You came into my House, threatened Ethan.

And you just took my blood .

I rolled my eyes. You leaned into my blade . God, but he would argue with a signpost.

You pulled your weapon first, Sentinel. That was threat enough to prompt a reaction.

I looked at him for a while, long enough to make the vampires around us stir nervously, as I considered his position. He was right—he’d verbally threatened Ethan, but I’d pulled steel first. I could have taken a softer approach, thumbed the guard, reached for it without unsheathing it, but I’d seen him pull back his arm and assumed he was going to throw a punch. That was when I stepped forward. And in return for my trouble, I stood in the middle of a throng of vampires, their eyes on me as I psychically negotiated with the vamp who started the scuffle in the first place.

Fine , I told him, hoping irritation carried telepathically. I owe you a favor .

A favor, unspecified.

There was my mistake.

I had to give him credit—he saw his opportunity, and he took it. I omitted terms, failed to identify the thing I owed him, failed to clarify that I owed him a favor equal to the one he’d given. Vampires, I belatedly realized, negotiated via a system of verbal trades and barters and, just as to overzealous attorneys, every word mattered. These were oral contracts of a sort, backed by steel rather than law, but just as binding. And I’d just handed Morgan a blank check.

He grinned wolfishly, offered a smile so possessive it made my stomach flip, and then sank to one knee. My own eyes wide, I followed him down with my sword, kept it pointed at his heart.