Chloe Neill - Wild Things

“One thing,” Catcher said, when Mallory and Jeff had left for the other train car. He pulled a set of connected silver hoops from his pocket. “Handcuffs, magically enhanced. It’s what we used on Mallory. They should hold her.” He tossed them into the air, and Ethan caught them neatly with one hand.

“Thank you,” he said. “Get them free.”

With a nod and a spark of magic, he got to work. Ethan and I surveyed the park.

“Odds are better if we separate,” I told Ethan.

“I agree. I’ll take the east side. You take the west.”

I nodded, adjusted the tension on my belt. “Will do. I’ll call if I find her.”

“Do that.” Before I could leave, he wrapped an arm around my waist, pulled my body against him, and pressed a hard kiss to my lips. “Do protect what’s mine, Sentinel.”

I made a sound at the possessive tone in his voice but still reveled in it. That I was strong enough to take down a foe didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy Ethan’s alpha male attitude every once in a while.

“Same to you, Sullivan,” I said, and headed off down the sidewalk.

The night was chilly, but this was Chicago, gated or not, and Chicagoans were used to the chill. A few people were out and about, walking dogs or returning late from work with quick steps around the edge of the park. Including one girl with platinum blond hair.

I’ve got her, I told Ethan. East side of the park, moving south.

I’ll circle behind, he said. You intercept, and carefully.

Without killing civilians or myself, he meant. Not unreasonable advice.

I stepped off the path, watched while she moved closer. She wore a long black coat, nipped at the waist and buttoned up, and a large glossy shopping bag hung off her shoulder.

As she neared, I caught the unmistakable scents of smoke and sulfur.

When she was four feet away, I stepped in front of her. “Hello, Regan.”

She stopped, eyed me curiously. “Merit, I presume. Sentinel of Cadogan House.”

“That’s me. I understand you have wings.”

I’d hoped to catch her off guard with the reference to something I bet she showed very few people.

The ploy worked. Her eyes widened, and her hands whitened around her bag. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I do, actually. At least, I think I do. Your mother told you your father was special.”

Her jaw twitched, and her voice was controlled fury. “You don’t know anything about my mother.”

“Oh, I know a lot about Annalissa. And your father was special, as it turns out. Magical and talented and very unique. I’m sorry to say that he’s no longer with us, but his twin brother is alive. Your uncle.” At least, that was the relationship I’d decided on. We were in the fuzzy territory where magic and genetics collided, and I wasn’t really sure of anything.

“Oh, and your uncle’s an angel.”

For the first time, she looked genuinely flummoxed. “What?”

“An angel, and a very good man, Regan. I can help you meet him, if you’d like.”

She snorted. “You think I’m going to trust you? You want to put me in a cage.”

She didn’t seem to get the irony. “You’ve committed crimes in several states,” I pointed out. “Kidnapping, primarily.”

She looked disgusted by my ignorance. “They weren’t kidnapped. They are my family.”

“They are in cages. Drugged and stuffed inside cages like animals while you’ve been out shopping.” She flinched, proving I was on the right track.

“Is that how you treat family? You keep them safely locked away so they aren’t gone when you return home? So they don’t leave you like your father did?”

“You don’t know anything about me or my family.”

“I know too much,” I said, the honest truth. “And I know you can’t force a family with magic just because you’re pissed off at the real one.”

I’d pushed her over the edge. She let out a scream, whipped around the shopping bag, and slung it at me. I put up an arm to dodge it, wincing when the weight of it hit my arm. Using my hesitation, she took off across the park.

And so the chase began.

She’s heading for the trailers, I told Ethan, running full out and trying to close the gap between us. She hurdled a bench and I followed, thrilled when the vault put me five feet closer to her.

I paused long enough to pluck the dagger from my boot and send it spiraling, end over end, in her direction.

Regan yelped when it bit into her shoulder, stumbled forward but caught herself, yanked it out with a scream.

The scents of smoke and sulfur grew stronger. When she turned back to me, the dagger glinting in her hand, there was murder in her eyes. “Do you know what I am?”

“I do,” I assured her, unsheathing my katana and settling my fingers around the handle. I kept my gaze on hers, and my expression just as haughty.

“You’re the daughter of Dominic Tate. The niece of Seth Tate, former mayor of Chicago, and an angel. You’re also a spoiled brat. But that’s just my opinion.”

Regan launched herself forward, swiping the blade in a shot I neatly dodged.

I sliced horizontally, and she ducked to avoid the blow, bringing up the dagger with a clean shot that nicked my shin. A line of pain burned hot, but I ignored it, finished my spin, and attacked downward.

She rolled across the ground, popping up a few feet away. We circled each other, and as we turned, I caught movement from the corner of my eye—Ethan stood nearby, his sword still sheathed but his eyes cold and calculating.

Feel free to join in, I told him, jumping back to dodge her advance and the tip of the blade.

You seem to be managing fine on your own. The sups are unspelled and released. You might mention that to her.

“The gig’s up, Regan. The sups are gone. It’s just you and me.”

She cursed, moved forward, dropping the blade and using the weight of her body to send me to the ground. My katana skidded away, and snow seeped into the gaps in my leather, sending wet trickles down hot skin.

“They’re my family ,” she yelled, trying to pummel me into submission.

“They have . . . their own . . . families,” I reminded her. I grabbed her fist, twisted, and pushed her over, pinning her to the ground.

I was faster, but she was stronger. Regan screamed, threw me off and away. I flew back six feet, skidding across the ground.

I believe now I might join you, Ethan said.

Too late, I told him, wiping blood from my eye. She’s mine.

I put my hands behind me, flipped to my feet, and snatched my katana from the ground, spinning as I turned to face her again.

She flew out an arm and a crackle of magic that sent the tree behind us to the ground with an enormous crack . I jumped as it fell to the ground a foot away, branches swaying with the force of the movement, and a sizzling, chemical scent in the air.

“You’re a little old for tantrum throwing, aren’t you?” I asked, jumping atop a branch and rolling the katana in my fingers.

“I’ll show you a tantrum,” she said, holding out her palms, a fiery sword appearing between them. She immediately swung it at me, and I neatly dodged and sliced again.

“Of course she has a flaming sword,” I murmured, dodging another slice. Regan didn’t have the training—her movements made that obvious—but she had strength and magic enough to wield her flaming steel like a champion.

Sirens rose in the distance, and I caught my chance. I dodged, sliced, and moved gradually toward the sidewalk and the blue and red lights that were racing up the street.

She let out a low growl, my hair standing on end as she prepared to throw out another blade of magic.