Хлоя Нейл: Hard Bitten

Now that I thought about it, their guns didn’t exactly look off-the-rack; they looked like custom units, with muzzles a little wider than those in the House’s arsenal.

Is it possible to modify a gun to shoot aspen stakes? I asked Ethan.

I’d prefer not to find out, he replied.

My stomach churned with nerves. I’d become used to the fact that my job called for violence, usually perpetrated by crazy paranormals against me and mine. But these weren’t paranormals.

These were gun-wielding humans who apparently believed they were beyond the reach of the law, who believed they had the authority to stop us and hold us at gunpoint within the bounds of our own city.

The third man in front of us—big and bulky, with acne-marked skin and a military haircut —stepped forward.

Watch him, echoed Ethan’s voice in my head.

Hard to miss a human tank heading right for me.

“You think we don’t know what you’re doing to our city?” Tank asked. “You’re killing us.

Sneaking around in the night, pulling us from our beds. Enticing us, then drinking us down until there’s nothing left.”

My chest tightened at his words. I certainly hadn’t done any of those things, nor did I know of any other vampires who had, at least not since Celina Desaulniers, Chicago’s vampire bad girl, had disappeared from the scene. But Tank seemed very convinced he was telling the truth.

“I’ve done nothing to you,” I told him. “I’ve never met you, and you don’t know anything about me except that I’m a vampire.”

“Bitch,” he muttered, but he snapped his head back when the rear door opened on the left-hand SUV. Two booted feet hit the pavement, followed by another man in the same black uniform. Unlike the others, this one was handsome, with long, wide eyes and high, pert cheekbones, his dark hair perfectly parted. His hands behind his back, he walked toward us while Tank closed the SUV’s door.

I guessed New Guy was the one in charge.

“Mr. Sullivan. Ms. Merit,” he said.

“And you are?” Ethan asked.

New Guy smiled grandly. “You can call me . .

. McKetrick.” The pause made it sound like he’d only just decided on the name. “These are some of my friends. Fellow believers, if you will.”

“Your manners leave something to be desired.” Ethan’s tone was flat, but angry magic peppered the air.

McKetrick crossed his arms over his chest. “I find that insult rather comical, Mr. Sullivan, coming from an interloper in our city.”

“An interloper?”

“We’re humans. You’re vampires. But for the result of a genetic mutation, you’d be like us.

And that makes you aberrations in our town, uninvited guests. Guests that need to mind their manners and take their leave.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as if he hadn’t just suggested we were genetic aberrations that needed to hightail it out of the city.

“I beg your pardon,” Ethan said, but McKetrick held up a hand.

“Come, now,” he said. “I know you understand me. You seem to be an intelligent man, as does your colleague here. At least from what we know of her parents.”

My parents—the Merits—were new-money Chicago. My father was a real estate investor mentioned in the papers on a daily basis. Smart, but ruthless. We weren’t close, which made me that much less excited to learn I was being judged on the basis of his narcissistic press coverage.

Don’t let him faze you, Ethan silently said.

You know who you are.

“Your prejudices,” he said aloud, “are not our problem. We suggest you put down the weapons and continue on your way.”

“Continue on our way? That’s truly rich. As if your kind are merely going to continue on your way without bringing this city into all-out supernatural war?” He shook his head. “No, thank you, Mr. Sullivan. You and yours need to pack, leave, and be done with it.”

“I’m from Chicago,” I said, drawing his attention to me. “Born and raised.”

He lifted a finger. “Born and raised human until you switched sides.”

I almost corrected him, told him that Ethan had saved me from a killer hired by Celina, brought me back to life after I’d been attacked. I could also have told him that no matter the challenges I faced as a vampire, Ethan was the reason I still drew breath. But I didn’t think McKetrick would be thrilled to learn that I’d been nearly killed by one vampire—and changed without consent by another.

“No response?” McKetrick asked. “Not surprising. Given the havoc your ‘House’ has already wreaked in Chicago, I’m not sure I’d object, either.”

“We did not precipitate the strike on our House,” I told him. “We were attacked.”

McKetrick tilted his head at us, a confused smile on his face. “But you must recognize that you prompted it. Without you, there would have been no violence.”

“All we want is to go about our business.”

McKetrick smiled magnanimously. He wasn’t an unattractive man, but that smile—so calm and self-assured—was terrifying in its confidence.

“That fits me fine. Simply take your business elsewhere. As should be clear now, Chicago doesn’t want you.”

Ethan steeled his features. “You haven’t been elected. You haven’t been appointed. You have no right to speak on behalf of the city.”

“A city that had fallen under your spell? A city finally waking up to your deviance? Sometimes, Mr. Sullivan, the world needs a prophet. A man who can look beyond the now, see the future, and understand what’s necessary.”

“What do you want?”

He chuckled. “We want our city back, of course. We want the departure of all vampires in Chicago. We don’t care where you go—we just don’t want you here. I hope that’s understood?”

“Fuck you,” Ethan said. “Fuck you, and your prejudice.”

McKetrick looked disappointed, as if he truly expected Ethan to see the error of his ways.

He opened his mouth to retort, but before he could answer, I heard it: cutting through the night like roaring thunder, the sound of rumbling exhaust. I glanced behind me and saw the headlights—a dozen in all—moving like an arrow toward us.

Motorcycles.

I began to grin, now knowing whom Ethan had contacted on his cell phone. These weren’t just motorcycles; they were shifters. The cavalry had arrived.

The troops looked back to their leader, not sure of the next step.

They cut through the darkness like sharks on chrome. Twelve giant, gleaming, low-riding bikes, one shifter on each—brawny and leather-clad, ready for battle. And I could attest to the battle part. I’d seen them fight, I knew they were capable, and the tingle that lifted the hair at the back of my neck proved they were well armed.

Correction—eleven of them were brawny and leather-clad. The twelfth was a petite brunette with a mass of long, curly hair, currently pulled back beneath a Cardinals ball cap. Fallon Keene, the only sister among six Keene brothers, named alphabetically from Gabriel down to Adam, who’d been removed from the NAC and sent into the loving arms of a rival Pack after he took out their leader. No one had heard from Adam since that exchange had taken place. Given his crime, I assumed that wasn’t a good sign.

I nodded at Fallon, and when she offered back a quick salute, I decided I could live with her poor choice of baseball allegiances.

Gabriel Keene, Pack Apex, rode the bike in front, his sunkissed brown hair pulled into a queue at the nape of his neck, his amber eyes scanning the scene with what looked like malicious intent. But I knew better. Gabriel eschewed violence unless absolutely necessary.

He wasn’t afraid of it, but he didn’t seek it out.