Хлоя Нейл: Hard Bitten

Ethan kept the fear or concern or vitriol or whatever emotion was driving him to himself even as we reached the Mercedes.

And I meant “driving” literally. He expressed that pent-up frustration with eighty thousand dollars of German engineering and a 300-horsepower engine. He managed not to clip the gate as he pulled out of the drive, but he treated the stop signs between Creeley Creek and Lake Shore Drive like meek suggestions. Ethan floored the Mercedes, zooming in and around traffic like the silver-eyed devil was on our tail.

Problem was, we were the silver-eyed devils.

We were both immortal, and Ethan probably had a century of driving experience under his belt, but that didn’t make the turns any less harrowing. He raced through a light and onto Lake Shore Drive, turned south, and gunned it. . .

And he kept driving until the city skyline glowed behind us.

I was almost afraid to ask where he was taking us—did I really want to know where predatory vampires blew off political steam?—but he saved me the trouble when we reached Washington Park. He pulled off Lake Shore Drive, and a few squealing turns later we were coasting onto Promontory Point, a small peninsula that jutted into the lake. Ethan drove around the tower topped building and stopped the car in front of the rock ledge that separated grass from lake.

Without a word, he climbed out of the car and slammed it shut again. When he hopped the rock ledge that ringed the peninsula and disappeared from sight, I unfastened my seat belt. It was time to go to work.

The air was thick and damp, the sharp smell of ozone signaling rain. The lake looked like it was already in the middle of a squall: whitecaps rolled across the water like jagged teeth, and waves pounded the rocky shoreline.

I glanced up at the sky. The anvil-shaped marker of a gigantic thunderstorm was swelling in the southwestern sky, visible each time lightning flashed across it.

Without warning, a crack split the air.

I jumped and looked back at the building, thinking it had been struck by an early bolt of lightning. But the building was quiet and still, and when another crack shattered the silence, I realized the sound had come from a stand of trees on the other side of the building.

I walked around to investigate and found Ethan standing at the base of a pine tree like a fighter facing down a forty-foot-tall opponent.

His fists were up, his body bladed.

“Every time!” he yelled. “Every time I manage to bring things under control, we become enmeshed in bullshit again !”

And then he pivoted and thrust out—and punched the tree.

Crack.

The tree wobbled like it had been rammed by a truck, needles whoosh ing as limbs moved. The smell of pine resin—and blood—lifted in the breeze. And those weren’t the only things in the air. Magic rippled off Ethan’s body in waves, leaving its telltale tingle around us.

And that, I thought, explained why he’d driven here instead of the House. With that much anger banked, there was no way Ethan could have gone home. Cadogan’s vampires—even those who weren’t as sensitive to magic as I was—would have known something was wrong, and that certainly wasn’t going to ease the anticipatory mood. It was an obvious downside of being a Master vampire—to be all riled up with nowhere to go.

“Do you have any idea how long—how hard —I’ve worked to make this House successful? And this human—this temporary blip in the chronology of the world—threatens to take it all away.”

Ethan reared back for a second strike, but he’d already split his knuckles and the poor tree probably wasn’t faring much better. I understood the urge to rail out when you were being held accountable for another’s evils, but hurting himself wasn’t going to solve the problem. It was time to intervene.

I was standing on the lawn between the building and the lake; I figured that was a perfect place to work off a little tension. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” I called out.

He looked over, one eyebrow defiantly arched.

“Don’t tempt me, Sentinel.”

I peeled off my suit jacket and dropped it onto the ground, then put my hands on my hips and, hopefully for the last time tonight, pulled out my vampire bravado. “Are you afraid you can’t handle me?”

His expression was priceless—equal parts tempted and irritated—the masculinity warring with the urge to tamp down the challenge to his authority. “Watch your mouth.”

“It was a legitimate question,” I countered.

Ethan was already walking closer, the smell of his blood growing stronger.

I won’t deny it—my hunger was perked. I’d bitten Ethan twice before, and both times had been memorable. Sensual, in ways I wasn’t entirely comfortable admitting. The scent of his blood triggered those memories again, and I knew my own eyes had silvered, even if I wasn’t thrilled about bring tempted.

“It was a childish question,” he growled out, taking another step forward.

“I disagree. If you want to fight, try a vampire.”

“Your attempts at being clever aren’t serving you, Sentinel.”

He moved within striking range, blood dripping from his right knuckles, which were split nearly to the bone. They’d heal, and quickly, but they must have hurt.

“And yet,” I said, squeezing my own hands into fists, “here you are.”

His eyes flashed silver. “Remember your position.”

“Does putting me in my place make you feel better?”

“I am your Master .”

“Yes, you are. In Hyde Park and in Creeley Creek, and wherever else vampires are gathered, you’re my Master. But out here, it’s just you and me and the chip Tate put on your shoulder. You can’t go back to the House like this. You’re pouring magic, and that’s going to worry everyone even more than they already are.”

There was a tic above his eyebrow, but Ethan held his tongue.

“Out here,” I quietly said, “it’s just you and me.”

“Then don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With no more warning, he offered up his favorite move, a roundhouse kick that he swiveled toward my head. But I dropped my arm and shoulder and blocked it.

That move thwarted, Ethan bounced back into position. “Don’t get cocky, Sentinel. You’ve only taken me down once.”

I tried a roundhouse of my own, but he dodged it, ducking and spinning around the kick, before popping up again. “Maybe so,” I said. “But how many Novitiates have beaten you before?”

He scowled and offered a jab combination that I easily rebuffed. For all the vampiric power we could put behind our shots, this wasn’t a real battle. This was play-fighting. The release of tension.

“Never fear,” he said. “You may have gotten me down, but I’ve been above you before, and I’m sure I’ll manage it again.”

He was being arrogant, letting the gentle, insistent veneer he’d been wearing lately slip.

But I’d managed to transmute his anger into romantic steam, which softened his punches.

I swatted away a halfhearted jab. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not that kind of hungry.”

“My hopes, as you call them, are perpetually up when you’re in the vicinity.”

“Then I’ll try to stay farther away,” I sweetly responded.

“That won’t exactly be conducive to your standing Sentinel.”

“Neither will your being arrested,” I said, bringing him back to the point.

Ethan ran his hands through his blond locks, then linked his fingers together atop his head. “I am doing everything I can to keep the city together. And it’s only getting harder. And now, within a few hours, we see the ugly side of freedom of speech, we learn Chicago has a militia, and we discover Tate’s out for blood. My blood.”