Chloe Neill - Blood Games

“What about Samantha Ingram?” I asked, shifting so he’d look at me again, trying to keep his focus off her—and the SWAT team members who were inevitably moving toward us from the back of the property.

He looked irritated by the question. “Who?”

“The Three of Pentacles. The girl on the beach.”

He waved off the question. Samantha Ingram meant nothing more to him than Brett Jacobs, maybe less. “Some dumbass who came into the store, went on and on about vampires.”

I wanted to show him. Oh God, how I wanted to bare my fangs and silver my eyes, rush forward and scare the living shit out of him just for the effect, just so he could understand that there were far worse monsters in the world than he, that he wasn’t nearly as innovative as he imagined himself to be.

I knew how the adrenaline would feel, how satisfying it would be to hear his heart pound and his blood race in fear.

Focus, I demanded before my eyes could silver. Focus.

“The blue crosses,” I slowly said, fighting for my own control. “That was a nice touch. It’s one of the tarot formations, right?”

He looked pleased I’d gotten it. “My signature, is what it is. Everybody who does something like this—who takes the time to plan it, to be careful about it—has to have a signature.”

He seemed oblivious to the fact that the signature was precisely the thing that had helped the CPD connect the crimes—and put the blame on him. And it would be the thing that put him away for a very, very long time.

I screwed up my face with worry. “Listen, that gun’s kind of freaking me out. Do you think you could put it away for right now?”

“Why? So you can try to take it from me?”

I offered my most guileless smile. “Do I look like someone who could take a gun from someone like you? I don’t even own a gun. You, on the other hand, look like you actually know what you’re doing.”

“Fucking A,” he said. Slowly but surely, he lowered his weapon.

That was his mistake. A twig snapped in the dark on his left. He turned and pointed the gun with both hands at the coming threat, but it had been a feint. The SWAT team came in from the right, sweeping around him.

Curt made a high sound of fear and turned in a half circle to face them.

But I’d come out here and done my part. It was time to claim my small victory. I held the SWAT team off with a hand, ran forward and kicked, connecting with his forearm and sending the gun into the air. It fell a few feet away as he screamed keenly at the pain.

“Yeah, that does look broken,” I said, and gave him a very satisfying and much-deserved knee to the balls.

He groaned, spittle at the corners of his mouth as he hit the ground on his knees. “You. Fucking. Bitch.”

“Music to my ears,” I said. “Would you like to try again?”

His face was crimson with rage. He climbed to his feet again, rushed me like a linebacker. I ducked his grasping arms, spun around to face him again, then kicked him so he stumbled forward into the grass.

The obscenities grew even more creative when the SWAT team surrounded him, guns pointed in his face.

As Catcher and Ethan ran across the lawn, I pulled off my jacket, laid it across Mallory’s body as Catcher tugged the stakes from the ground. She opened her eyes, glanced at me groggily.

“You told me to get out of the store. I tried.”

“I know. You did really good.”

“It was Curt. He drugged me, I think.”

“I know. You did exactly what I told you to do. He was only a little bit faster.”

“I think I’m naked right now.”

I patted the jacket in around her, tucked it around her bare skin. “You are, but you look amazing, as always.” I brushed her hair back from her face.

“It’s sorcerer monkey sex. Does amazing things for the abs.” She swallowed thickly. “Holy shit, Merit. I was scared. So scared.”

“I know, Mal. We were scared, too. Catcher just about lost his shit. For all his faults—and they are numerous—he really, really loves you.”

She nodded. “He’s a good egg. And I’m really, really cold.”

“He’s almost done, Mal. In just a minute, we’ll get you warm clothes and all the Chunky Monkey you can eat.”

Catcher threw away the last of the stakes, moved up, and lifted Mallory’s body from the ground. She winced in pain but looked up at him with doe-like and still-groggy eyes.

“Hey, Catcher Bell. Did you come to rescue me?”

“I did. There’s a whole team of us out there. All this for a little wolfsbane, huh?”

“Was going to make something for Connor Keene. He’ll be teething soon, you know. And that will hurt.”

Her composure cracked, and she turned her face into his chest, silently wept. He wrapped his arms around her, held her on the wet grass.

I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the back of her head. “I’m going to give you guys a few minutes. I’m assuming all the Ben and Jerry’s is required.”

“All of it,” Catcher agreed.

I rose, found Ethan waiting with Jeff a few yards away. Ethan gathered me into his arms. “Well done, Sentinel.”

I nodded. “She’s still a little drugged. Might have an ugly time with it when she’s fully aware.”

“And you’ll be there for her, probably with ice cream.”

“I already promised it,” I said, and slipped my arms around him. “Let’s go load up the car with it and take care of our girl.”

“Absofuckinglutely,” he said, and we walked arm in arm back to the car.

Mallory had been injured, so she got to pick the evening’s entertainment. She opted for a Bruce Campbell marathon, so the four of us snuggled into the couches in her living room, The Evil Dead and Army of Darkness on-screen, ice cream pints, spoons, and whipped cream in a can scattered across the coffee table.

“I love you guys,” Mallory randomly said at intervals. Catcher and I took turns at responding until Ethan beat us to the punch.

“We love you, too, Mallory.”

She went still, slowly turned her gaze on him, her eyes filling with tears again. Without a word, he untangled himself from me, rose to her, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. And as tears filled my eyes, too, he whispered something in her ear.

Tears still spilled down her cheeks, but she looked like he’d swept away all the weight on her shoulders.

Later, when we lay boneless in a bubble-filled tub, I asked Ethan what he’d said to her.

“Just something she needed to hear. Something a very wise woman once said to me. That she was more than the sum of her past.”

I wasn’t sure it was possible to love him more.

The night of Nicole’s coronation bloomed beautiful and warm, if not especially cheerfully, considering it was Nicole’s coronation.

When we could delay the inevitable no longer, we gathered together in the ballroom, the festivities on a giant screen hung from one end. A long table bore gold and black party hats, noisemakers, and yellow bottles of champagne, which Helen poured into tall, elegant flutes.

Our man hadn’t become king, but the coronation of a queen was still a big deal, even if she wasn’t actually our queen. Even vampires— especially vampires—liked pomp and circumstance.

Novitiates mingled nervously, excited about the drama and guilty about their excitement. They stole glances at Ethan, checking his mood and temperament, and at Amit, who’d decided to stay in Chicago for a few more nights.

I decided the best course of action was to keep things light, so I swept two flutes of champagne from the table and handed one to him.