Chloe Neill - Blood Games

“What’s happened?”

“Detective Jacobs’s son was killed,” I said, and caught his sympathetic wince. “They found his body at a church on Michigan Avenue, and my grandfather would like us to consult.”

Sympathy turned to concern—probably fear that vampires had been involved in such a heinous crime. “Vampires had something to do with it?”

“He’s not sure; that’s why he wants us there. I don’t want you to go,” I said. “Not after what happened earlier.”

“I can’t—I won’t—stay interred in this House in the meantime. And I won’t let you go alone.”

I could have argued with him, but he’d insist on going, as much for my protection as for his.

“I know,” I said. “I’m going to message Jonah and ask him to meet us there.” When Ethan’s eyes flashed, I gave him a warning look of my own. “I can’t help with a murder and keep you safe. Jonah can. One more sword. One more pair of eyes.”

I saw the fight in Ethan’s eyes, the battle between pride and logic. But he finally relented.

“Contact him,” he said, moving the table back and rising to his feet. “I’ll tell Luc and Malik.”

“You should apologize while you’re at it. You’re grouchy when you’re attacked.”

“Don’t push your luck, Sentinel,” he said, even as I was stealing a cube of pineapple from his plate. Because I lived in the danger zone.

I texted Jonah, got his agreement to meet us at the church, and then headed to the closet to dress. I generally opted for leather pants and jacket when facing potential calamity, but the ensemble seemed too flashy for the circumstances. I opted for my own fitted, black Cadogan suit and a black tank. I finished with black heeled boots, decided to leave my hair down. A ponytail seemed too perky.

I finished dressing before Ethan. While he fixed cuff links and pulled on a watch, I checked my pride and joy, my ancient katana.

She was housed in a deeply red lacquered scabbard, stored horizontally on a rack Ethan had placed above a console table in the sitting room. His own katana lay below it in its glossy scabbard.

I lifted my sword carefully from its rack, unsheathed it with a delicate whoosh . The steel, tempered with my own blood and carefully cleaned, gleamed in the light, which flowed down the blade’s gentle curve like water. Assured she was ready, I tipped the end back into the scabbard and slid her home again.

“You think we’ll need those?”

I turned, found Ethan behind me in his well-fitted suit, hands in his pockets, hair pulled back. He looked more like a captain of industry—and possibly an illegal one—than a Master vampire. Captain or not, he could handle himself.

“I hope not,” I said. “But better safe than sorry.”

And speaking of safety, Moneypenny, my silver Mercedes coupe, was beautiful, but she was also recognizable and predictable. Moneypenny had the curves of a 1957 300SL Mercedes roadster but the speed of a Formula One prototype. She was a bombshell. Absolutely beautiful, and absolutely mine.

Lindsey, on the other hand, drove an SUV. It was large, black, and ubiquitous in Chicago. Midwesterners preferred heavy vehicles for treacherous winters.

Well, most midwesterners. Ethan drove a Ferrari. Of course.

“I’m ready if you are,” I told him. “Although I’d like to stop by the Ops Room. I need to make a request.”

Although much of Cadogan House was built to impress, the Operations Room was built for work. It was located in the House’s basement beside a well-stocked training room and an arsenal of weapons.

The Ops Room was also the headquarters of the Cadogan guards, which was why Luc sat at the central conference table, ankles kicked up on the tabletop, eating potato chips from an open bag beside him as he stared at the giant screen on the opposite wall.

He looked up when we walked in, gave Ethan a flat look before glancing at the screen again.

“Liege,” he sniped.

Ethan’s lip curled, but he managed not to verbally respond. Still, the hot wash of magic that filled the room made it clear how he felt.

“Lucas,” he said, and Lindsey, who’d turned to watch, cringed at one of the computer stations that lined the room.

“Any luck with video of the Mustang?” I asked.

“We haven’t found any footage of him so far. Nor any hint online the crescent tattoo signifies anything vampiric.” His gaze caught my belted sword, and he looked up at me. “Going somewhere?”

“There’s been a murder downtown—Detective Jacobs’s son. My grandfather asked us to consult.”

Luc’s expression fell. “That is rough. He’s a good man. Always been good to us. I presume he’s human, so why us?”

“That, we aren’t sure about. Only that the death has some tie to vampires. Considering what Jacobs has done for us, I didn’t argue.”

Luc glanced at Ethan. “You’re going with her?”

“I am,” Ethan said, his tone a challenge. “I certainly wouldn’t have her go alone.”

“I didn’t suggest you have her go alone,” Luc said, bristling at the insult.

“Jonah’s going, too,” I said. “He’ll give us another pair of eyes, another sword in case anything goes wonky. Which I wouldn’t expect it to, considering the fact that we’re visiting someone else’s crime scene and a cadre of CPD uniforms and detectives.”

Luc grunted, which I took for agreement. Having advised him of our next steps, we were technically ready to leave, but I wasn’t leaving the House with the two of them in a snit.

I walked to the Ops Room door, gestured to the hallway. “Luc, Ethan, could I please speak to you for a moment? Perhaps in the training room?”

They both looked suspicious, but I ignored the questions in their eyes and kept my own expression neutral. Ethan moved first, and when Luc saw that he’d relented, he kicked his boots off the table and rose.

I stood in the doorway until I was assured they’d moved, then walked past them to the training room, where I pointed inside.

“In. Both of you.”

They gave me equally dubious looks.

“You’re giving us orders?” Ethan asked.

I gave back the haughtiest expression I could manage, which was equal parts Ethan Sullivan (my Master) and Joshua Merit (my father).

“I am,” I confirmed. “It’s been a dramatic night, and we’re about to head into a pretty crappy situation. We don’t have time for attitude.” Both of them opened their mouths to protest, but I held up a hand to stop them.

“You’re colleagues and friends, and you both feel crappy that something dangerous happened tonight which made you question your control, your respective abilities to protect the ones you love.”

I looked at them for a moment, waiting for them to argue. To my great satisfaction, both of them shut their mouths tight. I gestured them forward into the training room. “Talk it out, punch it out, kick it out, whatever it takes. Just get it out there, and let’s move on. You have five minutes.”

I waited until they walked inside, grumbling the entire time, and closed the door behind them.

I found Lindsey in the Ops Room doorway, arms crossed and grinning. “Boy trouble?”

“When aren’t they trouble? While they battle it out in there, I need a favor.”

“Anything.”

“I need to borrow your car.”

When they emerged three minutes later, I had Lindsey’s keys in hand. Her dark SUV was considerably less conspicuous than Moneypenny, which would, I hoped, make the trip safer.

My excellent plan notwithstanding, both Luc and Ethan wore dirty looks.

“Love you guys!” I said with sickly sweetness. “You get everything worked out?”