Some Girls Bite (13 page)

Catcher slid me a glance. “I take it you didn’t?”

I shook my head. “I ended up on my back on the floor. But I got a few moves in. I held my own. And he didn’t land a blow either. He seemed surprised that I was strong. That I was fast.”

Catcher blew out a breath while he nodded. “If you held your own against Sullivan, your reflexes are better than they should be for a baby vamp. And that means, Initiate, that you’re going to have some power. What about smell? Hearing? Any improvement?”

I shook my head. “Not much above normal, unless I get angry.”

Catcher seemed to consider that, tilting his head to regard me. “That’s . . . interesting. Could be those powers aren’t online yet.”

A motorcycle raced down the dark street, and we were quiet until it disappeared around the block.

“If you want to harness your power,” Catcher continued, “whatever that power may be, you’ll need training. Vamps have their own traditions of sword work—offensive moves, defensive patterns. You need to learn them.”

Having depleted the dandelion of its seeds, I dropped the empty stem to the ground. “If I’m stronger, why do I need training?”

“You’re going to be a power, Merit, but there’s always someone stronger. Well, unless you’re Amit Patel, but that’s not the point. Trust me—there’s going to be lots of vampire kiddies who want to take you for a spin. You’ll invite challenges from good guys and bad guys alike. To stay healthy, merely being stronger or faster won’t be enough. You need moves.” He paused, nodded. “And until the CPD brings this murderer in, it’d help if you could handle yourself. It’d make Chuck feel better, and if Chuck feels better, I feel better.”

I smiled collegially, appreciative that my grandfather had Catcher at his back. “Can Jeff handle himself?”

Catcher made a sarcastic sound. “Jeff’s a fucking shifter. He doesn’t need martial arts to get around in the world.”

“And you? Do you need martial arts?”

In lieu of answering, he flicked his hand in my direction. A burst of blue light flew from his open fingers, aiming straight for my head. Immediately, I dropped into a crouch again, then angled to the side as he shot a second burst. With an electric sizzle, the bursts exploded a shower of sparks.

I snapped my gaze back to the low-slung man on the bench, muttering a string of curses that would have turned even my grandfather’s ears red. “What the hell are you?”

Catcher stood and extended a hand to help me up. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet. “Not people.”

“A witch?”

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “What did you just call me?”

I’d obviously offended him, so I backtracked. “Um . . . Sorry. I’m a little unclear on all the . . . right labels.”

He watched me for a moment, then nodded. “Accepted. That’s a pretty big insult for someone like me.”

I didn’t tell him that the vamps threw the word around with casual ease. “And what is that, exactly?”

“I am—
was
—a fourth-class sorcerer, proficient in the minor and major, greater and lesser Keys.”

“Keys?”

“The divisions of power. Of magic,” he added at my blank stare. “But because I made the Order’s shit list”—he pointed down at the words on his T-shirt—“I’ve been excommunicated.”

“The Order? Is that a church?”

“More like a union. I was a member.”

Although I understood the words he used, I had no context in which to place anything he’d said, so none of it made sense. (I needed a guidebook. A big, thick, illustrated, tabbed, and indexed guidebook to the sups of Chicago. Did they make those?) But the part about his being excommunicated was clear enough, so I focused there. “You’re a magical rogue?”

He shrugged. “Close enough. Back to you. I’ll train you.”

“Why?” I looked back at the building, then flicked him a suspicious glance. “You can shoot blue lightning from your hands, but you’re working in a run-down building on the South Side with my grandfather. Training me will take time away from your work”—I pointed at his T-shirt—“and whatever other supernatural business you’ve got going on. Besides, isn’t that the vamps’ job?”

“Sullivan will clear it.”

“Why?”

“Because he will, Nosy. Weapons, objects of power, are the second Key. That’s my bag, my specialty, and Sullivan knows it.”

“And why do you care who trains me?”

Catcher looked at me for a long time, long enough that crickets began to chirp around us. “Partly because Chuck asked me to. And partly because you have something of mine. And the time will come when it’s up to you to protect it. I need to know you’ll be ready for that.”

I took my own pause. “Are you serious?”

“Very.”

I stuffed my hands into my pockets, tilted my head at him. “What am I protecting?”

Catcher just shook his head. “Not the time for that.”

It was “not time” for all the good stuff, I thought as my cab turned onto the block and stopped at the curb before us.

“Tomorrow at eight thirty,” Catcher said, then gave me an address I guessed was in River North. I walked toward the waiting cab and opened the back door.

“Merit.”

I glanced back.

“She needs training, and a lot of it. The last thing I need is another misguided neophyte screwing around with the lesser Keys.”

Sullivan had definitely made a call about Mallory. “How do you know that?” I asked him.

Catcher snorted. “Knowing things is what I do.”

“Well, then, you know she’s not taking the news well. Maybe you should give her a call. What with the fangs and serial killer, I’m full up on supernatural drama at the moment.”

He grinned at me, white teeth flashing. “Babe, you’re a vampire. Deal with it.”

 

Mallory was asleep when I got home, tucked safely into bed. And why wouldn’t she be safe with a pair of armed guards outside? I headed straight for the fridge. The bags of blood still held no appeal, so I grabbed an apple and munched at the kitchen counter, flipping through the day’s paper. The front page featured a picture of Mayor Tate, tall and darkly handsome, under the headline
Mayor Announces New Anticrime Measures
.

I snorted, wondering what the readership would think if they understood the anticrime measures being employed in a small brick building on the South Side.

After flipping through the paper, I checked the clock. It was two a.m., hours before sleep would pull me under. I was debating a hot bath when a knock sounded at the door. I headed to the living room, chucking the apple core on the way, and checked the peephole. The nose and hair were distorted by the angle, but there was no mistaking a blond, pissed-off vampire in black Armani. I flipped the locks and pulled the door open.

“Good evening, Ethan.”

His gaze immediately dropped to the ninja print across my chest. I got an arched brow for the fashion choice—at least, that was how I chose to interpret the disdain—before he raised flame green eyes to mine.

“You think to bring down my House by spying on us?”

Anticipating Fight Number Two, I sighed but invited him in.

 

 

 

S
ullivan walked in, followed by Luc and Ethan’s redheaded consort from the sparring room. Since I hadn’t officially met Ethan’s flame, I stuck out my hand as she sauntered through the front door in hip-high leather pants and a pale blue tank she’d unfairly burdened with the task of holding up her pendulous breasts.

“Merit,” I said.

She looked at my hand and ignored it. “Amber,” she said before turning away.

“Nice to meet you,” I muttered and shadowed the trio to the living room. I found Ethan standing, while his pretty vampire accoutrements fanned out on the sofa.

“Merit.”

Playing it safe, I opted for the honorific. “Liege.”

He arched an eyebrow. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, trying unsuccessfully to figure out what I’d done. “Why don’t you go first?”

There was a two-part groan from the couch.

Ethan planted his hands on his hips, sweeping back the sides of his suit jacket in the process. “You’ve been to see the Ombud.”

“I went to see my grandfather.”

“I warned you yesterday—about your role, your place—and I thought we’d agreed that you weren’t going to challenge my authority. Agreeing to spy on the House, to betray my House, clearly falls into the ‘challenging my authority’ category.” He stared down at me. A moment passed as I tried to wrap my mind around the accusation.

His nostrils flared. “I’m waiting, Merit.”

The tone was condescending. Patronizing. Profoundly irritating. And from what I’d seen so far, typical Sullivan. I tried to be the bigger person and explained, “I haven’t agreed to spy on anyone, and I resent the implication. You may not like me, Sullivan, but I’m no traitor. I’ve done nothing that justifies the accusation.”

This time, he blinked. “But you admit you were at the office?”

“My grandfather,” I carefully began, controlling my voice to keep from screaming at him, “took me to his office to meet his staff, to tell me about Chicago’s other supernaturals. I didn’t agree to spy on anyone or to betray anyone. And how could I? I’ve been a vampire for three days, and I’m willing to admit that I’m still pretty ignorant.”

Amber
humph
ed. “She has a point, Liege.”

I gave him credit—he kept his eyes on me. I got a long look before he spoke again. “You don’t deny that you went to the Ombud’s office?”

I grappled to discover the logic underlying the questions, found nothing. “Sullivan, you’re going to have to help me here, because, contrary to the information you’ve been given, I haven’t agreed to do anything for the Ombud’s office. I went there to learn, to visit, not to get an assignment. I haven’t agreed to spy, to sneak notes, to give updates, anything.” I narrowed my gaze and crossed my arms. “And I don’t see what’s wrong with visiting my grandfather at his office.”

“What’s wrong,” Ethan said, “is that your grandfather’s office is trying to pin the Jennifer Porter murder on
my
House.”

“The Chicago Police Department is trying to pin the murder on your House,” I corrected. “From everything I’ve heard, my grandfather and everyone else in his office think you’re innocent. But you know there was a Cadogan medal at the crime scene. Assuming the forensics unit didn’t plant that evidence, that medal came from your House. Cadogan is involved, regardless of what my grandfather does, and whether you like it or not.”

“No one from my House would do this.”

“Maybe not the murder,” I agreed. “But unless you hand those medals out as party favors, someone from your House has a part in it. At the very least, someone let in the person who
did
take it.”

I didn’t expect his reaction.

I expected another rant, an outburst about the loyalty of Cadogan vamps. I didn’t expect his silence. I didn’t expect him to walk to the love seat and sit down, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. I didn’t expect him to run his hands through his hair, then rest his head in his hands.

But that was what he did. And the move, the posture, was so humble, so tired, and so very, very human, that I had the sudden, surprising urge to reach out, to touch his shoulder, to comfort him.

It was a moment of weakness, of yet another breach in the defenses I’d tried to erect against Ethan Sullivan.

And that, of all the goddamn times, was when the hunger rose.

I nearly lost my breath from the sudden race of fire through my limbs, and had to grip the back of the love seat to stay upright. My stomach clenched, pain radiating in waves through my abdomen. I went light-headed, and as I touched my tongue to the tip of an eyetooth, I could feel the sharp bite of fang.

I swallowed instinctively.

I needed blood.
Now.

“Ethan.” Luc said his name, and I heard rustling behind me.

A hand gripped my arm, and I snapped my head to look. Ethan stood next to me, green eyes wide. “First Hunger,” he announced.

But the words meant nothing.

I looked down at his long fingers on my arm, and felt the warm rush of fire again. I curled my toes against it, reveled in the heat of it.

This
meant something. The feeling, the need, the thirst. I looked up at Ethan, dragging my gaze past the triangle of skin that showed through the top, unfastened button of his shirt, then the column of his neck, the strong line of his jaw, and the sensuous curves of his lips.

I wanted blood, and I wanted it from him.

“Ethan,” I whispered in a voice so husky I barely recognized it.

Ethan’s lips parted, and I saw the flash of silver in his eyes. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by smoky green. I edged closer to his body, wet my lips, and then, without a single thought as to the consequences or what the act admitted, pressed them to his throat. He smelled so good—clean, soapy, everything male and masculine. He
tasted
so good—of power and man. The ends of his hair brushed my cheek as I kissed the long line of his neck.

“Ethan,”
I whispered again, his name an invitation.

A promise.

He went statue-still as I pressed a kiss to the skin just below his ear. I could hear blood singing in the veins that lay millimeters below the press of my teeth. Then he sighed, and the sound echoed through my head, an acknowledgment of shared passion, of mutual desire.

The others around us began to talk. I didn’t want talk. I wanted action. Heat. Motion. I scraped my teeth against his neck—not breaking skin, just enough to hint at what I wanted. Of the direction I would take. His pulse raced, and I fought not to bite in too quickly, not to rush the pleasure of it.

But through the burn of arousal, something cold, unwanted pricked. I shook my head and pushed it back.