Twice Bitten (29 page)

I was about to take the stairs to the basement when I saw her. She stood on the landing between the first and second floors in a black suit, her arms crossed and one eyebrow arched.

She was a Master made in her own Master’s image.

I took the steps but stopped a riser or two above the landing, my eyebrows arched. “Waiting for me?”

“You and Ethan have a unique relationship,” Lacey said.

“We have a relationship?”

“I don’t play games, Merit.”

All evidence to the contrary, but I forced myself to be polite. “Respectfully, ma’am, I don’t, either. May I help you with something?”

“I don’t give up easily. He and I are perfect for each other.”

I almost snarked out a response, but held back. If she truly believed that, more power to her. Besides—he’d invited her here, so maybe he believed it, too.

“You know what?” I asked instead, moving past her. “Good luck with that.”

She followed me down to the first floor. Ethan, timing as impeccable as always, picked that moment to begin the climb upstairs toward us, his suit jacket discarded, body hugged by lean, dark trousers, a white button-down, and black tie. He must have been on his way up to change.

His eyes widened at the sight of us together, as if he wasn’t quite prepared for the meeting of old and slightly less old lovers—his own fault, since he’d thrown us together under one roof.

“How was your call?” Lacey asked. “And how are things in London?”

It was easy to read between the lines on that one—
Dear Sentinel: Your boss made a phone call to the GP he didn’t tell you about. Guess you aren’t in the loop about everything! Love, his most bestest protégé.

Her second time at bat, she’d swung for the fence. I had to stifle down a growl.

“Not as helpful as I’d have liked, but so goes the GP,” Ethan said. When he glanced at me, the line of worry had appeared between his eyes. “I’ll meet you in the Sparring Room momentarily.”

I nodded. “Liege.”

He walked past me. “Lacey, with me, please,” he said, and she obediently followed.

I glanced behind me and watched her trail after him like a puppy on a string as they took the stairs to the third floor.

Something struck me as she followed him. Ethan was, and always would be, her Master. And although I’d heard her disagree with him, raising concerns about my being a “common soldier,” there was something acquiescent even in her
posture
. She moved as if she were his property, as if there were nothing she wanted more than to be at his side. Even though she had her own House, she wanted back in Cadogan.

Lindsey had told me that Lacey was a Very Strong Strat. So maybe part of the adoration was political. Maybe, like him, she was worried about alliances, wanted to ensure her link to the fourth-oldest House in the country.

Or maybe it was something simpler. Maybe she just wanted
him
.

Whatever the future had in store for me and Ethan (or me and
not
Ethan, as the case may have been), I made a vow then and there not to become one of those vampires. I vowed to stay my own person, to remember who I was, to think rationally about alliances and the people I might have allied with.

If only I’d remembered those things a few nights ago . . . or when Mallory had needed me. But what was done was done.

A girl could only move forward.

However regrettable (and however embarrassing), those wrongs had created a kind of bond between me and the other vampires of Cadogan House—a chance for me to get to know them without my rank between us.

Silver lining? Maybe. Or maybe the world just worked in mysterious ways.

Ethan walked toward me, his posture businesslike, his expression just shy of grim. “Prepare to fight,” he said.

I guess we were skipping the complicated teaching protocols . . . and the greetings.

“Liege,” I said, and angled my body toward his, knees soft, elbows bent, prepared to strike or defend.

He must have had aggression of his own to work out, as he immediately struck out with a punch-kick-punch combination that had me hurrying to defend myself. But I parried his punches and the kick, and then tried a shot myself—a crescent kick that he nevertheless fended off.

We bounced around the mat for a bit, offering up testing jabs, but not yet committing to an actual punch. The crowd began to murmur and call out for action.

I tried a side kick, which he easily blocked.

“You’re hardly trying,” he said, but he didn’t stop moving. He bobbed around me before executing a perfect front kick that caught me in the right collarbone. I think he pulled the kick; it was still bone jarring, but the full force of it would have cracked the bone in half.

I rubbed the sore spot, anger beginning to boil my blood. Ethan kept bobbing and weaving; I kept trying to hit him. This, he seemed to think, was exactly the problem—that I was
trying
to do it, instead of actually doing it. Here we were again, and he was running out of ways to motivate me with fear and anger.

“I want you to use the skills you’ve learned,” he said. “How to rely upon your senses, your instincts.”

I ducked to avoid a strike. “I’m trying, Sullivan.”

“Try
harder
.”

Why did people always think demanding we try
harder
was going to help? I was trying as hard as I could. My inability to best him wasn’t for lack of effort on my part.

“Maybe you’re just better than I am.”

He stopped cold, then moved so close to me that the bottom of his white
gi
pants brushed my legs. “You are Sentinel of this House. It’s not an issue of ‘better than.’ ”

His expression softened, and he looked at me with those deep green eyes, and instead of baiting me, he
encouraged
me.

“I have seen you move, Merit. I have seen you perform the Katas with grace and speed, and I have seen you battle men twice your size. Your skill is not the problem. You
can do
this.”

I nodded and blew out a breath, and I tried not to look up at the balcony to check the reactions of the vampires who were watching me. I didn’t want to see mine or Ethan’s frustration echoed on their faces.

Was that the problem? That I had an audience? It shouldn’t have mattered. After all, I’d been a dancer; it wasn’t as if I hadn’t performed in front of a crowd before. And then I thought about the first time I’d challenged Ethan, and how proud he’d been of my skills as a newbie vamp. And I thought about what had been different then.

Suddenly . . .
insight
.

In that first fight, I’d
danced
.

I looked at Ethan again. “Can I get some music?”

He frowned. “Music?”

“Please.”

“Any preferences?”

I let a smile slowly curl my lips. “Something I can dance to.”

He nodded at someone behind me. After a moment, Rage Against the Machine began to echo through the Sparring Room.

I took a moment, closing my eyes and letting the pounding of “Guerilla Radio” loosen my limbs. I let my body adjust to its rhythm, and when the tension was gone and the world seemed to slow on its axis, I opened my eyes and I looked at him—not as his lover, or the vampire he’d made, or his Novitiate, but as a soldier in my own right.

“Ready?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Begin,” he said, and as if it were the simplest thing in the world, I attacked.

I didn’t think about it, didn’t analyze it, didn’t wonder how he might parry or defend. Instead, with the roaring bass line echoing through my chest, I struck out. I started with a high butterfly kick, and before he could defend, using the momentum I’d gained from the kick, I swept a high roundhouse at his face.

He grunted and dropped down with his usual speed, then struck out with a roundhouse kick. But I’d seen that kick before. I dodged the move, flipping backward and landing with my body bladed, ready for the next round. “You’ll have to be faster than that, Sullivan.”

The crowd came to its feet.

We both hopped out of our kicks, balancing on the balls of our feet as we waited for our next openings.

“That’s better,” he said.

I winked at him. “Then you’re gonna love this one.”

“Not if I move first,” he said, then aimed a sidekick at my torso, but I spun around, one hand on the floor as I turned, then aimed a back kick at his head.

I missed his head . . . but caught him on the shoulder. His inertia brought him down to his knees, but he hopped up quickly enough.

The vampires in the balcony cheered appreciatively.

Hands on my hips, I gave him an appraising glance. “That’s better.”

He snorted with delight.

Ethan kicked again, and this time, I thought I’d try something a little different. I jumped backward into an exaggerated scissor-legged flip that took me ten feet in the air and out of the range of his kicks.

I landed again, and then the sparring really got started. We moved and torqued our bodies as if gravity made no difference at all, as if we were partners in a pas de deux.

“Good,” he called out, but there was a brilliant gleam in his eyes.

That was when I used my best weapon. I looked at him and faked a side kick. “I am but a common soldier,” I said.

He froze, his expression falling. And in that moment of discombobulation, I swiveled and offered up another butterfly kick.

This time, I caught him square in the chest.

He flew backward, then hit the ground with a thud.

The room went silent . . . and then burst into raucous applause.

Chest heaving, sweat dripping from the exertion, I walked over and stared down at him, not entirely sure about the protocol. What do you do when you’ve finally beaten your teacher at his own game?

I decided to enjoy it. I let my mouth curl into a grin and arched an eyebrow at him. “Why, Sullivan, I think I just kicked your ass.”

His eyes were wide, emerald, and decidedly shocked. But even there on the ground he smiled up at me with pride and a kind of boyish pleasure.

When I’d stepped over his body, I offered him a hand. He took it, and I pulled him to his feet.

“Always remember,” he whispered to me, “that you are an
un
common soldier, whatever they say. And you are quite a thing to behold.”

I nodded, took the compliment, and glanced up at the crowd on the balcony. Lindsey and Katherine stood at the front, bodies pressed against the rail, both clapping along with the crowd. I grabbed the hems of an invisible skirt and curtsied, then held a hand in Ethan’s direction. He chuckled but made a gallant bow.

“I believe we’ve had enough fun for today,” he called up. “Back to work, vampires.” There was grousing, but they headed for the exits, chatting with animation about what they’d seen.

That was when it hit me. My inability to best him, the sparring wall I’d had to work through, was mental, emotional. It was about letting go of all my human preconceptions about fighting, about movement. It was about, as Catcher had once told me, understanding my vampire body’s strange new relationship with gravity. It was about remembering, as Ethan had said, what free dance was like—forgetting about whether the moves were perfect, whether they looked good, or whether they were “right,” and remembering what it felt like to be truly
in
your body, to feel limbs move, hips sway, skin heat, heart pound, breath speed.

I saw the covetous silvering of his eyes, and I knew that he’d realized the same thing I had.

Lacey Sheridan wasn’t going to be the only Master vampire Ethan had made.

And speaking of the last girl who’d gotten training from Ethan, I glanced up and oh so slowly shifted my gaze to the one who came before me. Lacey stared back at me, some new emotion in her eyes. It wasn’t friendship, certainly; Lacey and I would never be friends, not with Ethan between us. But there was something akin to respect in her expression. It was the recognition that she’d met an enemy on the battlefield and found her equal to the challenge.

The old me wouldn’t have wanted the confrontation.

But the new me liked the odds, even if I wasn’t entirely sure the prize would be worth the fight.

I nodded, acknowledging the battle—the challenge. She arched an eyebrow—no doubt an imitation of Ethan, perfected after twenty years of service in his House—then nodded back.

Ethan leaned toward me. “Get dressed and changed,” he whispered. “I’d like you to at least put in an appearance at her reception.”

I managed not to growl at him. Instead, I offered Lacey a polite smile, then trotted up the stairs to shower and climb back into my Cadogan black.