Blood Games (Chicagoland Vampires 10)

It started like ballet, with long lines, arabesques, and pirouettes. Then grand battement and grand jeté, the stretch and flex of muscles and tendons glorious. Sword fighting was an art, certainly. But dance was something altogether different.

The song turned mournful, and I slowed, spinning with arms above me, arms around me, arms out. A kick, an arabesque, then hands on the ground, legs flipping over one at a time until I was on my feet again.

Arm work. Fast moves—in, out, arms above my head, hips moving in time. Footwork—shuffled steps, a spin with bent knees, then straight up again. Backward flip into a spin. I hit the floor on my knees, draped my torso over my legs, let my hands fall to the floor.

Applause lit through the room.

Shocked, I looked up, mopped my bangs from my face, and found two dozen vampires on the balcony, including a green-eyed devil—presently silver eyed—who stared down at me.

I hadn’t thought to lock the balcony door, and I’d been so completely involved in the stretch and flex of muscle that I hadn’t realized I wasn’t alone. Which, I guess, was exactly the point.

I had no idea what he was thinking or feeling—not just because he hadn’t talked to me about it, but because the look in his eyes was unfathomable. Pain, confusion, fear, love, pride, or maybe all of them. I don’t know how long we stood there. Master and ballerina staring each other down, Ethan’s past between us again. This wasn’t the first time we’d locked horns over it, and I doubted it would be the last. Ethan had four hundred years of experience and memories packed into his brain, and all the issues that came with them. He was an enigma—probably the most frustrating enigma I’d ever met.

He blinked first, dropping his gaze, turning, and disappearing through the balcony door, still a mystery to me.

* * *

Dawn was approaching. Since I’d wrung out my anger, it was time to get some work done.

I pulled on the wrap sweater, thanked the vampires who made their way down to the floor to thank me, and put the training room back in order.

I stepped outside, found vampires filing back into the Ops Room or upstairs; Ethan was already gone.

“Good workout, Sentinel?” Luc was already at the conference table, ankles kicked up. There was a shit-eating grin on his face. “If we’d known you could dance like that, we’d have made you social chair. Oh, wait. Did that.”

I gave him a look.

“Have you and Ethan made up yet?”

“You’d have to ask him,” I said, accepting with a smile the bottle of water that Brody handed me. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. You earned it after that little display. You had quite an audience in the gallery.”

I wiped my face, wrapped the towel around my neck. “So I saw.”

“The murder?” Luc asked.

“Samantha Ingram, one of Grey House’s Initiate applicants.”

“Jesus, add that to the swords, and it’s a horrible coincidence.”

“Actually, it looks like they were trying to peg sorcerers here. The body was marked with pentagrams. But we think we found the connection. What do you know about the tarot?”

“The cards?” Luc asked, sitting back and linking his hands behind his head in what I’d come to learn was his classic “thinking” pose.

“The cards,” I confirmed. “The murders actually match up pretty well with the artwork in an exclusive tarot deck made by a Chicago artist.”

His brows shot up. “That’s something.”

“It would have been, except she’s deceased. The murders we’ve seen so far? Two of Swords and Three of Pentacles.”

“That fit with their suspect? Missy? That she’d use tarot?”

“Mitzy. And we don’t know yet. The CPD’s going to look into it, but Mallory thinks the real deal is the Magic Shoppe—it’s where the swords were purchased, and it’s apparently the only place to get this particular deck.”

“That’s a lead,” Luc agreed with a nod. “You following it up?”

“With Mallory, hopefully tomorrow.” I leaned forward. “Did you talk to Ethan about his”—I noted the interested expressions in a few of the temps at computer stations around the room and lowered my voice—“his troubles?”

Luc’s expression flattened. “Ethan didn’t talk to you about them?”

“No. He’s decided shutting me out is a good strategy.”

Luc whistled. “All due respect to my Liege and Master, I seriously hope you blistered his hide.”

“I’m not sure really sure what that means, but I did give him a very pointed piece of my mind.”

“Good for you.”

“What happened, exactly?”

Luc frowned, clearly torn by his loyalty to his Master—and his likely promise to keep his Master’s word. “All I know is, he got a phone call. And he wasn’t thrilled about it.”

That would be “her.” “He didn’t say who called?”

Luc shook his head. “A few fierce and quietly spoken words.”

“That’s no good,” I said.

“Maybe. But it got you in a leotard again,” Luc said, winging up his brows suggestively. “He’ll come around.”

I hoped Luc was right. I hoped Ethan would come around, share with me whatever he was afraid to share.

And I hoped, when he did, it was something I could handle.

* * *

When I returned to the apartments, I found a small tray of snacks and a short vase of creamy white peonies. They put a heady floral scent in the air. Margot’s doing, undoubtedly.

Ethan stood in front of his bureau, placing watch and accoutrements into a leather valet. He watched me come in but didn’t speak. I took a quick shower, exchanged workout clothes for a tank and pajama bottoms. Brushed my teeth. Generally took my time.

When I emerged, Ethan stood beside the bed in shirtsleeves. He looked at me, eyes almost painfully green. But he didn’t move forward. He let the bed stand between us, a physical symbol of his unspecified “regrets.”

“I saw you dance.”

I sat down on the bed. “I wasn’t dancing for you.”

“No,” he said. “I suppose you weren’t. I expect you were dancing in opposition to me.”

“That sounds closer.”

His frustration was nearly palpable, his magic irritable. “I do what I do to protect you. That I trained you to fight, to bear a sword, to act with honor, doesn’t negate the fact that I would give my life for you, Merit.”