Dark Debt (Chicagoland Vampires 11)

I didn’t generally wish harm to humans. But if there was ever a time I could use the opportunity to beat someone senseless, this was it. After the beating, sure, I’d probably spend some time considering the ethics of my choices. But for now, there was only the anticipation of battle.

And the anticipation grew sharper, because he was human, and he was getting tired.

As North Lake Shore turned into Michigan, and condos became retail space, as shaded residential windows became plate glass designed to show off luxury handbags and watches, I gained ground. He glanced back once to check the distance between us, and I let my eyes silver and fangs descend.

The little bastard had the nerve to smile at me.

That was the first time I thought to really wonder who he was—and why he’d assaulted Navarre’s former Second on Morgan’s front porch.

Because he’d been sent by the Circle, I realized belatedly, ignoring the blare of a taxi as he dashed across Michigan and I followed. He was muscle, come to enforce the Circle’s will, come to punish Navarre House for failing to take out King when they’d had the chance. Morgan said they’d threatened to take the House’s assets; they’d clearly meant it, and intended to enforce that threat one vampire at a time. On the other hand, his timing had been appalling. He’d made the strike in front of two vampires, both of whom were trained fighters.

Regardless, if I could catch him, we’d have an actual, human link to the Circle.

Push, I demanded, and pumped my arms harder.

He reached the Hancock Building, its sharp gray glass ribboned in black, and turned toward the river again. I guessed his strategy—if he couldn’t beat me in a straight-line race, he’d head into the buildings and alleys of Streeterville, try to lose me there.

He was twenty yards ahead of me. He passed a trash can, paused just long enough to push it over into my path. I vaulted it, landed smoothly again, and kept running.

“Try that again, asshole!” I yelled, ignoring the shouts of humans who jumped out of the way of our chase. Someone would inevitably call nine-one-one, probably while filming the damn thing. That was fine by me, as long as I got to him first.

Unfortunately, he turned and pulled a handgun. He’d been smart enough not to waste bullets on Nadia, probably thinking the Taser would be more effective. A single shot was highly unlikely to kill a vampire, but it sure wouldn’t feel good.

He kept moving, slinging his arm behind him to get off shots. He fired twice, the bullets flying to my right and above my head. His aim wasn’t great, but it was good enough to send me to the ground for cover while he dodged into an alley.

“Shit,” I muttered, and climbed to my feet again, pulling the dagger from my boot and running toward the gap between buildings.

I crouched at the edge, trying to remember Luc’s handgun training, which had been a pretty slim lesson compared to the blade work, and how many shots would have been in the magazine. Maybe seven, maybe ten, maybe fifteen, depending on the gun and whether he had extras.

Long story short, I’d be dodging bullets for a while.

I peeked around the corner, just long enough to see Ginger heading through the brick-lined alley toward the next street, and ducked back again as two bullets whizzed past me.

That was four, I thought. Not that counting them would give me any real indication of how much firepower he had left, but the act helped settle my nerves, at least enough to get me moving again.

I dove into the alley, let the first Dumpster take the brunt of three more bullets.

“You keep shooting at me,” I yelled out, “and we won’t be able to have a nice conversation about why you attacked that vampire.”

“Why don’t you bite me, bitch?”

“Sticks and stones!” I yelled back, and waited for sound. There were footsteps this time, but no bullets, so I glanced around, saw the coast was clear, and hauled ass to the end of the alley so I didn’t lose him on the next street.

Squinting, I darted into sudden lights and people, as a stream of humans dumped out of the open doors of a ten-screen movie theater. I pushed between them, spied the red-haired perp dodging cars to cross the street, and took off after him.

A taxi honked as I dashed across in front of it, the driver swearing at me with a fist out the window.

“I’m chasing a murderer!” I yelled back, exaggerating a little, but hitting the truth close enough.

I made it across the street in one miraculous piece, raced across a concrete courtyard in front of a skyscraper that gleamed with blue and red lights. They cast a colorful glow across the ground, highlighted the runner as he dodged tourists and late-night workers, shoving them into one another to create obstacles for me.

He darted into a long, narrow park bound on both ends by circle drives. The southern circle dropped down to the river; the northern one dropped to lower Illinois Street.

He ran to the southern end of the park, turned back to me, grabbed his crotch. “Why don’t you come and get this?”

What a class act.

“Because I’ve seen bigger,” I said dryly, stepping onto grass still soft from the winter snowmelt and walking toward him. I spun the dagger in my hand, watched his eyes widen as it caught the light. “But I know how to get dirty if that’s what you want.”