Midnight Marked (Chicagoland Vampires 12)

“Little rich girl,” she said, fairly singing it as I groped for the nearest column of boxes, tried to keep myself upright while my brain struggled back against pain.

Sentinel?

I’m fine, I said, risking a glance at him and Cyrius. Ethan had gotten the gun away; it was tucked into his jeans. But Cyrius had found a pearl-handled knife and was thrusting it toward Ethan.

You could use the gun on him, I pointed out.

How dull that would be, Ethan said, dodging a thrust. You need help?

That question was enough to have me rolling my shoulder, demanding my brain ignore the pain. I adjusted my fingers around the katana’s handle.

“It’s my father’s money,” I said. “Not mine.”

“Like it matters. All you Housed vampires are the same. You think you’re better than everyone else.”

This time, I wasn’t going to wait for her to nail me again. I took the offensive, moving forward, setting the pace and driving her back. I sliced horizontally, and she met my sword, blade against blade, the strike of steel against steel clanging through the air. I struck again, switching up my positions and direction.

Leona was bigger than me. I wouldn’t beat her with sheer strength, and maybe not with stamina. But I was faster and better trained, and could probably force her into a bad move.

“You know,” I said, “Reed’s got plenty of money, too. It doesn’t make sense you hate me, but work for him.”

Leona scoffed, spittle at the corners of her mouth as she worked to counter my strikes. “I don’t work for Adrien Reed. He’s a businessman.”

She used the world like a shield. “Yeah, keep saying that if it eases your conscience. But you know it’s only half right.” I switched up my attack, went for my favorite shot—a side kick that she batted away with an enormous hand. She tried to grab my ankle, but I cleared her, then spun and brought the katana around again.

Another clang of metal against metal. The sound made my teeth ache and my chest tighten with concern. The katana’s cutting edge was sharp, hard steel. It was designed to slice and too brittle for prolonged blade-on-blade strikes.

Another overhead strike—one of her favorites. This time, I spun the blade in my hand to raise the spine, which was less brittle, into the blow to protect the sword’s integrity. I still had to deal with Catcher, after all.

The woman had power, and the shock of impact passed through me like one of Mr. Leeds’s concussions. But it must have passed through her, too. When she raised the sword again, her muscles quivered with effort.

We’d reached the desk again, and I jumped onto one of the chairs, then over it, putting space between us.

She kicked the chair out of the way, stalked forward, spinning the katana in her hand.

“Did you know who killed Caleb Franklin?” I asked her.

“No,” she said, but the answer was belied by her fumble with the katana.

“Was he murdered to protect the alchemy?” Or given what we’d learned tonight, “Or to protect Reed?”

That was enough to have her lunging forward, the sword raised again.

Leona might not have been as good at bluffing as Cyrius was, but she was a hell of a lot braver and probably more loyal. I wasn’t sure I’d actually be able to get any information out of her.

fered a mirthless laugh, full of false confidence. “You don’t know shit about shit. But you just wrote your ticket out of here in a body bag.”

It was the kind of lead-in I’d probably heard a dozen times. The prelude to a command of violence to be meted out by someone else, by their weapon and their sweat.

And I was ready for it.

Cyrius signaled the vampire with a flick of his finger, a death penalty handed down with no effort on his part. I understood he believed us a threat—and he was right about that—but I didn’t have respect for people too lazy to fight their own battles.

Duck, I told Ethan, and when the vampire shifted her weight to bring the sword to bear, I moved. I put my hands on the arm of the chair, pushed up my weight, and as Ethan dodged, twisted and kicked. I caught her shoulder, sent her stumbling backward.

Ethan vaulted from his seat, jumped toward Cyrius, who’d pulled open a desk drawer. I caught the glint of metal, felt the buzz of steel in my bones. He had a gun.

Damn it. My arm had only just stopped aching. I did not want to get shot again this week. I’d let Ethan handle that one.