Hard Bitten (Chicagoland Vampires 4)

"House director of marketing and public relations."

Huh. I hadn't even known we had one of those.

"Maybe we could hold a lottery for one of the Initiate spots next year," I suggested. "Get humans interested in being a Cadogan vampire?"

"I've got a golden ticket," Ethan began to sing, then chuckled.

"Something like that. Of course, if you open a spot up to the public, you probably increase the odds of adding a saboteur to the House."

"And I think we're rather full in the saboteur department lately."

Thinking of the two traitorous vamps the House had lost since I joined, I nodded.

"Wholeheartedly agreed."

I should have knocked on wood, offered up a little protection against the jinx I'd caused by talking about sabotage . . . because it suddenly looked like the protesters had called ahead.

Our headlights bounced off two SUVs that were parked diagonally in the middle of the street, six hefty men in front of them, all wearing black T-shirts and cargo pants.

"Hold on," Ethan yelled out, pulling the steering wheel with a screech of burning rubber.

The roadster banked to the right, spinning clockwise until we sat perpendicular to the SUVs.

I looked up. Three of the men jogged around us, guns at their waists, surrounding the car before Ethan could pull away from the roadblock.

"I am not crazy about this situation," I muttered.

"Me, either," Ethan said, pulling out his cell phone and tapping keys. I assumed he was requesting backup, which was fine by me.

"Military?" I asked Ethan, my heart beating wildly.

"It's unlikely official military would approach us this way. Not when there are significantly easier means with less potential collateral damage."

"Whatever else they are, I assume they're anti-vamp."

Two of the three men in front of the car unholstered their weapons, approached us, and pulled open the doors.

"Out," they said in unison. I took mental inventory - I had my dagger, but not my sword. I hoped I wouldn't need it.

"Anti-vamp, indeed," Ethan muttered, then slowly lifted his hands into the air. I did the same.

Steady, Sentinel, he telepathically told me. Say nothing aloud unless it's absolutely necessary.

You're the boss, I replied.

All evidence to the contrary. The words were silent, but the snark was obvious.

We stepped outside onto the dark Chicago street. The vibration in the air - the buzz of steel I could feel after my katana had been tempered with blood - was intense. These guys, whoever they were, were well armed. Our hands in the air, their weapons trained on our hearts, we were escorted in front of the Mercedes. As vampires, we healed quickly enough that bullets wouldn't generally do us in. An aspen stake to the heart, however, would do the trick without question.

Now that I thought about it, their guns didn't exactly look off-the-rack; they looked like custom units, with muzzles a little wider than those in the House's arsenal.

Is it possible to modify a gun to shoot aspen stakes? I asked Ethan.

I'd prefer not to find out, he replied.

My stomach churned with nerves. I'd become used to the fact that my job called for violence, usually perpetrated by crazy paranormals against me and mine. But these weren't paranormals.

These were gun-wielding humans who apparently believed they were beyond the reach of the law, who believed they had the authority to stop us and hold us at gunpoint within the bounds of our own city.

The third man in front of us - big and bulky, with acne-marked skin and a military haircut  - stepped forward.

Watch him, echoed Ethan's voice in my head.

Hard to miss a human tank heading right for me."

You think we don't know what you're doing to our city?" Tank asked. "You're killing us.

Sneaking around in the night, pulling us from our beds. Enticing us, then drinking us down until there's nothing left."

My chest tightened at his words. I certainly hadn't done any of those things, nor did I know of any other vampires who had, at least not since Celina Desaulniers, Chicago's vampire bad girl,

had disappeared from the scene. But Tank seemed very convinced he was telling the truth.

"I've done nothing to you," I told him. "I've never met you, and you don't know anything about me except that I'm a vampire."

"Bitch," he muttered, but he snapped his head back when the rear door opened on the left-hand SUV. Two booted feet hit the pavement, followed by another man in the same black uniform. Unlike the others, this one was handsome, with long, wide eyes and high, pert cheekbones, his dark hair perfectly parted. His hands behind his back, he walked toward us while Tank closed the SUV's door.

I guessed New Guy was the one in charge.

"Mr. Sullivan. Ms. Merit," he said.

"And you are?" Ethan asked.

New Guy smiled grandly. "You can call me . . . McKetrick." The pause made it sound like he'd only just decided on the name. "These are some of my friends. Fellow believers, if you will."

"Your manners leave something to be desired." Ethan's tone was flat, but angry magic peppered the air.

McKetrick crossed his arms over his chest. "I find that insult rather comical, Mr. Sullivan, coming from an interloper in our city."

"An interloper?"

"We're humans. You're vampires. But for the result of a genetic mutation, you'd be like us.

And that makes you aberrations in our town, uninvited guests. Guests that need to mind their manners and take their leave." His tone was matter-of-fact, as if he hadn't just suggested we were genetic aberrations that needed to hightail it out of the city.

"I beg your pardon," Ethan said, but McKetrick held up a hand.

"Come, now," he said. "I know you understand me. You seem to be an intelligent man, as does your colleague here. At least from what we know of her parents."

My parents - the Merits - were new-money Chicago. My father was a real estate investor mentioned in the papers on a daily basis. Smart, but ruthless. We weren't close, which made me that much less excited to learn I was being judged on the basis of his narcissistic press coverage.

Don't let him faze you, Ethan silently said.

You know who you are.

"Your prejudices," he said aloud, "are not our problem. We suggest you put down the weapons and continue on your way."

"Continue on our way? That's truly rich. As if your kind are merely going to continue on your way without bringing this city into all-out supernatural war?" He shook his head. "No, thank you, Mr. Sullivan. You and yours need to pack, leave, and be done with it."