"Four minutes, maybe five, likely from the blood loss. The officer called for an ambulance, but I got here first."
When the world stopped spinning enough for me to glance down, I took a peek at my wound. My jacket was ripped, the shirt beneath a bloody ruin, but at least the wound was beginning to close, now a bright pink line across my gut.
"You'll heal," Ethan said.
"What about the riot?"
"Largely contained. The CPD did a solid job."
"I only managed to distract one rioter." I gestured toward the car, and the perp who was currently flipping us off with both hands.
"What a charming fellow."
"Charming felon," I corrected. "I kicked him off, but there's not a doubt in my mind he'd have killed me if he'd had the chance."
Ethan tipped my chin upward, forcing me to meet his gaze, and scanning my eyes as if looking for the source of the sadness in my voice. "He's not the first with murderous intent."
"I know. But this feels different. More of a violation."
"Because he didn't see you," Ethan said. "He didn't assault you because of who you are or what you stand for. He saw only that you are fanged, and that was the only motivation he needed."
"What about you?" I scanned him for injuries. His jeans were dirty and torn in places, and there were scratches on his neck - like he'd been clawed by a set of fingernails.
"A group of rioters decided four to one odds were pretty good. I led them south and taught them otherwise."
"A war of stupidity," I reminded him. "This isn't just about protests and marches. They're willing to fight, to kill, individual vampires."
"So it appears," Ethan said. "Are you well enough to walk?"
Whether I was or wasn't was irrelevant. We weren't done here, so I would walk.
I stood and zipped up my jacket, wincing as I tightened it around my stomach. I chose pain over hypothermia.
"I could carry you?" Ethan offered.
I gave him a flat look. "I am a soldier," I said, putting a hand on his arm. "As much as I love these guns of yours, I would prefer not to be carried to a House of athletic vampires like a damsel in distress."
"Very well, Sentinel," he said, taking my hand, amusement in his eyes. Since my fingers were chilled into icicles, I didn't argue with the hand-holding.
-
Together, the cop's gaze on our backs, we walked toward Grey House, cutting through an alley and emerging in the middle of the next block. The House sat at the end of the street, but we found our progress blocked again.
Three women stood in front of a make-do barricade formed by patio chairs, baby gates, snow fencing, and other bits of garage ephemera. The woman in front had dark hair and dark tilted eyes, and she wore a heavy down coat, jeans, and sheepskin boots.
"What's your business here?" she asked us, crossing her arms as we approached.
"I'm sorry?" Ethan asked.
"She asked what's your business in this neighborhood?" said the woman beside her. She was a little older and a little heavier, and her hair had been combed into a very thoroughly hair-sprayed helmet.
"We're here to help with the folks who live in the warehouse," I said. "And who are you?"
"Wrigleyville Association of Concerned Neighbors," said the second woman, tapping a Cubs pin on her lapel. "We live here, we work here, we take care of our own."
"I see," Ethan said noncommittally. "And who, if I may ask, are 'your own'?"
The WACN representative looked suspicious. "Why do you want to know?"
"Because we're vampires," Ethan said, and the ladies' expressions suddenly changed. Instead of suspicion in their eyes, there was interest - very salacious interest in my very tall, built, and handsome vampire boyfriend. They scanned his body from snug jeans to leather jacket, stopping when they reached the eyes that shined with emerald amusement.
I guessed that explained whose side they were on.
"Ladies?" Ethan prompted.
They all blushed.
"Scott Grey and his people are our own," said the woman in front, her chin lifting stubbornly. "We've never had issues with Scott or anyone else in the House. They're good neighbors. But these rioting jackasses? We don't know them at all. They don't live here, but they come into our neighborhood to start trouble? No, thank you."
"No, thank you," agreed the woman beside her.
"Well, we thank you for your loyalty," Ethan said. "I'm sure Scott appreciates it very much. We're here to help him and his people. If you don't mind, may we proceed?"
"Oh yes, yes," they variously said, moving a baby gate and a plastic chaise lounge to let us through.
Behind them, Grey House loomed. An imposing brick building, it was a warehouse transformed into living units and offices for the Grey House vamps.
Tonight, fire engines and other emergency vehicles sat at intervals around the block. Its front doors were broken, its brick covered with dark smoke. A line of vampires - all tall, all built, mostly men - stood in front of the building, probably keeping watch to ensure the rioters didn't make a second attempt.
I didn't see Scott, but Jonah stood in the middle of the line. Relief filled me. There was a gash across his temple and his shirt was singed, but he was in one piece.
"You're all right?" I asked, when we reached him.
"I'll live to fight another night," he said, glancing at Ethan. "But you aren't supposed to be here. The blacklist?"
"We do not answer to Darius," Ethan said. "But if you or Scott has an issue with our presence, we'll go."
"There's no need for that."
We turned to find Scott Grey, dark haired and somber, standing behind us. He wore one of the blue and yellow Grey House jerseys he'd selected in lieu of House medals.
Scott and Ethan shook hands - two Masters, meeting on a field of battle.
"We aren't here to create GP trouble for you," Ethan said cautiously.
"It's surprising how much perspective you gain in a crisis," Scott said. "And if the GP has a problem with our receiving necessary help in a crisis, I'd be happy to discuss that concern - very frankly - with Darius."
There was a glimmer of appreciation in Ethan's eyes. "Well put."
Scott glanced at the blood on my jacket. "What happened?"
"A rioter with a chef's knife," I said.
He nodded. "That jacket will never be the same."
I grimaced at the gaping hole in the front. "I know. And this was my favorite one."