Midnight Marked (Chicagoland Vampires 12)

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t push me, Sentinel.”

It was too late for that. I’d been with this man for a year, and I knew exactly what buttons to push. “Oh, I’ll push you, and I’ll probably win. You want an invitation you can’t refuse? Fine. Ethan Sullivan, I challenge you.”

A single eyebrow arched. “Those are serious words, Sentinel, with serious implications.”

“I’m well aware, Sire.”

Ethan pivoted, strode like a warrior in the heat of battle to the training room, pushed open the doors. It was one of the larger rooms in Cadogan House, with tatami mats across the floor, weapons hanging from the wood-paneled walls, and a balcony ringing the room to allow vampires to watch whatever battle was taking place.

Tonight, there were guards in the room—Luc, Kelley, Brody, and a few of the temps—practicing basic throws and falls. They all looked up in alarm when the door swung open, slammed back against the wall.

“Out!” Ethan bellowed.

The temps jumped. Ever cool, Luc’s gaze flicked to me, and I nodded infinitesimally. It was safe for him to leave; I’d handle this. I’d handle Ethan.

“You heard your Sire and Master,” Luc said, walking over to pick up a clipboard and his shoes. “Everybody out.”

They filed out in silence but didn’t bother to hide the curious looks they threw at me, at Ethan. They knew something was wrong; they just didn’t know what that was. Let the speculation begin.

When they were gone, Ethan closed the door firmly, locked it, then walked to a nearby bench. He pulled off his suit coat, tossed it aside. Unbuttoned the first button on his shirt, pulled it over his head. His belt, shoes followed. Without a word, wearing only his suit pants, he stepped into the middle of the mat, stretched his arms over his head.

Normally, I’d have admired the long, strong lines of his body, the stretch of smooth skin over muscle as he warmed up. But this time I was thinking about strategy, about how I could keep him from doing something he’d regret later, at least politically. About how best to channel his mountain of energy. And possibly, when all was said and done, about having my way with him.

I pulled off my shoes, dropped my jacket onto the floor, and strode forward in bare feet. I glanced around at the weapons that hung from the room’s paneled walls. Pikes, swords, maces, axes. “Do you prefer weapon or hand-to-hand?”

Ethan’s eyes were still silver with emotion. “Either is fine by me.”

“Excellent,” I said, mirroring the cockiness in his stance.

Music filled the room, a Muse song about fighting, combat, and victory. That would have been Luc’s or Lindsey’s doing. And since the scene had been set, I didn’t waste any time. I feinted left, and when Ethan began to pivot, I executed a side kick that he only just managed to block with a forearm.

Ethan used the arm to push me off. I spun down, then around, and faced him from a low position. I tried a strike at his shin, but he jumped, managed a back flip that put him a few feet away.

His anger was still hot. Time to let him burn some of it off.

“Are you afraid I’m going to kick your ass? Because you seem to be holding back,” I said.

Ethan’s lip curled.

“That’s not an answer,” I said, “but it is a pretty good Elvis impersonation.” I gestured him forward with a crooked finger.

We moved toward each other, meeting in the middle of the mats. He struck out with his right elbow, but he was angry and telegraphed his move. I saw it coming, spun, and came up behind him, kicked him gently in the ass. “A point for me. Quit holding back.”

He turned around, hands raised to block my next strike. “I’m not holding back. I’m trying not to take my seething rage out on you.”

“Why? You think I can’t handle you?”

He offered a crescent kick, which I avoided by leaning back just in time. He struck again, and I kept the momentum, putting out my hands into a back bend, then flipping over.

“Better,” I said when I was upright. “But you’re still only barely trying.”

I meant to piss him off. Meant to make him face that betrayal, the fact that shifters weren’t really all that different from vampires when it came to playing politics.

Ethan growled deep in his throat, a predator preparing to take his prey.

I shivered, but there was no fear in it. My body reacted to his power and his confidence, even if his emotions were masked by frustration. Since he still needed to work through that frustration, I tried another side kick.

This time, Ethan managed to catch my leg. He twisted, sending me off balance. I hit the floor on my back, stared up at him . . . and felt my eyes go silver.