Blood Games

“I appreciate it.”



She flapped her hands. “Come here,” she said. “Give me a hug before you leave.”



She squeezed so hard I coughed, vampire healing or not. At the sound, she pulled back, looked at me.



“Sorry. It’s just—we’ve been off our game for a really long time, because I was a crazy witch for a really long time. And yes, I said ‘witch,’” she snarked, eyes narrowed. “And I saw that damn Tribune article. But we’re getting back there, because you’re giving me more chances than I deserve. And that means a lot to me.”



“It means a lot to me, too, Mallory.”



She went inside, and I heard the strain of the television and the snap and jangle of the door’s several locks.



So much for taking out the trash.



* * *



Cadogan glowed quietly in the dark of Hyde Park as I drove back into the basement parking area. The Ops Room was closest, so I dropped by there first, found Luc at the conference table reviewing documents in a binder, Lindsey and the others at the computer stations.



Luc glanced up when I walked in, tapped an unsharpened pencil on the tabletop. “What’s the good word, Sentinel?”



I took a seat. “The obelisk was magicked by someone with knowledge of magic, ability to improvise. Could be a sorcerer, could be not a sorcerer.”



“Not very helpful,” he said.



“No, it’s not, at least without more. But we did confirm the Magic Shoppe sold a Fletcher tarot deck last week. They’re going to look for the receipts, but they’re already boxed up. The store’s doing inventory. Mallory’s got the manager’s contact information. She’ll give him a call, and hopefully that will lead somewhere.”



“Good work.”



“What about you?” I quietly asked, leaning forward. “Have you spoken with him?”



The sudden tightness in his eyes told me they’d talked, and Luc wasn’t comfortable sharing the details.



“Just tell me—is he in danger?”



“I don’t believe so. I don’t,” he added, when I gave him a look. “He didn’t tell me all the details. Just hinted at the edge of it.”



Somehow, that was more of a punch than his not talking to anyone at all. He’d talk to the head of his guard corps about his past, and what he was about to face, but not his Sentinel? Not his future fiancée? What the hell was going on? What was he trying to hide, or hoping I didn’t find out about?



“This is really pissing me off,” I said.



The phone in the middle of the conference table rang—two short chirps—and Luc picked it up, lifted it to his ear.



“We’ll be right up,” he said, put the receiver down again, looked up at me. “It’s time. Darius is about to make an announcement.”



* * *



We were on the stairs when the message went out, when Helen announced over the rarely used Cadogan House intercom that Darius was making a statement, and vampires were welcome to watch in the televisions in the front parlors and ballroom.



By the time we got to the first floor, vampires were already gathering in the front parlors, where televisions had been turned on and tuned in.



History would be made today, one way or another.



It was the tenor we weren’t sure about.



My phone signaled, and I pulled it out, found a message from Jonah.



YOU TUNED IN?



ON MY WAY TO ETHAN’S OFFICE, I answered. GREY HOUSE WATCHING?



WITH BATED BREATH. HOPING SOMEONE MAKES A RATIONAL DECISION FOR ONCE.



IT WOULD MAKE A NICE CHANGE, I agreed. SORRY I INTERRUPTED YOUR DATE. GOOD ONE?



MORE FISH IN THE SEA was his response. I guess she’d learned he didn’t sparkle.



We walked to Ethan’s office, found the door cracked open, Malik, Helen, and Margot already in the sitting area, eyes on the television mounted above the bookshelves. The screen showed a pale green background, “Greenwich Presidium” written across it in neat black script.



Ethan stood slightly apart from the rest of them, hands on his hips, his hair tied back, the ends curling just below the back of his starched collar. His shoulders were rigid, bearing once again, I knew, the mantle of authority that so often weighed on him. But it was a mantle he wore willingly. It was a weight he honored and would wear for the American and European Houses if the GP would allow it.



And tonight, I supposed, we’d see about that.



I blew out a breath, prepared myself for whatever might come, and walked inside behind Luc and Lindsey.



Margot was closest to the door. She reached out and took my hand as I walked in, squeezing in solidarity. Say what you would about the asses in the GP, the vampires of Cadogan House were a solid bunch.



Helen looked up, nodded before turning back to the television. I let Luc and Lindsey take the remaining chairs, and I stood beside Ethan.



He turned and glanced at me, his eyes swirling silver with emotion. With bated hope, fear, readiness for the fight. For taking up arms and facing down enemies, instead of politicking, threatening, backbiting. God knew Ethan could politick with the best of them, had been politicking for much of his four hundred years, and with extra intensity the last few weeks. But he was still an alpha. Words had their place, but alphas preferred to get to the goddamned fight.



I saw that in his eyes now, that relief that things might move forward, even if going forward might be exponentially more dangerous.



Unfortunately, there was something else there: need. There was only a foot of actual distance between us, but the emotional wall might have been a thousand miles high. It was built of bricks of his past, mortared together with his pride, his fear.



I needed, as Mallory had suggested, a surprise play. Something to shake him out of his rhythm, and the very crappy coping mechanism he was using right now. I hadn’t yet figured out what that might be.



Maybe, for right now, kindness would be enough. I reached out across the distance, above the wall, and took his hand, squeezed, kept my eyes level on his. I was still angry; he was still angry. But we were still us.



“Here we go,” Luc said, and we looked back at the television. The green faded and Darius filled the screen.



His blue eyes looked sharp again, bright and clear. He wore a starched, striped shirt, and a little of the cockiness was back in his gaze.



He sat in a chair behind a large, pale desk dotted with antiques. A tapestry hung on the wall behind him.



“His office,” Ethan quietly said.



He adjusted the microphone at his lapel, linked his hands on the desk, and looked into the camera.



“Good evening, vampires. I hope this message finds you with peace, with prosperity, and with growth and renewal as spring spreads across our lands.



“I have, in the many years of my reign, done what I believed was necessary to keep the vampires within my authority safe and secure. Those decisions were sanctified by some, questioned by others. Some decisions had unintended consequences. But never doubt that they were meant to secure the safety of all vampires. Individual humans, individual vampires”—he paused but kept his gaze steady—“individual Houses, were not my concern. Our kind was and ever is my concern.



“You will by now have heard that I was recently in the United States, and not entirely of my own accord. Our investigation is ongoing but suffice it to say that when it is done, the perpetrators will be held fully accountable for their crimes. And they will give their immortality in payment.”



Goose bumps lifted on my arms at the deadly calm in his eyes. I’d seen Darius at his worst; at his best, there was no question of his power and authority.



“The vampires that found me—that relieved me of the magic that kept me prisoner—represented Cabot House and Cadogan House. One vampire lost his life in the effort to save me. Others faced danger unflinchingly in order to see me home again. For their acts of bravery, I commend the Houses and their Masters.



“In particular, that the vampires of Cadogan House searched me out when they had no obligation to me or us, when they are no longer members of our union, is noteworthy. Their behavior was exemplary, and they deserve our thanks—and mine.”



I realized our hands were still linked when Ethan squeezed my hand. Magic—pleased, relieved, and utterly validated—spilled across the room. After a long war, after standing as the enemy for so many for so long, we were no longer anathema.



“But the past is past,” Darius said. “We must, as we have done for eons, move forward.” He looked down at the desktop for a moment, a breach in his composure, and then lifted his eyes to the screen again, his sadness obvious.



“Life, immortal or otherwise, is seldom what we expect it will be. But that is no matter. The leader of this union of vampires must show him- or herself as strong, capable, fearless, and above reproach. I am saddened to admit that I have not fulfilled those roles.



“As such, I intend to step down as leader of the Greenwich Presidium. As you may be aware, challenges to my rule have already been issued.”



“Challenges?” I quietly murmured. “Plural?”



“So it seems,” Ethan said, gaze on the screen, eyes narrowed with concentration.



“As I am stepping down, I have no need of a formal response to those challenges. Rather, those who have challenged me will be deemed candidates for this position. Testing will begin immediately—psychological and physical. The vampires with the top three scores will be placed on the ballot to all our Houses. The winner will take my place. Lakshmi Rao, acting Council Prelect, will oversee the process.”



“It’s a bloodless coup,” Luc said, awe in his voice. “No duels or anything else—and moving right into a traditional testing process.”



Not entirely, I thought. No blood had been spilled today, but plenty had been spilled in the recent past.



“In Europe,” Darius continued, “standing for nomination will be Danica Cummings, Teresa Perez, and Albert Christian.” Danica was one of the current GP members. The other names weren’t familiar to me.



“And in the United States, standing for nomination will be Ethan Sullivan . . . and Nicole Heart.”



Nicole Heart was a vampire I had heard the name of before. She was the head of Atlanta’s Heart House, another American Master, and apparently the only other American challenging Darius for the throne.



It should have been a magical moment. It should have been a time of excitement, of preparation, of plans for what would come.



But instead, there was only fury—an angry, biting ball of magic that rose with such fervor the floor vibrated with it. The entire House shook on its foundations, as if Chicago had become suddenly situated above a fault line. A vase hit the floor. Photographs toppled.



The center of the magic, the eye of the storm, stood beside me.



All eyes turned to Ethan . . . and the green fire raging in his eyes.



Chapter Fifteen



LONG LIVE THE KING



He dropped my hand. His entire body had gone rigid, shoulders back and head dipped as if waiting for a counterstrike.



I looked at Malik, found his gaze on Ethan, his expression as pinched with concern as Ethan’s had been with anger.



“Goddamn her,” Ethan said through clenched teeth.



Her, was all I thought.



“For simplicity’s sake,” Darius continued, “and in appreciation of Cadogan House’s recent service to the GP, the American candidates will subject themselves to testing in Chicago. The European candidates will be tested in London.”



That was handy for us; it meant Ethan would be tested on his home turf. It also meant Nicole would be traveling to Chicago.



“The psychological test will be administered tonight, two hours before dawn. The physical test will be administered at midnight tomorrow.”



“Jesus,” Luc said, head whipping back to look at Ethan. “There’s hardly any time.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “We hardly have time to prepare.”



When Darius said his thanks and the screen faded to green again, Ethan dragged his gaze to Luc. “That’s the point. To keep us off balance, to see how we react in crisis. Focus on the House; ensure she is secure.”



Then he looked at Malik. “Find out when she’s coming and where she’s staying. I want eyes on her at all times.” With that, he threw open the door and stalked out of the room, leaving us in stunned silence.



“What the hell just happened?” Lindsey asked.



“Not what,” I said. “Who.”



* * *



They suggested I stay, that I wait patiently—as if that was even possible—for Ethan to come back into the House. That I wait for him to give a sign that he was ready to talk.



But that wasn’t our relationship, and it wasn’t me. Not to stand by while he was hurt or angry, and certainly not while the object of his roiling emotions was a woman from his past.



The front parlors were empty, as was the cafeteria. But I glanced outside the windows, saw his rigid form on the back lawn. I stepped outside onto the back patio, closed the door behind me.



The wind was picking up, and I zipped up my leather jacket. Ethan sat on a bench beneath a wooden pergola still under construction in the backyard. When the weather was warm enough, he’d plant climbing roses to grow up and over it.



He didn’t acknowledge my approach but undoubtedly heard me sloshing through the spring-wet grass. When I reached him, he kept his eyes on the fence that protected the property and the lights of the city beyond, visible because the plantings were still winter bare. His body was rigid, his shoulders straight.



“Are you all right?”



“I’m fine.”



Since my question was met with an apparent unwillingness to elaborate, I elaborated for him, putting the pieces together.