Midnight Marked

by Chloe Neill

  Gabriel spread his hands, smiled toothily. “Anytime, Sullivan.”

  We walked out of the bar, leaving Gabriel Keene in Little Red, and our alliance on a knife’s edge.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE DECIDER

  Ethan fumed in silence as we walked back to the car and drove back to Hyde Park.

  His hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, and he pushed the car to the absolute limit. He’d taken surface streets, tested the length of every yellow light between Ukrainian Village and Hyde Park, and had nearly raced a small car with a spoiler off the line at a stoplight. The car’s driver looked at the Audi the way a man might look at a beautiful woman—with lust and wanting.

  Ethan was still fuming when we pulled into the House’s parking garage. He slid the car into its slot, slammed out of the car.

  “Would you like to talk before you take that enormous magical chip on your shoulder into the House?”

  He turned on me. “Would I like to talk about it? Talk about what, precisely, Sentinel? The fact that our ‘ally’ knew about Reed, knew about his connection to supernaturals, and ignored it?”

  “He wasn’t an ally at the time—not when Caleb joined Reed.”

  “He’s a goddamn ally now,” Ethan said, “and he’s been one for months.”

  “You didn’t tell him what we found at Caleb Franklin’s house. You didn’t tell him about the key.”

  “And why should I? Caleb Franklin defected, and there’s no evidence the key belonged to him or, even if it did, that it has any bearing here.”

  “So it’s all right if you withhold information strategically, but not if he does it?”

  I knew I was getting perilously close to insubordination. But that was the point.

  “I’m not in the mood for games, Sentinel.” Ethan stalked into the House, let the basement door slam behind us. The House seemed to shudder from the impact of anger, magic, and brute force.

  He strode down the hall toward the Ops Room, temper flaring. If he wasn’t careful, he’d spill that fury out on people who didn’t deserve it. Not when it was really about the Pack.

  And there were certainly better ways to work out his aggression.

  “Actually, I think that’s exactly what you’re in the mood for.” I grabbed his arm and, when he turned back to glower, met his stare head-on.

  “Let go of me.”

  I didn’t. “You want to go a round? We’re yards away from the training room. If you want to hit something, you can try to hit me.”

  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.

  I saw the flare of panic in his eyes—that he’d hurt me—but I kept my gaze steady on his as I rose to my feet. “Do that again.”

  My voice sounded rough, breathy. A woman on the edge of arousal. Not because he’d gotten me on the floor, but because of his strength and power. Beneath the expensive suits, the imperious nature, Ethan was a soldier. He’d lived as one, nearly died as one. And in becoming a vampire, had been reborn as one.

  Didn’t that make us one and the same—two people who’d been clothed in something other than what they were? Me, before. Ethan, now. But nevertheless, at heart, warriors always ready for battle.

  “Again,” I repeated, an
d assumed the fighting position, beckoning him forward.

  He watched me, evaluated, took in the flush in my cheeks, the silver of my eyes, the intensity of my expression. I watched his recognition bloom—that he hadn’t hurt me. That he’d thrilled me and was fully capable of doing it again. As his understanding bloomed, his frustration eased.

  “Very well, Sentinel,” he said, and this time his voice was silky. He reset, arms bent, fingers loosely fisted.

  I went in high with an uppercut. He dodged to the side, tried a low punch that nearly landed. But this time, I flipped backward into a handspring, popping up a few feet away, my ponytail bouncing with the motion.

  Ethan didn’t waste any time.

  He vaulted forward with a spinning kick that I’d have sworn whistled through the air. The kick was shallow, glancing off my arm as I blocked. I aimed a low kick at his balancing foot when he settled to knock him off-kilter. Like a practiced gymnast, he jumped over my kick, then spun backward over me.

  I turned to face him again, and we stared at each other like raging animals, chests heaving, hearts racing. Ethan moved first, nipping at my bottom lip, tugging nearly hard enough to draw blood.

  I dug fingers into his shoulders, pulled him toward me.

  “Ethan,” was all I managed to say before the door opened, before we were thwarted for the second time tonight.

  “This is becoming a really bad joke,” I muttered.

  A white flag slipped through the door, waved for detente. No, not a flag—a paper towel taped to a plastic-wrapped stick of beef jerky. I didn’t appreciate the interruption, but I could appreciation the symbolism: peace via dried meats.

  Luc’s head popped inside, a hand slapped over his eyes. “I don’t want to see what’s happening in here, although if the magic is any indication, it’s illegal in at least a couple of states. Liege, Nicole’s on the phone for you. She wants to talk about Caleb Franklin’s death, and Malik thought you’d want to take it.”

  Ethan ran a hand through his hair, settling himself. “And why didn’t Malik deliver the message?”

  “Because I lost the bet.”

  Ethan held back a snicker, but something relaxed in his expression. If nothing else, he was home among friends. “I’ll be right up. Shut the door, please.”

  “Nothing would please me more,” Luc assured him, and slipped out again, pulling the door closed behind him.

  “Well,” Ethan said, glancing down at me, “I guess that brings this experiment to an end.”

  “Temporarily,” I said. “Temporarily.”

  His eyes gleamed with appreciation. Without a word, he pressed his mouth to mine, a promise of things to come. “I need to take the call.”

  “Take it,” I said. “I believe my work here is done.”

  Ethan snickered, picked up shirt and shoes. “Feeling cocky, are you, Sentinel?”

  “Are you going to drive back to Little Red and challenge Gabriel to a duel?”

  “Not in the next several minutes.”

  “Then, like I said, my work here is done.” I picked up my own clothes, met him at the door. “Sometimes you just gotta dance it out.”

  He smiled, and this time, he looked relaxed. “I guess, sometimes, you do.”

  “And one more thought, Ethan.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Yes?”

  “Gabriel knew about Reed and the Circle. He sent us into that neighborhood, had to know we’d find something. At least notice the geographical connection, maybe do some exploring.”

  “What are you suggesting, Sentinel?”

  “He may not have wanted to tell us about Reed. Maybe didn’t feel like he could. But he wanted us to know.”

  With that, I left him to his call.

  • • •

  I waited until Ethan had cleared the stairs before opening the Ops Room door. And when I did, all eyes jumped to me.

  Luc, Juliet, and Lindsey stood together in a huddle. They separated and walked toward me.

  “He’s going upstairs,” I said.

  “What was that about?” Luc asked when they reached me. “And who won?”

  “It was a draw, as you probably figured out when you opened the door.”

  Luc managed a blush.

  I didn’t figure there was any point in hiding the truth of the rest of it. “We went to see Caleb Franklin’s house, found a secret hidey-hole and a safe-deposit box key.” I pulled out the envelope, set it on the table. “We met a necromancer in Longwood Cemetery. Then we took a little visit to Hellriver. Discovered La Douleur had moved there—”

  “Wait, La Douleur is in Hellriver now?”

  We all looked at sweet and innocent Juliet, who was grinning wickedly. “What? I like cosplay. And you can’t beat La Douleur for cosplay.”

  So many things I’d learned tonight. So many things I didn’t need to know. And yet I was compelled to ask. “English club?”

  She grinned. “Sexy anime.”

  Luc flicked away a fake tear. “Our baby girl is growing up. And she’s growing up weird.”

  I smiled, appreciating the levity. “Anyway, La Douleur is in Hellriver,” I confirmed. “Run by a guy named Cyrius Lore, who’s got the Circle ouroboros tattooed on his arm. The Circle owns La Douleur, and they own Hellriver. Cyrius sicced a vampire on us, a battle ensued, which we won, at the point of a gun, a dagger, and two katanas. He admitted Reed’s got something big planned, something the sorcerer is involved in, something that’s got the sorcerer under wraps working on it. But that’s all we got out of him.”

  Luc whistled. “That’s enough for one night.”

  “Oh, but that’s only half of it. We then went to Little Red to talk to Gabe about Caleb Franklin. Long story short, Caleb Franklin was an enforcer for the Pack. Changed his mind, went to work for the Circle and Adrien Reed. He’s also Gabe’s illegitimate half brother, so Gabe let him defect from the Pack.”

  Luc’s anger fired. “Gabriel Keene’s half goddamn brother worked for Adrien Reed? And he knew Reed’s connected to the Circle?”

  “And has done not one thing about it.”

  “No wonder Sullivan’s pissed,” Juliet said, and Luc nodded.

  “Do you know what we could have done with that information?”

  “I do,” I said. “And for his side, there’s loyalty and guilt in there. Gabriel would say he made the best decision for the Pack by kicking Franklin out, staying out of Circle business. Said it was a strategic decision just like the kind Ethan often makes.”

  Lindsey winced. “Unfortunately, I can sympathize with that argument.”

  “Yeah,” I said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “That’s what I thought, too. Ethan’s as strategic as they come, and he’d be perfectly fine keeping information from the Pack if it suited his interests.” Hell, he’d kept information from me because he thought he’d been protecting me.

  “Damn,” Luc said, looking at the ceiling as he thought it through. “Where did they leave it?”

  “I don’t know. Ethan threw a chair, shifter threw open the door, Berna pretty much threw us out.”

  Luc’s gaze dropped to me again. “No shit?”

  “No shit. They left on bad terms, but nothing specific was said about the alliance or whatever. I don’t know if this is a lovers’ spat or a total fork in the road.”

  Lindsey smiled sympathetically, rubbed my back. “You’re mixing metaphors, English major.”

  “The night has fried my brain,” I said, crossing my arms. “Quite a damn situation.”

  “Yeah,” Luc agreed. “And as much as it sucks, we’re going to have to wait to see how it resolves. Puts Jeff in a helluva spot.”

  “It does,” I agreed. “Right between the Pack and the Ombuddies. He won’t want to disappoint Gabe or my grandfather.”

  Luc scratched his cheek absently. “I wi
sh there was a flowers-and-candy equivalent of fixing supernatural disputes.”

  “Ethan took Gabe a bottle of Scotch. But that was before his confession.”

  Luc nodded. “We’ll have to let that be for the time being. Let’s get back to Franklin, Reed, the Circle, the alchemy.” He gestured toward the conference table, and we took seats.

  “We don’t know who killed Caleb Franklin,” I said. “We know it was one of Reed’s vampires.” I slid the key from the envelope, placed it on the table. “We need to figure out, if we can, which bank this came from.”

  “And that would normally be a job for Jeff,” Luc said, tracing a finger around the key’s square teeth. “Checking bank records for deposit box rentals in Caleb’s name.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Bad enough that it’s hacking, much less that our bosses are on the outs. But that can’t be helped. He’s the best guy for the job. Maybe go through Catcher?”

  Luc nodded. “I can try that. You give him the details about what went on tonight?”

  “Not all of them,” I said. “Just what went on in Hellriver. Ethan sent my grandfather a message. You want to fill him in?”

  “I can do that.”

  “What about Reed?” Juliet asked. “Any sense of what his plan might be?”

  “None.” I crossed my arms. “Cyrius Lore said something about Reed bringing order to Chicago. ‘Fixing’ things. He’s been living two lives for a long time—the businessman and the criminal. Maybe he wants to consolidate his kingdoms.”

  “How?” Luc asked. “He can’t just declare himself king. People would think he’s a lunatic. And running for office wouldn’t work, either. People may not connect him to the criminal when he’s running his business, but if he puts himself up for election, it’s gonna come out. His opponents will look for it, and they’ll capitalize on it.”

  “Maybe that’s our best-case scenario,” Juliet said. “They can do the work for us.”

  Luc snorted. “No kidding. The public won’t believe vampires, because, what, we’re biased? But they’ll believe politicians and negative ads. Humans,” he spat, not a compliment, even though we’d all been humans once upon a time.