Some Girls Bite (41 page)

“There are few vampires who are capable of the kind of leadership we need right now. Vampires who are disciplined. Intelligent. Cunning. Navarre fits that mold, Ethan.
I
fit that mold.” Her voice became insistent. “Do you understand how powerful we could be under my leadership? If I unified vampires? If I unified the Houses?”

“The Presidium would never allow that,” Ethan said.

“The Presidium is antiquated.”

“You’re a
member
of the Presidium, Celina.” Ethan’s voice was perfectly flat, perfectly modulated to hide the fury that I knew lay beneath it. Say what you wanted about his strategizing, his penchant for manipulation, the man had control. Icy control.

Celina waved off the criticism. “The GP doesn’t understand our modern problems. They won’t let us expand, Commend more Initiates. We’re shrinking relative to the other sup populations, and they’re getting braver. The nymphs are fighting. The shifters are preparing to meet
in our city
”—she punctuated the last three words with a finger pointed toward the ground—“and the fairies demand more and more each year to protect us from humans. And the angels”—she shook her head ruefully—“the bonds are breaking there, the demons loosed.”

She looked up at him, chin raised defiantly. “
No.
I will not allow vampires to become less than what we are. Only the strongest will survive the coming conflict, Ethan. Being strongest means unification—vampires coming together, working together, under the guidance of a vampire with vision.”

She completed her circle so that she faced him again, maybe five feet between them. Her eyes gleamed in the darkness, like a cat’s caught in the light, shifting shades and colors, green and yellow. “I am that vampire, Ethan.” She waved a negligent hand. “Of course, in every war there are casualties. The deaths of those humans were a messy necessity.”

He spoke the words as I thought them, voice flat. “You killed them.”

She held up a slender finger. “Let’s be precise, Ethan. I
had
them killed. I wouldn’t waste my time on the actual doing of it. Of course, that does pose certain . . . quality-control problems.” She snickered, evidently pleased at her joke. “I found a Rogue. I convinced him, through no little work on my part, to do the dirty work. I had to change horses after Merit’s attack.” She shrugged. “I do hate sloppy work. Nevertheless, you got a Merit out of the deal. A Merit vampire, Commended into your House.”

“Leave her out of this.”

She chuckled without amusement. “Interesting answer. And unfortunate that we don’t have time to explore your affection for your pet Sentinel.”

Without warning, Celina reached behind her and whipped the pins from her hair. Or, rather, what I’d thought were pins, but were actually twin stiletto blades that gleamed in the moonlight. Her hair, released from its moorings, spilled in an inky wave down her back.

She took a step forward, angling her body so that, had Ethan not been standing between us, I’d have faced her directly.

I stepped forward, prepared to defend him, but heard a
WAIT
echo through my head.

Not yet
, he told me.
Let her finishing confessing it.

He knew I was there, then. Knew I was ready. So I obeyed the order, katana handle in one hand, already slipped from its guard, halfway loosed from its scabbard, the aspen stake in the other.

“Sloppiness or not, my plan worked,” she said. “Humans are now suspicious of Cadogan vampires—they think you killed Jennifer Porter. And humans are suspicious of Grey vampires, who they think killed Patricia Long. You’re wicked, Ethan. All of you. All except Navarre . . .” She paused and smiled, and the effect was as lovely as it was maniacal. “If I’m the only one that humans trust, I can consolidate my influence in both worlds—human and vampire. The Houses will need me as their ambassador, and I will offer my guidance. Under my leadership we will become what we were meant to be.”

“I can’t allow you to do that.”

“It’s amusing that you believe the decision is in your hands,” she said, waggling the stilettos in the air. “You’ll be another sacrifice, of course, and an expensive one—a lovely one—but the cause is worth it. How many of us were staked, Ethan? You were alive during the Clearings. You
know
.”

But he wouldn’t be drawn into a discussion of history. “If you wanted to bring down Cadogan and Grey, why the notes? Why implicate Beck and his people?”

“The notes were only intended for vampire eyes. As for why—you’ve surprised me again.
Solidarity
, Ethan. It’s all of us together or nothing. Rogues offer us nothing. They’re warm bodies, I’ll admit. They increase our numbers. But as friends, they’re useless. No alliances—they’re morally opposed. They certainly don’t play well with others.” She flicked a hand negligently in the air, and the blades glinted. “They needed cleaning out.”

Ethan was silent for a long moment, his eyes on the ground, before he raised them again. “So you convinced Amber to help you, had her steal the Cadogan medal, and had someone plant them?”

Celina nodded.

“And the jersey from Grey House? How did you obtain it?”

She smiled wolfishly. “Your redhead made another friend. Another conquest.”

Ethan’s expression went cold. I sympathized. This was not the time to learn that your Consort had betrayed you, your House, and another.

“How could you do this?”

She sighed dramatically. “I was afraid you’d see it that way, stake out some kind of sympathetic moral high ground. Humans are never innocent, darling. A human broke my heart once. He thought nothing of it. They’re cold, callous, stupid things. And now we’re forced to deal with them. We should have taken a stand centuries ago, should have banded together to fight them. It’s not an option now, of course. Their numbers are too great. But we begin slowly. We make friends. We build, as you’re always preaching, alliances. And while we’re lulling them to sleep with our pretty faces and pretty words, we infiltrate. We plan. We get them accustomed to us, and when the time comes, we strike.”

“You’re talking war, Celina.”

She bit out through a tightly clenched jaw, “Goddamn right. They should fear us. And they will.” But her expression softened. “But first, they’ll love me. And when the time comes that I can reveal my true allegiance—my love for vampires; my hatred of humans—I’ll drink in that betrayal, Ethan. I will revel in it. And it will begin to make up for what he did to me.”

That perfectly encapsulated Celina Desaulniers, I thought. She needed fame, attention, the focused desire of those around her. She needed friends, nearly as much as she needed enemies.

Celina razed the tip of a blade down the front of his shirt. “Centuries, Ethan. Centuries, obeying their laws, their dictates, hiding ourselves, our nature from the world.
No more
. I made this world in which we live. I decide the rules.”

She drew back her arms, elbows raised, and prepared to strike. I jumped, pouring through the trees, aiming for her with a blind rage that ran like electricity through me, piqued by the thought of her injuring my Master, my Liege.
MINE
.

DOWN!
I cried out, willing him to hear me, and threw the stake, pouring all my strength into the throw. Ethan ducked immediately, crouching to the ground, as the aspen whistled above him, catching Celina high in the left side of her chest. Too high. I’d missed her heart. But she dropped the blades, dropped to her knees, and screamed out at the pain, fingers clutching the stake too slippery with blood to allow her a grip. Ethan immediately jumped, grabbed her from behind, pinned her arms.

Suddenly, car doors slammed, footsteps echoed. The cavalry had arrived—Catcher, Luc, and Malik ran through the trees, accompanied by the rest of the Cadogan guards.

“Merit?”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away. She screamed out blistering obscenities, berating the guards for standing in her way, for interfering with her plans, as they tried to subdue her. Her hair, the long, dark locks of it, whipped and flew around her face as she yelled.

“Merit.”

I finally heard my name, looked over, saw Ethan wipe blood from his hands—Celina’s blood—with a handkerchief. A red stain marred his usually impeccable white shirt. Celina’s blood. Blood she’d shed because of me. I stared at the crimson stain of it, then raised my gaze to his face. “What?”

He stopped scrubbing, balled the handkerchief into a wad. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t—” I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

A line appeared between his eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak, but was distracted by more car doors, more footsteps. He looked away; I followed the direction of his gaze.

It was Morgan, in the same clothes in which I’d seen him an hour ago, grief and worry etched on his face. As Celina’s Second, he must have gotten a call from Luc or Catcher after my text message.

Morgan stopped a few feet from us, stared at the scene before him—his Master, bleeding from an aspen stake still protruding from her shoulder, being pulled off the ground by a cadre of guards who had to work to counteract her strength, to subdue her.

He closed his eyes, turned away. After a moment, his lids lifted, and he looked at Ethan, evidently prepared for the story.

“She confessed,” Ethan said. “She planned the murders, used Rogues to execute them, used Amber, of my House, to steal the medals and the jersey from Grey. She used the notes to implicate Beck’s group.”

“To what purpose?”

“In the short term, control. She wants Chicago’s vampires. Chicago’s Houses. In the long term—war.”

They were quiet for a long time.

“I didn’t know,” Morgan finally said, the words heavy with regret.

“You couldn’t have. She must have planned this for months, maybe longer. She drew me here to tell me, to kill me, maybe to take Cadogan from Malik when I was gone. She attacked first, Greer. Stilettos.” Ethan pointed to where the glimmering blades lay on the ground. “Merit defended.”

Morgan seemed to suddenly realize that I was there, looked down at the unsheathed katana in my hand, then up at me. “Merit?”

I wondered if she called to him, what words she was spilling into his mind. “Yes?”

“You staked her?”

I looked to Ethan, and he nodded, so I answered, “In the shoulder.”

Morgan nodded, seemed to consider this, evaluate it, then nodded again, this time more firmly. A bit more composed, he offered, “I’m glad you didn’t aim for her heart. That saves an inquiry for you.”

An inquiry, her life, and my having committed murder. I smiled weakly, sickly, knowing that I’d aimed for her heart—but missed.

Morgan walked away, walked toward the guards, spoke with them.

“Thank you,” Ethan said.

“Hmm.” The guards pulled Celina to her feet, her arms pinned behind her. “What will happen to her?”

“She’ll be taken before the rest of the Presidium and her fate decided. She’ll likely be stripped of her authority. But she’s the Master of the oldest American House. Any other punishment will likely be temporary.”

There was a gentle tug on the end of my ponytail. I looked up, found Luc staring down at me, concern in his eyes. “You okay?”

I felt my stomach tighten again, nausea building as I remembered, again, that I’d nearly killed someone, had meant to do it, had wanted to do it to protect Ethan. To keep him alive, I’d selected someone for death, and only my bad aim had kept me from committing the act, from finishing the job. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

His arm was suddenly around my waist. “You’ll be fine. Deep breaths, and I’ll get you home.”

I nodded, then cast a final glance at Celina.

A serene smile on her face, she winked at me.
“Après nous, le deluge,”
she called out.

She’d spoken in French, but I’d understood what she’d said. It was an historical phrase, allegedly spoken by France’s Madame de Pompadour (of big hair fame) to Louis XV.

Literal translation: After us, the flood.

Figurative translation: Things are only gonna get worse from here,
chica
.

I stifled a shiver as Luc began to lead me toward the line of cars. We passed Morgan, who was speaking authoritatively to another guard, his eyes on the woman being led away.

I realized what I’d done.

I’d given him Navarre House.

In a tenth of a second, I’d thrown aspen, catching Celina before she could kill Ethan. She’d be punished and, if Ethan was right, stripped of her House. Morgan was her Second, next in line to the throne.

I had, by proxy, made Morgan head of the oldest House of vampires in the United States. His status would rival Ethan’s, even if he was younger and less skilled, because his House was older.

I wondered how much more pleased Ethan would be to have a Master of Navarre, not just its Second, seeking his Sentinel.

I looked over at Ethan, found I couldn’t bear the sight of him, the bile rising in my throat. For him, I’d nearly killed someone, even if I had—thank God—failed the test in the crucial moment. Some soldier I made.

He stepped forward, but I shook my head. “Not now.”

He looked at me, then looked away, and pushed a hand through his hair.

As Luc led me away, led me toward the black SUV parked along the street, the tunnel rushed me.
I owe you my life.

My knees nearly buckled. I wanted none of it, just to be home, in my own bed, and certainly not to hold someone else’s debt.
You owe me nothing
.

I stopped, turned, looked back at him across Luc’s broad shoulder.

Ethan’s gaze was potent, his expression radiating incredulity that I’d protected him, reverence that I’d saved him, and that same bit of surprise I’d first seen in his office, when he’d discovered I wasn’t thrilled to be a vampire of Cadogan House, that he couldn’t buy my allegiance with money or art or well-tailored clothes.