Some Girls Bite (Chicagoland Vampires #1)(75)
Author: Chloe Neill

I scanned the crowd, looking for an in, and saw Kelley’s straight dark hair. She glanced back, slightly inclined her head at Luc and me, then turned back to the crowd.

I looked over the mass of bodies and tried to imagine where to go, where I could be close enough to see, to guard, but not so close that I, as Sentinel, escalated matters. The room was tense enough as it was, the vampires leaking energy as they dealt with the possibility that a murderer was among them.

I motioned to the left, indicated my direction, and Luc nodded, pointed to the right, then made a hand signal indicating we’d meet in the middle.

At least, I hoped that was what it meant.

I took a breath, blew it out slowly, stabilized the scabbard and stepped forward. I skirted the edge of the crowd, trying to will myself invisible as I moved to the left, as I eased around the border of Cadogan vampires. My attempt at glamour didn’t help – the Cadogan vamps watched as I moved, a few nodding in quiet acknowledgment, a few giving looks that suggested something altogether different than respect – but I was glad, even in the face of bitter stares, that they played buffer between me and the rest of the interlopers.

Seconds later, I was close enough to see the action. Ethan, with Malik at his side, stood in front of the platform at which I’d been Commended into the House only days ago. Standing perpendicular to Ethan was a tall, dark-haired man in a Cubs T-shirt and jeans who I guessed from the athletic bent of his clothing was Scott Grey. Across from Ethan, striking standouts in a room of tidy, chic suits, and sports gear, were the Rogues.

They stood in a tight pyramidal cluster and were, just like the Cadogan vampires, clad in black. But this wasn’t Michigan Avenue black. This was vampire warfare black. Black boots. Trim black pants. A chest piece of black leather body armor. There was enough black in the cluster of them to suck the light from the ballroom. Punctuating the look was silver – belts, rings, wrist-bands, wallet chains, and in the middle of each chest, a silver pendant – an anarchy symbol on a silver chain.

This was the look Morgan wanted to achieve. Urban, rebellious, dangerous.

But this was real.

This was actual bad ass.

That said, all the Rogue vampires were dressed the same. Wasn’t it kinda ironic that the herd mentality affected even the disaffected? That warranted pondering, but not today. Today was business.

One of the Rogues – tall, broad-shouldered, muscled – stood point, facing Ethan. Where the rest of the vamps in the room, the Housed vamps, looked polished, he looked a little fierce. He was ruggedly handsome, a couple days’ worth of stubble across his face and jaw. His brown hair was an inch or two past a hair-cut, and stood in kind of messy whorls. And his eyes, big and blue, were ringed with kohl. He stood with arms folded across his broad chest, head cocked slightly to the side, listening as Ethan discussed the ongoing investigation.

They were definitely here for business. At their waists were holsters with handguns snapped inside, probably the 1911s Luc had mentioned. While the feel of them was different than Housed vampires anyway – the energy a bit less focused than House vamps, a little more scattershot – it was obvious they were carrying more than just the guns. The power flowed differently around their bodies. I couldn’t see it, but I could sense it, the change in the current, like rocks altering the flow of a stream.

When I was where I wanted to be, a few bodies behind the edge of the crowd and still out of the players’ direct line of sight, I checked Ethan, saw that he was unharmed and managing to mask the frustration I knew he felt. His body was loose, his hands in the pockets of the ubiquitous black trousers, half of his blond hair pulled back in a tie. His gaze was on the Rogue in front of him.

"Frankly, Noah," Ethan was saying, "it wasn’t an oversight that you weren’t invited to talk, nor was it a sign of disrespect. It was a choice, based on my assumption, apparently incorrect, that you weren’t interested in participating. The humans only know about the Houses. As far as I’m aware, your existence is still a secret, and I’d imagined you’d be happier keeping it that way."

Noah gave Ethan a flat stare. "It was an assumption of uninterest, then. The assumption that because we’re not affiliated with a House, because we aren’t sheep, we’re unconcerned about our fellow vampires." His tone was all sarcasm.

Ethan lifted a blond brow, responded crisply, "That’s not what I said."

Thinking it might be helpful to say hello, to let him know that he had backup should the worst occur, I reported in, opening my mind to Ethan. I’m here, I sent him.

He didn’t respond, but the Rogue in front of him, Noah, did. Not, I think, because Noah heard me, but because there was scuffling behind us, which drew his eyes across the crowd. As he looked for the source of the trouble, gazed across the sea of watching vampires, he met my eyes, lifted both brows. The subtext was easy enough to read: And who are you? Friend or foe?

I blinked, trying to guess how I was supposed to react – was there etiquette for this? The unintroduced Sentinel responding to a flicker of interest from the spokesperson for Chicago’s Rogue vampires? Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to fully evaluate, so I just did what felt natural given the awkward position we were in: I gave a half smile and a shrug.

I’m not sure what I expected from him. Maybe the reaction Ethan would have given – a condescending look, a roll of the eyes.

But Noah wasn’t Ethan. Noah smirked, squeezed his lips together to keep in the laugh that shook his chest, and quickly looked away, mouth curved. My first real political act, and it sparked a bubble of laughter from the man who’d allegedly breached the walls of Cadogan House. A good enough reaction, I decided, hoping his amusement would defuse the obvious strain in the room.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to test that theory. Our exchange took only seconds, but that was more than enough time for trouble to call. The vampire whose shuffling we’d heard behind us revealed himself, Morgan pushing through the crowd, through the Rogues, until he stood before Ethan. Perhaps sensing his obvious anger, the waves of it radiating from his body, the other vampires moved back, gave him space.

He looked like a man possessed – hair sexily mussed, his leather jacket over a green T- shirt and jeans, black sneakers beneath the cuffs. And although he vibrated with the energy I knew he was capable of, that wasn’t the only reason he roiled. He was carrying. And not a sword, not a weapon obviously belted or sheathed. This was hidden. A medium-sized blade, I guessed, by the differential weight of him. Too small to be a sword, but bigger than your average kitchen knife.

I tightened my grip on the sword’s handle, my thumb on the latch that would release the blade from its scabbard, and waited.