Some Girls Bite (Chicagoland Vampires #1)(83)
Author: Chloe Neill

"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. "Apres 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.