Midnight Marked (Chicagoland Vampires, #12)(34)

She roared with agony and fury, brought the katana’s pommel down hard onto the arm I’d injured the night before. Pain jolted through my arm—a needle-sharp stab surrounded by a column of deep, dull ache. Tears sprang to my eyes, an involuntary reaction, and my knees went wobbly.

“Little rich girl,” she said, fairly singing it as I groped for the nearest column of boxes, tried to keep myself upright while my brain struggled back against pain.

Sentinel?

I’m fine, I said, risking a glance at him and Cyrius. Ethan had gotten the gun away; it was tucked into his jeans. But Cyrius had found a pearl-handled knife and was thrusting it toward Ethan.

You could use the gun on him, I pointed out.

How dull that would be, Ethan said, dodging a thrust. You need help?

That question was enough to have me rolling my shoulder, demanding my brain ignore the pain. I adjusted my fingers around the katana’s handle.

“It’s my father’s money,” I said. “Not mine.”

“Like it matters. All you Housed vampires are the same. You think you’re better than everyone else.”

This time, I wasn’t going to wait for her to nail me again. I took the offensive, moving forward, setting the pace and driving her back. I sliced horizontally, and she met my sword, blade against blade, the strike of steel against steel clanging through the air. I struck again, switching up my positions and direction.

Leona was bigger than me. I wouldn’t beat her with sheer strength, and maybe not with stamina. But I was faster and better trained, and could probably force her into a bad move.

“You know,” I said, “Reed’s got plenty of money, too. It doesn’t make sense you hate me, but work for him.”

Leona scoffed, spittle at the corners of her mouth as she worked to counter my strikes. “I don’t work for Adrien Reed. He’s a businessman.”

She used the world like a shield. “Yeah, keep saying that if it eases your conscience. But you know it’s only half right.” I switched up my attack, went for my favorite shot—a side kick that she batted away with an enormous hand. She tried to grab my ankle, but I cleared her, then spun and brought the katana around again.

Another clang of metal against metal. The sound made my teeth ache and my chest tighten with concern. The katana’s cutting edge was sharp, hard steel. It was designed to slice and too brittle for prolonged blade-on-blade strikes.

Another overhead strike—one of her favorites. This time, I spun the blade in my hand to raise the spine, which was less brittle, into the blow to protect the sword’s integrity. I still had to deal with Catcher, after all.

The woman had power, and the shock of impact passed through me like one of Mr. Leeds’s concussions. But it must have passed through her, too. When she raised the sword again, her muscles quivered with effort.

We’d reached the desk again, and I jumped onto one of the chairs, then over it, putting space between us.

She kicked the chair out of the way, stalked forward, spinning the katana in her hand.

“Did you know who killed Caleb Franklin?” I asked her.

“No,” she said, but the answer was belied by her fumble with the katana.

“Was he murdered to protect the alchemy?” Or given what we’d learned tonight, “Or to protect Reed?”

That was enough to have her lunging forward, the sword raised again.

Leona might not have been as good at bluffing as Cyrius was, but she was a hell of a lot braver and probably more loyal. I wasn’t sure I’d actually be able to get any information out of her.

Darling?

Ethan’s question, polite and casually curious, had me biting back a smile. He might as well have asked when I’d be home for dinner.

In front of me, Leona swayed side to side, shifting her body weight as she prepared to move. She looked tired, and I’d managed to get in a couple of deeper cuts. They’d heal, but use precious resources in the meantime.

Nearly done, I said, and glanced left, as if accidentally signaling my next move.

She took the bait, dodging left. I spun into a low kick and this time nailed my target. I kicked her legs out from under her. She hit the floor hard enough to make the building shake, her head bouncing once against concrete, her eyes rolling back.

I snatched up her katana, pointed both swords at her. Her chest rose and fell slowly. She was out cold.

My enemy vanquished, I glanced back at Ethan, found him standing over Cyrius. This time, Ethan had both the gun and the dagger. Cyrius sat on the floor, legs splayed in front of him, holding his arm at an awkward angle. Ethan looked healthy enough.

I walked to Cyrius’s desk, pulled open a drawer, found exactly what I’d expected to find: a pair of silver handcuffs.

It seemed likely I’d find some in a place dedicated to kink. But I decided not to think too carefully about how they’d been used before.

I walked back to Leona, pulled her hands in front of her, and cuffed her. She was too heavy to flip over; besides, I planned to be long gone before she woke.

“He answer your questions?” I asked, when I’d blown the bangs out of my eyes and walked back to Ethan.

“He did not.”

I grinned predatorily at Cyrius. “Can I have him?”

“No!” Cyrius said, which made Ethan grin.

“Not yet, Sentinel. Let’s see, first, if he’ll identify our murderer. Cyrius?”