Dark Debt by Chloe Neill Page A

the other moved around the bodyguard’s back, peppering him with kicks to the legs and knees to keep him off-balance.
    They were trained, which didn’t bode well. Vampires trained in classic fighting styles meant someonewith equal skills had done the training. And there weren’t many vampires in Chicago with training like that.
    The bodyguard stumbled, and the vampire with the sword jumped forward, blade disappearing into the bodyguard’s gut. He screamed like a wounded animal, went down heavily. Someone reached out, helped him scoot across marble and back toward the crowd, applied pressure to the wound.
    “Goddamn it,” Reed muttered.
    The vampires looked at each other, scanned the crowd. “Sanford King!”
    Adrenaline became a dull itch beneath my skin.
Ethan,
I said again, this time the sound imploring, begging for action.
    Ethan pulled out his dagger, light gleaming along the brilliant blade. “That’s our cue,” he said, not bothering to check Reed’s response—or get his permission.
    I shouldn’thave been grinning, and my blood shouldn’t have been
thrumming
like a Corvette engine at the thought of getting out there and mixing it up with these two idiots, and yet . . .
    Without taking my eyes off the men, I pulled the dagger from my purse, shoved the purse back to Sorcha for safekeeping.
You want the right or left?
    The one on the right looks smaller.
    I narrowed my gaze at thevampire, grinned.
Then I’ll take the one on the left.
    You were beautiful before,
Ethan said silently,
but with the fire in your eyes, you are a goddess.
    We’ll see how divine I am,
I said and, just as my grandfather had taught me decades ago, put two fingers in my mouth and whistled with earsplitting volume.
    The vampires looked up at us, and fresh fear wafted up. They clearly weren’tthrilled to see Ethan and me standing at the top of the stairs, blades in hand, and ready to rumble. And if they were Housed vampires, Chicagoland vampires, they’d have known who we were and what we could do . . . and what the penalty would be for fighting Ethan.
    Winner buys ice cream,
I said as Ethan and I took the stairs one (careful) step at a time.
    Done,
Ethan agreed.
And gets to decidewhat to do with it.
    I barely suppressed the delicious shiver that rolled up my spine.
    “Gentlemen,” Ethan said, his gaze on the vampires. “You’ve made rather a mess here. I don’t know you—yet—but I suspect you know who I am, and who stands beside me. And you know that what has happened here—your violation of this home, and what I suspect was a trespass without invitation—will not go unanswered.This is your one and only opportunity to lay down your weapons and peacefully surrender. There is no shame in knowing when to walk away.”
    The vampires looked at each other, made their decision, and turned to face us. They’d already brought war to Reed’s house; they apparently weren’t going to back down now.
    “In that case,” Ethan said, lifting his blade, “may the best vampire win.”
    The battle was on.
    *   *   *
    I moved slowly, methodically, kept my eyes on the vampire I’d selected. I hope it looked intentional, as if I were baiting him into impatience and an unwise move. I was, of course, trying not to trip on the stairs.
    Since there seemed little doubt the voluminous garment was going to get nicked, I made a silent apology to the gods of fashion, flipped the daggerin my hand, and when I hit the first floor, dove in.
    The vampire met me, blade for blade, steel against steel. A slice to my right, and I matched it with the dagger, used the force to spin him away. A slice to my left on his return spin, and I used the dagger to block, forcing the blade down and causing him to shift his center of balance. He bobbled backward but caught himself again.
    I took the offensive. I sliced forward, using my blade as I might have used a paintbrush, with quick, fluid strokes designed to keep him moving at my speed, to keep him