The scene played out like a Bogart film. She looked as glamorous as I’d ever seen her, lithe body tucked into a pair of black wide-legged pants and a black cap-sleeved top, her wavy black hair in soft curls across her shoulders. But while she might have channeled Katharine Hepburn aesthetically, I knew who she really was, the nihilistic core of her.

She strode toward me with feline grace, heels clicking on the wet asphalt, gleaming in the light of the overhead streetlamps.

I swallowed, fear and adrenaline tripping my heart into a quick, staccato beat, and gripped the scabbard at my side.

“I could have you before you unsheathed it,” she warned.

I forced myself to keep my chin up, my body flexed and ready in case she moved. It took every ounce of strength I had not to recoil, not to take a step backward, not to run away. I couldn’t have been less confident, there in the dark, the Cadogan gate a block away. So I bluffed.

“Maybe,” I said, giving her a small smile. “Maybe not. What do you want?”

She tilted her head at me, tucking one hand around her side, one hip cocked. She had the look of a supermodel feigning confusion, or a mildly intrigued vampire. It was pretty much the same expression. “You haven’t quite figured it out yet, have you?”

I arched a brow at her, and she chuckled in response, the sound low and throaty. “I don’t think I’ll tell you. I think I’ll let you figure it out. But I’ll enjoy it when the time comes.” She suddenly snapped to attention, hands at her hips, chin thrust forward. A look of control and defiance. “And the time will come.”

Celina did love to talk, to wax prophetic. Maybe she’d give me something I could use, something that would hint at her larger plans, something I could pass along to Ethan and Luc, so I asked the follow-up. “The time? For what?”

“You took Navarre from me. All of it, all of them, from me. Certainly, there are benefits—to take a House from a Master, a Presidium member, it’s hardly done. That gained me no little bit of sympathy. So thank you, pet, for that. Nevertheless, Navarre was mine, bricks and mortar, blood and bone. You take from me, I take from you.”

“Is that why you set Peter up?” I asked. “Because you’re pissed that your plan to take over the Chicago Houses didn’t quite pan out? You figured starting a world war between shifters and vampires was the next best thing?”

She smiled coyly. “Oh, I do like you, Merit. I like your . . . moxie. But the war wouldn’t just be between shifters and vampires, would it? It was Cadogan House that threatened the Breckenridge boy. The war would be between Nicholas and Ethan. Between the old lover and the new, yes?”

I nearly growled at her.

“At any rate,” she said, “two of Chicago’s Houses would remain uninvolved. Untainted by the scandal. Grey House. Navarre House.”

Celina reached up and fingered a thin gold chain around her neck. Moonlight glinted off the disk of gold that hung from it.

My stomach tightened.

It was a House medal. A shiny new pendant to replace the one taken from her by the GP.

“Where’d you get the medal, Celina?”

She smiled evilly and rubbed the medal like she expected a genie to pop out.

“Let’s not be naïve, Merit. Where do you think I got it? Or perhaps I should ask, from whom?”

I suddenly had a little less sympathy for Navarre’s new Master.

Celina may have kept her sway over his House, but I’d be damned if she poisoned mine. “You’ve made your play, Celina, twice now, and you lost. Learn your lesson—stay away from Cadogan House.”

“Just the House, Merit? Or its Master as well?”

I felt the blush rise along my cheekbones.

She blinked at me, and her eyes—and smile—grew wide. She laughed with obvious delight. “Oh, I had no idea my luck would be that good. Are you sleeping with him, or just lusting after him? And let’s not feign misunderstanding, Sentinel. I meant the one you want, not the one you have.” She looked up, her expression thoughtful. “Or maybe the one you lost, if I learned anything from that last little scene.”

“You’re hallucinating,” I said, but my stomach knotted. She’d been there, had watched Morgan and me fight. Had he set this up? Had he asked to talk to me outside in order to get me out here where she could find me?

Celina looked me over, head to toe, an appraisal. She’d kept her glamour in check, but I felt the slinky tendrils of it branching out, testing. “You’re not his type, I hear. Ethan does prefer blondes.” She cocked her head to the side. “Or redheads, I suppose. But I guess you know all about that. I hear you were a firsthand witness to his . . . prowess?” She looked at me thoughtfully, apparently expecting an honest appraisal.

She was right—I had been a witness to his “prowess,” having inadvertently walked in while Ethan was servicing Amber. But I wasn’t about to share that information with her. “I couldn’t care less who or what he prefers.”

“Mmm-hmm. Does that self-righteous anger keep you warm at night?”

I knew she was baiting me. Of course she was baiting me. Unfortunately, she’d picked the right bait, the conversation I was sick of having, the accusations I was sick of defending against. I could feel my blood begin to warm, the vampire I’d so carefully, cautiously, forced down peeking through, wondering at the worry, the adrenaline that woke her from sleep. My breathing quickened, and I knew my eyes had silvered. My fangs descended, and I let them.

I wouldn’t fight her; I wasn’t stupid. But Catcher had taught me about the benefits of bluffing. Assuming I could keep my vampire in check, I owed it to the impotent Presidium to see what happened when I played Celina’s game.

I took a step forward, a step toward her, and ran the tip of my tongue across the tip of a needle-pointed canine. Vampire aggressive behavior. “Do you want to play, Celina? Do you want to know how strong I am? Do you want to see?”

She stared at me, magic flowing full force now, and I watched her eyes silver, like flipped coins catching the light. She took a step toward me, still eighteen or twenty feet between us.

“You’re hardly worth his time, Sentinel. Why would you be worth mine?”

I took another step forward. “You came here, Celina. To find me.”

“You’ll never be as good as me.”

There it was. The crack in the beguiling facade. Celina, beautiful and powerful and self-absorbed to a fault, was insecure.

I repeated the mantra. “You came here, Celina. To find me.”

She stilled, glared at me beneath half-lidded eyes, shadows and moonlight sharpening the angles of her face. She took a breath, seemed to calm herself, and smiled. And then she fought back.

“I know who you are, Merit. I know about your family.” She stepped forward. “I know about your sister.”

I flinched, the words as effective as a slap across the face.

Another step, and this time she grinned. She knew she’d landed a blow.

“Yes,” she said. “Best of all”—I could see the whites of her eyes and as if the cant of the words wasn’t threat enough, the hatred in her gaze—“I know about that night on campus.”

“Because you planned it,” I reminded her, my breath coming faster, my heart beginning to thud again.

“Mmm-hmm,” she said, tapping a red-manicured finger against her chest. “I had plans for you, I’ll admit. But I wasn’t the only one with plans.”

My heart sped at the insinuation. “Who else had plans?”

“You know, I forget. But it’s a pity you’ve had Peter extradited. He has so many interesting connections around town, don’t you think?”

It was trickery, I reminded myself. She was behind it. She’d planned my attack, my death, to wreak havoc in the city. She’d planned it. But she wasn’t the only one with knowledge, I reminded myself.

“I know about Anne Dupree, Celina. Did you and Edward have fun plotting and planning? Did George cry out when you beat him to death?”

Her smile faltered. “Bitch.”

I was really beginning to dislike Navarre vampires. Thinking they had much arrogance in common, I used the phrase I’d used before on her apparent protégé. “Bite me, Celina.”

She snapped her fangs at me. I flipped the thumb guard on my scabbard.

All right, that’s it. “Bring it, dead girl.”

She growled. I gripped the handle with my right hand, my heart thudding like a drum inside my chest.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, I thought, for baiting the crazy, but a little too late.

Moving so quickly that her body was a shiny black blur in the night, she advanced and kicked. She kicked with the force of a thundering freight train, and the unbelievable pain of it buckled my knees. I hit the ground, unable to catch a breath, unable to think or feel or react to anything but the crushing pain in my chest. A single kick shouldn’t have hurt so much, but my God, did it. A screaming, ripping pain that made me wonder that I’d ever doubted Celina Desaulniers.

One hand braced to keep my face from hitting the ground, tears spilled over, and I gripped my chest with my free hand, to rip out the pain, to rip out the vise that was squeezing the air from my lungs. I struggled for breath, and a wave of pain, a morbid aftershock, convulsed my spine.

“Ethan did this to you.”

I fought for air, looked up. She stood over me, hands on her hips.

I ground my fingers into the concrete, tunneled holes in the sidewalk, and tears pouring down my cheeks, watched her, hoping to God she wouldn’t kick me again, wouldn’t touch me again. Reminded myself—it was her plan. “No.”

She bent down at the waist, put a fingertip beneath my chin, raised it up. I heard a growl, realized it was me, and when another shock rocked my body, realized that if she hit me again, I’d be completely unable to fight back.

One kick, and she’d brought me down, even after two months of training. She called my bluff, and had taken me down. Could I ever be as strong as she was? As fast? Maybe not. But I’d be damned if I’d crawl away like a wounded animal.

Then and there, I swore to myself that I would never be on my knees before her again.

Heaving for breath, I pushed my way up, one slow, devastating inch at a time, black fabric shredded around knees I’d bloodied when I fell to the ground. Celina watched, a predator enjoying the last licking sighs of a wounded animal.

Or maybe more accurately, alpha predator, enjoying her victory over a lesser female.

Slow, agonizing seconds later, I was standing.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I cradled my ribs with my right hand, lifted my eyes to hers.

Bright, nearly indigo blue, they fairly twinkled with pleasure in the moonlight. “He did this to you,” she said. “Caused this pain. If you weren’t a vampire, if he hadn’t made you—if he’d taken you to the hospital instead of changing you, converting you for his own purposes—you’d be in school. You’d be with Mallory. Everything would be the same.”

I shook my head, but something about that sounded right.

Was it right?

In the midst of the pain, the fact that he’d saved me from her, from the killer she’d loosed on me, didn’t cross my mind.

“Confront him, Merit. See what you’re made of.”

I shook my head. Mutiny. Rebellion. He was my Master. I couldn’t fight him, wouldn’t fight him. I’d already challenged him once, my first week as a vampire, and I’d failed. I’d lost.

“He left you here for me to find. They both did.”

My ribs screamed, probably broken. Maybe internal bleeding. A punctured lung?

“All that effort,” she said, “just to breathe. Imagine if it had been a real fight, Sentinel. All that work, all that practice, and what have you to show for it?” She cocked her head, as if waiting for me to answer, but then offered, “He didn’t prepare you for me, did he?”

“Fuck you,” I managed to get out, gripping my side.

She arched a carefully shaped black eyebrow. “Don’t direct your ire at me, Sentinel, for teaching the lesson you needed. Blame Ethan. Your Master. The one who is supposed to care for you. Prepare you. Protect you.”

I ignored the words, but shook my head anyway, tried to will myself to think, but it was becoming more difficult. The pain was blurring the borders, forcing the reconciliation between whatever humanity was left, whatever predator lived inside me. I didn’t know what would happen if I let the vampire peek through, but I wasn’t strong enough to hold her back, not with the pain. The instinct was too strong, my defenses too weak. I’d repressed her, and she was tired of being relegated to some deep, dark corner of my psyche. I’d been a vampire for nearly two months, but had managed to shield myself in the remnants of my humanity.

No more, the vampire screamed.

“Don’t fight it,” Celina said, a tinge of lusty voyeurism in her voice.

The pain was too much, the night too long, my inhibitions too low. I stopped fighting it. I let it go.

I let her breathe.

I let her out.

She burst through my blood, the power of the vampire flowing through me, and as I kept my eyes on Celina, locked my limbs to keep from staggering back from the surge of it, I felt myself disassociate. I felt her move my body, stretch and test muscles inside my body—and sink into it.

Merit disappeared.

Morgan disappeared.

Mallory disappeared.

All the fear, the hurt, the resentment, of failing friends and lovers and teachers, of disappointing those I was supposed to care for, of ruining relationships. The discomfort of no longer knowing who I really was, what role I was supposed to play in this world—all of it disappeared.

For a moment, in its place, a vacuum. The undeniable appeal of nothingness, of the absence of hurt.

And then, the sensations I hadn’t known I’d been waiting two months for.

The world accelerated, burst into music.

The night sang—voices and cars and gravel and screaming and laughter. Animals hunting, people chatting, fighting, fucking. A raven flew overhead. The night glowed—moonlight bringing everything into sharper relief.

The world was noisy—sounds and smells I’d apparently missed out on over the last two months, the senses of a predator.

I looked at Celina, and she smiled. Grinned victoriously.

“You’ve lost your humanity,” she said. “You’ll never get it back. And you can’t defend yourself. You know who’s to blame.”

I meant to stay silent, to say nothing, but I heard myself answer her, ask her, “Ethan?”

A single nod, and, as if her task was accomplished, Celina smoothed her shirt, turned and walked into the shadows. Then she was gone.

The world exhaled.

I glanced back and saw, only yards away, the glow of the breach in the Cadogan gate.

He was there.

I took a step, ribs still screaming.

I wanted someone else to hurt.

I began walking. We began walking, the vampire and I, back to Cadogan House.

At the gate, the guards let me pass, but I could hear the whispers, could hear them talking, reporting me to the vampires inside.

The front lawn was empty, the door ajar. I took the steps slowly, one at a time, a hand on my ribs, the pain a little less, the healing begun, but still profound enough to bring tears to my eyes.

Inside, the House was silent, the few vampires frozen, staring as I moved between them, determined, my predatory eyes slitted against the harshness of electric lights.

I heard his voice in my head.

Find me, I ordered, and stopped in the crossway between the stairs, the hallway, the parlors.

Down the hall, his office door opened. He stepped out, took one look at me, and moved forward.

“You did this to me.”

I don’t know if he heard me, but his expression didn’t change. He reached me, stopped, and his eyes widened, and he searched my own. “Jesus Christ, Merit. What’s happened to you?”

My sword whistled as I unsheathed it, and when I gripped it in both hands, I felt the circuit close. I closed my eyes, basking in the warmth of it.

“Merit!” This time, there was an order behind the words.

I opened my eyes, nearly flinched, wanted instinctively to bend to the will of my Master, my maker, but I fought it and through trembling limbs, I forced back the urge to yield.

“No,” I heard myself say, my voice barely a whisper.

His eyes widened again, then flicked to something behind me. He shook his head, looked back at me. His voice low, intimate, insistent. “Come back from this, Merit. You don’t want to fight me.”

“I do,” I heard, in a voice that was barely mine. “Find steel,” she advised him.

We advised him.

He stood there for a long moment, silently, still, before nodding. Someone offered him a blade, a katana that glinted in the light. He took it, mirrored my stance—katana in both hands, body bladed.

“If the only way you’ll come back from this is to be bloodied by it, then so be it.”

He lunged.

That was my mistake—forgetting who he was. Forgetting that he was head of Cadogan House for a reason, not just for his politics, not just for his age, but because he could fight, knew how to fight, because he knew how to swing a sword through the air.

He’d been a soldier, had learned to fight in the midst of a world war. She’d made me forget that.

He was amazing to watch, or would have been, had I not been on the receiving end of the slices and cuts, the kicks and turns that torqued his body nearly effortlessly. The lunges and blocks. He was so fast, so precise.

But the pain began to ease, and repressed for so long, held back by my human perceptions, misgivings fears, she—the vampire—began to fight back.

And she was faster.

I was faster.

My body knifed toward his, and I swung, used the katana in my hands to slash, to force him to move, to spin, to slice his own sword in ways that looked comparatively awkward.

I don’t know how long we fought, how long we chased each other in the midst of a circle of vampires on the first floor of Cadogan House, my hair wet and matted, tears streaking my face, bloodied hands and knees, broken ribs, the sleeves of my shirt in tatters from half a dozen near misses.

His arms were equally sliced, his twists and turns still not fast enough to avoid my parries. Where he’d once let me play the game, had moved in close enough to give me an opportunity to make contact before slipping away again, now he spun to save his skin; the expression on his face—blank, focused—told that story well enough. This wasn’t play fighting. This was the real challenge, the fight I’d tried to bring to him months ago, the fight that he’d mocked. He owed me a fight, a real fight, in recognition of the fact that I hadn’t asked to become a vampire but had acquiesced to this authority anyway because he’d asked it of me. This was less a challenge, I thought, than an acknowledgment. He was my Master, but I’d taken my oaths and he owed me a fight. A fair one, because I’d been willing to fight for him. To kill for him. To take a hit for him, if necessary.

“Merit.”

I shrugged off the sound of my name and kept fighting, dodging, and swinging, smiling as I swung the blade at him, parried and countered, torqued my own body to stay out of the line of his honed steel.

“Merit.”

I blocked his blow, and as he reoriented and rebalanced his body, I glanced behind me, just in time to see Mallory, my friend, my sister, hand outstretched, an orb of blue flame in her hand. She flicked, and it came toward me, and I was enveloped in flame.

The lights went out.