Marc didn’t say anything, because there was nothing to say. Hubert was roosting down in Mexico somewhere, building his army of unwilling vampires for only one purpose. He wanted the South. Christian hadn’t talked to Hubert since Mathilde’s death, and so he didn’t know what Hubert’s reaction had been to the news. But he suspected there hadn’t been much in the way of grieving. Mathilde as Lord of the West would have been an uneasy neighbor, should Hubert win the South. Of course, an angry Raphael was far worse, but maybe Hubert was hoping that Raphael would value stability over personal vendettas, and ignore the fact that Hubert had helped Mathilde kidnap him. Or maybe he was banking on the fact that he’d left for Mexico right after Raphael had been taken, and that he’d never been a part of the power circle holding the Western lord captive. Or maybe he’d hoped that Raphael had sated his thirst for revenge when he’d killed every single vampire who had been part of that circle. Christian wouldn’t have rolled those dice, but then, he never would have taken on Raphael in the first place.
“Are we going back to the house?” Marc asked, as they clambered down the staircase that would take them right to the door which exited onto the parking area in back.
Christian nodded. “It’s late, and I need to think about our next move.” He pulled the door open, and they both stepped out into the humid night air.
“Does that thinking include adding . . .” Marc’s voice trailed off when they saw what was waiting for them in the parking lot.
“Looks like someone’s eager to get started,” Christian observed mildly. He took in the gang of vampires now closing in to form a half circle around him and Marc. Without saying a word, the two of them moved away from the door and put a solid wall at their backs, to avoid any surprises from that quarter.
“Noriega,” Marc told Christian softly. “One of Anthony’s fair-haired boys,” he added loudly enough for the challenging vampire to hear.
“If I’d have known the company you keep, Marc, I’d have killed you the night we met,” Noriega scoffed.
Marc laughed. “You’d have tried.”
“Has the challenge officially commenced then?” Christian asked calmly. “I hadn’t heard.”
“You think something official will protect you when you lose?”
He smiled indulgently. “I was thinking, rather, that it would protect me when I win. I would like it to be a matter of record that you issued the early challenge. We don’t want Anthony going to the Council and accusing me of an unsanctioned murder.”
Noriega stared at him, blinking in seeming puzzlement.
“But I’m sure you considered that possibility already,” Christian continued. “You know, when Anthony called you just now, and told you I was leaving.”
Noriega’s expression narrowed, and Christian could almost see the realization in his eyes that maybe he’d been played, and by his own Sire, too. But in almost the same moment, realization was replaced by determination. And Christian understood. The other vampire couldn’t back down now, no matter what circumstances had brought him to this moment. There were too many witnesses.
“I don’t care if the territorial challenge has officially begun or not,” Noriega growled. “Your presence here offends me, and I’m challenging you. So defend yourself, traitor.”
Christian’s eyebrows shot up. “Traitor?” he questioned, as he shrugged off his jacket, and tossed it over a bush with a sigh. He really liked this suit.
“Do you think I don’t know who you are?” Noriega asked. “You and your kind have destroyed your own continent, and now you want to take over ours.”
“That hardly makes me a traitor,” Christian commented, rolling up his sleeves. “As for what I want . . . if I have the strength to take the South, then by every law and tradition of vampire society, it is and should be mine. Now, are we going to fight, or are you going to bore me to death?”
Noriega swelled with outrage. “Fuck you,” he swore.
“Marc,” Christian said in warning, as the vampire behind Noriega drew a sword, the sound rasping through the warm night. At least it wasn’t a gun.
“Got it,” Marc assured him. “You worry about Noriega.”
Christian rolled his shoulders and shook out his arms.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Noriega demanded.
“You said you wanted to fight.”
“I said I challenged you. This isn’t a fistfight. We’re vampires, dickhead.”
“Oh,” Christian replied, feigning surprise. “You mean like this.” He released his power with a smug smile, taking far too much satisfaction in the look of shock on Noriega’s face. “Do you really think I walk around spilling power for everyone to gauge? Or that I’m stupid enough to challenge for a territory I have no hope of winning? You’re going to die, Noriega. I hope your death is worth it to Anthony.”
Noriega struck without warning. Christian didn’t hold it against him; it was, frankly, his only chance. It didn’t work. But it was the smart move.
Christian’s shields snapped into place faster than thought, almost as if they’d detected Noriega’s attack before the action was fully executed. His shields deflected the attack, buying time, as his mind went into analytical mode. His opponent had raw power, no doubt of that. But not as much as Christian, and he had no technique at all. Fortunately, Christian had both, and to spare.
His first volley was a wash of power that knocked out most of Noriega’s followers. He heard Marc muttering at his side, and knew his lieutenant thought he was taking on too much, that he should be concentrating on Noriega. But this was only the first skirmish of the challenge, a bare taste of what would ultimately be a full-out war, and he didn’t want to lose Marc to a well-placed blade over something this foolish. Noriega was outclassed, his gang nothing but a distraction. But fate was a capricious bitch, and Christian wasn’t in the mood to take chances. So he knocked Noriega’s gang out of the fight—they were unconscious, not dead. Yet.
Noriega struck while Christian was dealing the others, taking advantage of his brief distraction with a powerful blow that drove him back a half-step. His shields bowed inward with the force of it, and he heard the buzzing noise that meant his shields were stressed. Noriega grinned, thinking he had Christian at a disadvantage, and stalked closer, throwing volley after volley of concentrated power, hoping to shatter his shields before he could rally a defense.