Dark Debt_ A Chicagoland Vampire - Chloe Neill Page 0,29

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 decide what 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 dagger in 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 dancing and dodging instead of planning new attacks.

It was a good plan, but he was well trained. Really well trained. I wanted to smack the mask off his face. I wanted to know who he was, and who’d trained him to attack humans.

He was smart enough not to open his body completely, or give me access to delicate organs. There was something gentlemanly about his fighting style—and maybe that was something I could use against him.

I bobbled forward, pretending to trip on the hem of my dress—not entirely improbable. For a moment, he paused, instinct telling him to help me instead of hurting me. That put him off-balance, and I used a spinning sidekick against the back of his leg with enough momentum to send him lurching forward . . . but not enough to put him on the floor. It was the dress—it was too snug around the knees to give me kicking room. But crescent kicks, side kicks, front kicks were key pieces of my fighting repertoire. Which meant, unfortunately, that dress would have to die.

I’m sorry about this, I said silently to Ethan, before grabbing the hem and rending the dress up one side, giving me room to maneuver—and probably showing more thigh than I should have. The rip was audible, and I’m pretty sure I saw him flinch at the sound of thousands of dollars being shredded in the interest of victory.

But victory trumped fashion.

My legs freed of constraints, I spun the dagger in my hand, beckoned the vampire to strike again. He didn’t waste time, moving forward with a jumping spin that sent the blade whistling. The human barrier shifted as we moved, morphing and changing shape around us like an amoeba to give us room to fight. I turned aside, outside his range, and punched forward with the dagger. I made contact, and the scent of vampire blood—the faint spice of it—blossomed in the air like a crimson flower—but he didn’t react, and gave no ground.

Well trained, I said silently to Ethan, hoping he was faring well against his own opponent, but afraid to take his eyes off mine.

The vampire shook off the injury, regripped his katana, lifted it above his head in a perfectly telegraphed downward strike. I lifted my dagger to his, using our joined blades as a pivot point, and