I'd noticed over the last couple of months that when I was stressed or afraid, when the fight-or-flight instinct was triggered and my fangs dropped down, I could feel the vampire inside me, something separate inside me, like we hadn't quite fused together.
My three-day genetic change was supposed to turn me - fully and completely - into a vampire, fangs and silvering eyes and all. I didn't understand it, how I could be vampire - the craving for blood, the nocturnal schedule, the fangs and heightened senses - and still feel the separateness of the vampire, a ghost in my machine. But that's what it felt like.
I'd mentioned it to Catcher once; his lack of recognition, of reassurance, had shaken me. If he didn't know what was going on, how was I supposed to know? How was I supposed to deal with it?
More important, what was I supposed to be?
A part of me wondered, whispered, something I could hardly stand to acknowledge - that this wasn't normal. That as a vampire, I was broken.
I could feel her now, a tiger beginning to pace. I could feel her moving, shifting beneath my bones, my muscles beginning to vibrate with it. She wanted my eyes fully silver, my fangs fully descended, my magic spilling through the room. She wanted to take Ethan's words and throw them back, to challenge him with steel.
Or she wanted to throw him down and have her way with him.
Either act would have been violent, primal, incredibly satisfying. And a truly bad idea.
I gripped the handle of the katana, pressing my nails into the cording around the grip to maintain my control. After my failed attempt at warning Catcher, I'd decided to keep the problem to myself. That meant Ethan didn't know, and I wasn't about to announce to a Master vampire who already had trust issues that I thought I was broken.
That she was waiting.
It took seconds for me to push her down, to breathe through her again, seconds during which the magic rose in eddies through the room.
Welcome to Cadogan House, I thought, and with some burst of strength, I willed her back down, lifted my chin and stared back at him. His eyes were wide crystal pools of green.
"I am Sentinel of this House," I said, my voice sultrier than usual, "and I recognize as well as you the responsibility that entails. I have agreed to get you into the places where you need access. I have agreed to help you investigate the raves, and you'll be the first person on my contact list if I learn that Celina is in town. But my love life is off limits."
"Remember who you're talking to, Sentinel."
"I never forget, Sullivan."
Nearly a minute passed, during which neither of us moved, even as the weight of our collective stubbornness thickened the air.
But then, miracle of miracles, he relented. The tension and magic diffused. A single stiff nod was all he gave me, but I relished it, savored it, resolved to commit the moment to memory - the moment he'd tapped out. I managed not to scream, "I won!" but couldn't help the grin that lifted a corner of my mouth.
I should have known the celebration was premature.
"Regardless, you'll check in with me if you bring Morgan to Cadogan House," Ethan said, his tone self-satisfied enough to deflate my smile.
Of course he wanted me to tell him. He wanted to savor the victory of my delivering the new head of Navarre House - and the possibility of a Cadogan -Navarre alliance - to his doorstep. Given his previous doubts about my loyalties - spurred by my controversial change from human to vampire - what better way for Ethan to ensure that I wasn't leaking information in the halls of Navarre House than to keep me safe and secure in Cadogan, Morgan in tow?
I wasn't sure how much I cared about Morgan. It was early; the relationship was young.
But in comparison with the man Mallory had aptly nicknamed "Darth Sullivan," Morgan was Prince Charming in Diesel jeans. I took the comment, inflammatory as it was, as my cue to exit. There was no point in pretending we were going to just laugh this off, and the longer I stayed in the room with him, the more I risked my vampire surfacing.
And if she gained control, God only knew what she'd do. That was a risk I couldn't take - not without risking my own death by aspen stake. So,