faced as a vampire, Ethan was the reason I still drew breath. But I didn't think McKetrick would be thrilled to learn that I'd been nearly killed by one vampire - and changed without consent by another.
"No response?" McKetrick asked. "Not surprising. Given the havoc your 'House' has already wreaked in Chicago, I'm not sure I'd object, either."
"We did not precipitate the strike on our House," I told him. "We were attacked."
McKetrick tilted his head at us, a confused smile on his face. "But you must recognize that you prompted it. Without you, there would have been no violence."
"All we want is to go about our business."
McKetrick smiled magnanimously. He wasn't an unattractive man, but that smile - so calm and self-assured - was terrifying in its confidence.
"That fits me fine. Simply take your business elsewhere. As should be clear now, Chicago doesn't want you."
Ethan steeled his features. "You haven't been elected. You haven't been appointed. You have no right to speak on behalf of the city."
"A city that had fallen under your spell? A city finally waking up to your deviance? Sometimes, Mr. Sullivan, the world needs a prophet. A man who can look beyond the now, see the future, and understand what's necessary."
"What do you want?"
He chuckled. "We want our city back, of course. We want the departure of all vampires in Chicago. We don't care where you go - we just don't want you here. I hope that's understood?"
"Fuck you," Ethan said. "Fuck you, and your prejudice."
McKetrick looked disappointed, as if he truly expected Ethan to see the error of his ways.
He opened his mouth to retort, but before he could answer, I heard it: cutting through the night like roaring thunder, the sound of rumbling exhaust. I glanced behind me and saw the headlights - a dozen in all - moving like an arrow toward us.
Motorcycles.
I began to grin, now knowing whom Ethan had contacted on his cell phone. These weren't just motorcycles; they were shifters. The cavalry had arrived.
The troops looked back to their leader, not sure of the next step.
They cut through the darkness like sharks on chrome. Twelve giant, gleaming, low-riding bikes, one shifter on each - brawny and leather-clad, ready for battle. And I could attest to the battle part. I'd seen them fight, I knew they were capable, and the tingle that lifted the hair at the back of my neck proved they were well armed.
Correction - eleven of them were brawny and leather-clad. The twelfth was a petite brunette with a mass of long, curly hair, currently pulled back beneath a Cardinals ball cap. Fallon Keene, the only sister among six Keene brothers, named alphabetically from Gabriel down to Adam, who'd been removed from the NAC and sent into the loving arms of a rival Pack after he took out their leader. No one had heard from Adam since that exchange had taken place. Given his crime, I assumed that wasn't a good sign.
I nodded at Fallon, and when she offered back a quick salute, I decided I could live with her poor choice of baseball allegiances.
Gabriel Keene, Pack Apex, rode the bike in front, his sunkissed brown hair pulled into a queue at the nape of his neck, his amber eyes scanning the scene with what looked like malicious intent. But I knew better. Gabriel eschewed violence unless absolutely necessary.
He wasn't afraid of it, but he didn't seek it out.
Gabriel revved his bike with a flick of his wrist, and like magic, McKetrick's men stepped back toward their SUVs.
Gabe turned his gaze on me. "Problems, Kitten?"
I looked over at McKetrick, who was scanning the bikes and their riders with a nervous expression. I guess his anti-vamp bravado didn't extend to shifters. After a moment he seemed to regain his composure and made eye contact with us again.
"I look forward to continuing this conversation at a more appropriate time," McKetrick said.
"We'll be in touch. In the meantime, stay out of trouble." With that, he slipped back into the SUV, and the rest of his troops followed him.
I bit back disappointment. I'd almost wished they'd been na?ve enough to make a move, just so I could enjoy watching the Keenes pummel them into oblivion.
With a roar from custom mufflers, the SUVs squealed into action and drove away. Pity it wasn't forever. I checked the license plates, but they were blank. Either they were driving around without registrations or they'd taken off the plates for their little introductory chat.