LOVE IS A BATTLEFIELD.

SO IS THE CITY OF CHICAGO.

The next evening, I woke pepared for battle. But not with a serial killer. Not with warring nymphs or Rogue vampires. Not even with the Master I avoided.

This time, I prepared for Helen. I hadn't handled our first meeting well, which maybe wasn't so unusual given the nature of it - the cold, hard reality she'd been burdened with preparing me. But I was losing my house, Mallory's house, to Catcher and his roaming hands. I needed a place to crash. It was time to ask about moving into Cadogan.

Although I wasn't thrilled with that choice, the alternatives didn't seem much better. I couldn't move in with my parents. I didn't think they'd allow it, and dealing with my father was soul-sucking enough from a ZIP code away.

Getting my own place wasn't a viable option, either. My Cadogan stipend was nice, but it wasn't enough to cover rent in Chicago without a roommate. I wasn't ready for the burbs, and I certainly didn't want to bring my supernatural drama to some new roommate's door. And unless I lived in Hyde Park, having my own place didn't solve the time problem - the fact that I'd still have travel time between me and a Cadogan crisis.

I could move in with my grandfather, and there was no question that he'd invite me in, but with me came my baggage - including being the near-victim of a serial killer, the recent recipient of a death threat, and the new guard for Cadogan House. Moving into Cadogan posed its own set of problems, its meddlesome Master key among them. But I'd never need to worry about troubling someone who couldn't handle it. If there was anything pleasant I could say about Ethan Sullivan, it was that he was equipped to deal with supernatural drama.

I hadn't, of course, informed Ethan that I was considering moving into the House. I imagined three possible responses to the news, none of which I was interested in experiencing.

At best, I figured I'd be offered cool approval that I'd finally reached the decision a proper Sentinel would have reached a week ago. At worst, I bet on vitriol, on his expressing serious concerns that I was going to spy on Cadogan or sabotage the House from the inside.

But most disturbing was the third possibility - that he'd ask me again to be his Consort. I was pretty sure we'd moved past that idea, the fact that we'd happily avoided each other for the last week evidence enough, but this boy was more stubborn than most.

So I planned to work through Helen, who, in her position as Initiate Liaison, also coordinated new vampires' moves into the House, and let word reach Ethan through channels. But working through Helen meant apologies. Big-time apologies, since the last time I'd seen her, I yelled at and insulted her, and prompted a sorceress to kick her out of our house. To fix things, I opted for a simple, classic strategy - bribery. I was going to buy my way into her good graces with a dozen pink-and-white birthday cupcakes. I'd repackaged them in a shiny pink bakery box, and I was ready to make the drop at her office as soon as I reached Cadogan.

But before I did that . . . I had my own business to attend to, namely in the form of a private vampire fashion show. After I'd showered, but before I'd slipped into the requisite Cadogan black, I slipped my birthday ensemble from its hangers and donned the leathers. The suit, such as it was, fit like a glove, like it had been molded for my body. My hair in its high ponytail, the sword in my hands, I looked pretty fierce. I looked like I was ready for serious vampire combat. That was patently untrue, of course, but it didn't make posing in front of the mirror any less fun.

I was still in front of the mirror, sword in hand, when my beeper began to vibrate. I jumped at the sound, thinking someone had walked in on the spectacle of my vampire dress-up. When I realized the source of the noise, I grabbed the beeper from the top of my bureau and scanned the screen: CADGN. BREACH. GREEN. 911.

Breach: Uninvited supernaturals on the premises.

Green: Ethan's code. He was in trouble, needed assistance, etc.

911: Quickly now, Sentinel.

There were footsteps in the hallway. Beeper in hand, I opened the bedroom door and peeked into the hall. Catcher, in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, walked toward me. I had to give him credit - he didn't so much as bat an eyelash at my ensemble.

"You got the page?"

I nodded. But before I could ask how he knew about it, he continued, "The meeting we discussed, with all the vamps? The one Sullivan needed to schedule? It's happening right now, and not by invitation."

"Shit," I said, moving my left hand to the handle of the katana, and ignoring for the moment the fact that he had this information before I did. "I need to change."

Catcher shook his head. "Today's the day you bluff," he said. "I'll get your car ready."

I stared at him. "Are you kidding? Ethan will shit if I show up dressed like this in front of other Cadogan vampires, much less other Houses."

Catcher shook his head. "You stand Sentinel, not Ethan. You do your job the way you do it. And if you're going to bluff your way into keeping Ethan safe, would you rather do it in leather or a suit and prissy heels? You need to show teeth today."

Because his words echoed my own thoughts, I didn't argue.

He offered me advice via cell phone the entire ride to Cadogan House: Look everyone in the eye. Keep my left hand on the handle of the sword, thumb at the guard, and only pull the right hand over if I needed to be seriously aggressive. Keep my body between Ethan and whatever pointy thing - be it blade or teeth - was threatening him. When Catcher started to repeat himself, I cut him off.

"Catcher, this isn't me. I'm not prepared for warfare. I was a grad student. But he gave me this job, presumably, after four hundred years of experience, because he thought I could bring something to the table, something he thought could trump my lack of training. I appreciate the advice, and I appreciate the training, but it's the eleventh hour, and if I haven't learned it by now, I'm not likely to learn it in the next five minutes." I swallowed, my chest tight. "I'll do what I can. It's been asked of me, and I agreed to stand Sentinel, and I'll do what I can."

I decided to confess the thought that had tickled the back of my mind, but hadn't yet voiced. That the vampire inside me had a mind of her own. That sometimes it felt like we hadn't merged, not truly, but rather like she lived inside me.

Maybe because it sounded ridiculous, I found it harder to vocalize than I'd imagined. "I think - I think - "

"What, Merit?"

"She feels kind of separate from me."

Silence, then: "She?"

He spoke the word as if it was a question, but I had the sense he knew exactly what I meant. "The vampire. My vampire. Me. I don't know. It's probably nothing."

Silence again, then: "Probably nothing."

Blocks passed, and then I was turning onto Woodlawn, cell phone still pinched between shoulder and ear.

"If you need to look threatening, can you silver your eyes? Pull down you fangs? On purpose, I mean?"

I hadn't tried, but imagined I'd learned enough in the last week about what silvered my eyes to be able to manufacture the effect. Method vampirism, as it was.

"I think so, yeah."

"Good. Good." I pulled the car up to the curb in front of Cadogan House. There were no guards at the gate. The House looked empty, and that foretold nothing good.

"Shit," I muttered and grabbed the door handle. "The House looks deserted."

"Merit, listen."

I paused, one hand on the door, the other wrapped around my cell phone.

"Cadogan House hasn't had a Sentinel in two centuries. You got the job because he believed in you. Do the job. Nothing more, nothing less."

I nodded, although he couldn't see it. "I'll be fine."

Or I wouldn't, I thought, as I threw the phone in the passenger seat, walked down the empty sidewalk, and tugged at the hem of the leather jacket I'd zipped over the midriff- baring bodice.

Either way, we'd find out soon enough.

The front door was partially ajar, the first floor empty of vampires. I heard rumblings upstairs and, with a hand on my sword, took the staircase. Luc stood on the landing, legs braced, arms crossed, a katana belted on his left side.

I gave him a nod, waited for him to look over my ensemble. When he'd taken me in, I asked, "Where are we?"

He inclined his head toward the ballroom, and we walked together toward it. His voice was all business. "Ethan tried to schedule a meeting about the murders. He invited representatives from Grey, Navarre. The meet was supposed to happen later tonight. Then the Rogues found out. Noah Beck - he's their rep - showed up half an hour ago."

A chunk of time had passed then, since the page. I did need to move into Cadogan House.

"They're pissed about not being included," he continued, his expression pulled tight, "about our existence being leaked - no, announced - to the press." Clearly Ethan wasn't the only one who doubted Celina's decision making in that regard.

We stopped in front of the closed ballroom doors, and I planted my hands on my hips, slid him a glance. "How many?"

"Twelve Rogues, maybe thirty vamps from Cadogan. Scott Grey and four of his people; they showed up early for the meet. Lindsey, Jules, and Kelley are in there, but they're hanging back."

I lifted brows. "You ever think the ratio of six guards to three hundred Cadogan vamps ain't quite right?"

"It's peacetime," he explained, irritation in his voice. "We hold too many swords, and we're showing animosity, risking war." He shrugged. "Too few, of course, and we risk a Rogue taking a shot at Ethan."

It took me a moment to realize he wasn't being metaphorical. "A shot? I thought vampires used blades?" I motioned to the katana at his waist, but he shook his head.

"That's House Canon, tradition. Rogues reject the system, reject the pretense, the rules. They'll have weapons. They've got their own Code, such as it is. They might have one blade visible, maybe more hidden. But they'll have guns - probably handguns, probably semiautomatic. Probably a forty-five. They're partial to the nineteen eleven."

I nodded, remembering the picture I'd seen in a Kimber catalog in the Ops Room. That was all I needed - stray bullets flying around the room during my first real fight.

"I can't defend shots," I told him, belatedly realizing the weapon I was expected to use in a gunfight was my body - between Ethan's and the racing bullets.

As if catching my concern, probably easy given the expression of sheer terror on my face, Luc offered, "Shots won't kill him, unless they let loose a spray. Just do what you can. And one more thing."

He paused so long I looked over, saw his brow furrowed.

"Your position," he said, before pausing again, "it's more political than ours. We're considered field soldiers, even me. Sentinel's still soldiering, but traditionally vamps see it as more of a strategic position. And that means more respect." He shrugged. "That's history, I suppose."

"Which means," I concluded, "I can get a little closer to him than you can. I'm less a declaration of war, more a show that the situation's being taken very, very seriously."

Luc nodded again, relief that I understood evident in his expression. "Exactly."

I blew out a slow breath, trying to assimilate this new information - which would have been helpful before the crisis - and not panic at the pressure. I stroked my thumb over the handle of the katana, prayed for calm. Two weeks into vampiredom and I was being asked to defend the House against a band of marauding unHoused vampires.

Lucky me.

Not that it mattered. I had a job, and while I panicked at the thought of actually doing that job, doing it was the only thing I could do. Enter the fray, take the step, and bluff like my life depended on it. Because it probably did.

I accepted the tiny earpiece Luc offered, slipped it into my ear. "Let's go."

When Luc nodded, I took a breath, put my hand on the door, and opened it.

There were fifty people in the ballroom, but even in the giant space, it seemed like a much larger swarm. Even the air seemed thick. It fairly prickled with bitter magic, with a flowing energy that called my vampire. I felt her shift, awaken, stretch, and wonder why the air felt barbed. My lashes shuddered, and I had to force my palm against the sword's handle until cording bit into my skin, to force her back, to keep my mind clear. But later, I promised her, she'd feed.

The vampires stood in a mass, backs to the door. I recognized the black-suited Cadogan vamps, but from the back, couldn't tell where anyone else, including Ethan, was standing. I glanced at Luc, mouthed, Where is he?

Kelley's voice sounded in my ear. "Nice of you to join us, Sentinel. Ethan's in front of the platform, facing the crowd. The Rogues are facing him, their backs to us, and the Cadogan vamps are in a circle around everyone. We're just trying to keep things calm."

I scanned the crowd, looking for an in, and saw Kelley's straight dark hair. She glanced back, slightly inclined her head at Luc and me, then turned back to the crowd.

I looked over the mass of bodies and tried to imagine where to go, where I could be close enough to see, to guard, but not so close that I, as Sentinel, escalated matters. The room was tense enough as it was, the vampires leaking energy as they dealt with the possibility that a murderer was among them.

I motioned to the left, indicated my direction, and Luc nodded, pointed to the right, then made a hand signal indicating we'd meet in the middle.

At least, I hoped that was what it meant.

I took a breath, blew it out slowly, stabilized the scabbard and stepped forward. I skirted the edge of the crowd, trying to will myself invisible as I moved to the left, as I eased around the border of Cadogan vampires. My attempt at glamour didn't help - the Cadogan vamps watched as I moved, a few nodding in quiet acknowledgment, a few giving looks that suggested something altogether different than respect - but I was glad, even in the face of bitter stares, that they played buffer between me and the rest of the interlopers.

Seconds later, I was close enough to see the action. Ethan, with Malik at his side, stood in front of the platform at which I'd been Commended into the House only days ago. Standing perpendicular to Ethan was a tall, dark-haired man in a Cubs T-shirt and jeans who I guessed from the athletic bent of his clothing was Scott Grey. Across from Ethan, striking standouts in a room of tidy, chic suits, and sports gear, were the Rogues.

They stood in a tight pyramidal cluster and were, just like the Cadogan vampires, clad in black. But this wasn't Michigan Avenue black. This was vampire warfare black. Black boots. Trim black pants. A chest piece of black leather body armor. There was enough black in the cluster of them to suck the light from the ballroom. Punctuating the look was silver - belts, rings, wrist-bands, wallet chains, and in the middle of each chest, a silver pendant - an anarchy symbol on a silver chain.

This was the look Morgan wanted to achieve. Urban, rebellious, dangerous.

But this was real.

This was actual bad ass.

That said, all the Rogue vampires were dressed the same. Wasn't it kinda ironic that the herd mentality affected even the disaffected? That warranted pondering, but not today. Today was business.

One of the Rogues - tall, broad-shouldered, muscled - stood point, facing Ethan. Where the rest of the vamps in the room, the Housed vamps, looked polished, he looked a little fierce. He was ruggedly handsome, a couple days' worth of stubble across his face and jaw. His brown hair was an inch or two past a hair-cut, and stood in kind of messy whorls. And his eyes, big and blue, were ringed with kohl. He stood with arms folded across his broad chest, head cocked slightly to the side, listening as Ethan discussed the ongoing investigation.

They were definitely here for business. At their waists were holsters with handguns snapped inside, probably the 1911s Luc had mentioned. While the feel of them was different than Housed vampires anyway - the energy a bit less focused than House vamps, a little more scattershot - it was obvious they were carrying more than just the guns. The power flowed differently around their bodies. I couldn't see it, but I could sense it, the change in the current, like rocks altering the flow of a stream.

When I was where I wanted to be, a few bodies behind the edge of the crowd and still out of the players' direct line of sight, I checked Ethan, saw that he was unharmed and managing to mask the frustration I knew he felt. His body was loose, his hands in the pockets of the ubiquitous black trousers, half of his blond hair pulled back in a tie. His gaze was on the Rogue in front of him.

"Frankly, Noah," Ethan was saying, "it wasn't an oversight that you weren't invited to talk, nor was it a sign of disrespect. It was a choice, based on my assumption, apparently incorrect, that you weren't interested in participating. The humans only know about the Houses. As far as I'm aware, your existence is still a secret, and I'd imagined you'd be happier keeping it that way."

Noah gave Ethan a flat stare. "It was an assumption of uninterest, then. The assumption that because we're not affiliated with a House, because we aren't sheep, we're unconcerned about our fellow vampires." His tone was all sarcasm.

Ethan lifted a blond brow, responded crisply, "That's not what I said."

Thinking it might be helpful to say hello, to let him know that he had backup should the worst occur, I reported in, opening my mind to Ethan. I'm here, I sent him.

He didn't respond, but the Rogue in front of him, Noah, did. Not, I think, because Noah heard me, but because there was scuffling behind us, which drew his eyes across the crowd. As he looked for the source of the trouble, gazed across the sea of watching vampires, he met my eyes, lifted both brows. The subtext was easy enough to read: And who are you? Friend or foe?

I blinked, trying to guess how I was supposed to react - was there etiquette for this? The unintroduced Sentinel responding to a flicker of interest from the spokesperson for Chicago's Rogue vampires? Unfortunately, I didn't have time to fully evaluate, so I just did what felt natural given the awkward position we were in: I gave a half smile and a shrug.

I'm not sure what I expected from him. Maybe the reaction Ethan would have given - a condescending look, a roll of the eyes.

But Noah wasn't Ethan. Noah smirked, squeezed his lips together to keep in the laugh that shook his chest, and quickly looked away, mouth curved. My first real political act, and it sparked a bubble of laughter from the man who'd allegedly breached the walls of Cadogan House. A good enough reaction, I decided, hoping his amusement would defuse the obvious strain in the room.

Unfortunately, I didn't have a chance to test that theory. Our exchange took only seconds, but that was more than enough time for trouble to call. The vampire whose shuffling we'd heard behind us revealed himself, Morgan pushing through the crowd, through the Rogues, until he stood before Ethan. Perhaps sensing his obvious anger, the waves of it radiating from his body, the other vampires moved back, gave him space.

He looked like a man possessed - hair sexily mussed, his leather jacket over a green T- shirt and jeans, black sneakers beneath the cuffs. And although he vibrated with the energy I knew he was capable of, that wasn't the only reason he roiled. He was carrying. And not a sword, not a weapon obviously belted or sheathed. This was hidden. A medium-sized blade, I guessed, by the differential weight of him. Too small to be a sword, but bigger than your average kitchen knife.

I tightened my grip on the sword's handle, my thumb on the latch that would release the blade from its scabbard, and waited.

"You fucking son of a bitch." The words were tight, forced through his clenched jaw.

Ethan blinked, but made no other move, his stance still relaxed, confident. "Excuse me?"

"You think this is right? That you can do this?"

I flinched when Morgan lifted his arm, nearly pushed through the couple of vampires who separated Ethan and me, but held back when I saw the white paper he held in his hand. A small square of it, a black curve of handwriting across one side. Having seen something similar weeks before, I guessed what might be written on it.

Ethan probably knew, too, but bluffed. "I don't know what that is, Morgan."

Morgan fisted the note, held it in the air. "It's a fucking death threat - that's what it is. It was on Celina's bedside table. Her bedside . Table. She's scared to death." Morgan took a half step forward, uncurled the note, held it out for Ethan to read. Ethan gingerly took it between long fingers, his gaze traveling the length of the paper and back.

"It's a threat," Ethan announced to the crowd, his gaze still on Morgan. "Very similar to the one Merit received. I'd guess it's the same handwriting, the same paper. And it's purportedly signed by me."

The crowd rumbled. Morgan ignored it, lowered his voice to a fierce whisper that immediately quieted the crowd again.

"And that's fucking convenient, isn't it? Get Joshua Merit's daughter into the House, then take out Celina? Blame it on the Rogues, consolidate your power right under Tate's nose?" Morgan turned, surveyed the crowd, swinging out an arm dramatically. "And all of a sudden, the House that drinks is everyone's favorite."

The room went eerily quiet, and Ethan's frame finally stiffened. I watched the change in his posture, and my stomach sank as I feared, and faced, the worst - that Morgan had guessed correctly, and that Ethan was on the main quad that night for a very specific reason. That it wasn't "luck" at all.

Ethan leaned forward, eyes flaming green, and bit off, "Watch your words, Morgan, before you take steps Celina isn't ready to back up. Neither myself nor any other

Cadogan vampire is responsible for that note, for any violence or threats made against Celina or Merit." He lifted his head, looked at Noah, then Scott Grey, then out over the crowd. "Cadogan is not responsible for the death of Jennifer Porter, for the death of Patricia Long, for the notes, for the evidence, for any part of those crimes." He paused, let his gaze travel. "But if someone - some vampire - is responsible, be they Grey, or Rogue, or Navarre, and if information comes to light that any vampire or sect of vampires took part - any part - in these crimes, we will give that information to the police, human or not. And they will answer to me."

He glanced back at Morgan, gave him the withering Master-to-Peon look I knew he was capable of.

"And you'd better remember your place, your age, and where you're standing, Morgan of House Navarre."

"She's afraid for her life, Sullivan," Morgan said through clenched teeth, clearly unaffected by Ethan's threat. His jaw was set, his stance aggressive - feet planted, hands clenched into fists, chin tipped down just enough so that he glared at Ethan from beneath his brow. "I'm her Second, and that is unacceptable."

I sympathized, understood his frustration, knew Ethan would expect the same loyalty from Malik, if not the drama that made me wonder about the relationship between Celina Desaulniers and her Second. But I also knew Ethan wasn't involved. Maybe the Rogues had some involvement, maybe Grey House, undoubtedly some vampire with access to the Cadogan grounds. But Cadogan vampire would have, could have, murdered under his watch.

I looked across the anxious crowd, met Luc's eyes, got the nod that I knew signaled action. Just as Morgan cocked back a fist, I stepped forward, pushed through the remaining veil of vampires, whipped the sword from its scabbard, and stretched out my arm just so the tip of it lay before the pulse that throbbed in his neck.

I lifted a brow at him. "I'm going to have to ask you to step back."

The ballroom went silent.

His dark eyes followed the length of the sword, surveyed the leather. He took in the jacket, the pants, the boots, the high ponytail that held back my hair. If he hadn't been completely sobered by the steel, I think he'd have complimented the ensemble. But this was business, and I'd stepped into his fight.

Morgan lifted his chin incrementally above the blade. "Put down the sword."

"I don't take orders from you." I took a step to the side, my arm outstretched, and stepped directly between Morgan and Ethan, forcing Ethan to back up behind me. It was enough to put him out of Morgan's reach, and to substitute me in Morgan's line of attack.

"But you take orders from him?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

I blinked, all innocence, and let my voice ring across the room. "I stand Sentinel. I'm a vampire of his House, and I stand Sentinel. If he orders me to lower the blade, I will."

Ethan was silent behind me. But it wasn't the fact that he made no order, but my admission that I'd obey it if it came, that prompted a round of whispering. Ethan had been right: Chicago's vampires doubted my allegiance, maybe because rumors had leaked out about the nature of my change, maybe because of my father, maybe because of my strength. Whatever the reason, they had doubted.

Until now.

Now they knew. I'd joined the fight, I'd made a shield of my body, and I'd stepped between Ethan and danger, drawn steel on his behalf. I'd accepted the possibility of injury, of death, in order to protect him, and I'd publicly made clear that I was amenable to his orders, willing to submit to his authority.

I had to squeeze the handle of the katana when the tunnel rushed me, when I heard Ethan's voice. I'd say this counts as a show of allegiance.

I almost grinned from the sheer relief of it, of realizing that I wasn't doing this alone, facing down a hostile crowd outside the chain of command. But I kept my gaze neutral, remembered the audience around us, and knew that they were memorizing this moment, would play it back, would recall it for friends and enemies and allies - the night they first saw Cadogan's Sentinel take up arms.

I said a quick prayer not to screw it up too badly.

Oblivious to the undercurrent, Morgan barked, "This isn't your fight."

I shook my head at him. "I took my oaths. It's my fight - only my fight. He named me Sentinel, and if you bring this to Cadogan House, you bring this to me. That's the way this works."

Morgan shook his head. "This is personal, not House business."

I cocked my head at him. "Then why are you here, in someone else's House?"

That must have had some kind of impact. He growled, the sound low and predatory. If I'd been an animal, it would have raised my hackles. As it was, it called the vampire again, and I knew my eyes were silvering at the edges, but pushed, as hard as I could, to quiet her again.

"This isn't your concern," Morgan said. "You're only going to get hurt."

A corner of my mouth lifted. "Because I'm a girl?"

His lips tightened, and he leaned forward, pricked his neck against the sharpened tip of the blade. A single crimson drop slid down the edge of it. Looking back, I'd have sworn the sword instantaneously warmed as Morgan's blood traced the steel.

"First blood!" was called by someone in the crowd, and the vampires around us backed up, widening the open circle in which we stood. There was movement to my left and right, and I slid a quick glance sideways, saw Luc and Juliet take up positions at Ethan's sides.

Master secured, I grinned at Morgan beneath the fringe of my bangs and called up all the bravado I could muster. "You're here. I'm here. We gonna dance?"

I kept my sword level, saw Morgan's gaze flick behind me, then back to me again. His eyes widened in surprise, his lips parting. I had no idea what that was about. But Morgan began pulling off his jacket, then held it out to the side, revealing the straps of a sheath. A vampire, presumably one who'd arrived with him from Navarre House, stepped forward to claim his jacket, and reaching behind him, Morgan pulled a gothic- looking dagger from its mount. The blade glinted, all weird curves and angles, and I couldn't say that I was impressed by the fact that he hid it beneath clothes.

I stifled a sudden sense of panic that, at twenty-eight, I was about to be in my first real fight - not a sibling spat, but a duel, combat, my first battle on Cadogan's behalf. Honestly, I still wasn't sure Morgan would go through with it, that he would actually attempt to draw my blood in front of Ethan, Scott, the Rogues, and witnesses from Cadogan House, and on Cadogan territory. Especially because he lacked concrete evidence that Cadogan was involved in the threat, because he knew I'd received a threat of my own, and maybe most important, because he'd kissed me.

But here we were, in this circle of fifty vampires, and he'd brought this on himself, so I called his bluff. Carefully, slowly, I lowered the sword, flipped the weight of it so the pommel was up, and held it out to the right, waiting until Lindsey stepped forward to take it.

Morgan's eyes went wide when I unzipped the jacket, but not as wide as they did when I slipped it off. The only thing beneath was snug leather band, which left my abdomen and hips bare to the top of the leather pants. I extended the jacket with my left hand, felt the weight of it disappear, then held out my right to retrieve the sword. When the body- warmed handle was back in my hand, I rolled it in my wrist, getting used to its weight, and smiled at him.

"Shall we?"

His expression darkened. "I can't fight you."

I assumed the basic offensive position Catcher had taught me - legs shoulder width apart, weight on the balls of my feet, loose knees, sword up, both hands in position around the handle.

"That's unfortunate," I commented, then lunged forward slightly and sliced a stripe in the sleeve of his long-sleeved T-shirt. I pursed my lips, blinked up at him, gave him a look of doe-eyed innocence. "Oops."

"Don't push me, Merit."

This time my expression was flat. "I'm not the one who's pushing. You challenged my House. You're here to take up arms against Cadogan, against Ethan, because you think we have something to do with the deaths of these women. And you do this on the basis of a note that someone placed in the bedroom of your Master. I doubt Ethan made it into Celina's boudoir without notice." The crowd snickered appreciatively. "So how else did you expect us to respond to this, Morgan?"

"He shouldn't have called you here."

"I stand Sentinel, and this is House business. He didn't have to call me here. I'm honor- bound to fight - for the House and for him - and I will."

I don't know what I said to spark it, but Morgan's expression changed so suddenly I doubted what I thought I'd heard in his voice when he'd sought to protect Celina from her would-be attacker only moments ago. He looked at me slowly, a head-to-toe perusal that would have melted a lesser woman. He looked at me, Morgan of Navarre, and his gaze went hot, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "Yield, damn it. I won't fight you. A fight isn't the thing I want from you, Merit."

I felt the blush warming my cheeks. I could take threats, I could take blustering, but propositioning me in front of fifty vampires was completely uncalled for. So I leveled the sword at the height of his heart.

"Don't say it. Don't suggest it. Don't even think it. I've told you before" - I grinned up at him evilly - "I don't do fang."

The crowd gave an ironically appreciative snicker.

I took a step forward, took satisfaction in the fact that he moved a step back. "Yield, Morgan. If you want out of this, then yield. Apologize to Ethan, take your note, and leave the House. Or," I added, thinking about the strategy of it, "decide to stay, to be part of the dialogue, to figure out a solution to the problem of sudden human attention on our Houses."

I could practically feel the glow of Ethan's approval at my back. I'd given Morgan options, including at least one that would allow him to salvage his pride, to back down from the point of the sword without ruining his reputation.

And then the tunnel rushed me again. But this time, it was Morgan's voice that rang through my head, my sword trembling as I focused all my will on the blade in my hand, trying to maintain my stance and my composure. I thought telepathy was something shared only between Master and Novitiate. It seemed wrong somehow for Morgan to be inside my head. Too personal, and I wasn't comfortable knowing that he had a psychic "in."

I can't back down without a boon, he told me. I represent my House as well, Merit, and I have my pride. His name was on the note.

I arched a sardonic brow. You know that no one from Cadogan is involved in this.

He was quiet for a moment, then gave me the slightest inclination of his head, a signal that he'd understood, was willing to admit our innocence. Perhaps, but Ethan knows something.

I couldn't argue with that. I already suspected Ethan knew more than he let on, but I had no more evidence for that than I did for the possibility that he'd written the note himself.

Then stay, and talk, and find out what that is, I told Morgan. Stay and work this out with conversation, not with swords. You know that's the right thing to do. No one will condemn you for running to Celina's rescue. You're her Second.

For what seemed like a long time, he looked at me, a smirk on his face. A boon, then. If I back down, I want something in return.

You brought the fight, I reminded him. You came into my House, threatened Ethan.

And you just took my blood.

I rolled my eyes. You leaned into my blade. God, but he would argue with a signpost.

You pulled your weapon first, Sentinel. That was threat enough to prompt a reaction. I looked at him for a while, long enough to make the vampires around us stir nervously, as I considered his position. He was right - he'd verbally threatened Ethan, but I'd pulled steel first. I could have taken a softer approach, thumbed the guard, reached for it without unsheathing it, but I'd seen him pull back his arm and assumed he was going to throw a punch. That was when I stepped forward. And in return for my trouble, I stood in the middle of a throng of vampires, their eyes on me as I psychically negotiated with the vamp who started the scuffle in the first place.

Fine, I told him, hoping irritation carried telepathically. I owe you a favor.

A favor, unspecified.

There was my mistake.

I had to give him credit - he saw his opportunity, and he took it. I omitted terms, failed to identify the thing I owed him, failed to clarify that I owed him a favor equal to the one he'd given. Vampires, I belatedly realized, negotiated via a system of verbal trades and barters and, just as to overzealous attorneys, every word mattered. These were oral contracts of a sort, backed by steel rather than law, but just as binding. And I'd just handed Morgan a blank check.

He grinned wolfishly, offered a smile so possessive it made my stomach flip, and then sank to one knee. My own eyes wide, I followed him down with my sword, kept it pointed at his heart.

You made it too easy, he said, then announced to the room, "Merit, Sentinel of Cadogan House, I hereby claim the right of courtship. Do you accept?"

I stared down at him. I wasn't even sure what it meant - not the details, anyway -  although the gist of it was bad enough. You cannot be serious, I told him.

Once you go fang, babe, you'll never go back.

I was about to respond with a few choice maxims of my own, but the landscape shifted, and I was hurling down another tunnel, Ethan whispering at the end of it.

Take his hand. Accept his claim.

My stomach dropped again, this time for an altogether different reason. What?

You heard me. Take his hand. Accept him.

I had to fight back the urge to turn on him and level my sword at the shrunken black nugget of his heart. Tell me why. Explain to me why. "Why you're pimping me out," was the unspoken end of that request.

Silence, until: Because it's a chance for us. For Cadogan. If Morgan courts you, he courts Cadogan by proxy. And he has made this request before representatives of Cadogan, Navarre, Grey, and the Rogues. For Navarre to court a House that drinks, to court Cadogan so openly - it's unprecedented. This could be the gateway to an alliance between our Houses. Things are . . . unstable, Merit. If your courtship brings Navarre closer . . .

He didn't finish the thought, the obvious implication being that I was a useful bridge between Cadogan and Navarre, a leather-clad link between the Houses. My feelings, my desires, were irrelevant.

I looked down at Morgan on his knees before me, his smile bright and hopeful even while he'd manipulated his way into a relationship, and wondered which of them was the lesser evil.

The crowd around us shuffled, getting antsy as they waited for a response. There was chatting. I heard snippets, whispered behind cupped hands:

"Do you think she'll say yes?"

"Morgan dating someone from Cadogan - that's huge."

"I didn't know they knew each other."

And the real kicker: "I thought Ethan had a thing for her?"

My eyes still on Morgan, I squeezed the handle of my sword, sent Ethan another question: If I accept his claim, what does that mean?

It means you accept his suit. You acknowledge that I am, and that you are, receptive to his courting you.

I locked my knees and forced out the question that needed asking, unpleasantly surprised that the answer mattered so much. And are you? Receptive?

Silence.

Nothing.

Ethan didn't answer.

I closed my eyes, realizing I'd made the lamentable, and incorrect, assumption that, at the least, we had reached an accord that would have prevented him from using me, from passing me to a rival to meet a political goal. Oh, how wrong I'd been. Wrong to discount the fact that he was first and foremost a strategist, weighing outcomes, considering options, debating the means that would best achieve his ends. Wrong to think that he'd make an exception for me.

While his end might have been laudable - protecting his House, protecting his vampires - he was willing to sacrifice me to meet those goals. I'd just been sent to the sacrificial altar, given to the man who only moments ago, and quite literally, wielded the ceremonial dagger.

I'd imagined myself safe from Ethan's machinations because I'd thought, naively, that he cared for me, if not as a friend, then because I was a Cadogan vampire.

I squeezed back tears of frustration. Damn it, I was supposed to be one of his vampires, to protect, to shield. Not to offer up.

But there was something worse beneath that sense of House betrayal, some undefined emotion that made my stomach ache. I didn't want to pick at it, examine it, consider why tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, why his passing me along to another vampire hurt so much.

Not because he'd given me to Morgan.

But because he hadn't wanted to keep me to himself.

I squeezed my eyes shut, lambasted my own stupidity, wondered how in God's name I'd managed to form an attachment to a man so obviously determined to push me away. It wasn't about love, maybe not even about affection, but rather some bone-deep sense that our lives were bound together in some important way. That there was - and would be - something more between us than the awkwardness of unfulfilled sexual attraction.

It would be so easy, so handy, to blame it on the vampire inside, to attribute the connection to the fact that he'd made me, turned me, that I was his to command, that he was mine to serve. But this wasn't about magic or genetics.

This was about a boy, and a girl . . .

Gently, quietly, Morgan cleared his throat.

... and the other boy still on his knees before me.

I opened my eyes, recalling that I was still standing in the middle of a room of anticipatory vampires, all waiting for me to act on Morgan's proposal. So I pushed down the pain of the betrayal Ethan likely didn't known he was committing, and did my job.

I lowered my sword, smiled softly at Morgan, and took his hand. I let my voice go flat -  no sense in pretending I was thrilled to play political go-between - and offered, "Morgan, Second of Navarre, I accept your claim on behalf of Cadogan House, on behalf of my Master, on behalf of myself."

The applause was hesitant at first, but soon thundered through the ballroom. Morgan rose and pressed my hand to his lips, then squeezed it. He smiled quirkily. "Is it so bad?"

I lifted my brows, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a perky answer. "To be a pawn?"

Shaking his head, he took a step forward, bent his lips to my ear. "Whatever the political ramifications, I've told you before - I want you." When he pulled back, his eyes twinkled with an amusement I appreciated, but didn't share. "Especially now that I've seen the wardrobe change. Kudos to your stylist. When can I see you again?"

I met his eyes, was slightly mollified to see that he was sincere, and slid a glance over my shoulder to the blond who stood behind me. Ethan met my gaze, but his thoughts were unfathomable, typically blank, a tiny crease between his eyebrows the only indication that he'd witnessed anything consequential in the last few minutes.

Without thought to the consequences, I let my eyes fill with the array of emotions he'd forced me to sort through. I let all of it show - anger, betrayal, hurt, and the one I knew I'd regret most of all, the frazzle-edged bit of attachment. And then, with Morgan waiting in front of me, I waited to see what, if anything, Ethan would give back.

For a long moment, he just stared at me, need laid bare in his expression.

But then his mouth tightened, and slowly, excruciatingly, he looked away.

I stiffened, turned around again, and offered Morgan a bright smile that I hoped didn't look as forced as it was.

"Call me," I dutifully said.

It took minutes for Ethan to calm down the crowd again. Once he had their attention, I moved back to the edge of the crowd, close enough to defend if necessary, but outside the inner circle. I'd had my fill of attention for the night.

"Now that we've enjoyed that . . . romantic interlude," Ethan said with a smile, capitalizing on the lighter mood, "we should return to the matter of the girls."

Static buzzed in my ear, and Luc's voice echoed through the earpiece. "Thanks for the distraction, Sentinel," he whispered. "That was damn entertaining. But everyone keep eyes and ears open - we may have defused tension, but we still have a shit storm to deal with."

I bobbed my head in acknowledgment.

"That 'matter' has gotten more complicated," Noah said, arms still folded across his chest. "Navarre House has apparently been infiltrated."

"So it would appear," Ethan agreed, nodding. "We are dealing with a killer, or killers, who have access to multiple Houses, perhaps a vendetta against them."

"But they've also got a vendetta against the Rogues," Noah said. "Let's not forget that every time a House denies involvement, they implicitly accuse us."

"Implicit or not, it's hard to accuse a group no one knows about," Scott grunted, joining the conversation. "The public only knows about us - that means the shit falls on us."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have stepped forward," muttered a Rogue who stood beside Noah.

"Not my choice," Scott pointed out.

"Nor mine," Ethan said. "But it's too late to do anything about that now. The only thing we can do now is cooperate. With the CPD, the administration, the investigations. Cooperation is the only thing that will insulate us from the public relations fallout, at least until the perpetrator of these crimes has been identified."

"And our existence?" Noah quietly asked.

The room fell silent as the Masters, Ethan and Scott, likely weighed their options.

"Until we figure out who's doing the damage," Scott finally said, "there's no point embroiling other vamps." He shrugged, glanced at Ethan. "That's my take."

Ethan nodded. "I would agree."

"Then we wait," Noah pronounced, propping hands on his hips. "And if someone has information about which vampire or vampires are responsible for this cluster fuck, I suggest they come forward. We had no intention of entering the public eye, and we won't do it now. If the Houses fall, we will not step forward. We will disperse into the human world as we have before." He glanced between Ethan and Scott, then settled his gaze on Morgan. "Clean up your Houses," he said.

With that pronouncement, Noah turned and began walking through the crowd, which opened to accommodate him and the Rogues who followed.

"And we're adjourned," Ethan muttered.

Not privy to the private meeting between Ethan, Scott, and Morgan that followed the Rogues' departure, I went home, ignored the worried glances I received on the way in, headed straight for my bedroom, and shut the door behind me. The belted sword was placed on an armchair, and I grabbed my iPod, slipped in the ear buds, lay down on the bed, and told myself I didn't care what had happened earlier in the evening.

I'd never been a very good liar.

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