Facedown on the mat, Roger couldn’t reach the knife’s hilt to pull it out. He was pinned. Metaphorically dead, like he was every time they did this.
“You’re sloppy tonight,” Nell said.
“I’m trying. That should count.” Roger pushed against the floor. He managed to pry himself free of the mat, but the knife went deeper into his back.
“Let me.” Nell yanked the blade out.
Roger winced at the pain but swallowed any noise he might’ve made. The knife was steel, and the wound quickly healed. He’d endured far worse.
Accepting his third round of defeat in ten minutes, he sat on the mat. The training room had a variety of weapons hanging on the concrete walls, but none of them would give him the edge he needed against an older vampire. Besides, Roger was focusing on using a particular knife because that was the weapon he intended to use against Seamus.
Nell had a twin to that knife. Both were replicas of Callum Wright’s magical silver knife. While the enchantment would only work for Callum, the silver blade was a huge asset in a fight against many supernaturals, particularly vampires. Nell and Roger hadn’t settled on who would own the original blade in the long run, but Roger was taking it with him to Chicago.
Callum had been forced to abandon his enchanted bowie knife and other weapons when he had to make a quick exit from Taliville. Seeing it as the only attainable vengeance at the moment, Roger took Callum’s belongings and added them to his own. Thanks to him, he had a shotgun, a handgun, four one-liter bottles of holy water, regular and silver ammo for both firearms, ten stakes, six sets of plastic zip ties, and a length of heavy silver chain. Either it was an alloy, or somewhere along the line, the Wright family had invested a fortune to make the chain. Roger only knew that it had enough silver in it to burn like the sun.
In addition to those weapons, he could count on Zack and his equipment as well. Some of Zack’s weapons had been stolen by Quinn, a sireling of Roger’s who had had a grudge against Callum. Zack had unwittingly interfered with Quinn’s revenge scheme and become the target instead. Out of necessity, Zack had killed Quinn.
Since Zack was publicly seen as Roger’s pet, that gave Roger the right to claim Quinn’s possessions, which included the contents of his hotel room in Taliville. Zack’s short sword and crossbow had been in Quinn’s room, along with Quinn’s handgun and a particularly cruel set of floggers and whips. If Quinn had used them for pleasure, then he was playing rough with someone.
Roger examined the steel blade in his hand. Seers could read the future from bones or the stars or cards; could he determine his future from the look of a blade?
“How long do you think it will take you?” Nell said.
“To reclaim my dignity for another round? Eh, another few minutes at least,” Roger replied.
Nell gave him a flat look that told him she did not find his answer amusing.
They both knew what she actually meant. She’d been asking the same questions for the last two weeks. When would he strikeat Seamus? How? How long did he need to be part of the GLC in order to reassert his position? Would he be able to hold the territory from intruders seeking advantage in the turmoil of a leadership shift? She always asked these questions when the two of them trained alone, and he’d been doing his best to avoid answering.
Because the truth was, he didn’t know. He didn’t have a plan. There were too many variables. Seamus had ensured that the coven revolved around him. Roger needed to know more. To see everything, and maybe,maybe, then he’d have a chance at creating a foolproof scheme.
And there was, perhaps, deep, deep down, in the bottom of Roger’s cold dead heart, the untethered hope that Seamus had changed and there was no need to supplant him. That somehow, after centuries, Anton was no longer the threat to others that he had always been.
He couldn’t indulge that hope, couldn’t let it grow. It definitely couldn’t see the surface of his thoughts and plans. Anton and Seamus had been the same for over three hundred years. What could have changed in the last thirty-two?
Nothing, but still that tiny hope persisted and nagged him.
“The fewer people who know the plan, the better,” Roger replied.
“I am not a random stranger in the middle of an orgy. I am a master vampire, and we are in the privacy of my home. A home I’ve allowed you to stay in,” Nell said sharply.
“And I appreciate that.” Roger stood. “But Anton has always had a way of learning things he shouldn’t know. Divination magic is rare, but I wouldn’t put it past his capabilities.”
“That’s a bullshit excuse for not divulging your plans.”
Roger was floundering to find another excuse, although he kept his cool demeanor. Allowing Nell to know she’d gotten under his skin would be unwise. Before his pause carried on toolong, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Smothering his smile of relief, he pulled it from his pocket.
His desire to smile fell when he saw who it was.
Dmitri. Not necessarily a reprieve, considering how their phone calls had been the last few times, but better than facing Nell’s questions. Roger made a motion to Nell that he needed to take the call and turned away from her as he answered it. He squared his shoulders and forced a smile that he attempted to carry into his voice. “Dmitri! Hopefully you’ve called with good news for a change.”
“Don’t start with me. I’m having a shit night,” Dmitri said, his Russian accent thick.
Roger rubbed his brow. Dmitri had been made the same night as him—Seamus was Roger’s sire, and Anton was Dmitri’s—and had known him as a mortal before that. They’d been lovers off and on as humans and then as vampires, though their relationship tended to crash and burn within weeks of reigniting every time. The last time had been in the 1920s, and Roger had sworn off romance with him for eternity.
But he knew Dmitri, inside and out. And with that knowing, he could picture Dmitri sitting behind an office desk, the windows displaying a powerful sight of Chicago at night, a pile of papers on his desk and a laptop open in front of him. Dmitri would be in an immaculate suit, tie perfectly in place, scowling at his screen.
“Good evening, Roger! How are you doing?” Roger said in a mock Russian accent. Then he dropped his imitation. “Oh, I’mfine. Thank you for asking, Dmitri. How are you?”
