House with him, but not yet. Not here.
The hunger clawed as Blade forced it down, swallowing hard. Plastering a mocking smile on his lips, he continued forward. The crowd parted around him, as though finally sensing some of the danger.
He bounded up, balancing on the edge of the rail. Barrons saw him, those unusual obsidian eyes sliding over him and away. He murmured something to his companions, and their heads swiveled toward him.
Blade walked along the rail, grabbing hold of the edge of their box. He swung over, giving a brief nod with his chin and leaning back against the box’s rail with his arms crossed over his chest. “Evenin’.”
Debney lifted his silk handkerchief again, as though Blade’s scent offended him. It was a blue blood’s way of saying you smelled like a vampire.
The bodyguards behind Debney stiffened, hovering on the edges of their toes. They were only human. The real danger lay in the three seated blue bloods who relaxed with feigned nonchalance in front of him. Debney he could take, and maybe Barrons, but Colchester was a vicious bastard, well trained in the use of the sword.
“Go away, you cur,” Debney commanded. “And we’ll forgive the insult. This once.” His gaze remained on the fight, as though bored by Blade’s intrusion. Thick white curls swept back from his high brow, heavily powdered in the Georgian style that most of the older blue bloods had not yet shaken. Sometimes he wondered if they did that to hide just how close they were to the Fade—those last few months when all color bleached out of their bodies and they became the blood-thirsty creatures they despised.
“You ain’t in the city now, me lords.”
“And you’re alone.” Debney’s cold, gray gaze slithered to his. “Not even you could think to take on three of the Echelon.”
Blade cocked his head. “’Cross the arena. See me man up there with the rifle? I told ’im to aim for the ’ead. You three can guess who ’e’s aimin’ for. I don’t care, told ’im to pick.”
O’Shay gave a little wave and a leer.
The bodyguards shifted.
“What do you want?” Barrons asked.
Ah. At least one of them had some sense.
“Wouldn’t a bothered you fine gents,” he said, “’cept I got a little problem in the rookery.”
“Clean it up yourself,” Debney sneered. “It’s got nothing to do with us. Your messes are your messes.”
“Aye. Only it ain’t just my mess,” he said, leaning closer to whisper. “I got a vampire problem. And mebbe I could take it by meself. Mebbe I can’t.”
That got their attention.
“That’s impossible,” Colchester said, his eyes narrowed. “There’s been no word of anything in the city. Nobody’s close to the Fade.”
“That you know of,” Blade replied, watching Barrons closely. The others were relaxing again, but Barrons held himself stiffly.
“I got two dead in the street. Me people think its war, ’tween you an’ me. I’m keepin’ it quiet before the whole city goes up in a panic.”
“Perhaps a dog?” Debney suggested.
“Stinks o’ rot,” he replied. “I knows what a vampire smells like. I knows what it looks like when they goes for the throat.”
Colchester examined his fingernails. “There’s been no reports of any unregistered blue bloods or rogues.”
Like Blade. Turned young and left in the gutters for someone’s amusement. They were lucky if the blue bloods didn’t simply kill them when they found them. Or maybe not so lucky at that. Blade could remember the heavy iron cage and the constant drip of water in the darkness. The hunger gnawing at him until he screamed with the pain of it. It had amused Vickers to keep him locked up, starving. The blood kept the hunger at bay, kept a man from turning into…something worse. Without it the Fade came quickly and a man could be a vampire within a month.
Blade had been Vickers’s triumph. Three months with no blood, without turning. Somehow Blade had fought the hunger down, kept
The hunger clawed as Blade forced it down, swallowing hard. Plastering a mocking smile on his lips, he continued forward. The crowd parted around him, as though finally sensing some of the danger.
He bounded up, balancing on the edge of the rail. Barrons saw him, those unusual obsidian eyes sliding over him and away. He murmured something to his companions, and their heads swiveled toward him.
Blade walked along the rail, grabbing hold of the edge of their box. He swung over, giving a brief nod with his chin and leaning back against the box’s rail with his arms crossed over his chest. “Evenin’.”
Debney lifted his silk handkerchief again, as though Blade’s scent offended him. It was a blue blood’s way of saying you smelled like a vampire.
The bodyguards behind Debney stiffened, hovering on the edges of their toes. They were only human. The real danger lay in the three seated blue bloods who relaxed with feigned nonchalance in front of him. Debney he could take, and maybe Barrons, but Colchester was a vicious bastard, well trained in the use of the sword.
“Go away, you cur,” Debney commanded. “And we’ll forgive the insult. This once.” His gaze remained on the fight, as though bored by Blade’s intrusion. Thick white curls swept back from his high brow, heavily powdered in the Georgian style that most of the older blue bloods had not yet shaken. Sometimes he wondered if they did that to hide just how close they were to the Fade—those last few months when all color bleached out of their bodies and they became the blood-thirsty creatures they despised.
“You ain’t in the city now, me lords.”
“And you’re alone.” Debney’s cold, gray gaze slithered to his. “Not even you could think to take on three of the Echelon.”
Blade cocked his head. “’Cross the arena. See me man up there with the rifle? I told ’im to aim for the ’ead. You three can guess who ’e’s aimin’ for. I don’t care, told ’im to pick.”
O’Shay gave a little wave and a leer.
The bodyguards shifted.
“What do you want?” Barrons asked.
Ah. At least one of them had some sense.
“Wouldn’t a bothered you fine gents,” he said, “’cept I got a little problem in the rookery.”
“Clean it up yourself,” Debney sneered. “It’s got nothing to do with us. Your messes are your messes.”
“Aye. Only it ain’t just my mess,” he said, leaning closer to whisper. “I got a vampire problem. And mebbe I could take it by meself. Mebbe I can’t.”
That got their attention.
“That’s impossible,” Colchester said, his eyes narrowed. “There’s been no word of anything in the city. Nobody’s close to the Fade.”
“That you know of,” Blade replied, watching Barrons closely. The others were relaxing again, but Barrons held himself stiffly.
“I got two dead in the street. Me people think its war, ’tween you an’ me. I’m keepin’ it quiet before the whole city goes up in a panic.”
“Perhaps a dog?” Debney suggested.
“Stinks o’ rot,” he replied. “I knows what a vampire smells like. I knows what it looks like when they goes for the throat.”
Colchester examined his fingernails. “There’s been no reports of any unregistered blue bloods or rogues.”
Like Blade. Turned young and left in the gutters for someone’s amusement. They were lucky if the blue bloods didn’t simply kill them when they found them. Or maybe not so lucky at that. Blade could remember the heavy iron cage and the constant drip of water in the darkness. The hunger gnawing at him until he screamed with the pain of it. It had amused Vickers to keep him locked up, starving. The blood kept the hunger at bay, kept a man from turning into…something worse. Without it the Fade came quickly and a man could be a vampire within a month.
Blade had been Vickers’s triumph. Three months with no blood, without turning. Somehow Blade had fought the hunger down, kept
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