“I loved him,” she continued, her voice shaking. “You’re the ones who hated him. You hated him for marrying me. For deserting your family. For ignoring the feud. For moving past it. How do I know you aren’t the ones who killed him? That I shouldn’t kill you where you stand to avenge his death?”
“And now who’s making threats?” Rowan took a step forward, then another, his magic bouncing toward us in waves, vibrating with hatred. “Your husband’s lying dead in his home, and you’re here with strangers, bloodsuckers. There were already far too many vampires in the valley.”
Ethan arched an imperious eyebrow. “We have no fight with you, McKenzie, or any other shifters. We’re allies of the North American Central Pack.” Colorado was part of the Pack’s territory. We hadn’t anticipated running into any shifters, but we’d given the Apex, Gabriel Keene, a heads-up about our trip as a courtesy.
Rowan spat on the ground, an obvious insult. “The Packs have no authority here.”
Ethan’s smile was easy. “I doubt Gabriel Keene would agree. Regardless, he’s aware we’re here, and I’d be happy to let him know you’ve got doubts about his authority. I’m sure he’d have an answer. As for now, since you’ve intruded on Nessa’s grief and are trespassing on her property, what, precisely, do you want?”
Rowan leered at Nessa and shifted his body weight threateningly. “We want her to answer for her sins.”
“You have evidence she murdered her husband?”
“She’s a vampire and a member of the Marchand Clan,” said one of the shifters behind him, who had Rowan’s coloring but less weight, less height, like a leaner and meaner version. “Probably did it for revenge.”
“Revenge for what?” Ethan flatly asked, putting a hand on Nessa’s arm when she opened her mouth to speak.
“She’s a Marchand,” Rowan spat, as if that characteristic, that insult, was obviously enough to answer the question.
Since logic wasn’t going to get him anywhere, Ethan switched tacks. “The sheriff is at the house investigating Taran’s death. If you have a problem with the investigation, take it up with him. In the meantime, I strongly recommend you leave Nessa to her grief and get on with your mourning in a more productive way.”
Rowan’s lip curled, and the shifters behind him moved incrementally closer. “She’ll come with us, whether we have to go through you or not.”
Ethan regarded Rowan as if he was a spoiled child. “Are you threatening me now?”
“Stating a fact. This is our business, our valley, and our fight. You’d be better stepping aside and letting us get on with it.”
“So you can unilaterally execute her? You’re crazy if you think we’ll even let you near her.”
Rowan’s lips curved in what might have been a smile, had there been a little less hostility in it. He glanced at his men, shared a laugh, before he turned back to us, challenge in his eyes. “And you’ll stop us? Outnumbered as you are?”
That was my cue, I thought, and pulled out every bit of vampire bravado in my arsenal.
“No,” I said, stepping in front of Ethan, even as his magic pulsed with irritation behind me. He—and his alpha sensibilities—hated it when I stepped in front of him. But that was my job, and as his lover, my absolute and undiminished right.
“But I will.” I unsheathed my katana, handed my scabbard back to Ethan.
Slowly, Rowan’s gaze dropped to me, lip still curled in disgust. He had me on weight and height, and probably in sheer shifter strength, and it was hard not to ignore my logical and deep-seated urge to turn tail and find a corner to hide in. But these guys were practically vibrating with ego, and they weren’t going to leave without a fight. They’d need incentive, and I was happy to give it to them.
“Vampires don’t scare me.”
“Good,” I said, letting my own eyes silver and fangs descend, and twirling the katana in my hand. “That means you’re stupid. It’s been a week since I’ve had a good fight, and stupid’s usually a quick one.”
Take care, Sentinel, Ethan warned, as he pulled Nessa back.
It wasn’t often that I blatantly picked a fight. On the other hand . . .
We set boundaries now on our own turf, I told him, or we wait for them to attack. I like my option better.
And I wasn’t about to risk Ethan to a surprise attack. Or the crap I’d get from Luc, the captain of his guards, if Ethan was hurt by a shifter while traveling with me.
Rowan, either loath to fight his own battles, or thinking I was worthy of only a minion, gestured to the lean and ornery-looking shifter. “Niall,” he called.
Niall grinned, loped forward.
“Your weapon of choice?” I asked him.
The shifter snorted. “Use whatever toy you want.”
Yes, he was a shifter, with more magic than I could accumulate in an eternity. And yes, even though he was skinny, he had at least forty pounds on me. But he was also arrogant. I was well trained, and I was supposed to be relaxing with a bison burger and a book; that I was out here instead just pissed me off.
As shifters moved around to give us room, I belatedly considered the fact that I wasn’t exactly dressed for a fight in a wrap sweater and ballet flats. But it was too late to worry about that now.
Niall circled me, light on his feet, his arms corded beneath a short-sleeved T-shirt, flipping his head to keep shaggy hair out of his eyes. “Come on, then,” he said, beckoning me forward. “You’ve got that nice big sword. Show me how you use it.”
“And now who’s making threats?” Rowan took a step forward, then another, his magic bouncing toward us in waves, vibrating with hatred. “Your husband’s lying dead in his home, and you’re here with strangers, bloodsuckers. There were already far too many vampires in the valley.”
Ethan arched an imperious eyebrow. “We have no fight with you, McKenzie, or any other shifters. We’re allies of the North American Central Pack.” Colorado was part of the Pack’s territory. We hadn’t anticipated running into any shifters, but we’d given the Apex, Gabriel Keene, a heads-up about our trip as a courtesy.
Rowan spat on the ground, an obvious insult. “The Packs have no authority here.”
Ethan’s smile was easy. “I doubt Gabriel Keene would agree. Regardless, he’s aware we’re here, and I’d be happy to let him know you’ve got doubts about his authority. I’m sure he’d have an answer. As for now, since you’ve intruded on Nessa’s grief and are trespassing on her property, what, precisely, do you want?”
Rowan leered at Nessa and shifted his body weight threateningly. “We want her to answer for her sins.”
“You have evidence she murdered her husband?”
“She’s a vampire and a member of the Marchand Clan,” said one of the shifters behind him, who had Rowan’s coloring but less weight, less height, like a leaner and meaner version. “Probably did it for revenge.”
“Revenge for what?” Ethan flatly asked, putting a hand on Nessa’s arm when she opened her mouth to speak.
“She’s a Marchand,” Rowan spat, as if that characteristic, that insult, was obviously enough to answer the question.
Since logic wasn’t going to get him anywhere, Ethan switched tacks. “The sheriff is at the house investigating Taran’s death. If you have a problem with the investigation, take it up with him. In the meantime, I strongly recommend you leave Nessa to her grief and get on with your mourning in a more productive way.”
Rowan’s lip curled, and the shifters behind him moved incrementally closer. “She’ll come with us, whether we have to go through you or not.”
Ethan regarded Rowan as if he was a spoiled child. “Are you threatening me now?”
“Stating a fact. This is our business, our valley, and our fight. You’d be better stepping aside and letting us get on with it.”
“So you can unilaterally execute her? You’re crazy if you think we’ll even let you near her.”
Rowan’s lips curved in what might have been a smile, had there been a little less hostility in it. He glanced at his men, shared a laugh, before he turned back to us, challenge in his eyes. “And you’ll stop us? Outnumbered as you are?”
That was my cue, I thought, and pulled out every bit of vampire bravado in my arsenal.
“No,” I said, stepping in front of Ethan, even as his magic pulsed with irritation behind me. He—and his alpha sensibilities—hated it when I stepped in front of him. But that was my job, and as his lover, my absolute and undiminished right.
“But I will.” I unsheathed my katana, handed my scabbard back to Ethan.
Slowly, Rowan’s gaze dropped to me, lip still curled in disgust. He had me on weight and height, and probably in sheer shifter strength, and it was hard not to ignore my logical and deep-seated urge to turn tail and find a corner to hide in. But these guys were practically vibrating with ego, and they weren’t going to leave without a fight. They’d need incentive, and I was happy to give it to them.
“Vampires don’t scare me.”
“Good,” I said, letting my own eyes silver and fangs descend, and twirling the katana in my hand. “That means you’re stupid. It’s been a week since I’ve had a good fight, and stupid’s usually a quick one.”
Take care, Sentinel, Ethan warned, as he pulled Nessa back.
It wasn’t often that I blatantly picked a fight. On the other hand . . .
We set boundaries now on our own turf, I told him, or we wait for them to attack. I like my option better.
And I wasn’t about to risk Ethan to a surprise attack. Or the crap I’d get from Luc, the captain of his guards, if Ethan was hurt by a shifter while traveling with me.
Rowan, either loath to fight his own battles, or thinking I was worthy of only a minion, gestured to the lean and ornery-looking shifter. “Niall,” he called.
Niall grinned, loped forward.
“Your weapon of choice?” I asked him.
The shifter snorted. “Use whatever toy you want.”
Yes, he was a shifter, with more magic than I could accumulate in an eternity. And yes, even though he was skinny, he had at least forty pounds on me. But he was also arrogant. I was well trained, and I was supposed to be relaxing with a bison burger and a book; that I was out here instead just pissed me off.
As shifters moved around to give us room, I belatedly considered the fact that I wasn’t exactly dressed for a fight in a wrap sweater and ballet flats. But it was too late to worry about that now.
Niall circled me, light on his feet, his arms corded beneath a short-sleeved T-shirt, flipping his head to keep shaggy hair out of his eyes. “Come on, then,” he said, beckoning me forward. “You’ve got that nice big sword. Show me how you use it.”
