Biting Bad - Chloe Neill Page 0,1

teased, "it was the result of strategic tactics by yours truly." I put extra emphasis on the hard "c" sounds to underscore the point.

"It was luck," Jonah countered. "And it wasn't especially pretty. You've both got to think of the katanas as extensions of your body. I know it's awkward, but you'll get used to it. Try again."

I rolled my left wrist, which was beginning to ache. Vampires had greater than average strength, but we'd been practicing for an hour, and Jonah hadn't exactly been generous with the water breaks.

"Problem?" Jonah asked.

"Just a little soreness."

"You'll be fine. Reset."

I couldn't help but give him a look. It wasn't that I'd expected my RG partner would be an easygoing instructor. He was responsible for keeping the Grey House guards ready for action, after all. But nor had I expected him to be a total hard-ass.

"Reset," Jonah repeated, a little more firmly.

"Should I remind him I'm a Master?" Ethan quietly asked beside me, rolling the swords in his hands and bouncing on the balls of his feet as he prepared to spar again.

Jonah's hearing must have been acute. "You're Master of Cadogan House," he said, "not dual swords. Reset."

The crowd of vampires hooted, spurring us on just as Jonah did.

"Two katanas are trickier than one," Ethan muttered.

The same applied, I thought, to vampires. Especially vampires of the male persuasion.

-

An hour and a shower later, we returned to the House's third-floor apartment, the small set of rooms that we called home.

My work night was done, but in a few minutes, I'd be heading into a frosty February evening. And since I was hoping to make a better impression than "sweaty vampire," I found myself in the closet amid Ethan's expensive suits and polished shoes, worrying over what to wear.

"Ankle boots or knee-high?" I asked.

Ethan leaned casually against the wall, one foot canted in front of the other and an amused expression on his face. "Does it really matter what you wear?"

I gave him a flat look.

"Sentinel, you are an intelligent woman, with a solid sense of honor, an excellent pedigree, and a master's degree - "

"Nearly a doctorate."

"Nearly a doctorate," he allowed, "in English literature, and yet you're worried about your choice of footwear. It's not as if you have a date."

And a good thing, since Ethan and I had been living together for nearly two months. I had a key to prove it, although I was still getting used to the idea that the Cadogan penthouse was also mine.

Still, date or not, it wasn't wise to underestimate a Chicagoan's love of good winter footwear. Frostbite was no one's friend.

"I know I don't have a date. This just feels . . . important."

For the fifth or sixth time, I sat down on a padded ottoman and switched out my shoes, exchanging ankle boots - cute, but not warm - for knee-high leather boots, tugging them over the jeans I'd paired with a shirt and sweater. The boots were dark brown leather and fitted perfectly, ideal for long and dark winter nights.

When I'd pulled them on, I stood up and posed in front of the closet's full-length mirror.

"It is important," Ethan agreed, scanning my reflection. "She was your friend for a very long time. You're both attempting to pick up the pieces of your relationship to see if they still fit together."

"I know. And it's still awkward. And it still makes me nervous."

The "she" in question was Mallory Carmichael. My former best friend and roommate, a relatively new sorceress attempting to redeem herself after an unfortunate period as a real-life wicked witch. She was currently atoning for her sins by living without magic and performing menial labor for the alpha of the North American Central Pack. She seemed to be regaining control of herself, but neither Ethan nor I was entirely sure of her.

"You look nervous," Ethan agreed.

I sighed. "Not helpful. I was hoping for something a little more complimentary. Like 'Merit, you don't look nervous; you look ravishing.'"

"Trap," he said, shaking his head.

I met his gaze in the mirror. "It's not a trap."

"It is a trap," Ethan assured with a grin, "because there's no response I can give that you'll actually believe."

I gave him a dubious expression. "Try me."

Ethan, who looked devilishly handsome in his fitted black suit, stepped behind me, brushed the long dark hair from my neck, and planted a kiss at the crux of my shoulder, sending a delicious chill along my spine.

"Sentinel, you are always the most beautiful