Biting Bad_ A Chicagoland Vampires Novel(44)
He put a booted foot on his back and glanced at me with concern. “Ma’am, you’re bleeding. Did he cut you? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I said, handing over the knife. For some reason, it seemed important to get rid of it. “I don’t think this is mine.”
Stars appeared at the edges of my vision, and I managed a final thought before the world went dark.
Ethan.
Chapter Nine
REAL HOUSEWIVES OF WRIGLEYVILLE
I awoke hungry, greedy for blood. I knew nothing, remembered nothing, felt nothing except for the craving that clenched my stomach into knots.
“Drink,” he said, his wrist coming into focus in front of me, two lines of crimson across pale skin. I wrapped my hands around it and pressed my lips to the cuts he’d opened, and I drank.
“Be still, Merit.” He stroked my hair.
I drank until the gnawing hunger in my belly receded, until rationality returned, until I could feel the chill in the air again. I drank until my vision cleared, until the fire across my belly was slaked. And then I pulled back from Ethan’s wrist and sucked air into my lungs. As if by magic, the wound on Ethan’s arm closed.
“I’m all right,” I assured him, trying to take in my bearings.
I was sitting on his lap in a small bus-stop shelter only a few feet away from the police car. The rioter was in the backseat, and the cop stood on the sidewalk. The shelter gave us a bit of privacy, but he still watched us like a hawk as Ethan returned me to the land of the living.
He wrapped his arms around me. “Thank God. I thought I’d lost you.”
I nodded but didn’t attempt to climb off his lap. I breathed in the scent of him, the crisp scent of his cologne a relief among the smells of smoke and blood and battle.
“You passed out,” he said. “I heard you call my name, but I couldn’t find you. Luc traced your phone.”
I rested my head against Ethan’s chest, my body sated and suddenly lethargic, like a gourmand after a Thanksgiving meal. “New phone, new way to track vampires?”
“Precisely.” He rubbed my hair again. “It was the perp?”
I nodded. “I tripped and he jumped me. He had a chef’s knife.”
“Odd choice of weapon.”
I nodded again, still woozy and using words sparingly. “How long was I out?”
“Four minutes, maybe five, likely from the blood loss. The officer called for an ambulance, but I got here first.”
When the world stopped spinning enough for me to glance down, I took a peek at my wound. My jacket was ripped, the shirt beneath a bloody ruin, but at least the wound was beginning to close, now a bright pink line across my gut.
“You’ll heal,” Ethan said.
“What about the riot?”
“Largely contained. The CPD did a solid job.”
“I only managed to distract one rioter.” I gestured toward the car, and the perp who was currently flipping us off with both hands.
“What a charming fellow.”
“Charming felon,” I corrected. “I kicked him off, but there’s not a doubt in my mind he’d have killed me if he’d had the chance.”
Ethan tipped my chin upward, forcing me to meet his gaze, and scanning my eyes as if looking for the source of the sadness in my voice. “He’s not the first with murderous intent.”
“I know. But this feels different. More of a violation.”
“Because he didn’t see you,” Ethan said. “He didn’t assault you because of who you are or what you stand for. He saw only that you are fanged, and that was the only motivation he needed.”
“What about you?” I scanned him for injuries. His jeans were dirty and torn in places, and there were scratches on his neck—like he’d been clawed by a set of fingernails.
“A group of rioters decided four to one odds were pretty good. I led them south and taught them otherwise.”
“A war of stupidity,” I reminded him. “This isn’t just about protests and marches. They’re willing to fight, to kill, individual vampires.”
“So it appears,” Ethan said. “Are you well enough to walk?”
Whether I was or wasn’t was irrelevant. We weren’t done here, so I would walk.
I stood and zipped up my jacket, wincing as I tightened it around my stomach. I chose pain over hypothermia.
“I could carry you?” Ethan offered.
I gave him a flat look. “I am a soldier,” I said, putting a hand on his arm. “As much as I love these guns of yours, I would prefer not to be carried to a House of athletic vampires like a damsel in distress.”
“Very well, Sentinel,” he said, taking my hand, amusement in his eyes. Since my fingers were chilled into icicles, I didn’t argue with the hand-holding.