He looked at me, and the hair on the back of my neck lifted. McKetrick’s hatred may have frightened me, but at least he was guided by principles, disturbing though they might have been. This man was utterly without moral compass. He was motivated only by his own avarice.
“I advise you, child, to step aside.”
I refused to move. “Whatever rebellion you think has occurred has nothing to do with us. You’re on the property of vampires not associated with the GP. You have no authority here.”
Monmonth looked me over from head to toe, and I felt dirtier for it. “You are charming. It’s unfortunate we didn’t have an opportunity to get to know each other better the last time we met.”
Get here fast, I warned Ethan, or I will pummel this guy and enjoy doing it.
I heard footsteps behind me, but they weren’t fast enough. Harold Monmonth may have looked out of shape, but he was so fast I didn’t even see him move, just felt the bone-jarring impact of my ass on the sidewalk as he kicked my feet out from under me.
“That was disappointingly easy,” he said, his face registering his disapproval.
He wasn’t the only one disappointed.
My turn, I thought, arching my back, hopping onto my feet, and readying my sword. I gripped it in two hands, the leather cording tight beneath my fingers, my eyes now silvered with lust for battle.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to hit a girl?”
Scott also called out to grab his attention, but Harold didn’t care. He’d deemed me his enemy, and he didn’t waste any time. He moved forward, unsheathing his sword and spinning it like a dervish.
Move, I silently told myself, aiming for the only spot he wasn’t guarding—his ankles. I made a low spin, bringing my own sword around in a perfect arc that sent him flipping backward to avoid it.
He hit the ground and spun the sword around his body. “You think I need weaponry to best you? You are a child, with the strength of a child. I am centuries old, with the strength of centuries.” He dropped his sword to the ground, and it hit the ground with a clang. I winced sympathetically for the steel but readied myself for another attack.
“You, like the rest of your House,” Monmonth said, stretching out his arms, “are garbage. You are the refuse of legitimate vampires.”
“Screw you,” I said, moving forward and slashing downward. But Monmonth had already moved, and the sword caught only air.
“Garbage,” he muttered again, shifting his weight and executing a side kick that hit me square in the back with the force of a concrete block.
I fell to my knees, my brain registering only pain. I retched air as my body coped with the sensation, and I opened my eyes to see the other GP members spread out and begin the attack. The battle began.
“Monmonth!”
Ethan’s voice roared across the yard.
Sentinel? he silently asked.
I’m fine, I told him. I put a hand on the ground to push myself up, but my body wasn’t yet ready for movement. Pain radiated from my back, muscles spasming in waves.
I tried again to get up, to warn Ethan back, but as vampires battled around me, I couldn’t find my footing. And I was too late anyway. Ethan had already advanced on Monmonth, with two katanas in hand.
Monmonth bent his knees, then leaped toward Ethan.
Ethan grunted as he spun out of the way, bringing both swords around and pressing the handles together at the blunt ends, the points out, like a staff Darth Maul would have appreciated.
As Monmonth hit the ground in a crouch, his sword poised in front of him, Ethan roared a sound of battle and advanced, spinning the knife-sharp staff back and forth around his body in a complicated pattern.
It was like staring into the blade of a psychotic steel turbine. Even Monmonth froze for a moment, as if not sure how to react.
He nudged away, but not quite fast enough. The chiseled tip of a katana just grazed his arm, sending a bright stripe of crimson to his skin, and sending the spicy scent of powerful blood into the air.
“You son of a bitch!” Monmonth roared. “Do you know who I am?”
He didn’t wait for Ethan’s response but answered his own question with moves that proved why he’d been chosen for the GP. He became a dervish of kicks and strikes, a martial arts machine. Monmonth was faster than Ethan, but Ethan managed to hold his own. And two blades of finely honed steel didn’t hurt.
Ethan spun the staff in a low arc, which Monmonth jumped to avoid. He flipped backward, but upon landing went immediately on the offensive. A spinning kick and series of punches had Ethan moving back and forth to block them. As they fought, they traversed the yard, moving into deeper snow that slowed them down.
Ethan stumbled and dropped one of his swords. Harold kicked the other a few feet away. I was too far away to help, and clapped a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming my fear.