When I felt grounded enough, I began to plan. I’d start with a long, hot shower, then do some training to blow off steam. If I was lucky, I’d get Ian to spar with me. Tearing into him sounded like a good start, and he’d been spoiling for a rematch since the day I beat him.
Well, Ian, I thought, today’s your lucky day!
And then after that, I’d talk to Bones. Try to hash things out between us before they got any worse.
TWELVE
IAN GLOWERED UP AT ME. “IF IT WEREN’T SO bleedin’ close to dawn, I’d make you beg for mercy.”
I was on top of him, my legs on either side of his waist. He might have liked it under other circumstances. Right now, though, with a knife sticking out of his chest, he had other things on his mind.
“Sore loser,” I responded, yanking the blade out and leaping to my feet. “Come on. Again.”
“This is a poor substitute for shagging,” he grumbled, rising and frowning at the rent in his shirt. “You’ve ruined it.”
“I told you to just take it off.” With a shrug.
Ian grinned at me. “Ah, but I thought you only wanted to enjoy the goods, poppet.”
He’d kept up a steady stream of comments and innuendoes designed to throw me off my game. I didn’t take it seriously. I knew it was just how he operated.
“Keep talking, pretty boy. It only makes your silent moments better.”
That drew a laugh as we circled each other. Ian’s eyes glittered with expectation. He loved a nasty brawl. It was one of his admirable qualities.
“Find me pretty, do you? I always knew it. Alas, Reaper, we’d have had a grand time of it before, but you had to marry Crispin. Now you’re off-limits forever, but it would have been fun. Very fun.”
“You never stood a chance, Ian.”
He ducked the knife I flung at him with another dirty chuckle.
“Poor aim, sweet. Missed me by a meter. Still chafing at the thought of how easily I could have bedded you before Crispin came back into your life? Do you really think you could have resisted me for long if I’d set out to have you?”
Arrogant bastard. I charged at him, but Ian sidestepped me at the last instant. Too late I knew I’d made a mistake. His foot swept out, his fists followed, and I was knocked off-balance. An elbow crashed into my back. It dropped me to the floor with him right on top of me. He yanked my arms back, bending them the wrong way, and his mouth latched onto my neck.
“One flick of my fangs and your throat would be torn open,” he murmured before releasing me. I flipped over, wincing, to find him staring down at me with objective triumph.
“Temper, temper,” he said. “It’s both your weakness and your strength.”
I scrambled to my feet, moving slower from what had to be broken bones in my rib cage. My rotator cuffs were hyperextended as well. They burned almost as much as my ribs. “One out of three, Ian. I wouldn’t be so quick to brag.”
“I knew I’d beat you eventually,” he countered. “Everyone makes mistakes, given enough time.”
I heard footsteps approach, and my mother came into the room. She looked at the haphazardly rearranged furniture, at me, then at Ian.
“Catherine, how long are you going to be bashing around down here?” she asked.
“Aren’t you going to say hallo, poppet?”
Ian fairly purred the question. I mouthed wordless dire threats to him over her shoulder. He just grinned at me.
She ignored him, my irregular breathing registering to her. “Are you all right, Catherine?”
Two could play the taunting game over her. For effect, I wheezed noisily.
“No I’m not. Ian broke my ribs.”
“Tattletale.” He smirked, knowing what I was doing.
Instead of being overcome with concern, she tapped her foot.
“You shouldn’t have let him get that close. Maybe since you quit your job, you’re losing your edge.”
Son of a bitch. I puffed up in outrage. Ian stifled a laugh.
Then the television stuffed into the far corner of the room turned on. I glanced around in confusion, expecting to see some newcomer with a remote control, when Ian let out a curse.
“Bollocks.”
“Huh?”
He grasped my arm with one hand and my mother’s with the other. My protest was cut off with his next muttered words.
“Dawn. Why does every ghoul feel the need to attack at dawn?”
Ian propelled us out of the room and up the basement staircase. From every corner of the house, people were coming out of their rooms and the TVs were on. Not blaring, just set to low volumes. It hit me then what the synchronized powering of the televisions was. An alarm. A subtle one.
“Who’s attacking?”