Page 122 of Fallen

I lifted my chin. I refused to feel guilty about staking Jules Leclerc. “What matters is that you’re wrong about Brien. He’s ready. He’ll win.”

She sniffed. “The lieutenant wouldn’t have issued a challenge if he didn’t think he could win.”

My heart sank. “Brien will win,” I repeated, a little less firmly.

Her lip curled. “You’d better hope so, because if he loses, the syndicate vampires will pass you around until you’re dead—or wish you were. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

The door closed behind her with an angry click.

“Jesus.” Putting the paper bag with my lunch on the coffee table, I sank onto the couch.

Demon leapt onto the cushion beside me. “Meow?” She butted her head against my arm.

“Yeah, things kinda suck right now.”

I shifted her to my lap and rubbed her behind the ears, my face buried in her fur, until she’d had enough and wriggled free again. She settled onto the opposite side of the couch and, lifting an already pristine white leg, began to groom herself.

My appetite had fled, but I made myself open the paper bag. All it held was a sandwich and a can of soda. I unwrapped the sandwich—a thin slice of roast beef between two pieces of bread—and ate it, washing the dry, unappetizing meal down with sips of Coke.

Then I balled up the paper bag and put the remains of the lunch in a trash can.

It was time to get off my ass and take action. I’d spent most of the afternoon waiting for Brien to wake up like some pampered thrall. If someone attacked him—or me, for that matter—I didn’t even have a weapon.

The blade in the garden was out—Prosper had confiscated it last night. And Brien would notice if I helped myself to that dagger he liked to strap to his ankle. However, I’d never met a vampire who didn’t keep at least a couple of blades close at hand. Most had a whole arsenal stashed somewhere in their quarters.

I started in the bedroom, lifting paintings and running my hands over the walls, searching for a hidden safe or cabinet. No luck there, but in the walk-in closet I found a hairline crack in the wall behind Brien’s dress shirts.

I pushed them out of the way and ran my fingers around the crack. It was a two-by-three-foot rectangle.

Gotcha.

It took another few minutes to get inside, but eventually I figured out that I had to press the upper left and lower right corners at the same time. The door swung open to reveal two shelves of silver daggers and switchblades arranged in neat rows on black velvet.

I eyed the shiny array like Demon eyed the koi. The handles ranged from vintage wood, stag horn, and mother-of-pearl to the more modern stainless steel, fiberglass, and acrylic. I took my time, picking them up one by one so I could examine them, but in the end, I limited myself to a single switchblade from the back row on the bottom shelf. With any luck, Brien wouldn’t notice it was gone until after the challenge.

Closing the cabinet door, I pulled the dress shirts back over the opening and took my treasure into the living room to examine it. The handle was mother-of-pearl etched with Brien’s initials and a crescent moon. Releasing the blade, I practiced thrusting with it—forward, back, circling right or left—accustoming myself to its weight and feel.

Demon scrutinized me from the couch, her black ear flicking from time to time. Then, apparently deciding I wasn’t doing anything interesting, she put her head on her paws and settled down for a nap.

When I was comfortable with my new blade, I lay on the couch with her, wrapping myself around her warm, furry body. The next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes and sunset was just two hours away.

I indulged myself with a long, hot bath. After, I dug through the clothes Avril had bought me until I found an outfit I could fight in, if necessary.

Silver jeans. A slim-fitting ribbed henley. Low-heeled ankle boots.

Demon joined me in the walk-in closet, yellow eyes gleaming with what I could’ve sworn was approval. I rebraided my hair into a tight, no-nonsense French braid, then tucked the switchblade into my sock next to my ankle.

I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror.

My smile was sharp-toothed. For once, my outside matched how I felt on the inside. Even here, where I’d been able to be more myself than the roles I usually played, I’d still been dressing the part of a sex kitten.

This, though, was the real me. Stripped down and tough.

I’d come out of the shadows—and it felt good.

Demon twined herself around my ankles, meowing loudly.

I bent down to scratch her behind the ears. “You must be hungry.”

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