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My heart tripped.
We stood there in darkness, my mind absorbed by the feel of one of his hands around my wrist, the other pressed to the small of my back. Ethan was tall enough that the top of my head just reached his chin. I kept my gaze level with his collarbone - afraid that if I looked up, he'd use the move as an excuse to look down. Our lips would align, and that would be the end of me.
Slowly - treacherously slowly - he lowered his head, his lips against my hair. Goose bumps rose on my arms; my eyes drifted closed; my skin tingled with an intoxicating combination of lust and power. We were leaking magic again, the sharp, bright prickle of it filling the space Ethan and I occupied. That was when my eyes flashed open, as I realized what he'd been trying to teach me.
He let me loose my hands, and I pressed one palm against his chest to push him back a few steps. He moved willingly and gave me space to learn. I couldn't see in the dark, and I certainly couldn't hear with the din of noise around us . . . but just as I'd done a moment ago, I could sense the magic in the air. That punch hadn't been a fluke. Detecting magic was a different kind of sight, but it was a kind of sight just the same. There, in the dark, a few steps in front of him, I lifted a hand and trailed my fingers over the electric currents around us, feeling the bumps and ridges of magic as it leaked from our bodies. I could sense the knotted mix of our magic in the space between us, and the slow fade of sensation the farther I drew my fingers away.
I let my fingers rise and fall as the pressure shifted, not unlike sticking a hand outside a moving car's window. Most important, the current shifted as he moved, creating a breezy tingle beneath my fingers. I felt him move to my right, body straight as he faced me and then aimed a roundhouse kick at my face.
It was his favorite move, and he'd signaled it perfectly.
I dropped low, and as he came around I offered up my own roundhouse, a low kick that brought his other leg out from beneath him. He hit the ground.
As if by his silent command, the music went off, and the lights came on. I blinked into the sudden vacuum of noise and the brightness of the overhead lights. The room, the audience, was completely silent, probably absorbed by the sight of the Sentinel on her feet - and their Master on the ground. I wouldn't call it a victory. After all, I only really tripped him.
But that was something. It wasn't everything, but it was a step forward.
Ethan put his hands behind him, then lifted his legs, rolled his body weight, and flipped onto his feet. He slid me a glance. I swallowed, not entirely comfortable that I'd put my Master on the floor again, even if I had eventually come to learn the lesson he'd been trying to teach. Then his expression softened.
"Better," he said.
I bowed respectfully, the student thanking the teacher for a lesson well taught. That lesson done, it was time to move on to the next crisis. "When do we leave for the pre-meeting?"
"In an hour. Get changed and meet me in the basement." I nodded, then walked back to the edge of the mat and grabbed my T-shirt, shoes, and, most crucial, my katana. I assumed I was going to need it.
CHAPTER FIVE
BOYS' NIGHT OUT
"What do you wear if you're playing security for alpha shape-shifters?"
I stood in front of my open closet in a robe, but glanced back at Lindsey, who sat cross-legged on my bed, a bag of strawberry licorice sticks in her lap.
"Nothing at all?" she said with a grin.
"I'm wearing clothes."
"Spoilsport. But if you're going to play prude, might as well play sexy prude. Didn't you say Gabriel mentioned leather?"
The snark aside, she had a point. After all, I did own a set of buttery black leather that had been a gift from Mallory and Catcher for my twenty-eighth birthday - snug pants, bandeau-type corset, and trim, motorcycle-style jacket. It was a fabulous outfit, but it was so urban-fantasy book cover.
"Vampires in leather are so cliche," I said.
"I'm not disagreeing with you, but the shifters would appreciate it. They're all over leather."
"Yeah, I got that sense." But that much leather - and that little torso coverage - wasn't my ideal fighting ensemble, so I flipped through some tank tops, looking for something that might replace the bandeau bra.
On the other hand, leather pants and a tank top seemed a little too Linda Hamilton.
"Maybe a compromise," I murmured, pulling the leather jacket from its wooden hanger. I laid it on the bed along with my Cadogan suit pants and a simple black tank, then stepped back to take a look.
The jacket added a definite element of kick-assery to the slim-fit pants and tank. The outfit was still all business, but the kind of business that promised repercussions if the deal didn't go through. With a bloodred katana at my waist, and a gold Cadogan medal around my neck, I might be able to pull it off.
"Well," Lindsey said, "that's a Merit I can get behind. Try it on." When I was dressed, I grabbed a black elastic from the top of my bureau and pulled my hair into a ponytail. Since I'd be with Ethan, I skipped clipping on my Cadogan pager, but I slid my cell phone into one pocket of my jacket and picked up my katana.
Outfit assembled, I spun around so Lindsey could get a look. She nodded and stood up. "Only one question - can you work that outfit? Can you own it?" I glanced back at the mirror, took in the leather and sword, and smiled. "Why, yes. I believe I can." I met Ethan in the basement beside the door that led to the underground parking garage. I had actually sashayed down the stairs, ready to stun Mr. Compliment into silence.
As luck would have it, I was the one surprised, because I hadn't been the only one to rethink my ensemble: Ethan apparently took Gabriel's "no Armani" instruction to heart. He came downstairs in jeans. Perfectly shaped jeans that fit his hips, then fell to cover dark boots. He'd paired them with a snug gray T-shirt that was practically molded to his chest. His golden hair was loose, framing cut cheekbones and killer green eyes. I'm strong enough to admit it - I stared.
Ethan gave me a slow, eyebrow-arched perusal, masculine appreciation in his eyes. When he finally nodded, I assumed I'd passed the test.
"You're wearing jeans."
He glanced over at me with amusement, then typed numbers into the keypad beside the garage door.
Ethan's sleek, black Mercedes convertible and a few other vehicles owned by higher-ranking vampires (i.e., not newbies like me) were parked inside.
"I am capable of dressing as the occasion requires."
"Apparently," I muttered, irritation in my voice. That was a childish emotion, sure, but the man wasn't supposed to look better than me. He was supposed to be awed by my new, sleek style.
