“Salome. She was a bitch too,” he replied, disgruntled. “All she could talk about was John the Baptist. Bring me his head on a platter. I want his head on a platter. Now, where’s that platter? Blah, blah. I was willing to serve up my dick on a platter, still attached, of course, but was that good enough for her? Nooo.”

“Robin, we’re starting without you.”

I could say if it was a female or male voice coming from the bedroom, but what was the point? Robin lived a restriction-free life in that area. All areas, actually. It was too bad for him that was about to come to an abrupt, if hopefully temporary, end.

He turned and walked away, waving us off with a “Thanks for visiting. Drop by anytime. My best to the family. Pick a platitude and leave with it.”

“I don’t think so.” I tapped his shoulder with the blade of my katana, stopping him in his tracks. “Pack. You’re coming with us. We’re all staying at Promise’s until the Auphe situation is resolved.”

He looked in the direction of the bedroom and then back at me. “I most certainly am not.”

I gave a smile sharp as my sword. “Yes, you most certainly are.”

Twenty minutes later Goodfellow, still not at peak performance after his drunken three days, was in a cab on his way to Promise’s penthouse apartment. His playmates had left fifteen minutes prior to that. Apparently, a sword fight in the living room wasn’t the aphrodisiac one might imagine.

“You enjoyed that way too much,” Cal observed as he watched the cab pull into traffic.

“Did I?” Salome, the Great Dane-loving feline, was staying behind. She didn’t need to eat, drink, or eliminate. She would be fine on her own. All in all, other than the killing of domesticated animals twenty times her size, she was the perfect pet. Robin would be selling them via infomercial within the month. Goodfellow’s Mummy Cats—Gummy Cats no doubt.

“You’re getting cranky in your old age, Cyrano,” he snorted at the satisfaction in my voice.

“Children need boundaries.” I had enjoyed it; there was no denying it. And if he hadn’t been up all night doing things Caligula had only dreamed of, he would’ve been able to hold his own. As it was, workoutwise . . .

I shifted a speculative gaze to Cal, and he groaned. “Nik, damn. My back hurts. I’m still tired from last night. Come on.”

It was several hours and dark before we made it home to do packing of our own. We stayed away from the park this time and used a dojo where I’d once taught. One student had offered to spar with Cal during one of our breaks. Cal, sweaty and tired, had given him the highly pissed-off reply of, “Niko can keep me from killing him. You can’t. Go away.” Not precisely tactful, but true. His form was virtually nonexistent, the results undeniably deadly. He wasn’t as good as I was—there was only so much inherent laziness one could overcome, but he was good.

Good enough that he noticed it the same moment I did. We’d finished sparring and went home to pick up clothes and gear to take to Promise’s penthouse. Reaching our apartment door, we entered, and it came that quickly before I had a chance to turn the light on. The sensation of something slicing through the air—headed in our direction. I gave Cal one hard push to the side and dove to the floor. It passed over my head and hit the wall with a distinctive chopping sound. A sword. Not Auphe, then. An Auphe didn’t need a sword.

“Vampire,” Cal said, his voice coming from near the floor by the couch. “I smell you, Seamus. You ambushing piece of shit.”

Seamus, whose jealousy phase had passed a century ago. I’d trusted Promise’s normally excellent judgment. I should’ve trusted Cal’s; I should’ve trusted my own. I heard the sound of metal ripped free of plaster, and then I could see him as he moved back. Silhouetted against the city lights streaming through the cracked window blinds, the bulk of him paused for a moment, then slid with a fluid speed to the right.

“I never knew I wanted her back, all these years. But then I saw her again. Smelled her. Touched her. And I do want her back. She should be with me,” he spat. “She belongs with me. Her mate. Her true mate.”

I’d moved to my feet, silent and smooth. I caught the next swing of his blade on my own before I spoke. “Her choice, not yours.”

Vampires could see better than humans in the dark, but my eyes had adjusted now. I could see him, albeit in shades of dark gray and black. “Then I shall narrow her options,” he said coldly.

There were no further words, only the sound of blade against blade. Cal would have his Glock in hand, but Seamus and I were moving too fast for him to get a shot lined up. The vampire was quick and he was good—the type of good that was learned from time on a battlefield. Years. But I’d been in battles myself, faced creatures I doubt even Seamus had ever seen. Yes, vampires were quick and lethal.

But so was I.

I twisted and swung the katana. Inches from having his head severed, Seamus jerked to one side and sliced toward me again. From the shadowy length and breadth of it, he was carrying a broadsword. He swung it like it was one. Two-handed and with the weight of a mountain behind it. In the dim light, I could see his eyes were all black—the eyes of a vampire in the midst of strong emotion. Fury, I was guessing. I used it. His next strike, full of rage, took him slightly off balance. Barely detectable, but I caught it. I slammed a boot in his gut. He staggered, but less than he should have. His breed was stronger than humans, and Seamus, big and broad, was no exception. I slid around his next blow, but it was close. The point of the sword cut through my skin, tracing a superficial slice. He gave an incoherent growl at the miss and with one furious kick sent the couch flying up on end to then promptly topple over. I heard Cal curse as he leapt out of the way. Then I heard him say one more thing.

“Lights.”

Vampires could see well in the dark, yes, but humans saw well in the light. As our lights flared on, Seamus closed his eyes against it for a fraction of a second. That was about half as long as I needed. He swiveled, but not before I carved off a slice of flesh over his ribs. He didn’t let that slow him. He kept coming . . . right into Cal’s crosshairs. Three bullets hit his upper back before he shifted direction and made it to the door, split it in half with his weight, and was gone. Cal, by the light switch, instantly vaulted over the shattered wood to follow him.

It was too late. If he’d thought it through, he’d know that. Short of chasing Seamus down to the lobby and killing him in front of anyone who happened to be strolling through, this fight was over. I reached through the doorway and caught Cal by the back of his jacket as the door to the stairwell slammed shut at the end of the hall. I saw it on the wall down there and on the doorknob, swipes and smears of dark red. Blood. Some would say quite a bit.

I would say not nearly enough.