Gabriel spread his hands, smiled toothily. “Anytime, Sullivan.”

We walked out of the bar, leaving Gabriel Keene in Little Red, and our alliance on a knife’s edge.

CHAPTER TEN

THE DECIDER

Ethan fumed in silence as we walked back to the car and drove back to Hyde Park.

His hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, and he pushed the car to the absolute limit. He’d taken surface streets, tested the length of every yellow light between Ukrainian Village and Hyde Park, and had nearly raced a small car with a spoiler off the line at a stoplight. The car’s driver looked at the Audi the way a man might look at a beautiful woman—with lust and wanting.

Ethan was still fuming when we pulled into the House’s parking garage. He slid the car into its slot, slammed out of the car.

“Would you like to talk before you take that enormous magical chip on your shoulder into the House?”

He turned on me. “Would I like to talk about it? Talk about what, precisely, Sentinel? The fact that our ‘ally’ knew about Reed, knew about his connection to supernaturals, and ignored it?”

“He wasn’t an ally at the time—not when Caleb joined Reed.”

“He’s a goddamn ally now,” Ethan said, “and he’s been one for months.”

“You didn’t tell him what we found at Caleb Franklin’s house. You didn’t tell him about the key.”

“And why should I? Caleb Franklin defected, and there’s no evidence the key belonged to him or, even if it did, that it has any bearing here.”

“So it’s all right if you withhold information strategically, but not if he does it?”

I knew I was getting perilously close to insubordination. But that was the point.

“I’m not in the mood for games, Sentinel.” Ethan stalked into the House, let the basement door slam behind us. The House seemed to shudder from the impact of anger, magic, and brute force.

He strode down the hall toward the Ops Room, temper flaring. If he wasn’t careful, he’d spill that fury out on people who didn’t deserve it. Not when it was really about the Pack.

And there were certainly better ways to work out his aggression.

“Actually, I think that’s exactly what you’re in the mood for.” I grabbed his arm and, when he turned back to glower, met his stare head-on.

“Let go of me.”

I didn’t. “You want to go a round? We’re yards away from the training room. If you want to hit something, you can try to hit me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t push me, Sentinel.”

It was too late for that. I’d been with this man for a year, and I knew exactly what buttons to push. “Oh, I’ll push you, and I’ll probably win. You want an invitation you can’t refuse? Fine. Ethan Sullivan, I challenge you.”

A single eyebrow arched. “Those are serious words, Sentinel, with serious implications.”

“I’m well aware, Sire.”

Ethan pivoted, strode like a warrior in the heat of battle to the training room, pushed open the doors. It was one of the larger rooms in Cadogan House, with tatami mats across the floor, weapons hanging from the wood-paneled walls, and a balcony ringing the room to allow vampires to watch whatever battle was taking place.

Tonight, there were guards in the room—Luc, Kelley, Brody, and a few of the temps—practicing basic throws and falls. They all looked up in alarm when the door swung open, slammed back against the wall.

“Out!” Ethan bellowed.

The temps jumped. Ever cool, Luc’s gaze flicked to me, and I nodded infinitesimally. It was safe for him to leave; I’d handle this. I’d handle Ethan.

“You heard your Sire and Master,” Luc said, walking over to pick up a clipboard and his shoes. “Everybody out.”

They filed out in silence but didn’t bother to hide the curious looks they threw at me, at Ethan. They knew something was wrong; they just didn’t know what that was. Let the speculation begin.

When they were gone, Ethan closed the door firmly, locked it, then walked to a nearby bench. He pulled off his suit coat, tossed it aside. Unbuttoned the first button on his shirt, pulled it over his head. His belt, shoes followed. Without a word, wearing only his suit pants, he stepped into the middle of the mat, stretched his arms over his head.

Normally, I’d have admired the long, strong lines of his body, the stretch of smooth skin over muscle as he warmed up. But this time I was thinking about strategy, about how I could keep him from doing something he’d regret later, at least politically. About how best to channel his mountain of energy. And possibly, when all was said and done, about having my way with him.

I pulled off my shoes, dropped my jacket onto the floor, and strode forward in bare feet. I glanced around at the weapons that hung from the room’s paneled walls. Pikes, swords, maces, axes. “Do you prefer weapon or hand-to-hand?”

Ethan’s eyes were still silver with emotion. “Either is fine by me.”

“Excellent,” I said, mirroring the cockiness in his stance.

Music filled the room, a Muse song about fighting, combat, and victory. That would have been Luc’s or Lindsey’s doing. And since the scene had been set, I didn’t waste any time. I feinted left, and when Ethan began to pivot, I executed a side kick that he only just managed to block with a forearm.

Ethan used the arm to push me off. I spun down, then around, and faced him from a low position. I tried a strike at his shin, but he jumped, managed a back flip that put him a few feet away.