“Bleedin’ useless cur!” O’Shay snarled, tearing up his ticket. He threw it out over the crowd like a handful of snowflakes.

Movement caught Blade’s eye from the boxes across the arena. He ground out the cheroot, slinging his feet to the floor. “Themselves is ’ere. Watch me back.”

O’Shay looked up, the purpose of the visit forgotten in the bloodlust. “Oh. Right.” His gaze narrowed on the three men who were seating themselves across the arena. A pair of bodyguards stood behind the chairs, eyes roaming the crowd and hands held low, most likely on weapons.

Blade put a hand on the rail of his box and leapt over it, sinking into the sweating throng of heaving bodies. The heat of the crowd’s lust surged through him, sending his heart racing. Blood everywhere. He could smell it. On the sand, on the men’s knuckles, old blood lingering in men’s clothes and even on some of the few women who joined the crowd.

He’d already fed tonight, but the hunger lingered near the surface, threatening to slide through the cracks in his control. Always present. Always keeping him alert. One slip and he’d be the monster carving up the crowd, raining more blood down on the arena than they could ever desire.

Yet they were oblivious to the threat among them. He was too well known, a tiger in their midst that they no longer feared because of familiarity. Some cast a wary eye on him, but none backed away.

More gazes drifted toward the perfumed trio in the other box. Debney was there, a scented handkerchief held to his face as he peered toward the limp form being carried from the ring. At his side, the young, dashing Leo Barrons, heir to the duke of Caine, and the third…

The world narrowed as Blade stared at Alaric Colchester, a scion of the House of Lannister. Vickers’s young cousin.

The world went gray. Then red. Blade fought it off, breathing hard through his nostrils.

“Blade?” O’Shay bumped against him.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Don’t touch me.”

O’Shay stepped back, wary of Blade’s deadly soft tone. He knew what that meant and kept the crowd out of his way while Blade brought himself back under control.

It wasn’t the time. Vickers would pay, and his House with him, but not yet. Not here.

The hunger clawed as Blade forced it down, swallowing hard. Plastering a mocking smile on his lips, he continued forward. The crowd parted around him, as though finally sensing some of the danger.

He bounded up, balancing on the edge of the rail. Barrons saw him, those unusual obsidian eyes sliding over him and away. He murmured something to his companions, and their heads swiveled toward him.

Blade walked along the rail, grabbing hold of the edge of their box. He swung over, giving a brief nod with his chin and leaning back against the box’s rail with his arms crossed over his chest. “Evenin’.”

Debney lifted his silk handkerchief again, as though Blade’s scent offended him. It was a blue blood’s way of saying you smelled like a vampire.

The bodyguards behind Debney stiffened, hovering on the edges of their toes. They were only human. The real danger lay in the three seated blue bloods who relaxed with feigned nonchalance in front of him. Debney he could take, and maybe Barrons, but Colchester was a vicious bastard, well trained in the use of the sword.

“Go away, you cur,” Debney commanded. “And we’ll forgive the insult. This once.” His gaze remained on the fight, as though bored by Blade’s intrusion. Thick white curls swept back from his high brow, heavily powdered in the Georgian style that most of the older blue bloods had not yet shaken. Sometimes he wondered if they did that to hide just how close they were to the Fade—those last few months when all color bleached out of their bodies and they became the blood-thirsty creatures they despised.

“You ain’t in the city now, me lords.”

“And you’re alone.” Debney’s cold, gray gaze slithered to his. “Not even you could think to take on three of the Echelon.”

Blade cocked his head. “’Cross the arena. See me man up there with the rifle? I told ’im to aim for the ’ead. You three can guess who ’e’s aimin’ for. I don’t care, told ’im to pick.”

O’Shay gave a little wave and a leer.

The bodyguards shifted.

“What do you want?” Barrons asked.

Ah. At least one of them had some sense.

“Wouldn’t a bothered you fine gents,” he said, “’cept I got a little problem in the rookery.”

“Clean it up yourself,” Debney sneered. “It’s got nothing to do with us. Your messes are your messes.”

“Aye. Only it ain’t just my mess,” he said, leaning closer to whisper. “I got a vampire problem. And mebbe I could take it by meself. Mebbe I can’t.”

That got their attention.

“That’s impossible,” Colchester said, his eyes narrowed. “There’s been no word of anything in the city. Nobody’s close to the Fade.”

“That you know of,” Blade replied, watching Barrons closely. The others were relaxing again, but Barrons held himself stiffly.

“I got two dead in the street. Me people think its war, ’tween you an’ me. I’m keepin’ it quiet before the whole city goes up in a panic.”

“Perhaps a dog?” Debney suggested.

“Stinks o’ rot,” he replied. “I knows what a vampire smells like. I knows what it looks like when they goes for the throat.”

Colchester examined his fingernails. “There’s been no reports of any unregistered blue bloods or rogues.”

Like Blade. Turned young and left in the gutters for someone’s amusement. They were lucky if the blue bloods didn’t simply kill them when they found them. Or maybe not so lucky at that. Blade could remember the heavy iron cage and the constant drip of water in the darkness. The hunger gnawing at him until he screamed with the pain of it. It had amused Vickers to keep him locked up, starving. The blood kept the hunger at bay, kept a man from turning into…something worse. Without it the Fade came quickly and a man could be a vampire within a month.

Blade had been Vickers’s triumph. Three months with no blood, without turning. Somehow Blade had fought the hunger down, kept it caged. It was the only thing that saved his neck from the guillotine. Vickers wanted to know how he did it but wouldn’t believe the answer. I tore me own sister apart, Blade had said. I won’t ever let it out again. I won’t ever lose control again.

Emily. The memory of her kept him strong.

He blinked the memories away. They were so vivid, as though they’d happened yesterday. Emily’s smile, the sweet one she reserved just for him…

But it was Colchester’s smile he watched now, tight and thin.

“Then someone’s keepin’ ’is cards close to ’is chest,” Blade said. “Someone ain’t reported a blue blood gone missin’. If it’s a rogue unable to control ’imself, then who infected ’im?”

“There are rules against that,” Debney bleated.

Blade never took his eyes off Colchester. “Are there?” he asked, silky soft. “And yet ’ere I stand. A living testament to the lie. No matter ’ow many times you lot tried to ’ave me killed.”

Colchester shifted.

Barrons watched the interplay with a curious eye. “Vickers was reprimanded severely.”

“It weren’t enough,” Blade said. “But ’e’ll pay. One day.”

Colchester jerked. Blade had the knife to his throat before he could move. “I wouldn’t if I were you, ducky. Or I’ll slit you ear to ear. A little present for me good friend Vickers. ’E’s fond of you, ain’t ’e? ’Is favorite little cousin.”

“That’s enough,” Barrons said. “You’ve delivered your message. Now be gone. Before we take this as a trespass.”

Blade looked up. Smiled. “Aye. But you’re on my turf. I ain’t the one trespassin’.”

A roar went up from the crowd. The sounds of a dying gurgle came from the ring. Colchester was trying not to breathe. A thin line of blood sprang up against his collar.

Blade held Barrons’s gaze for a moment longer, then stepped back.

Colchester sucked in a breath. “You son of a bitch,” he spat, trying to rise.

Barrons caught his arm. Forced him back into his seat. “Sit down! People are watching.”

“Then they can watch me kill this bloody cur!” Colchester retorted.

Debney looked around. “Not here,” he said.

Colchester’s eyes narrowed with hatred. “You’ll pay for this.”

Blade shrugged. “Mebbe. But it ain’t goin’ to be you.”

Barrons’s gaze suddenly caught on something in the crowd. His eyes widened, and then he looked away, far too swiftly.

Blade swung a leg out over the rail and glanced out to see what had caught his attention. There was nothing but a sea of people. And then he froze. Honoria was making her way through the crowd, her face barely visible behind a charcoal wool shawl she’d draped over her head. She hurried along in Will’s wake as he shouldered his way up toward Blade’s box.

Barrons gave the crowd another seemingly disinterested sweep with his eyes, but his gaze lingered on her a second too long. He knew her, knew her well enough to identify her from the brief glimpse of her pale face. And he didn’t want anyone to know.

How? Something vicious screamed through Blade for a moment, and his fingers dug into the rail. Something brutal and primal that wanted to go for Barrons’s throat. Was she an old friend, a lover? Why would Barrons try to hide the connection between them? If he was any friend of Colchester’s, he’d have pointed her out. Colchester could drag her before Vickers to collect the handsome reward.

Over my dead body.

Blade gave them a chilling smile. “Have a fine evenin’ gents. Enjoy me ’ospitality for the night. I wouldn’t recommend tryin’ it again if I were you. I’ll keep in touch.” He touched his fingers to his hair in a mocking salute, then leapt off the rail.

Surging through the crowd, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He was going to wring her neck! And Will’s, for daring to bring her here. What the bloody hell were they thinking?

Blade caught Honoria by the arm as they reached the stairs to his box. She gave a small shriek, covering her mouth with her hand when she saw who had grabbed her.

“Blade,” she said in a breathy little voice.

Will turned quickly. Then eased back, reading the fury in Blade’s tightly held frame. Blade pushed her toward him. “Get ’er out of ’ere. Now.”

She staggered into Will’s side. Blade continued on past them as though she were of no importance. He hissed under his breath, “Take ’er ’ome. And make sure you ain’t followed.”

“What’s going on?” Honoria asked.

He shot her a dark sidelong look. “I got three of the Ech’lon ’ere, watchin’ me every move. Go with Will and don’t give ’im any trouble. I’ll be ’ome shortly once I’ve slipped ’em.”

Honoria’s face drained of color. “What are they doing here?”

“They likes the blood sport. Now go.”

At least if anyone was watching, they’d be hesitant to take Will on. Every blue blood alive knew what those yellow eyes meant and just what the burly youth could do. A single verwulfen could bring down a half dozen blue bloods when he was in a fit of berserker rage. That was why they’d been hunted to death in England, or caged as a curiosity for the Echelon to display.

Barrons was watching with his arms crossed over his chest. Just as he’d suspected. Blade gave him another chilling smile. “Mine,” he mouthed silently, knowing Barrons could read his lips.

***

Honoria sat in the parlor, her hands pressed together. Will stirred the fire, and the one they called Tin Man rolled a ball of yarn across the floor beside Lark, trying to amuse the enormous thirty-pound tom that batted at it lazily. Despite Tin Man’s grim appearance, the smile on his face was almost childlike. Lark leaned against his shoulder, her eyes blinking tiredly.

The door opened. Honoria stiffened as Blade stalked in.

The fury on his face had died, replaced by that cool look of nonchalance he often wore. He snapped his fingers and Lark and Tin Man looked up.

“Out,” he said, including Will in the general sweep of his gaze. “Lark, you’re fit for bed, and I want you two on the rooftops. The fog’s thick enough to walk on tonight. I don’t think I were followed, but you never know. Can’t smell ’em comin’, those bastards.”

Will turned from his fire tending. “I tried to tell her not to go.”

“Aye. I don’t ’old you accountable. Can’t argue with the devil.”

They left the room without another word, or so much as a glance in her direction. Just her and him. Alone now.

Blade prowled toward the fireplace, resting a hand against the mantel. The light gleamed in a burnished sheen over his face and front, casting subtle shadows over his body. Tight, black leather pants molded faithfully over his thighs, and the flamboyant red waistcoat was made of touchable velvet. A pocket watch dangled from his well-cut black coat, the cuffs made of the same red velvet. Gray military-style frogging held his lapels open, and inches of black silk adorned his throat in an intricate cravat. Though his ensemble bore some similarity to the subdued wardrobe of the masses, he couldn’t resist the exotic touches. Composed now, the only sign of his mood was in his disheveled dirty-blond hair.

“I didn’t realize you were meeting with the Echelon tonight,” Honoria said. She couldn’t believe Leo had been there. With Colchester. He knew what a slimy cretin Colchester was, forever trying to emulate Vickers.