• Home
  • Directory
  • Popular
  • Authors
  • Series
  • Home > Chloe Neill > Chicagoland Vampires Series > Blade Bound (Chapter 115)      Page
  • Blade Bound(Chicagoland Vampires #13)(115) by Chloe Neill
  • “And eager,” I said. “Let’s go.”

    • • •

    Luc, Lindsey, and the rest would stay at the House in case Sorcha tried a direct attack. My grandfather would take Catcher downtown in the van. They were official, so the odds they’d be stopped by the CPD were low.

    And as for us . . . we had speed. Ethan, Mallory, and I squeezed into the Audi R8 I was still pretty sure Ethan had purchased because he idolized Iron Man. Whatever the reason, she was beautiful, and she was fast. The odds the CPD would attempt to stop us were high. The odds we’d be caught? A little less.

    We wanted Mallory—and her magical know-how—on the ground with us, so Jeff volunteered to stay at Cadogan, futz with the foldouts. Mallory had pretranslated the pages, so he was tasked with rearranging them like puzzle pieces until the magic clicked into place. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was the best option we had.

    With the snow’s melting, the city was humid, but the streets were dry, the night clear. It was a perfect night for a sports car with six hundred horses under the hood. People were wary enough of the dragon that the streets were relatively clear (for Chicago), and we made it downtown in a reasonable amount of time (for Chicago). Still, we avoided main roads and opted for backstreets, and didn’t see a single officer or soldier.

    We found them downtown, creating a barrier around Michigan Avenue north of the river, so we parked a few blocks away, met my grandfather in front of the Carbide & Carbon Building, with its dark granite and gold touches that gleamed beneath the streetlights.

    “Keep your weapons sheathed,” he said, “and let me do the talking.”

    We crossed the bridge to the barricade at Ohio Street, where he communed with the two soldiers stationed behind camouflaged vehicles.

    Beyond them, Michigan Avenue had been cleared of vehicles—except for the tank parked in the middle of the avenue a few blocks down, its barrel pointed at the monster that was, sure enough, balanced on a crenelated turret atop the white stone Water Tower. The dragon had found its castle.

    He showed his badge, and there was quiet discussion before he gestured to us. Then more discussion, and my grandfather walked back.

    “We in?” Catcher asked.

    “We are not,” he said, frustration in his eyes. “No supernaturals allowed in the vicinity, for fear that Sorcha will use them as she used the sorcerers last night.”

    “Sorcha didn’t use Simpson,” Mallory said. “She bested her.”

    “I believe that’s a detail they aren’t currently interested in. Their job is to bring down the dragon, and they’re going to do it the way they know how.”

    “They haven’t fired yet,” Ethan said.

    “They’re negotiating with Sorcha. They don’t want to start destroying property, and the rounds in that tank will bring down buildings.”

    Catcher shook his head. “It won’t work. It’s too much weapon for downtown Chicago. If they’re hoping she has a conscience, or will be moved by that weapon, they’re doomed for disappointment.”

    “They have to try,” my grandfather said. “That’s the paradigm—”

    His next words were drowned out by the loudest noise I’d ever heard, a boom that echoed all the way down Michigan Avenue and had my heart hammering inside my chest like it was trying to beat its way out.

    Smoke poured down the street, along with the sound of falling rocks and glass. Everyone near the barricade went still, staring into the smoke for confirmation that the tank had hit its target.

    My ears rang for the five seconds it took for another concussion to rip through the air. By that time, the world was hazy, and we couldn’t see past the end of the block.

    There was a thud, the screech of metal, and the whine of something moving toward us.

    “Out of the way!” Ethan said, pulling my grandfather and me back as the tank barreled past us, landed upright in the plaza in front of the Tribune building, smoke pouring from the turret.

    The dragon had thrown a tank half a mile down Michigan Avenue.

    The soldiers at the barricade ran forward to help the soldiers still in the tank, worked to pry open the turret hatch.

    “Did the tank miss?” Catcher quietly asked. “Or did that hundred-twenty-millimeter round have no effect?”

    When very human screams began to echo through the streets, we decided it wouldn’t matter. Ethan unsheathed his sword, streetlights catching the polished steel.

    “There’s a good chance the sword can’t do what a tank can’t do,” my grandfather said as we prepared to help whoever was screaming.

    Ethan’s expression was grim. “It’s not for the dragon. It’s for the rider.” He looked at Catcher. “How much magic do you have?”

  • Romance | Fantasy | Vampire