Biting Cold: A Chicagoland Vampires Novel (CHICAGOLAND VAMPIRES SERIES)

gigantic two-handed blade with complicated engravings that caught the light as it shifted. A katana was intended to slice; this thing looked like it was intended to pummel.
    Ethan had his sword, and there was no denying he was good at wielding it. But Tate was a man with an agenda, and he wouldn’t be deterred. The smile on his face reminded me of a cat playing with a mouse just before the final snap of its jaws. Tate had every intention of finishing the fight—and finishing Ethan—but wanted to play with his food a bit first. Ethan’s jacket was ripped from several cuts already.
    “Ow.”
    I glanced at the other side of the room. Paige was sitting up, a hand to her bleeding head.
    I rushed to her, hoping she could find a way to stop all of this, and went down on my knees beside her. “Are you okay?”
    “He made me follow him out, then made me tell him where the book was.” Her lip trembled, tears hovering at the edge of her lashes.
    “It’s okay. We all knew this was coming. He and Ethan are fighting. Is there anything you can do? Can you knock Tate out or something?”
    She shook her head, tears falling down her cheeks, an ugly bruise beginning to surface on one. “He did something to me. I couldn’t stop him from coming here or making me tell him where it was.”
    It sounded like a violation by magic, a kind of psychic extortion used by Tate to get to the book. As if he needed any more reasons for me to detest him.
    Chunks of concrete flew past us as Tate’s sword nipped a bit of the wall. Mallory was out, Tate was occupied, and Paige was injured. If she couldn’t use her magic, maybe I could at least get her out of the room to keep her out of any more danger—or to keep Tate from using her for anything else.
    “Do you think you can walk?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
    I put an arm beneath her and helped her to her feet. But that plan didn’t last long.
    “Merit!” Paige said. “Mallory! The book!”
    I looked back. Mallory had awoken and was stretched full out on the floor of the vault, one hand stretched over the book, her lips moving as she continued her incantation.
    The sounds of the scuffle stopped as Tate turned toward the sound of the ancient words. Ethan took advantage of the distraction and thrust his katana down.
    The strike should have sliced Tate open from throat to stomach, but Tate put up a hand, and Ethan flew back against the wall again.
    My heart nearly stopped again, but Ethan groaned and rolled over. Unfortunately, my relief was dwarfed by my shock at Tate’s power and the violence he threw around so casually. What was he?
    Undeterred by the violence around her, Mallory continued her chanting, words that were chunky and rhythmic like Latin, but with thicker consonants and a twist that sounded almost Russian.
    With Ethan handled, Tate vaulted a table and reached out to grab the book.
    “Mallory, stop!” I called out, but I was too late.
    Tate stretched for the book, and just as his fingers made contact with its red leather cover, Mallory screamed out an incantation. “Adnum malentium!”
    A thunderous clap split the air, the energy pushing Mallory back . . . but not Tate.
    The Maleficium exploded into a burst of bright blue light that wrapped around Tate’s hand, still on the book, and up his arm like a snaking vine. Within seconds he was enveloped in light. Mallory had done something, finished something, and the Maleficium was reacting.
    The light glowed around him like a visible aura, and for a moment he smiled, as if he’d achieved some part of his plan.
    But his elation didn’t last long. The light around him began to shake, and the outline of his body along with it. He wobbled and quivered inside the cloud of light, and his expression grew pained. He opened his mouth to scream out, but no sound escaped the light, just the dull throbbing of the magic.
    Within seconds, his vibrating form began to lurch up and down, and then his body began to widen. It didn’t grow bigger—it stretched horizontally as he howled out his displeasure.
    The shield of magic grew as he did, and I scampered back to avoid the edge of it.
    Suddenly, like a string of DNA dividing, double-wide Tate began to cleave in two. The split started at his head, and in sputtering stops and starts. Flashes lit the room like a sun-powered strobe, and then it was over.
    A loud crack of magic crossed the room, and the lights in the silo flickered once, then twice.
    When the room was calm