Black Arts: a Jane Yellowrock Novel
“I flipped open my cell, shoved my hair back from my face, pulled it around, over my shoulder, and rolled into a sitting position on my bed. “Bruiser.”Instead of his usually flirty hello, or his pleasant British-style greeting, he simply said, “Bring your weapons tonight. The master wants to spar.”“Uhhh.”“Nine p.m.”“Spar?” I said, incredulous. But I was talking to the silent room. Bruiser had disconnected. I had never sparred with Leo before. Our only physical altercation was when Leo attacked me in the street one night when he was in the grieving process that vamps called the dolore. Basically, vamps just lived too long. Loss of a close loved one who had been with them for hundreds of years could make them lose it mentally, unless they had a Mercy Blade, the magical beings that helped vamps maintain mental and emotional control. At the time I killed his son, Leo didn’t have one, and he had nearly killed me. I closed the cell. “I don’t want to spar with Leo. Stake him, maybe.
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