Redemption Shadow Dwellers: Book Four by J.C. Wilder
ISBN 1-55316-080-0 Published by LTDBooks www.ltdbooks.com
Copyright © 2000 Lisa Hamilton Previously published by Dreams Unlimited.
Cover Art by Emily Black Cover Art copyright © 2001 Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville, ON L6M 2Y1 [www.ltdbooks.com] All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data Wilder, J. C., 1965Redemption [computer file] ISBN 1-55316-080-0 (electronic) ISBN 1-55316-919-0 (REB 1100 1200) I. Title. PS3623.I45R43 2001 813'.6 C2001-902069-4
Dedication For Mom
Acknowledgements Carol - My favorite Grammar Goddess and dearest friend - I adore you. Bonnee - For proving that dreams are unlimited and making a few of mine come true. Thanks Kia - we miss you
Prologue He both frightened and fascinated her. Gabrielle DesNoir paused, her pen hovering above her journal, to watch the vampire through lowered lashes. Mikhail sat on his makeshift throne, his face hidden in the shadows; his long legs sprawled before him. Once a daunting figure of a man, he now resembled, at best, an untidy pile of dirty clothing. Dried blood splattered his tattered cream linen trousers. His white silk shirt had turned a mottled gray from stains left unattended. His feet were shod in battered leather wingtips, the laces undone. Draped across his lap lay an overfed black cat. The creature purred loudly as the vampire's narrow, bony hands stroked its gleaming fur. He was but a shadow of his former self. Until Conor MacNaughten had interfered at the ancient druid circle during the last winter solstice, Mikhail had been one of the most powerful vampires in the preternatural world. Handsome, intelligent and completely ruthless, he'd been a leader to be admired by some and feared by others. As his consort, Gabrielle had held a coveted position in the hierarchy of the damned. Their parties were legendary, their friends plentiful. Life had been good. Now they were on the run like common criminals. After Mikhail's ill-fated grab for the leadership of the Council of Elders, the ruling body of the preternaturals, prices were placed on their heads and their army scattered, leaving only the weakest behind. Inwardly, she sighed. The days of parties, jewels and people at her beck and call were gone. For now, at least. A smile threatened to form and she squelched the urge. Now wasn't the time for levity. Edward was dead and Cassiopeia had vanished, leaving the two of them to pick up the pieces. She
stifled a snort of disgust. If she ever wanted to regain her former position in society, she'd have to see to the matter herself. "Gabrielle," he hissed. His voice, raspy and hollow, trickled over her nerves like icy fingers. She masked her unease at the sound of his ruined voice and fixed a serene expression on her face. "Yes, my love?" "It's time to contact Mortianna." She jerked and her forgotten pen dug into the paper and tore a small hole in the creamy parchment. Mortianna was the most powerful witch on earth, rumored to be terrifying to behold. As the de facto High Priestess of the witches, she was possibly the only person left who could help them redeem themselves and reassemble their dispersed army. Her powers were legendary and, with the death of her only daughter, Bliss, she'd most likely join with them to destroy Alexandre Saint-Juste and the last remaining council member, Fayne. Gabrielle's lip curled. A vampire and a were-cat were the only ones left on the Council, the only creatures standing between her and her former life. A tremor of anticipation ran through her. Success was close; she could almost taste the sweetness. "I understand." She dropped the pen and rose to her feet, smoothing her palms over her black leggings. "I'll leave at once." She moved to the door, happy to leave the underground bunker where they'd existed for the past few months. Her breath quickened at the thought of fresh air and even fresher blood. Mikhail's voice stopped her as her hand closed around the knob. "Aren't you forgetting something?" His tone was wry. She forced a silky laugh. "How silly of me." She turned and sauntered to him, her movements deliberately sensual. It didn't matter what she did or wore. Since the accident, he'd avoided coming to her bed, which suited her just fine. The thought of Mikhail in her bed once more made her skin crawl. The scent of old blood and stale air reached her nose as she neared him. Her knee brushed his as she leaned forward, her lips teasing the icy skin of his cheek before retreating. She gasped as his fingers dug into her wrist and he leaned into the weak light. His once-beautiful face was hideously scarred. Pale flesh glistened with newly healed pink skin, shiny from powerful burns. Almost half his face was obliterated as if he'd been dunked in a vat of acid. His ice-blue eyes were vacant with the stare of the sightless. "Don't fail me, Gabrielle," he hissed. Menace laced his words and a trill of fear raced down her spine. Even blind and in the proverbial gutter, Mikhail could crush most vampires with his powerful mind alone. Not even she was safe from his wrath should he decide to turn on her. She'd seen what Mikhail could do to someone who failed him and it wasn't a pretty fate.
She forced a soft chuckle. "Darling, I'll not fail you." She pressed her lips once more to his undamaged cheek as he released his grip on her wrist. "I'll bring us victory," she whispered. He settled back against the chair, a grim smile twisting his misshapen lips as she turned away. Her heels made sharp clicking sounds on the cement floor as she hurried toward the door, her mind whirling with delicious possibilities. Victory would be hers and hers alone.
Chapter 1 She looked good, for a corpse. From the doorway, Quinn stared hard through the coffin's glass lid. His half- sister, Bliss, lay on a bed of cream silk surrounded by dozens of fresh pink rosebuds, which lined her eternal bed. Her golden hair framed her face in delicate ringlets while her skin retained the blush of life. Her lips were still pink and full; her thick lashes shadowed her cheeks. She looked as if she were sleeping. Witchcraft had accomplished this feat. He'd been at home in the mountains of Washington when the news of her death had arrived two months before. According to the missive, the minions had carried her body to their mother's home in England. Bruised and broken, her head had been neatly severed from her shoulders, her life ended by a vampire. Looking at her now, Quinn knew only witchcraft could've put her back together again. Humpty Dumpty should've been so lucky. He shifted his attention to the rigid figure standing by the coffin. Mortianna. Their mother wore black from head to toe, as was her custom. Her pale brown hair, lightly threaded with silver, was pulled into a tight roll on the back of her head. Her full-length cape hung from her shoulders to the floor, shrouding her figure in its velvet folds. Dust and a few blades of damp grass clung to the hem. Her gaze was fixed on her daughter's face. What sort of dark thoughts raced around her diabolical brain? He moved into the room, his leather-soled shoes making little sound on the solarium's polished marble floor. The stone was inlaid with a massive brass pentagram upon which the casket sat on a catafalque draped in yards of pale pink silk. Fat white candles in towering wrought iron floor holders and overflowing urns of roses and lilies encircled the macabre display. Their cloying scent hung thick in the chilly air. Surrounding the scene in a widely spaced circle were some of Mortianna's minions. Quinn stifled a grimace of distaste as his coat brushed the robe of one of the little beasts. Mortianna's personal army of demons only stood as high as his waist, but they were lethal. It was rumored they could rip a man apart in
seconds. No one knew exactly what they were or where they came from. There were persistent rumors that they were, in fact, demons called from the depths of the earth to serve their mistress. He doubted that particular tale but he did know they were completely loyal to their keeper and obeyed her every command even if it meant their demise. They were midget kamikazes willing to die at a crook of her finger. They stood silent and still, their beady eyes glowing from the dark recesses of their hoods as he breached their circle. Ignoring the needle prick of malevolence that danced across his skin, he concentrated on his mother. The scent of Mortianna's perfume, dark and heavy, assaulted his nose as he reached her side. She was a beautiful woman, though it appeared she'd aged several years since yesterday. Her skin looked papery and dry while fine lines bracketed her mouth and more radiated from the corners of her pale blue eyes. He had her eyes. Something shifted inside him. A longing he'd denied most of his life reared its head as he stared at her. Never had he dreamed this moment would come. Growing up, he'd known this powerful witch had given birth to him, but they'd never met until yesterday. According to his father, Keirgen, Mortianna had declared within days of his arrival that she had no use for a male child. After several more attempts at pregnancy, each one ending in failure, she'd expelled Keirgen from her life with baby Quinn tucked in his arms. Now, years later, they were reunited. Mother and son. Only this time, he was preparing to leave on his terms and he had no plans to ever return. "You should rest," he kept his voice low. She stirred, turning her head as if she'd been awakened from a deep sleep. Her gaze was flat. "How can I rest when my child lies in her coffin?" "Standing here won't change what's happened. You cannot alter history and you do Bliss no good. Already your magic fades." He raised a hand to indicate the increasing threads of silver in her hair. She turned away, her gaze fastening on her daughter's face as if it were a lodestone. "I care naught for magic. I want only revenge." He knew well the price of revenge and the cost was too dear, even for the death of his sister. He shook his head. "Edward killed Bliss and he's but a pile of ashes now. What more do you want?" "I want the life of the man who brought her to this." She spun toward him, her hand raised in a fist. "I want the life of Damien St. James in exchange for that of my daughter. He's the one who took her from me years ago when he made her an immortal." Sinjin. Quinn stilled. The vampire was well known in the preternatural world and something of an enigma. Rarely, if ever, appearing in public, he lived in a massive castle in the northernmost reaches of Scotland.
Among the preternaturals, he was rumored to be insane. It wasn't unusual for a vampire to go mad as their longevity inherently led to their demise one way or another. "You cannot go after an elder vampire." She whirled away from him, stalking around to the other side of the coffin. "Bah! I can and I have." Her gaze met his and he saw the anger boiling within her. "Thatcreature destroyed my perfect child and she defended him. She defended his appalling actions and made me promise to spare him. For years I kept my promise to her and I spared his life. Now she lies dead before me and nothing will stop me from having my revenge." Awareness formed a hollow pit in his stomach. "That's why you invited me here, isn't it? You want me to help you bring Sinjin down." A soft smile curved her mouth. "I did, indeed. My son, the writer and noted authority on ancient weaponry, would have the perfect excuse to contact him. Everyone knows St. James has one of the most extensive and complete collections in Britain. The best part is no one would ever link the two of us together." Betrayal burned hot and thick in his throat as anger arose. He struggled to quell the words that battled to burst forth. Never would he let her see the direct hit she'd just scored. "I won't help you." Her expression turned pitying as she shook her head. "You disappoint me. I think I knew, within moments of our meeting, you'd be unable to aid me." "Not unable,unwilling . There's a difference." She waved her hand as if to dismiss his words. "Not to me. I'll have my revenge with or without your help." "Your anger will destroy you." She laughed; a bitter, ugly sound. "You're mistaken, myson . My anger will be the death of Damien St. James. I've already sent the minions to bring him to me. It's only a matter of time now." "No good will come of this." "Tell that to your sister." She turned away, effectively dismissing him. Her gaze locked once more on the face of her slain daughter.
Finally, he was gone. Maeve stepped into the library, taking care to close the door behind her. Her leather-soled boots made only the faintest scuffling on the thick carpet as she advanced toward the desk. She'd been living in Sinjin's home for almost a year, though the length of her stay wasn't her decision and she longed to return home to the United States. She'd originally come to the Highlands to concentrate on her training and she'd stayed because Val and her host had decided it was too dangerous to let her go. They seemed to think Mikhail would come after her in retaliation of the debacle last winter solstice.
While Sinjin might call her a "guest", she snorted under her breath, a prisoner was more apropos. Even though it was luxurious, this place was still a cage. His castle in the wilds of Northern Scotland was as isolated as could be. But it had served its purpose. He was a thoughtful host when he was around. A recluse almost to the point of obsession, he rarely left the library and, when he did, it was only to visit the catacombs beneath the castle. It was rarer still when he left the confines of the house. Lucky for her she'd been in the upper gallery when he'd announced to the butler he'd be absent for several hours. This might be her only chance to find the answers she sought. A low fire was the only light in the room as she wove her way around the furniture toward the desk. Unless Sinjin was present, the library had been declared off limits from the moment she'd stepped foot in the house. He'd allowed her to spend many hours secure within its hallowed walls, enjoying the library's many treasures. The only books she was forbidden to read were the ones located behind his desk. Only once had she breached his personal domain, but that one time was enough to enable her to recognize what she was looking for. She turned on the small lamp when she reached the desk. Papers were scattered over the polished top, but she paid them no mind. Off to one side sat a massive leather book. Well-used, the leather was discolored from centuries of eager hands wishing to divine the secrets contained inside. In the dim light, the gold script on the cover gleamed. LEEGEN. Her heartbeat accelerated as she beheld the first step in her quest. She held her breath as she brushed her fingers over the oiled leather. She didn't have to turn around to know the floor-to-ceiling shelves behind her were stuffed to overflowing with leather tomes, each matching the one in front of her. Within this volume was the key to theChronicles of the Shadow Dwellers and the answers she desperately needed. Sinjin was the chronicler of the preternaturals, the one chosen to watch and record every aspect of history and the lives of the unnatural. In this room were the fruits of a lifetime of research. Centuries of words and knowledge tucked into a mountain of oversized ledgers. Hidden in one of these massive volumes was the enlightenment she sought. How to kill an elder vampire. She exhaled as she traced her finger over the gold letters, curiosity burning bright within her. What she'd give for the time to read all the tomes. A mirthless smile curved her lips. She was probably the only revenant on the planet cursing her lack of time. While being an immortal had its uses, unfortunately, she couldn't reap the rewards in her current situation. Maybe afterwards, if Sinjin didn't hate her, he'd allow her to read some of the books. If you survive. Maeve scowled and pushed the errant thought away. Survival wasn't important in her situation, success was. She forced her attention back to the index. Pulling it closer, she opened the book and scanned the
alphabetical entries. There appeared to be writing in several different hands, some spidery and old-fashioned, while another was loopy and more modern. One hand she recognized as Maggie's, Sinjin's assistant. The others were unknown to her. She flipped to the next page and continued scanning the entries. Too bad he hadn't progressed to a computer, it would certainly make things a lot easier for her. Her heart gave a stutter as an entry snared her attention. Killing a Vampire, Volume 132. Gotcha! She shut the book and replaced it on the corner of the desk before turning to the shelves. Craning her neck, she scanned the bindings until she located volume 132 on a bottom shelf. Dropping into a crouch, she pulled it out and laid it on the floor. Opening the leather cover, she scanned the table of contents. Near the bottom, she found what she wanted. Killing an elder, page 359. Her breath caught as excitement welled up in her throat. Finally, after years of planning, she was closer to realizing her goal. Maeve flipped to the correct page and eagerly scanned the neat, narrow script. The method of killing an elder will depend greatly upon the powers the vampire possesses. Should the vampire possess telepathy, abandon the methods listed below and proceed to page 370. Maeve frowned. Was Mikhail telepathic? She had no clue. She bit her lip and continued reading. The first step is to incapacitate the vampire. Beware - this is the most dangerous and deadliest step. This can be done using several methods: 1. Stake through the heart - this is not guaranteed to kill an elder but it can be used to incapacitate and render them immobile. When dealing with an elder, this is not the best method. A stake through the heart can be used to kill a younger, less experienced vampire. Be careful, it is very messy. 2. A silver cross - a silver cross pressed between the eyes of a vampire will incapacitate until a more permanent method can be used. However, the danger in this method is in having to be physically close to the vampire to be effective. This method should never be used on an elder. 3. Magic - a spell known as a binding spell can immobilize a vampire. Be warned, while there are several types of binding spells, only theA' bhais Cadailspell will work on an elder. TheA' bhais Cadailspell is handed down generation by generation through only a few lines of witches and the knowledge is held sacred. The lineage is of the utmost importance and only a witch ofClink. Maeve tensed, her head snapping upward. Warily, she scanned the room. Was Sinjin back already? Her eyes narrowed as she assessed the bank of French doors and tall, narrow windows that comprised the far wall. All were shut and locked tight against the fathomless darkness outside. Nothing appeared to be amiss. She returned her attention to the book.
TheA' bhais Cadailspell is handed down generation by generation through only a few lines of witches and the knowledge is held sacred. The lineage is of the utmost importance and only a witch of pure intention should train the caster. This spell has never been documented and only a few traditions even possess the ability to cast Plink. Maeve abandoned the book, this time rising to her feet. An icy calm descended as she sharpened her preternatural senses. Keeping the shelves at her back, she scanned the room. The library was a long, narrow room filled with bookshelves on three walls. The fourth wall contained numerous glass doors leading out onto a broad stone terrace. As she moved swiftly, the darkened panes of glass reflected her image and the darkness outside. She moved about the room, checking behind each piece of furniture. Nothing. She exhaled as a movement caught her eye through one of the French doors. A thick fog was rolling in, rapidly enshrouding the grounds, obliterating anything recognizable. Was someone watching her? She brushed her fingertips down the inside of her left forearm. Under her turtleneck, she wore a custom-made leather sheath that held a thin silver blade strapped to her arm. A simple ebony handle gave it good balance and made it an excellent throwing knife. Reassured, she reached for the top of her left boot and slipped her fingers inside. Warmed by the heat of her skin, she welcomed the solid feel of an ivory handled dagger. In her right boot was its mate. Calmer, Maeve straightened. She was armed and in top physical condition. She'd spent much of the last ten years, in particular the last year, working on her hand-to-hand combat skills. No opponent, dead or alive would ever take her unawares ever again. Images of Mikhail and her slain sister, Rebecca, flashed through her mind. Ignoring the familiar jolt of pain, she ruthlessly pushed the images away. Now wasn't the time. She had work to do. She glanced around the room once more and saw nothing out of place. Satisfied all was well, she headed for the desk. As she reached the middle window, a shadow caught the corner of her eye. Before she could turn, the window exploded in with a terrific crash, raining shards of glass and chunks of wooden molding across the floor. With a cry, Maeve's fingers curled around the hilt of her forearm knife as something small and solid slammed into her right shoulder, knocking her off balance. Tilting wildly, she wrenched the blade free as a heavy cloth was flung over her head, blinding her. Fingers dug into her shoulders, tightening the cloth over her head. Her knee hit the edge of the coffee table, the pain stealing her breath as she slashed at the hands tormenting her. Her attacker emitted a squeal as the blade hit flesh. Abruptly, she was released. As she clawed at the blinding cloth, she fell to her knees. Before she could remove it, something
slammed into her left side making her lose her balance completely. She hit the floor with a solid thud as something landed hard on her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. She tore the cloth from her face as a shriek of fury broke from her lips. She bucked and rolled to her right side, her attacker clinging to her throat. Agog, Maeve stared at the creature who held her in place. Small, the size of a six-year- old, but much heavier, the brown-robed figure's head was hidden beneath a concealing hood. Shiny red eyes glittered in the depths of the hood while scaly, sticklike fingers dug into her throat, threatening to shut off her airway. Gasping, her energy fading fast, she grabbed the chain of a black pendant around its neck and yanked, trying to draw the creature down and away. A snarl came from the recesses of the hood and, with a mighty heave, it grabbed her by the hair, raised her head and slammed it into the floor. Starlight burst before her eyes and she knew no more.
Chapter 2 Quinn tossed his bag into the back seat of the rented Land Rover and slammed the door. Pausing, he closed his eyes and let the night surround him. The darkness was all encompassing. He loved the quiet afforded by the English countryside at night. Broken only by an occasional bark or rustle in the underbrush, the silence was complete, an oasis of peace. Until one stumbled acrossthis little piece of land. He opened his eyes to survey the rambling structure Mortianna called home. An oversized English- style Tudor, the gardens were rigid in their layout and the house boasted at least twenty bedrooms. Dozens of empty windows stared at him. All were dark except for the light glowing from the bank of windows where Bliss lay in the solarium. The minions were back. Through the glass, he watched the circle of robed figures part to allow their companions to enter. Bearing a wrapped bundle on their shoulders, the late arrivals dumped their burden on the floor a few feet from the coffin. It looked as if they'd succeeded in finding Sinjin and delivering him to Mortianna. Did he go in to rescue the vampire? In general, he had nothing for or against the undead. He left them alone and they, in turn, did the same. While he didn't know the story behind his sister's transformation into a revenant, he'd tried to keep an open mind about the situation. Some were taken by force while others chose the eternal life. Judging from his sister's protective streak, she'd chosen willingly. He firmly believed in the laws of karma and letting the universe take care of problems in its own time. He doubted the universe would think too highly of Mortianna for this stunt. Sinjin will die if you don't go back. Quinn snorted. Sinjin was already dead, long dead as a matter of fact. Your sister loved him at one time. Bliss.
Over the hoods of the minions, he glimpsed his sister's body in her gilded bed. From the stories he'd heard from friends, Bliss had loved Sinjin at one time. Maybe she had until the moment she'd died. He didn't know for sure as they'd never been close, more like passing acquaintances than half-brother and sister. He closed his eyes as a shaft of regret pierced his heart. He regretted his haphazard relationship with his sister most of all. He would've liked to know her. He opened his eyes to see the minions prodding at the bundle on the floor. Now her lover's life hung in the balance. For his sister, should he go in and rescue the vampire? Who are you to decide who lives or dies? "Damn, damn, damn." With a growl, he turned and stalked toward the house.
"You fools!" Consciousness slammed into Maeve's skull as the woman's voice rang over her abused head. The distinct sound of human flesh making contact resounded, followed by the ominous sound of something sliding across a slick surface. She blinked several times before her vision began to clear. A few feet away, she caught sight of a brown cloth like the one that had been thrown over her head when she'd been abducted. "Imbeciles!" The woman shrieked. Where the devil was she? Guess we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto. "Does this look like a male vampire to you?" The woman's shrill voice echoed around the room. "This is not Sinjin." They want Sinjin, not me! "Maybe they aren't intelligent enough to realize what a 'Sinjin' is?" A newcomer's voice spoke. Maeve tensed. The voice was low, resonant, conjuring images of tangled sheets and damp flesh. An illicit shiver of pleasure whispered down her spine. She froze as footsteps advanced across the cold marble. "Rubbish!" The woman sounded annoyed. "Who would have known that the vampire would have a woman in the house? What am I going to do withher ?" A foot slammed into her back, rocking her forward. Maeve sucked in her breath as pain shot across her ribcage. Her eyes watered. "Let her go." The man's voice was nearer. Black boots moved into her misty line of vision, stopping mere inches from her face. Her breath caught
as he crouched and warm fingers brushed aside her turtleneck and sought the vulnerable flesh of her neck. She flinched as chills of awareness raced through her and she prayed the newcomer hadn't felt her reaction. "Kill her." The woman's softly spoken words brought tension to the man. He pulled away and rose from his crouched position. "No." Maeve dared a glance at him through the fringe of her lashes. From her disadvantaged perspective, he towered over her and she could only see as high as his waist. To see any higher, she'd have to move her head and she couldn't risk that just yet. At this point, her only advantage, if it could be called that, was subterfuge. She had to take them unawares. "What did you say?" The woman ground out. "I said no." His voice was steady. "You will not kill her because your hounds of hell made a mistake." The woman laughed and it was an ugly sound. Maeve could swear the temperature in the room dropped at least ten degrees. "Just who do you think you're talking to?" "My mother." His mother? He was one ofthem ? Whateverthey were? Enough of this, it was time to go. Did she still have her knives or did they take them away? She couldn't tell for sure. She took a quick mental accounting of her physical state. Her jaw ached and her head throbbed, but, for the most part, she seemed to be okay. Her vision danced a bit around the edges and that could be tricky. She blinked, trying to will the blurring away and force the pain into the background as she schooled her muscles to move. She shifted her head and caught a glimpse of the woman's face as she spoke to the man who'd proclaimed himself her son. "You have no mother," she spat. Hmm, definitely not up for "Mother of the Year". Maeve rolled to her back, away from her tormentors, then onto her side before pulling her legs up toward her chest. In one swift movement, she rolled to her knees, then sprang to her feet, abused muscles screaming in protest. Head swimming, she fought to keep her balance as she scanned the room, searching for a way out. There was only one doorway leading into what she presumed was the rest of the house. The other side of the room was a wall of windows. She blinked as she caught sight of the coffin and its midget attendants. "It appears our sleeping beauty is awake after all." Amusement laced the woman's words. Maeve turned to face her kidnapper. Soft brown hair generously threaded with silver was pulled back into a bun while pale, blue eyes assessed her. Judging from the fine lines bracketing her mouth and eyes, she appeared to be somewhere in her late forties. Slender and clad in a black, floor-to-shoulder cloak,
she looked strangely fragile in the heavy garment. "Why have you brought me here?" Maeve demanded. "You, my dear, were a mistake." The woman shrugged. "One I'll soon rectify." "By killing me?" Maeve started to shake her head then stopped, deciding it would aggravate her headache. "I'm afraid I'll have to raise an objection to your plan." The woman's brow rose, her expression superior. "Indeed, this should be interesting." She raised her hand and beckoned one of the little brown beasts to her side. Maeve's eyes narrowed. She didn't know what these midgets were, but they were vicious little buggers. Certainly tough enough to take her down. Granted, it had taken several of them to finally immobilize her. They were so damned short and difficult to fight. What sort of sorcery were they? "No." The man spoke again and Maeve glanced in his direction as he stepped toward his mother. He was half-hidden by a towering arrangement of flowers but she caught a glimpse of golden hair as her vision fractured. She blinked several times, relieved when her sight cleared. "And who are you to stop me?" The woman demanded. Maeve glanced to the door and noted at least five of the little demons between her and freedom. No help there. The windows were the only way out. She eyed one of the massive bronze urns positioned at the head of the casket. Filled with spiky flowers and a profusion of roses and lilies, the pot had to weigh at least forty pounds. Surely it was big enough to break the glass. She inched to the pot, catching a glimpse of her captor, who stood glaring at the man. Rage fairly emanated from her small frame. Whoops, guess Mom isn't too happy with him. Maybe she'll send him to bed without his dinner tonight. Stretching out her arm, her fingertips brushed the cool bronze. Then she caught sight of the occupant of the casket. Bliss. Her breath caught in her throat as shock curled her toes. What the devil was Bliss doing here? She hadn't known the woman well, but she'd seen her on numerous occasions at Sinjin's house. She'd always been friendly and quick to smile. Maeve was truly sorry to hear Sinjin's one-time love had been killed. Her friend Erihn had been there when Bliss had died and she'd said the minions had carried her home to her mother's house in England. That was well over two months ago. Why didn't someone bury her? She frowned. If Bliss were here, that would make this woman... She looked at her captor as realization dawned, all thoughts of escape fled.
"Mortianna." Her captor's head snapped toward her, a frown etched on her face. "What?" she snapped. Maeve gestured toward the casket. "You're her mother?" The woman moved to lay a possessive hand on the lid of the casket. Her gaze was direct, cold. "Yes, Bliss was my daughter." "I knew her," Maeve blurted. "Not well, mind you, but she was well- liked." Mortianna's expression softened. She raised a hand and curled her fingers around a pendant that hung from a chain around her neck. "From where did you know my daughter?" "Through Sinjin. I was staying with him, and your daughter would come to visit-" "Bliss visited St. James in Scotland?" Her fingers tightened around the pendant, her knuckles turning white. Maeve backed up a step. Maybe that hadn't been the best thing to say? "On several occasions in the past year, Bliss visited the house. They were good friends- " "Friends?" Her expression turned malevolent. "My daughter remainedfriends with that creature?" Maeve nodded and stepped to the urn. The bronze was chilly beneath her fingertips as she skimmed her hand up the side to curl over the lip. "I will destroy him. I'll tear him limb from limb and he'll rue the day he ever met my child," Mortianna hissed. Turning, she headed for the doorway, anger spurring her exit. As she left, she spoke over her shoulder. "Kill her and make it quick. We have work to do." Four of the little beasts broke from the circle and advanced on Maeve as the man made a noise of dissent. It was now or never. She heaved the urn from the pillar, stunned when the weight almost knocked her to the floor. Filled with water and flowers, the urn was too much for her to lift. Straining, she dropped it to the floor and tipped it, spilling out a river of brilliant blooms and gallons of icy water. The militant formation broke as the creatures stepped back to avoid the water, an odd hissing sound escaping from where their mouths would have been. She grappled with the now-empty urn, her arms trembling with exertion. It was much heavier than she'd anticipated. The sheer weight precluded her from lifting it over her head, so she settled for an awkward, two-handed bowling-style toss at the nearest window. All hell broke loose. The urn hit the window with a crash as one of the beasts tackled her behind the knees while another struck her in the middle of her back, tangling its fingers in her hair. She fell to the floor, her breath
slammed from her lungs with a whoosh. Icy water soaked her clothes as the scent of crushed roses and lilies invaded her nose. The solid weight of the creatures repulsed her and she kicked, ridding herself of the one clinging to her legs. Bracing her hands against the slick floor, she flipped to her back, pinning the other beneath her. The creature gave a shriek and released its death-grip on her hair as two more levitated into the air and rushed her. She rolled to the side, then to her feet, stumbling as one crashed into her shoulder, causing her to slide on the slick floor. Strong hands grabbed her around the waist and pulled her upright. Her breath caught as she glimpsed another creature headed in her direction. This one held a lethal-looking knife in its clawlike hand. Damn, the blade was one of hers! The man behind her whispered something in a language she didn't recognize. The creature came to a sudden halt as if it had hit a force field, stopping in mid-air. It dropped harmlessly to the floor. "What the..." "Move." He shoved her at the broken window. Mortianna reappeared in the doorway, her expression enraged as her gaze fixed somewhere over Maeve's shoulder. "What the devil are you doing?" "Stopping you." "Halt." The room fell silent as an icy wind was born. It whipped around the room, stirring the remaining flowers and tugging at the pink silk draping the catafalque. Maeve shivered as the witch fixed her gaze on her. "Out of the way, mortal." With a flick of her finger, the icy air shoved at Maeve, effectively separating her from her savior. "What the-" She stumbled as the wind abruptly ceased shoving her. Raising one hand, the witch pointed at her son. "You either stand with me or against me. Choose now." "I'll not let you kill an innocent." Mortianna's head jerked as if his words had struck her physically. "Then you will die." "So be it." Maeve edged away from him and toward the window as mother and son locked in a silent duel. The witch's eyes remained pinned on him and, for a split second, her expression broke. Maeve could have sworn she saw regret pass over Mortianna's face. All too soon, though, it was masked and, in a small voice, she whispered, "Kill them both." Maeve spun toward the window and freedom when it suddenly registered that the window was intact. "What the devil-"
Outside in the crisp autumn leaves lay the urn. How could it be outside when the glass was intact? "Go out the window," he hissed at her. "I can't-it isn't broken," she protested. "How can this be?" "It's magic. The window is broken." "Magic?" She swung toward him, then gasped as one of the creatures grabbed the tail of her hair and gave it a vicious yank, almost taking her down. With a snarl, she reached back and grabbed the braid, tearing it from the clawlike fingers. Twisting, she aimed a backspin kick at its mid-section. Her foot connected and the creature emitted a sound like air escaping from a balloon as it flew across the room to hit the wall with a thud. Scalp aching, she shoved her braid down the back of her shirt so her hair couldn't be used against her again. She risked a glance at the man to see him backing toward her. He held his hands in front of him and the remaining creatures hung frozen in mid-air. What was he doing? Was he a sorcerer? "Go out the window now. I can't hold them forever." "I can't..." "You have to trust me." She looked at the window once again. It reflected her image. How could she trust this man, the son of the most powerful witch in the world? Then again, did she have a choice? She took a deep breath and stepped closer. An arm wrapped around her waist, and she jerked in surprise. "We're out of time," his low voice spoke into her ear. A cry caught in her throat as he pulled her with him, running at the window. The second she heard the crisp crunch of glass shards under her feet, she knew he was right. The image of the glass wavered, then altered to reveal the massive hole in the center. She leapt through the opening and into the chilly October air. Peripherally, she was aware of a sharp sting on her shoulder as her feet skidded in the damp leaves. The iron muscles of the arm around her waist kept her upright as she landed. Breaking into a run, he pulled her toward a Rover parked in the drive. Her boots slid on the gravel as her vision wavered, her head pounding with each jarring step. When they reached the car, she wrenched open the door and dove in as the stranger ran to the driver's side. She slammed her door and locked it as he leapt in on his side. The engine started with a roar, and the tires spewed stones as he pointed the car toward the gates and floored it. She looked back as they raced down the drive. The witch stood in the remains of the shattered window, her beasts gathered around her. Her expression was an odd blend of anger and pain as she watched their escape.
Chapter 3 Mortianna smiled as the young vampire entered her workroom, every movement cautious. Dressed simply in black cotton leggings and a white mohair sweater, Gabrielle DesNoir looked fragile, almost wholesome in a macabre way. Her hair was a somber pale brown, cut short in a pageboy style; she looked like an image of the All-American girl next door. Only her unnatural, pale skin gave her away. She wasn't fooled. Only a very brave person or an imbecile would dare approach the head of the witches in her own territory. Desperation had made fools out of many people before. As to which category this vampire fell into, she was very curious to find out. "Why do you wish to speak with me, Gabrielle?" The vampire jumped and spun toward the voice. Her expression showed her apprehension before she quickly masked it. Mortianna quelled her satisfaction at the further evidence of unease. Gabrielle cleared her throat before she spoke. "I have a business proposition for you." Mortianna stepped from the shadows and picked up a small tray containing items she'd collected earlier. "Indeed? What do you know of my business and what makes you think I want anything to do with the vampires?" A bubbling pot hung over a low fire in the center of the round room. She set the tray on a small, marble-topped table before picking up a glass container. She made a great show of holding it up to the light so the vampire could see it contained human teeth. "I have something you need." Gabrielle's voice was shaky, though she tried to control it. With a pair of tweezers, Mortianna selected a tooth and dropped it into the cauldron. A hiss of dark blue steam escaped as the tooth broke the surface of the murky liquid. She returned the glass jar to the tray and selected a variety of dried herbs. "I'm listening." "I'm sure you're aware of the events of the last winter solstice. The vampire Mikhail made a bid for the leadership of the Council of Elders and was tricked by Conor MacNaughten. We were almost killed." Mortianna failed to quell the laughter that bubbled. "That isn't quite how I heard it happened but, yes, I know the story." She dropped the herbs into the liquid, and varying shades of green steam escaped as they sank below the surface. The scent was dark, earthy. "Since then, our lives have become a nightmare of persecution. Our followers have scattered, fearing retribution from the remaining council members. Mikhail and I would like your help in regrouping our followers and gaining control of the council." Interesting. "Why didn't Mikhail come and ask me himself? Why did he send you to represent him?" The vampire paused. "There was an accident and Mikhail was injured by MacNaughten."
"Injured? Why would I support someone who's in dubious health? If he cannot pay me a visit, how can he hope to command the Council? It takes an iron will and an even stronger hand to keep those beings in line." Her visitor straightened her shoulders. "Should Mikhail be unable to carry his duties, I'm more than capable of taking over." Ah, but the plot thickens... Mortianna selected a large dipper and stirred the pot, the ancient handle familiar against her palm. "You want me to aid your cause in gaining control of the Council? How to you propose I accomplish this?" "Align your army with ours." Startled, Mortianna's gaze met the vampire's. Never would she have expected the creature to make such an audacious request. What sort of trump card did this little girl hold? She paused in her stirring. "You ask for a great deal. Since the dawn of witchcraft, the witches have remained outside the politics of the preternaturals. Now you ask that we aid the cause of the vampires? What will we gain from this?" "I'll deliver Damien St. James to you." Startled, she released the handle of the spoon and it slipped beneath the bubbling surface. "Bother," she muttered, annoyed she'd let the little vampire rattle her concentration. She grabbed another spoon to fish out the first. "What do you know of St. James?" "I know he took your daughter many years ago and ultimately played a role in her death. It's well known you placed a curse on him and would've killed him if it weren't for her interference." Mortianna dropped both spoons on the tray with a clatter. Presumptuous wench! "Edward killed my daughter, not St. James." Gabrielle nodded. "He did and, for that, he paid with his immortal life. But it was Sinjin who set Bliss on the path to her own destruction, and he's what stands between you and avenging your daughter." She moved to a straight-backed chair and perched herself on the edge, a soft smile playing around her mouth. "I can deliver him within forty-eight hours." Mortianna's mind whirled with possibilities. What the little vampire said was intriguing. Could she deliver Sinjin with a minimum of fuss? Was there something to be gained for the witches by throwing their support behind Mikhail and his followers? With a flick of her hand, she ignited the kindling in the massive stone fireplace on the north curve of the room and waved the vampire toward it. "Come, let us warm ourselves while we chat a bit more." She smiled to herself as she watched the vampire rise from her seat, her movements far more relaxed than when she'd entered the room. Gabrielle and her dark cohorts might be able to deliver St. James, but that wouldn't stop Mortianna from her current plans. Digging into the voluminous folds of her cape, she located an emerald-colored pouch. Opening it, she withdrew a pinch of gray dust. Dropping it into the bubbling pot, she smiled as the steam turned black
before fading away. Her potion was almost ready and the perfect revenge at hand.
Mortianna. Maeve rubbed the throbbing spot just between her eyes as the witch's name tumbled about her brain like clothing in a dryer. She'd actually stood in the presence of the most powerful witch in the world. Surely Mortianna would know the spell that could bring down an elder vampire. She slid a sideways glance at her silent companion. Mortianna's son should also know the spell. Raised at her knee, wouldn't the witch have taught her child everything she knew? The only question was how to get it. She transferred her gaze to the dark countryside. Funny, she'd never heard the witch had a son. Then again, most preternaturals didn't talk about Mortianna, at least, not out loud. They lived longer that way. In the past few months, the mortality rate among the witches had risen and it was rumored she might be at the center of it. Maeve didn't believe it. Surely a witch would look out for her subordinates rather then destroy them out of turn, wouldn't she? She shifted in the seat; twinges of discomfort in her jaw and shoulder making themselves known along with a more pressing need. She cleared her throat. "Can we pull over?" "Why?" His voice was deep and pleasantly rumbling. "I need to use the loo." He made a sound suspiciously like a snort, and Maeve frowned. Obviously, he was inhuman and didn't have such needs, but she did and soon, she needed a bathroom. She glanced back at the darkness speeding by her window. Not a light to be seen for miles. It looked like she might have to improvise. What seemed like an eternity later, he pulled off the paved road and onto a little-used path, slowing considerably. As they traveled the ill-maintained track, she grabbed the door handle to keep from bouncing out of her seat. "Where are we going?" She gritted her teeth as they jolted over a large rocky patch, slamming her sore shoulder against the door. "Someplace private." Ahh, she'd wrenched two words from him. She was getting somewhere. She stifled a groan as they continued bumping along the road, her discomfort increasing as they climbed ever higher. Finally, they reached a small clearing and he came to a stop. Before he could put the car in park, she moaned in relief and flung the door open. Scrambling out, she didn't bother to shut the door behind her before darting into the woods. She clambered over fallen trees and underbrush for a few yards in the stygian darkness before finding a small clear spot that would suit her purposes.
After she took care of her most immediate need, she rose, grimacing as she tugged her clothing, still damp from her tumble with Mortianna's beasts, back into place. Nothing was worse than wet cotton against chilled skin. She shivered as she began her trek back, careful to take better note of her surroundings. For the past hour, she hadn't seen a single light heralding civilization. How far out in the countryside were they? Night creatures rustled in the undergrowth, but she ignored them. She didn't fear anything living, only the dead. She glanced through the treetops to the patches of night sky visible through bare tree limbs. Clouds danced overhead, playing hide and seek with the stars. Even the sky was unfamiliar. A wave of homesickness washed over her. She shoved the intrusive sentiment away. She no longer had a home, or a family; what was there to miss? Tentatively, she stretched to relieve the aches in her abused body. Now that her immediate concern was taken care of, she needed to find out where she was and how to get to the nearest town, village or house. Heck, even a cell phone would do. She strode out of the darkness toward the Rover and the man who waited for her. In the cool, blue glow of the waxing moon, he stood at the edge of the clearing near a drop-off, hands on his hips as he surveyed the darkness in the valley below. For the first time, she got a good look at her reluctant companion. He was tall, well over her own five feet eight inches, topping out around six feet. Moonlight burnished his short, golden hair to silver and etched his features in shadow. Dressed entirely in black, he blended with his surroundings. As she moved closer, her foot snapped a dry twig, causing him to turn to face her. Her breath caught in her throat as his pale blue eyes scraped over her, then dismissed her before he walked to the Rover. He moved with an athletic fluidity, the by-product of excellent muscle tone. His shoulders were broad and tapered into the lean lines of his waist and narrow hips. He was at ease with his body, unconscious of its beauty and power. He opened the tailgate. She stopped a few feet away and crossed her arms over her chest. "So what's the plan?" "I'll take you back to where you came from." His voice was low, cultured with a definite accent. Fascinating. Now that her head wasn't ringing quite so much, she could discern Mortianna's son was an American. She shook her head. "No thanks. I don't want to return to Sinjin's." "Regardless of what you want, I'm returning you to where you came from." He pulled out a black leather duffel bag and dropped it on the ground at his feet. "What you do once you're there is up to you." She placed her hands on her hips. "I said, no thanks. I can take care of myself." "I can see how well you do that," he muttered. He busied himself unfurling a blanket and spreading it out in the back of the truck. Stung, she straightened. "There were six of the little buggers."
"And you didn't win, so you can't take care of yourself." He paused, a dark nylon sleeping bag in his arms. "Get in." She scowled and stepped back. "Why?" "I need to rest." She glanced inside the dim compartment and saw he'd put the back seat down to make a larger space. Even so, there was no way she was willing to get in there with him. She shook her head. "I can drive-" "No, thanks. I need to rest in a stationary car, not bouncing around while you drive." A shaft of fear ignited in her chest. "No." "I don't think you understand. You either get in by yourself or I'll stuff you in. It's your choice." Images of those strong hands in the air, holding Mortianna's beasts at bay came to mind. Did he have the power to physically move her? She glanced at his face and saw that he did, indeed, look weary and in no mood for a fight. The watery moonlight etched lines around his eyes and mouth. She sighed, reluctant to admit she was also exhausted. It wasn't every day a girl was kidnapped by demons and escaped an angry witch. Giving him a wide berth, she climbed into the back of the truck, scrambling into the far corner to avoid touching him. He tossed the sleeping bag in her direction before picking up the duffel. Setting it at the rear on her side, he climbed in and pulled the hatch shut, enclosing them in a small, dark area. A wave of claustrophobia hit her and she squelched the urge to fling herself at the door as he lay down on his side of the blanket, his back to her. "You should change out of those damp clothes. I don't want you getting sick on me. There are some dry things in the bag." His words were slurred, and, within moments, his breathing deepened. Is he asleep already? Maeve watched, making sure he wasn't going to move before she reached for the bag. With frozen fingers, she grabbed the handle and pulled it toward her. Opening it, she pawed around inside and found a small penlight. Flicking it on, she located a clean pair of sweatpants and a thick, ivory woolen sweater. She glanced uneasily at the man's back, the dry clothes clutched in her hands. Will he turn around? She scowled at the thought. To hell with him. If he wanted to watch, let him. She dropped the clothes in her lap and stuck the penlight in the fold of her knee. She wiggled out of her shirt, wincing as her shoulder pulled painfully. What the devil was wrong with her? Inspecting her shirt, she was dismayed to find a large rent on the top of the shoulder, reaching down the back for several inches. The cloth was damp with blood. Looking regretfully at the plush sweater, she wiped her damp fingers on her pants before pitching the sweater over the back of the driver's seat. There was no way she could put it on if she was going to bleed all over it. The pants were another story.
She wrestled her boots off and placed her last remaining knife within easy reach. Flicking the penlight off, she dropped it back into the bag and tossed it into the front seat. She wiggled out of her damp pants, stifling a groan of delight as she pulled on the dry sweats. The cotton was thick, wonderfully warm. She spread her clothing over the back of the passenger seat to air dry and slid beneath the sleeping bag. The man didn't stir as she settled, her back to him. She curled one arm to support her head, shivers wracking her body as she willed herself to relax. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her other arm around her waist in an attempt to keep warm. Exhaustion crept in and her last thought was she hoped she didn't bleed on his sleeping bag.
The sunlight woke him. Quinn blinked. For a moment, he couldn't figure out why he was sleeping in the back of his Rover. Then the events of the night before slammed into his skull. He closed his eyes again. He'd betrayed his mother. She betrayed you long before. He opened his eyes. Allowing her to kill an innocent went against everything he believed in. The Wiccan Rede,"An it harm none, do what thou wilt," was more than an ancient belief. He strove to live the rule every day of his life. After one costly slip in his teenage years, it was the one lesson he'd never forgotten. If that included stopping his mother by subverting her plans, so mote it be. He tried to sit up, but a peculiar weight on his right side halted him. A warm, very female body was snuggled against him. He turned his head and caught sight of brilliant red hair. Her long braid lay across his chest, thick and heavy. The morning sun made the color almost blinding, even through the tinted windows. He imagined what it must look like loosened. Most of her face was obscured by the sleeping bag, but he could see the firm line of her jaw, discolored by a small purple bruise. He clenched his teeth as annoyance lanced through him. No one should've hit her, certainly not one of the minions. His guest stirred, drawing his attention to the firm body molded against his. The bulky sleeping bag hid the rest of her from his view, but he certainly felt every delectable inch. Lust stirred as her leg shifted higher, nudging him, bringing the heat of her feminine warmth directly in contact with his thigh. A soft groan escaped her and a rush of awareness raced to his groin. She stirred again, her palm flattening over his heart, her limbs heavy against him. He wrapped his fingers around her errant braid in disbelief. He thought he'd evolved past the point in his life when baser instincts ruled his nature. The minions had kidnapped her from Sinjin's home. Was she his lover? What was the nature of her relationship to the vampire? She shifted, her small, firm breasts pressing into his side as the scent of summer heather and warm female swirled around him, making him dizzy with its potency. He closed his eyes as his cock lunged for
freedom and the warm flesh of the woman beside him. It appeared he was wrong about his true nature. Gently, he untangled himself and sat up. Wrenching the hatch open, he climbed out into the crisp, morning air. He loved the morning, it was his favorite time of day. The air was fresh, the day was young and it was a new beginning all over again. He turned in time to see his passenger roll into the spot of warmth he'd just vacated. She wiggled her hips before settling down once more. He stifled a groan as he shut the door. They had a long road ahead of them, and by sunset, they would be at Sinjin's. He glanced at the morning erection tenting his trousers. It was going to be the longest drive of his life.
Maeve shivered as she exited the Rover. Dressed once more in her black pants, still damp from yesterday's adventure, and an athletic bra, she leaned against the tailgate to pull on her knee-high boots. She couldn't remember the last time she'd camped in the wilderness-not that there'd be smoky eggs and burnt bacon for breakfast today or a twin sister to chase around the campfire. A wistful sigh escaped her as she retrieved her knife and tattered shirt. There were times she missed her sister like a severed limb. Her twin, the one person who'd understood her without reserve, was dead. Even now, eleven years later, it was a tough pill to swallow. Eternity had never looked so lonely. Tossing the shirt over her shoulder, she shut the hatch. Lonely or not, she had work to do and that included finding her erstwhile traveling companion. After taking care of her most pressing needs, the sound of running water drew her attention. Following it, she walked down a small hill, through a thicket of trees. Without warning, the trees gave way to a rocky shoreline and a broad river. On the opposite shore, the trees grew thick and impenetrable within a few feet of the river. The water was a swift, crystal blue torrent, and the roar was loud in her ears. Delighted, she took a deep breath and exhaled with gusto. The stark beauty of this spot on the river tugged her soul. When was the last time she'd left behind the trappings of civilization in favor of roughing it? Tilting her head back, she spied a large bird overhead. It hung on a current, wings outstretched, hovering as if suspended by wire. What did that kind of freedom feel like? Her gaze dropped to the water. She caught a glimpse of several fish in the depths of a still pool near the shore. The flash of silver scales caught the sun as they moved about beneath the surface. She loved the water. How easy it would be to step in and just let go. She took a step toward the pool, then a movement caught her attention. Balanced on the trunk of a massive fallen tree stood her companion. He'd shed his shirt and stood facing the morning sun, arms straight out from his shoulders, palms up with his head tilted back. Impervious to the chill, he looked completely at ease in his surroundings. The sun
bleached his hair to white fire and gilded his bronzed physique. Loose-fitting black pants rode low on his hips, molding to his long limbs as a breeze tugged at them. Her mouth watered as a wash of desire streaked through her. He wasn't built like a weight lifter, all muscles and no neck, but he was solid-looking, strong. His shoulders were broad, his stomach flat and it rippled as he swayed with the breeze. It was obvious he took good care of himself; it showed in every inch of him. She licked her lips. He was possibly the handsomest man she'd ever seen. That's what you'd thought abouthimtoo. A wash of cold realization doused her, tearing her gaze from the man on the tree. One mistake was enough. Her lack of judgment had cost her sister her life. Never again would a beautiful face and handsome body fool her. He was dangerous to her sense of self-preservation. Maybe it would be better if she struck out on her own to find civilization. A raucous cry overhead drew her attention. Several feet over the man's head flew several birds of differing sizes. They swooped and played, calling as if beckoning the man to join in their antics. A large black bird hung in the center, a raven perhaps-its beady eyes fixed on her. Startled, she jerked backward, her boots stuttering over the rocks before catching on a gnarled root. Maeve stifled a squeak as she lost her balance.
Quinn spun as he heard the rattle of stones underfoot. He caught sight of his companion, her arms flailing in the air before landing almost silently on her backside. He leapt off the tree to a smaller rock, then jumped to shore, wincing as a sharp stone dug into his bare foot. Keeping to the larger rocks, he hop scotched to the fallen woman. "Are you okay?" She scrambled to her feet before he could reach her. In the bright sunlight, her braid was the color of flame and her eyes were a startling shade of green. Brilliant as the greenest meadow in Ireland and filled with distrust, they ensnared him. Ye goddess, but she was lovely. Soft brows arched over those mesmerizing eyes. Her nose was pert with a slight tilt at the end hinting at impudence. With the pale skin of a true redhead, a few freckles were scattered across the bridge of her nose and her lips were full and damp. The only mar to her lovely face was the bruising on her jaw, which stuck out in dark hues of purple and blue. She was a sight to behold, even if she was oddly dressed. She wore a tight black athletic bra that smashed her breasts almost flat. No wonder she'd felt so hard against him. A professional bodybuilder would have to work to attain her physique. Tight black leggings clung to long legs, outlining slim hips and muscular thighs. Knee-high suede boots covered her feet and calves. Her stomach was perfectly flat and her arms corded with muscles. From her capable-looking fingers dangled her shirt. Normally, he preferred his women to be small, if not delicate. There was nothing delicate about this Amazon standing before him. Lust reawakened in his body and he shifted. Maybe he should try reiterating his tastes to his body. It seemed one part of him wasn't paying attention.
"Like what you see?" Quinn jerked his gaze from her washboard stomach to her hostile eyes. "I was just thinking you must work out a lot." Her gaze narrowed and he had the sneaking suspicion she knew he was lying. Muttering something uncomplimentary under her breath, she stalked past him, allowing him a glimpse of her back. What he saw shocked him. From the nape of her neck to the top of her pants was a mehndi tattoo done in henna. The three phases of maiden, mother and crone were depicted in the face of the moon. Her bra straps and swaying braid obscured the design, but he could tell the skill of the artist even from here. Just above the waist of her pants were runic symbols, but he couldn't read them as she was moving too rapidly. The deep russet of the henna tattoo, exotic against her pale skin, was also one hell of a turn on. No doubt about it, he was in trouble. As she turned, he caught sight of the gash on her shoulder. Dried blood had run down her shoulder blade, halting at her bra. Red and irritated, the wound looked incredibly painful. "You're hurt." She dropped into a crouch by the river. Cupping her hands, she flung handfuls of icy water on her face. "I'll live," she replied between splashes. Ignoring the pain from the small rocks digging into his feet, he stalked to where his bag and discarded clothing lay. "We need to get that cleaned." She paused in her hasty ablutions. "I said I'll live," she snapped. Quinn pulled on his moccasins and reached into the bag for a clean T-shirt, then moved to dangle the shirt within her range of vision. She looked up at him, protest on her lips. "Humor me," he spoke quietly. After a moment, she accepted his offering with a slight nod of thanks. She dried her face on the shirt, then rose to her full height and met his gaze, her shoulders back, head held high. "Thank you." She was a prickly thing. "You're welcome." He nodded at a low, flat boulder nearby. "Why don't you sit there and I'll attend your shoulder?" "Before you start, I want to ask you something." Quinn retrieved his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Sure." "What's your name?"
He couldn't help but smile. "I guess we did this backward." He held out his hand. "Quinn Montgomery, at your service." She hesitated before taking his hand. An electric jolt of awareness raced up his arm and expanded through his body. For a split second, his skin felt as if it were on fire. There was heat in this woman; heat the likes of which he'd never experienced before. He saw the awareness in her eyes when she dropped his hand as if she'd been scalded. "Maeve, Maeve Leigh," her voice was shaky. She turned away, almost running in her haste to put distance between them. She climbed onto the boulder and drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. He followed and dropped the bag on the rock behind her. Pawing through the contents, he located his small first aid kit. She was watching him. "Were you are a Boy Scout?" A snort of laughter escaped him as he opened the box. "Hardly." "Well, you certainly seem to be prepared." Her tone was dry. "It usually pays to plan ahead." "Isn't that the-" Her breath hissed between clenched teeth as he inspected the wound. "Sorry. This is going to hurt." He paused. "You might need to remove your bra so that I can clean this better." She rotated her shoulder then winced as the movement tugged her wound. "There's no way I can get this over my head. It'll have to be cut it off." He looked through the first aid kit again. "All I have is a small pair of bandage scissors. I'll have to go back to the truck-" "Don't bother." She reached into her right boot and withdrew a knife. With a practiced motion, she slit the straps of her bra and shoved them out of the way, then slit the stretchy fabric between her breasts. The fabric snapped away from her body as she crossed her arms over her bare chest, shielding herself from his gaze. He turned away, but not before a tantalizing glimpse of a half-naked Maeve was burned into his mind. As she'd cut the bra in front, he'd gotten a peek at the full mounds of her breasts. She was larger than he'd suspected. Who knew she'd whip her bra off like that? The least she could've done was warn him. Mentally chastising himself, he turned his attention to her wound. The gash wasn't deep - it extended from the top of her shoulder about three inches down her back. It should've been stitched sooner, but it was too late now. The risk of infection was too great to chance it. He reached for the alcohol. "Are you really Mortianna's son?"
He was used to the question, but it still annoyed him every time he heard it. Mortianna had never publicly claimed her son as she had her daughter. Bliss had been the desired child, while he wasn't. Even now, it still rankled. "You heard her say it, didn't you?" Maeve nodded. "I'd never heard she had a son." "Not many have," he muttered. He tried to ignore her tempting bare skin as he applied himself to her wound. The morning sunlight caught the fire in her hair, distracting him as he used the rubbing alcohol to cleanse the damage. As he dabbed the liquid on the deeper end of the cut, she trembled beneath his hand. He couldn't tell if it was due to discomfort or the chilly air. Even though it was unseasonably warm, it couldn't have been much over fifty degrees. "Are you a witch, then?" "Yes." Efficiently, he tore open the wrapping on a four by four and applied it to the cut. "How does a witch go about learning spells?" Her tone was curious, but there was something else there. Inwardly, he groaned. She was probably like the others who flocked to him once they found out about his talents. Invariably, they were in pursuit of a spell to guarantee happiness and wealth in their lives. "We're taught by our parents." "What if they don't tell you everything?" He opted to ignore the question and added the last strip of tape to hold the pad in place. "There you go, all better." She turned to watch him, her gaze direct. "What if your parents didn't teach you a spell you needed? What would you do? Where could you get it?" Anger bubbled. Whenever people found out who his parents were, it was the same old story. They always wanted something from him, usually a spell or his name in marriage. Some women thought that being married to him would entitle them to a life of leisure including a multitude of spells to take care of pesky details such as housework and money. Little did they know he wasn't much of a bargain. He'd make a terrible husband. He leaned forward until their noses were mere inches apart. "Look. Witchcraft isn't about a spell to clean your house or make someone fall in love with you. It's a way of life and it's sacred. I won't give you a spell to make you rich, nor give you a spell of immortality. Both are an abomination." She blinked, her expression turned wary. "Immortality is an abomination?" Her voice was low. Now he knew what she wanted, the immortality spell. "Yes. Some of us are born immortal while vampires or witchcraft can make others that way. Unless it's a Goddess-given gift, it's an abomination to Her."
She straightened and scooted off the stone, forcing him to back up. Her back was rigid and her arms still crossed over her chest. "Thanks for your help and invaluable insight." Sarcasm dripped from every word as she turned and struggled awkwardly into her shirt. "You should have told me about your injury last night. Waiting will cause it to scar even worse." "No, it won't." She turned to face him, her expression defiant. "I'm an immortal, created by a vampire. Or, in your words, an abomination."
Chapter 4 Cynicism poured hot and heavy through her veins as she stomped through the woods toward the Rover. He was just like the rest of them. After the death of Reb, her family, not knowing what had changed their remaining daughter, had turned away from her. All too well, she remembered her mother's cries for justice and her unspoken condemnation of her remaining child. Maeve should've protected her sister. Reb had been well known for getting into one scrape after another, forcing Maeve to run to her rescue. Until the last time. How could she have told her parents that an elder vampire had killed Rebecca, and she, the remaining twin, had been made an immortal? Even attempting to tell them would've earned her a one-way ticket to the funny farm. Not only did it sound completely insane, what average, everyday person could comprehend such a thing? None. Now Maeve had no contact with her family. They'd abandoned her, content to mourn both of their daughters rather than face the one who'd lived. With their silent questions unanswered, she'd decided long ago that her presence hurt her family more than helped. She was a reminder of the nightmare that their lives had become. When it came to nightmares, she could write a book. Reaching the clearing, she snatched open the door and grabbed Quinn's sweater off the seat. Shivering, she tugged it over her shirt, ignoring the pull of the bandage and her wound. She liked being alone. No one to report to, pick up after or cook for. Her time was her own, her money was her own and, best of all, no one was going to impede her goal of killing her sister's murderer. Her thirst for revenge was what sustained her, not her family. The crunch of dry underbrush announced Quinn's arrival. Fully clothed, he stopped a few feet away, his bag dangling from his fingertips. "We need to get on the road." She refused to meet his gaze as she tugged the warm wool down around
her hips. "Were you willing?" His voice was hoarse. "Does it matter? What's done is done." She climbed in the passenger side and slammed the door, unwilling to watch the condemnation on his face. Let him think what he wanted. Most people did anyway. Several minutes passed before he got in and started the engine. Staring straight ahead, she willed him to put the Rover into gear and not say another word to her. "Look at me." His voice was low, commanding. Unable to resist his summons, yet steeling herself for his censure, she turned to him. "It does matter," he said. She turned to stare out the window as he put the vehicle in drive. Yeah, right.
She breathed a sigh of relief as they rounded the last mountainous curve and Sinjin's home came into view. Set on a cliff overlooking the sea,Aisling Crioch , Dream's End, was a massive stone structure built over four hundred years before on the remains of a medieval stronghold. Pale cream-colored stone walls and empty glass windows stared as they approached. A plethora of gargoyles and dragons perched on the ramparts as if awaiting their turn to leap upon unsuspecting visitors. Not that Dream's End had very many visitors. The locals in the nearest town believed the house was a gateway to the netherworld and Sinjin in league with the devil. Few dared set foot on damned ground. As Quinn turned the Rover and drove through the wrought iron gates, Maeve tensed, expecting the power of the vampire to speak to her. She frowned as he maneuvered the twisting drive. She felt nothing. Vampires had a variety of methods to keep the unwanted at bay. One way was to retain a Gatekeeper, a human or revenant to keep the living away. Another was to use a guard-a form of magical lock that needed a key or password. In order to protect his privacy, Sinjin used the latter. In the past, as she'd approached the house, she'd been aware of his power. Reminiscent of a low- voltage current, she didn't realize until now how she'd grown used to the mystical energy. Now, she felt nothing but the cool air of the approaching Highland winter. Something was wrong. She flung open the door and leapt from the Rover as it came to a halt at the foot of the front walk. Her heart pounding wildly, she ran for the front door, only dimly aware of Quinn shouting for her to stop. The
aged oak door was open a few inches and it swung wide as she put her hand on it and pushed. The entry was dark. She hated the dark. A sense of unease skittered down her spine. There were always lights on in the main hall. She reached for her boot-knife. The house was as silent as a tomb. Hilton, Sinjin's ever-present butler, was nowhere to be seen. Something was very definitely wrong. Hilton would have never left the front door open, nor would he have willingly abandoned his post. Palming the handle of the blade, she advanced, heading for the music room to her right. As she approached, she noted an unfamiliar scent in the air, like that of wet pennies and cotton candy. The gloomy dregs of fading daylight filtered through the tall windows as she stepped into the room. A grand piano sat squarely in the center of the polished floor, its bench tipped on its side. Just a few feet from the bench lay a shattered vase and what looked like a large puddle of water with a sodden blanket in the center. Dying stalks of hothouse roses, heather and thistle were scattered on the floor where they'd fallen. Cautiously, she moved to poke at the anomaly with the tip of her boot-knife. Catching the blade on a fold, she lifted. The sickening sweet scent of cotton candy, with an underlying hint of something metallic, assaulted her nose. She dropped the cloth to the floor with a slap, jerking back as something small and white rolled out of the cloth. It looked like a human bone. Repulsed, she backed away. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a movement. Bracing herself, she spun around, startled to see Quinn, who stood less than three feet away. He held before him, in a practiced stance, a samurai sword from the display in the main hall. He'd tucked another short sword into his belt. His gaze swung from the damp cloth to meet Maeve's. "It's one ofhers ." She didn't need any other explanation. Mortianna's foot soldiers had been here, and this one, for whatever reason, would never return. She nodded before moving around him to the door. Where was Sinjin? Walking into the hall, she was careful to keep to the edges of the foyer, out of sight from the open galleries above. Without a word, they investigated the rooms on the main floor. Moving from one to the next with stealth and caution as they looked for anyone living. All they found was death. In the main parlor lay another one of the minions, or its clothing at least, its body missing. Another one like it lay in the corner of the main hall, a sodden heap of brown wool and a few bleached bones. What sort of sorcery was this? Maeve shot a glance at her silent companion as he inspected their latest find, his expression impassive. The gentle breeze touched her skin, bringing with it the scent of fresh air. The library door moved a few
inches in the draft. She tapped Quinn on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow. The breeze grew stronger as she approached the library, then pushed open the door. The aftermath of her kidnapping was evident. Broken glass from the window littered the once-priceless Persian carpeting, now ruined with rainwater. Two of the elegant Chippendale chairs were overturned, a porcelain vase shattered on the hearth-it's previous inhabitants shriveled on the stones. On the floor lay the book she'd sought earlier and she was relieved to see it remained untouched. There would be time for that later. Right now, she had to find Sinjin. "This is where it happened." Quinn's quiet words startled her. She'd almost forgotten about him. That alone was unusual as she was guarded around most people. "Yes." His handsome mouth firmed as if something displeased him. His dark eyes missed nothing as he scanned the shambles of the room, his expression closed. Tension radiated from his body. She looked away, her gaze fixing on a broken decanter. Its contents had soaked into the cream wool of the carpeting, leaving an ugly caramel-colored blotch. What a waste of good brandy. She waved her hand to indicate the disarray. "Whatever happened occurred shortly after I was taken. Hilton wouldn't have left such a mess-" Maeve. Sinjin's voice sounded in her mind. Jerking to face the door, she held her knife at the ready. "What is it?" Quinn moved beside her, his sword held firmly before him. "He's here," she whispered. Quinn looked around the room for any new threat to their safety. "Who's here?" Down... Sinjin's voice sounded again, spurring her into action. Slowly, she walked out of the library and into the main hall, her internal senses straining to hear him again. Where the devilDown... The word was faint, weak, and it didn't sound like Sinjin at all. He was in trouble, was he hurt? Down... Her heart skipped. In this house, there was very little below the main floor. The original cellars were intact and used only to store vintage wine and old furniture. Sinjin wouldn't go down there. What aboutShe turned, in that instant knowing exactly where he was. The marble was slick beneath her feet as she darted across the hall, not even bothering to glance at the
galleries above. She ran down the hallway to the solarium, Quinn's footfalls in time with hers. She ducked around the corner, then turned right toward the kitchens. She jumped down the two steps before skidding to a halt on the uneven stone floor. There were several entrances to the catacombs beneath the house, but the most direct was down the old garderobe shaft behind the pantry. Built with the original manor, the catacombs had served as escape routes to the north cliffs during a siege. Now, Sinjin only used the passages in an emergency. Other entrances from the floors above involved walking through a maze of narrow, musty passages. It was too easy to get lost in the recesses ofAisling Crioch and she had no doubt others had tried, never be seen again. "This way." She led Quinn into the pantry. At the far end stood a small wooden door that opened into the unused shaft of a medieval loo. The door was askew, confirming her suspicions. Jerking it open, she looked into the slim opening, wincing at the blackness below. "We'll need light." She pointed to the flashlights contained on a shelf near the door. "Where are we going?" Quinn grabbed a flashlight and handed it to her. She pointed into the consuming darkness. "Down."
Chapter 5 "Wait for me." Quinn grabbed a second flashlight, half-buried beneath a large bag of salt. He turned in time to see Maeve vanish down the ancient privy shaft. Muttering an oath, he pulled the short blade from his belt, set it aside, then inserted the longer Samurai sword, lashing it to his side. He stuck his head into the shaft to see her light bouncing off the stone walls as she descended into the darkness. Turning on his flashlight, he tucked it handle first into his pocket, sending the beam overhead. "Gracious Goddess, protect us from what we are about to do." He muttered under his breath as he swung a leg through the opening. His foot hit a metal rung embedded in the wall of the shaft. Gaining a foothold, he grasped the edge of the opening and lowered himself into the dark, careful not to scrape the sword against the stones. He lost sight of daylight within seconds. "Just a few more and you're down." Her voice echoed from below and he glanced down to see her pale face illuminated by her flashlight as she watched his descent. When he reached the last few rungs, he skipped them, opting instead to jump. He landed beside her and pulled the flashlight from his pocket. The beam of light revealed a damp stone tunnel. The scent of earth, mildew and stale air invaded his senses.
"What is this place?" "The catacombs below the original manor. They were used for storage and escape routes during raids." He frowned as she slipped around him, little more than a shadow, leading the way into the tunnel. He fell in behind her. "Where are we going?" "To Sinjin's hiding place." "How do you know he's down here?" "He told me." "How could he have told you?" She didn't answer, though, so he followed in silence. Under her breath, she'd mutter something when they reached various branches of the tunnels. Before long, he was completely confused as to where they were and what direction they were heading, but she seemed to know where to go. He hoped. She led him through an archway and down treacherous, crumbling stone steps, which ended in a narrow, curved chamber lined with several doors. Most of the doors stood open, the ancient oak planks rotting on their hinges. The hallway was strewn with broken cases and rotting cloth. Rusting metal cuffs of various sizes dangled from hooks on the walls, the tools of medieval torturers no doubt. The scent of mold and decay was overpowering. In one of the chambers, he heard the monotonous sound of dripping water. Quinn could easily imagine the dank air within the slimy walls was the same breathed by hapless prisoners many centuries before. A feeling of despair and evil intent oozed from every crack and crevice. Here was not a place the Goddess dwelt. Maeve vanished through a narrow doorway and he followed. One step into the chamber and he knew they'd arrived. The sense of despair was absent in this room. He arced his torch about the antechamber. The walls were still damp, but no debris littered the floor. His light caught a flash of color and he stepped closer to investigate. A sturdy oak table stood in the center of the room, topped with some sort of embroidered cloth. The light flashed over gold and silver threads and he caught the ornate design of stars and moons along the hem before he noticed what sat on top. A medieval broadsword lay on the table and, next to it, an elaborate coffin carved from mahogany. The old-fashioned lid stood upright, leaving the inhabitants uncovered. Curious, he moved for a closer look. A man lay on his back, eyes closed, skin bluish pale. Dark, wavy hair was swept back from his high forehead. A cut marred his dark brow, and blood stained the left side of his face. Even with the damage, he was a handsome creature with high cheekbones and a firm jaw. He was dressed very simply in dark jeans and a tattered white shirt, torn at the shoulder and stained with blood. This had to be Sinjin.
Curled beside him lay a woman, her head propped on his shoulder. She couldn't have looked more out of place in this damp spot of hell. Her short-cropped hair was the color of spun gold. Her features were delicate, waiflike, and she looked fragile next to the massive vampire. She probably wasn't much over five feet. Though dressed in some sort of gauzy material, he doubted she felt the chill of the ancient air while in her dark slumber. He glanced at Maeve. "Sinjin?" She nodded, her gaze not straying from the duo. "And Sunni." "Sunni? Is she a vampire also?" He stifled the urge to laugh when she nodded. Sunni the vampire. Who would've known? "I think he's dead." Her voice came out as an anguished whisper. "All vampires are dead, Maeve." But he skimmed his hand back and forth, an inch or so, over the abdomen of the man, taking great care not to touch him. A faint tingling ran up his arm as his palm drifted near the vampire's throat. He pulled away. The vampire was still in there, but something was holding him in place. It felt like St. James was in some sort of a trance, unlike the sleep vampires entered willingly. He didn't know much about the physiology of a vampire, but he knew magic and evil was afoot. "He's alive." Maeve exhaled loudly. "Thank goodness. I've never seen Sinjin sleep, not like this. He's an elder with complete control of his surroundings. He rarely sleeps and can shut himself off from the world, but he's not using that power." "What do you mean?" "Many vampires use something like a magical lock. Sinjin can control who enters his home and his property by placing a kind of spell over the entrances. You have to have permission or know the key to the lock. When we pulled up to the house, the first thing I noticed was the locks were gone." "Do you think he's in danger?" "I don't know. Your mother sent those little demons, and now he and Sunni are down here. Sunni would never come down here willingly, and Sinjin has never brought anyone else here that I know of." Her expression turned haunted. "I don't know much about vampires, Maeve, but if my mother's involved, we'll need to do something fast." She nodded. "I think they'll be safe enough for now." Her gaze met his. "This isn't your fight, you know. You can walk away from this mess and no one would be the wiser." Quinn frowned in annoyance. Did she realize how ill prepared she was to deal with his mother? "Is that what you want me to do? Walk away?"
"It doesn't matter what I want. The bottom line is this isn't your problem. You've fulfilled your so-called obligation and returned me from whence I came. You're free to leave." She moved around him and headed for the door. "I need to go. I have things to do." He followed her out and settled for scowling at her back as they made the return trip though the maze. This time, he took great care to note their direction and each turn. He breathed a sigh of relief when they arrived back at the entrance, the fresh air enticing him to move faster. It seemed a lifetime since they'd entered the tunnels. Maeve scrambled up the shaft with Quinn close behind her. As he climbed, he noted the clean air was the sweetest perfume he'd ever smelled. He followed her into the kitchen, blinking at the glare of the fading light. He leaned against the counter as she picked up the phone and dialed. In the past, he would have walked away. His misguided sense of chivalry had landed him in hot water a time or two, and he wasn't about to be suckered again. This woman and her problems could be disastrous. Did he need the hassle? Wouldn't it be easier just to walk away? She glanced at him and looked away, but not before he'd caught a flash of those amazing green eyes. He dropped his gaze to the floor. He'd always been a sucker for green eyes. His head came up as the back of his neck prickled. He stepped away from the counter. Turning, he scanned the kitchen. Other than Maeve, now speaking on the phone, no one else was evident. But something was there and he felt it. Either watching him or coming for him. Which was it? Closing his eyes, he shut off his mortal senses and focused his power to scan the house for anything unusual. Nothing. He ventured outside the confines of the house. He scanned only a few yards when an electric blue flash laced with red sparked in his vision before turning into a wash of black. His eyes snapped open. Something was definitely coming and it wasn't the power of the slumbering vampires that needled him. It was his mother. Realization had him diving into the pantry, looking for the bag of salt he'd moved earlier. Jars of canned goods hit the stone floor with a crash as he wrestled the fifty-pound bag of sea salt from the shelf. Lucky for them, the bag was full and, if he hurried, they might survive what was coming. Maeve stood frozen, the phone clutched in her hand, as he dumped the bag on the butcher-block island. He pulled a knife from a magnetic strip filled with various sizes of sharp implements and slit open the neck of the bag. Reaching overhead, he pulled down a large cooking pot and began pouring until only half remained in the bag. "What are you doing?" She'd replaced the phone on the hook and now watched him with big eyes. "I don't have time to explain." He thrust the bag into her arms before hefting the pot from the table. "We need to surround the house in a circle of salt." She frowned. "What-" "Just do it." He grabbed her arm and shoved her out the back door into the twilight. Already, they
approached and their time was running out. "Go that way," he pointed her west. "Circle the house, pouring a line of salt until you reach the front." She hesitated. "Move!" With a jerky nod, she set off, walking away from him, holding the bag close to her body while allowing a small but steady stream of white crystals to escape the opening. Satisfied she was doing as instructed, he turned and began laying his line in the opposite direction. Salt wasn't much, but it would do for now. As he neared the front of the house, he prayed the scant remains would suffice; he rounded the corner in time to see Maeve do the same. Her sack was almost empty. He made it to the front walk before his supply ran out. He looked up to see how far she'd make it and swore under his breath when her salt ended at the opposite edge of the walk. "All gone." She waved the empty bag. "Mine, too." Damn! He had to find a way to protect the walk and seal the circle around the house. He let the pot fall and it clanged against the Samurai sword still strapped to his hip. The sword! He grabbed Maeve's hand and pulled her into the salt circle as shadows formed in the woods facing the house. Beady eyes glowed reddish gold in the darkness. The minions had arrived. He wrenched the sword from his belt. Pointing it to the North, he chanted,"I consecrate this sword in the name of the Goddess. May it protect those who serve in her name." Lying the sword in the center of the walk, pointing outward from the circle of salt, he sealed the circle and began casting the spell."Guardians of the watchtower of the Four Corners of the earth, hear my words and attend me now. Upon this magical place, I ask for protection from those who would subvert the name of the Goddess. Only those who walk in light shall enter here." As he completed the spell, a glint of steel caught his eye. Maeve stood several feet to his left, her boot knife clasped in both hands, held before her at waist height. Her feet braced for better balance, her dark eyes scanned the area surrounding them, ever watchful against any threat. "We're safe enough for now." A crack of thunder sounded overhead and the ground beneath them jumped with the percussion. She glanced at him, then returned to her vigil, clearly unconvinced. "Come." He held out his hand, silently entreating her to take it. "The circle will hold. We need to rest and eat." For a minute, he thought she'd refuse. Then her arms sagged, her blade lowered, and she slid it back into her boot. She straightened and slipped her hand into his, allowing him to lead her into the house. Her palm was warm and fit into his neatly. Had holding someone's hand ever felt so right? Maeve found candles while he made peanut butter and jam sandwiches. After eating while standing in
kitchen, they stumbled upstairs, almost numb with exhaustion. "You can sleep in here." She opened the door to reveal a large guestroom. The carpet underfoot was blood red with gold accents and heavy oak furnishings. "The bathroom is through that door and my room is across the hall. Leave your door open and call if you need anything." "Thanks... You were a huge help out there." Her solemn eyes met his. "You saved my life and those of my friends. I owe you big time." With that, she turned and presented him with a pert backside as she walked to the room across from his. Too tired to discern the puzzle of her words, he walked into the bathroom. A hot shower and a long nap would be appreciated right about now. After a quick search, he noted there were no towels hanging either on the racks or in the cabinet. He walked into the hall and approached her door. "Maeve?" Silence. He poked his head into her room and found her lying face down in the center of her bed, still fully dressed, one boot on while its mate lay on the floor. A candle burned on the dresser, casting dancing shadows in the room. She was sound asleep. Quinn smiled. In sleep, her shields were down and the vulnerable woman was revealed. She may think she was strong enough to take on the world, but, right now, she resembled an exhausted child. He reached down and tugged off her boot, her knife hitting the floor with a thud. He picked it up and set it on the dresser near the candle. Grabbing the duvet from the foot of the bed, he spread it over her. She mumbled something and snuggled deeper into its warmth. She looked so sweet and tempting, all soft and rumpled. She was forbidden fruit to him. Even knowing that, he was reluctant to leave. He shoved the duvet out of the way and climbed onto the bed, stretching out beside her before pulling her into his arms. She mumbled something as she curled into him and cuddled to his chest, her limbs heavy against his. He pulled the cover over both their bodies, cushioning them in down-filled warmth. As he drifted off to sleep, a soft snore erupted from the warm bundle in his arms. He smiled as the windstorm raged outside, further testament to Mortianna's fury.
Chapter 6 Maeve nailed the punching bag with a brutal right hook, reveling in the jolt of resistance that sang up her arm. There were times when being immortal had its compensation. Her jaw was bruise-free and her shoulder was almost completely healed; only the faintest ache remained. Hmm...maybe the Council could use that as an advertising slogan. Come one, come all-become an immortal and live forever. The fringe benefits include longevity,
some enhanced psychic abilities and fast healing. Break your leg and you'll be walking again in a week. All it takes is one little bite... An image of her sister invaded her mind and she scowled. Then again, maybe not. She jabbed the bag with a left, then another right. She was so close now, and Quinn was the key to her plan. He was a witch from one of the longest lines of witches ever chronicled. Surely he'd know the binding spell that could bring down Mikhail. The question was: would he share it with her? She attacked the bag with a backspin kick that could have felled a grown man, then spun and delivered a stunning carotid blow designed to kill a mortal in the blink of an eye. But not a vampire. Her movements slowed. She could try the stake, garlic and holy water, but the book had indicated these methods were far more dangerous than the binding spell. While she didn't fear death, she needed to plan carefully to ensure her success. Mikhail must die, and if she needed the spell to do it, so be it. She'd get the spell, no matter the cost. The vampire had destroyed her family. Most of all, he'd taken her twin sister, her other half. Without Reb by her side, she felt lost, useless. It felt as if someone had torn away half of her soul. As with all twins, they'd had a connection both comforting and frightening. Now, when she reached for that nether place where her sister had dwelt, she met only silence. Reb was gone and their family had turned their backs on her. She was left to fend for herself. Damn him. Tears spilled over as she pummeled the punching bag, anger and frustration spurring each movement. Sweat poured down her face, mingling with her tears as she envisioned the vampire's face in place of the bag. A primal cry caught in her throat as she lashed out, battering the image of the man who'd destroyed her life. Punch. Jab jab. Kick. Thwack. A tearing sound shook her concentration and, with a thud, the punching bag fell to the floor. Her breath raged in her lungs as she bent over and propped her hands on her knees, struggling for control. A seam had burst on top of the bag and stuffing spilled through the hole. She'd killed her first victim. If only killing a vampire were that easy.
Quinn entered the room as the bag fell to the floor. She stood over the decimated bag dressed in skintight black shorts and matching athletic bra. Every inch of delectable woman was outlined in black lycra. Her hair was caught in a long braid of fire down her back and her tattoo stood out against her pale skin as she struggled to catch her breath. His mouth fairly watered as he watched her. Images of bending her lithe body over a weight bench and taking her from behind crowded his mind. Flesh straining, hands questing. He bit back a moan before it could make itself known. "Did you come to watch or work out?" Her breathless voice broke his fantasies. She walked toward him, her movements easy, graceful. She was a woman at home in her own skin, every man's fantasy. "I'm a lover, not a fighter." He offered her a smile. An answering smile quirked her lips. "Men fail to realize that both can be equally... exciting." She's flirting with me. "However..." His smile grew. "Only one has a much more satisfying ending." Bold as brass, she looked him up and down before spearing him with her emerald gaze. Her eyes held a wealth of experience and she knew what she was doing to him. "Only if it's done right," she drawled. His palms itched with the desire to touch her. "I haven't had any complaints." "As if you'd admit it if you did." She chuckled. Gesturing for him to follow, she turned and presented him with a perfectly toned backside. She led him to an open area past the various weight machines, the floor covered with thin, navy-blue exercise mats. "What do you know about self defense?" she asked. "Enough to keep myself out of trouble." He wasn't sure he wanted to admit he'd earned his black belt in Tae Kwan Do last year. He enjoyed watching her so much, he wouldn't mind her showing him a thing or two. "What do you want to see?" How about you naked, under me, over me, beside me? Your choice. He hid his grin by rubbing his chin as if contemplating her question. "How about some of the basics? What should I do if someone comes up and grabs me from behind?" "You mean like this?" She moved behind him and slid her arms around his body. The scent of warm woman surrounded him, making his head swim. She pinned his arms to his waist, effectively disabling him. Her breasts, contained by the torturous-looking bra, were sturdy mounds
against his back. He stifled a groan as he felt her erect nipples pressing into him. Anymore of this torture and he'd be begging her for mercy. "Since you're both taller and physically stronger, you can break my hold by throwing your body forward." He was pleased to hear her voice sounding breathy and off pitch. "However, if I were a man, you'd want to aim for vulnerable areas." He winced at the thought of anything striking his most "vulnerable" area. As each second passed, it became a larger target to hit. "You'll want to lift your right leg and bring it down on my foot, hard. Aim for the instep. That should be enough to break my hold. Once you break my hold, bring your arms up like this." She demonstrated how to escape. "Like this?" He mimicked her movements and freed himself. "Exactly." "That seems easy enough." His breath came hard as she stepped away from him. "What if they grab me from the front?" "That's even easier. All you have to do is-" "Wait-" Before he could move, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him once more. This time, they were face to face, and his erection poked her in the stomach. Yes, I'm very happy to see you. She lifted her head and their eyes met. Her pupils were dilated, her breathing quickened. She licked her lips, drawing his attention to her lovely mouth. He wanted to lick her there. He wanted to taste her, bite her, suck at her wetness. Oh hell. He slid his arms around her, cupping her hips, bringing her closer. Her eyes widened as he pressed into her. He shuddered. She was a perfect fit. "What if I don't want to get free?" He whispered, her breath licking his mouth. Damn, he could almost taste her. "Then I guess you'd better be able to follow through." Her voice was faint. He swayed from side to side, ever so slightly, the friction curling his toes. "Mmm, I don't think I need to worry about that." He dipped his head and nuzzled her sweaty collarbone, enjoying the scent of aroused woman and healthy sweat. His tongue snaked out to tickle a path from the base of her neck to just below her earlobe. She quivered as he nipped the tender flesh. She was a delight to the senses.
Without warning, she shoved him, escaping his grasp and hooking a leg behind his. He went down on his back, the mat cushioning his fall. With a soft cry, she landed on top of him, her fingers tearing at his clothing. Buttons popped from his shirt as she tore the placket. He grasped her by the hips and rolled her beneath him. If he didn't taste her soon, he'd explode. He swooped and captured her mouth. Hot and sweet, she took him deep, her tongue wrestling with his as her busy hands tore the shirt from his back. Their kiss was noisy, more about greed than finesse. She ate at his mouth like a starving woman. Soft moans sounded from her throat as she sucked his tongue, driving sensation directly to his throbbing groin. She nipped his lower lip before breaking the kiss. With eager hands, she tugged the buttons of his jeans, opening them with great relish. He braced his hands on the mat and raised himself to give her better access. Dazed, he watched the woman who was about to become his lover. Eyes wild, breathing erratic, lips swollen from his kisses, she was exquisite and he wanted more. "God, you're beautiful." To his surprise, she scowled at him. "Shut up." Releasing his jeans, she tangled her fingers in his hair and dragged his mouth back to hers. Together, they rolled across the mats, each battling to touch and taste more of the other. Their bodies entangled, they soon ran out of mat and she ended on top, her thighs parting over him. The cold floor tiles beneath his back were a sharp contrast to the heat of the woman above him. "Wait." "You're talking again," she growled. She nipped his lower lip. "I have to know," he panted. "What are you to St. James?" "Friends." She licked his chin. "Just friends?" "Yes." She nibbled a fiery path along his jaw. "Not lovers?" "Nope." She bit his earlobe. A sigh of relief escaped him. "Good. I was-" "Why are youstill talking?" All thoughts of the vampire flew from his mind as her hand plunged into the front of his jeans and her nimble fingers encircled him. She squeezed gently, causing sparks to arc before his eyes. Damn, but she had great hands and, if she didn't stop, he wouldn't last long enough to enjoy any other part of her. He wanted that very badly. Panting, he reached for her wrists. "You have too many clothes on."
A wicked smile curved her swollen mouth. "I can take care of that." Grasping the bottom of her bra, she whipped it over her head and tossed it aside. Her full breasts bounded free and he reached for her again. Shaking her head, she rose to her feet, stripping her shorts as she moved. Kicking them to the side, she stood over him, nude. Damn, she was beautiful. His cock gave a twitch as if in invitation. She slipped to her knees over him, this time wrapping her hand around the base of his cock. Adjusting herself, she positioned him at her entrance and, with a heady sigh, took him deep. He captured her hips and adjusted her angle, catching her sweet spot dead on. A moan broke from her lips as she drew her thighs tight to his hips, rubbing her lower body against him. Each tiny movement wrought an answering noise from her throat. She caught his hands and placed them on her breasts, showing him exactly how she liked to be touched. Then she began to move. Head tipped back, she lifted her body from his only to return, barely giving him time to draw breath. She moved easily, her athlete's body rocking in harmony with his as her pace increased. The tip of her braid tickled his legs as soft cries erupted from her. Suddenly, she tightened around him, straining, coming apart over him. He gritted his teeth as she milked him. It was too fast. He wanted to savor her, touch every inch of her skin. He wanted it to last for hours, not minutes. Damn. He closed his eyes. Maybe if he tried reciting the Gettysburg address... Four score andSoft, questing fingers threw his intentions out the window. He opened his eyes to see her watching him, her fingers teasing his nipples. Lips swollen and damp, eyes luminous with satisfaction, a wicked smile blossomed as she swooped to capture a hardened nub between her teeth. Rocking her hips, she suckled him with abandon and he was lost. With a cry, he grabbed her hips and hammered into her. Sensation raged through his body as she suckled his flesh. Sounds of delight escaped her throat as she met him thrust for thrust, her body surrounding him in wet heat. She released him and sat up, taking him deeper. Head tipped back, she thrust against him and all too soon, he came. Hands tight on her hips, he held her in place as he emptied himself. Within seconds, she tensed over him, her voice mingling with his as she convulsed around him once more. Spent, he tugged her down to his chest and cradled her. He stroked the long line of her back as his eyes drifted shut, more content then he could ever remember being in his life.
Maeve shifted, chasing the weak sunlight that illuminated the worn, handwritten pages she was reading. Items needed: Cauldron Paper White Candle Quill and Ink Wild Sage She grinned. She didn't have a quill and ink, only a ballpoint. She presumed it would suffice. For that matter, she glanced at the battered cooking pot on the desk with the other items; she didn't have a proper cauldron. Same difference, she hoped. On the paper, write your heart's desire. She set the book aside and picked up the pen and wrote in bold strokes. Send me the means by which to learn the binding spell. With trembling hands, she folded the paper in half. All will be well, it had to be. She set the paper on the blotter and picked up the book once more, setting it in her lap. Sprinkle the sage into the cauldron and light the candle before you repeat this incantation. As you speak, set fire to the paper and place it in the caldron. She picked up the matches and lit the candle. The flame flickered as she exhaled before it steadied once more. Tension crept along the back of her neck as she picked up the paper. Her hand trembled as she recited the words. "Charge this place with candlelight." She lit the paper. "For I must do what is right. "What I need is knowledge gained, "For my power must not wane "I need a keeper of the A' bhais Cadail, "In this quest, I must not fail. "For all my life this knowledge will reside with me." She dropped the paper into the pot.
"This is my will, so mote it be!" Maeve watched as the paper burned with little smoke, the flame a pure blue tipped with gold. It licked at the paper, scorching before engulfing. One moment, the paper was there, the next only the scent of charred paper and wild sage remained. Curious, she sat straighter and looked in the small cooking pot, noticing it was completely clean. How could that be? Did this mean it worked? She hoped the magic would work for her, time was running out. She closed the spell book and slipped it into a lower drawer where it would be safe from prying eyes. Gathering her tools, she tucked the pot into the drawer next to the book before shutting it. She retrieved the chronicle on killing a vampire. She wanted to reread the text one more time in case she'd missed something. Magic - a spell known as a binding spell can immobilize a vampire. Be warned, while there are several types of binding spells, only theA' bhais Cadailspell will work on an elder. TheA' bhais Cadailis handed down generation by generation through only a few lines of witches and the knowledge is held sacred. The lineage is of the utmost importance and only a witch ofpure lineage and intention can wield the spell. Should the intention of the witch be of a dark nature, chaos will be the result. A frown formed. Should she have included pure intention in her spell? She continued reading. The purpose of the spell is to incapacitate the vampire by putting them in a hypnotic state, rendering them unable to strike physically or mentally. At this point, it is recommended the vampire be beheaded and incinerated-the body independently from the head. The ashes should then be disposed of in separate places, many miles apart-burial or scattering of the ashes is acceptable. Should the vampire be of an extreme age, the ashes should be dumped in the sea where they will be lost for all eternity. Should they be buried, there is a chance that even a single drop of blood could rejuvenate some part of the vampire's soul. Fascinating. A vampire can be rejuvenated even after he'd been burned to ashes? She wrinkled her nose. It looked like a beheading was in her future. It was bound to be messy. "What are you reading?" Quinn's voice interrupted her musing. Steeling herself, she lifted her head to watch him walk toward her. Dressed in worn jeans and a black thermal shirt, he was devastatingly handsome. Images of those hands on her body flooded her mind, causing her breathing to quicken. Never had she experienced such a heated reaction to a man. Less than two hours had passed since she'd left him napping in the gym and already she wanted him again. "These books represent Sinjin's life's work." She waved her hand at the volumes shelved behind her. "They're the chronicles of the Shadow Dwellers."
"Is that so?" He towered over her chair before leaning down. Capturing her chin, he kissed her. A devastating kiss filled with possession and promise. She leaned into his mouth, wanting more of his particular brand of magic. With a murmur, he broke the kiss. Leaning back against the desk, he crossed his legs and studied her. Whatever he saw in her expression must have satisfied him as a smile curved his mouth. He looked away to study the shelves. Hot and flustered, she licked her lips, groaning inwardly as the lingering taste of him teased her senses. This man should be illegal in at least forty-eight of the fifty states. "Wow." She blinked, wondering if he'd read her mind. Instead, she saw he was impressed with the sheer number and size of the volumes that filled the shelves. Knowledge filled each book and, from the look on his face, Quinn wanted to dive into them as much as she did. She smiled. So they did have something in common besides an uncommon hunger for each other. "It's a heady thought, isn't it? All that information, ripe for the plucking." "How many have you read?" "Barely enough to scratch the surface. Sinjin's funny about people reading them." He nodded as if he well understood the value of secrets. "It's pretty chilly in here." He motioned to the broken window frame. "Do you want me to fix the door?" "Oh, well, yeah-I guess so." She glanced at the sheet of plywood and supplies she'd left by the jagged opening. "I meant to get to that, but I sat down to read instead." He grinned. "That's understandable." Dropping a quick kiss on her mouth, he walked to the window and inspected the shattered glass. After locating a trashcan, he hefted a hammer. Tapping at a section of the broken glass, he removed the larger pieces and dropped them into the can. He tucked the handle of the hammer into his belt with a movement that proclaimed familiarity with tools. A man who loves books and knows his way around tools. Quinn was definitely a catch. If he could cook and change the oil, all bets were off. Except you have to throw him back. Disturbed, Maeve stuck a piece of paper in the book she was reading and closed it. True, she would have to throw him back. A man like him deserved a better woman than one with revenge on her mind. She set her book on the desk. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?" "Sure." He reached for a large section of dangling glass. "I've heard stories about Mortianna's powers." "Mmm. Most of them are probably true." Crash. Another piece met its brethren in the trashcan. "I think she enjoys the notoriety. However," he gave her a hooded look. "That isn't a question."
"You're impatient." His look turned to heat, and she struggled to not squirm in her chair. She remembered all too well which one of them had been impatient in the gym earlier. Her cheeks warmed with the memory before she shoved it away. "Is she the most powerful witch in the world?" He shrugged. "Possibly. It isn't as if powers can be measured in distance or size. I think the assumption is that, because Mortianna is the oldest, she must be the most powerful. That may or may not be true. I'd hazard a guess there are a few who could hold their own with her." "Is being a witch something you're born to or taught?" "In my case, a little of both. I was born of two very powerful witches, so it's a given I'd have some powers." He chuckled. "My father said he knew I'd inherited some of his powers when he found me levitating four feet above my cradle. I was seven months old." She grinned at the mental image of a baby floating over his cradle. "That must have been a shock to your parents." "Just my father. We were alone by then." Maeve paused. She'd never considered this. "You weren't raised by your mother?" "No." She bit her lip. If he wasn't raised by Mortianna, would he still know the spell? "But you were raised as a witch?" "Yes." He dropped another piece of glass into the bin before pinning her with his gaze. "Why all the questions?" She feigned a shrug. "I've never met a witch before. I'm curious." His gaze turned assessing as she struggled to look unconcerned. "I was raised a witch and I've always known my heritage," he said. "How does one learn spells?" "There are several ways. Most family lines have a Grimoire, which is commonly referred to as a book of shadows. It outlines spells and incantations. Others learn verbally. Many spells are never written down and they can only be learned by word of mouth." "Like theA' bhais Cadail ?" Quinn faltered, a shard of glass wavering before he dropped it into the can. "That's one of many binding spells and one of the oldest. It's never been recorded that I know of." She fought the urge to leap from her chair and pace. Getting information out of him was like pulling teeth, difficult and frustrating. "Were you taught this spell?"
He dropped the last piece of glass before facing her, tension radiating from every inch of his body. "Why do you want to know?" "I was reading in this book that the safest way to kill an elder vampire is to use this spell. I'd never heard of it and I wondered if it was common knowledge." She cringed inwardly at the out-and-out lie. Normally, she considered herself an upfront and honest person. Lying didn't come naturally. "No, theA' bhais Cadail isn't common knowledge simply because it's too powerful for most witches. The use of this spell on any living creature would render it unable to defend itself. It would be helpless." She could scarcely conceal her relief. The book was right. She needed that spell to bring down Mikhail and redeem herself. "And you know it?" "Yes." He picked up the sheet of plywood and held it over the hole in the window, measuring with his eyes. "What you and many others fail to realize is that witchcraft is more than bad poetry, wicked old hags and eye of newt. It's a religion, a way of life, and it isn't to be taken lightly." Behind him, the sun was setting into the sea, turning his hair to golden fire while giving the illusion of a halo. He resembled an angel and her conscience gave a twinge. Could she betray this man who'd been nothing but kind in order to achieve her own redemption? Dare she tell him the truth? Can you live with yourself if you continue to deceive him? She took a deep breath. "Quinn-" A tremendous crash came from the main hall causing her to jump. Quinn spun around, dropped the plywood and ran out the door. She leapt from the chair and followed close on his heels. In a dim corner of the hall, Sunni stood by a shattered vase, an expression of horror etched on her elfin features. "Something's wrong with Sinjin."
Chapter 7 Val climbed out of his SUV and stretched his legs, stiff from the long and tedious drive from Guildford. He'd been unable to secure air transportation due to the haste required. Maeve's frantic summons had come out of the blue, and he'd had little time to plan, only act. He walked around the car and opened the tailgate to reveal a large leather sheet covering something bumpy. It stirred. He reached toward a hump he thought might be a knee and shook it. "Wake up, my love. The sun has set and it's time for all the good little vampires to come out and play." A throaty moan rose from under the covers. Val tugged on the leather, pulling it off to reveal his soul mate. Shai lay on a white silk duvet, her hair a mass of tangled red curls. Dressed in a tight, black velvet bodysuit with matching slippers, she looked like
sin incarnate. Her leather jacket lay discarded beside her. "Wake up, darling-" Suddenly, unease prickled along the back of his neck and he raised his head. Something was watching them. Shadows cloaked the landscape surrounding Sinjin's remote home, but something lurked in the dark. He zeroed in on the forest lining the west edge of the property. Shadows moved within the trees and he caught a glimpse of beady red eyes staring in his direction. There were at least thirty of the little creatures. Minions. Why would Mortianna's army be so far afield? "What is it?" Shai slipped from the back of the truck, her expression alert. Pulling on her jacket, she caught sight of the minions circling around the trees. "What are they doing here?" "I have no idea. They don't normally leave her side unless she bids them." He pulled Shai away from the door and grabbed a black leather bag. Slamming the door shut, he took her hand. "Let's get inside and see what's going on." Lacing his fingers through hers, he led the way to the front door, then stopped dead in his tracks. In the center of the walk, a sword lay pointing at them. On either side of the walk was a narrow white line in the grass that vanished on either side of the house. "It's a salt circle. A witch is here." "A witch? Could it be Mortianna?" Val shook his head. "I doubt it. It's not her style. She'd more than likely use fire-breathing dragons. A salt circle isn't dramatic enough for her." Shai held up her hand, feeling the air with her palm. "We can't enter." "Not without permission." She glanced over her shoulder at the shadows, her brow furrowed. Val squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Don't worry, I'm not without a plan." "Yeah, but did you tellthem that?" He grinned as he closed his eyes and reached inside himself. Sending out his energy, he sought Maeve within the confines of the house. Finding her, he bade her come outside and let them in. Within seconds, the front door opened and Maeve stepped outside, a knife held before her in a defensive stance. Behind her lurked a man who wasn't Sinjin. "Val?" Maeve peered into the darkness. "Just your friendly neighborhood vampires come to pay a call."
"Well, come in. Why are you standing here?" Her tone was bewildered. "They can't come in until we invite them." The stranger stepped around her. Judging from the leashed energy he exuded, here was the witch who'd laid the circle. Tall and blond, his gaze was direct and unfaltering as he approached. Any man who'd stare an elder vampire in the eye was a man to be reckoned with. Val made a mental note to keep a close eye on this one. "How do we invite them in?" Maeve slid her knife into her boot and followed the stranger. "Pick up the sword and say 'All who walk in light are welcome here.'" Val resisted the urge to smile. Whoever he was, he was smart. If those who dared to breach the circle were of dark intent, harm would befall them. What that harm would consist of would be interesting to see. The chilling slide of steel over stone brought his attention back as Maeve lifted the sword. Her voice was soft and even as she repeated the witch's words and stepped back to allow them entrance. Val squeezed Shai's hand, then stepped past the salt line, pulling her with him. Power flowed warm over his skin, and he heard her utter an inarticulate gasp before the wave subsided, leaving them unharmed within the confines of the circle. As Maeve and Shai threw their arms around one another for a hearty hug, Val's gaze met the stranger's over their heads. He and Shai had passed the first test, but there would be more. An off-key whistle pierced the night, causing them to turn. Two of the minions broke from the shadows and flew at the unprotected opening. Without a sound, the stranger grabbed the sword from Maeve's hand and pushed both women out of harm's way. Just as the creatures reached the ring of salt, he replaced the sword on the ground pointing out. With a flash, one of the minion's brown robes burst into flames. It screamed, a piercing, animal-like sound, as it flailed about, the flames increasing. It collapsed into a burning pile just outside the ring, the scent of burnt wool and cotton candy permeating the night. The other one, seeing the demise of its cohort, came to an abrupt halt in mid- air. A low hiss emitted from the hood and it moved away, zipping back to those waiting near the woods. Val had grabbed Shai's arm as she moved forward to inspect the receding flames and pulled her into his arms. Now that she was secure by his side, he looked at the stranger, who watched him with a guarded, yet approving, expression. The lines were drawn. No matter what happened, both men would do whatever they could to shield their women from harm.
"What do you think is wrong with Sinjin?" Quinn heard the apprehension in Maeve's voice. He glanced at her stone-faced friend. Whatever the
vampire was thinking, none of it showed in his expression. "She's leeching his powers." Val spoke. "I've never seen anything like it.""How does she get past Sinjin's 'guards'?" Shai asked. "She's obviously very determined," Val said. Maeve frowned. "Why? What does she want from him?" Val shrugged. "I don't know for sure, possibly to kill him. By stealing his power, she's rendering him vulnerable to her. Vampires acquire various powers as they age, some more than others. Mortianna is taking them away, one by one, literally stealing his life force." "She's using theA' bhais Cadail ." Quinn caught Maeve's startled gaze across Sinjin's unconscious body. Good. Let her see firsthand what the spell she seeks could do.It destroys lives. She looked away. "How can we break the spell?" Val spoke. "We can't." "What do you mean we can't?" Shai stepped forward. "We can't just stand here and watch Sinjin die." "There's no counterspell that I know of." Quinn shook his head. "You have to understand what it is and what it's used for. She's put St. James into something like a trance. In this dream state, Mortianna can perpetrate any ill upon him she wishes. If he were awake and aware, he'd could fight back, but, as is, he's a sitting duck." "What if we move him?" Sunni laid her hand on Sinjin's arm. "What if she couldn't find him?" "Wouldn't matter. There's nowhere on earth we can hide him where Mortianna wouldn't find him." "Wehave to do something," Sunni squeaked. "We can't just let her kill him." "What about Mac?" asked Shai. "Can he do something?" Maeve shook her head. "Both Mac and Fayne are still in Colorado, trying to find Renault." She looked at Quinn, her expression solemn. "I don't think we have much time." Quinn looked at the still face of the vampire. He had the face of a warrior, strong and still, yet humanity lurked also. Laugh lines around his eyes and mouth proclaimed him as kind. It was easy to see how he'd beguiled Bliss. But a question nagged, one that he needed answered. "Did Bliss love him?" he asked of the room at large. "Very much so." Val answered. "She was an exceptional woman, and her loss is felt very deeply right here." He touched his breastbone in a gesture that conveyed his sorrow. "Many years ago, they were head-over-heels in love and completely inseparable. She'd begged Sinjin to make her immortal as she couldn't bear the thought of ever parting from him."
"I thought all witches were immortal," Sunni spoke. "They can be." Quinn said. "Some are born that way while others use magic to achieve it. No one knows exactly how old Mortianna is, nor do I know if her immortality is magic or innate." "I think Bliss wanted more than her mother would allow. She told me witchcraft wasn't something that came easily to her. She tried a love spell for a friend once, and the man in question ended up falling in love with her twin instead." Val shook his head. "It was a constant source of strife between her and Mortianna." "It takes more than being born of a witch tobe a witch." Quinn acknowledged. "After Sinjin transformed her, she lost what little powers she'd possessed." Val continued. "Mortianna was enraged and came after both of them. Only her love for her daughter kept her from killing Sinjin. Bliss was literally between a rock and a hard place. She made her mother swear to leave Sinjin alone. In exchange, she broke her relationship with him." Quinn nodded. This part of the story he knew well. Mortianna had kept her word and Sinjin had lived in peace. But all bets had died with Bliss. Now Sinjin would die because he'd dared to love a daughter of light. He shook his head. So much waste. His sister was dead, her lover dying-his mother ruling like a macabre puppet-master who pulled strings at will. When would Mortianna learn that one should never tryst with the fates? To damage someone else for personal gain went against everything he valued. Lives were being lost, and for what? It was time to end it. "There's one thing we can try." He met Maeve's shuttered gaze. "I need you to find me some light-colored paint." He turned to Sunni and Shai. "I need you to bring the candelabra from the upper gallery. The ones that hold the single, tall, fat white candles-I need five. Put them in the dining room." Sunni and Shai scrambled from the cramped room with Maeve following at a slower pace. Her expression was quizzical, yet she said nothing. He nodded reassuringly and she walked out the door. "We need to get him out of here." Val's brow furrowed as he assessed the walls of the underground chamber. "You're sure?" He nodded. "While vampires feel safer below ground, I can help him more if he's above. Being underground is unnatural for us." "You're the boss." With his vampire strength, Val lifted Sinjin from his deathbed and slung him over one shoulder. Quinn picked up the torch, one corner of his brain noting the incongruity of his actions. Vampires were creatures of darkness and many of them, even after having aged to the point of being able to walk in the daytime, spent their lives as such. Now, he was about to introduce Damien St. James to the light.
Maeve adjusted the small pillow under Sinjin's head as Shai straightened the white cotton sheet covering him. They were almost ready. She stepped back, watching to avoid the still-damp pentagram painted on the floor. The pale-blue figure wasn't perfectly even, but she hoped it would do. Art had never been her strongest subject in school. The scene was eerily reminiscent of Bliss' funeral chamber, minus the flowers and glass coffin. Even the minions were in attendance this evening. Beyond the windows, the darkness was complete, but she could feel their malevolent presence, waiting, watching. "They can see us." Her voice came out scratchy. "Let them." Quinn stepped behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She resisted the urge to lean into his warmth if only for a few seconds. "Mortianna will know within minutes what we're about to do. The minions will carry the tale directly to her." She nodded and looked across the prone body of her friend to where Val stood, one arm around Shai and the other around Sunni. Shai stared out the window, scowling into the darkness as if she could see them hovering, waiting for an opening. Every now and then, she flashed her fangs as if to warn them away. Sunni's fingers were curled into small fists, worry lining her lovely face. In her lifetime, she'd been a flapper, flower child and an artist. She was a gentle soul who only wanted to love her friends and enjoy her limitless life. Adversity, struggle and the unpleasantness of life were alien to her. Her gaze traveled to Val. He could more than take care of himself. Shai and Sunni were the most vulnerable, but they'd be safe as long as Quinn and Val were around. She reached up and patted Quinn on the hand he'd rested on her shoulder. "Thank you for what you're doing. They mean a great deal to me." He chuckled. "And you mean a great deal to them." Disturbed, she pulled out of his loose embrace. She didn't deserve their friendship, or his tenderness. If Quinn knew about her past and her plans for revenge, he'd abandon her just like her family. She heard his sigh and knew that, once again, she'd baffled him. "What do we need to do now?" She asked. "I'm going to meditate, then we're going to cast a spell. You and everyone else can relax for a while. You'll need to take your positions at five 'til midnight." She looked at her watch to confirm the time. They had fifteen minutes before the show began. She raised her head, watching Quinn as he walked to the central point of the pentagram surrounding Sinjin. Moving about ten feet north of the point, he dropped into an easy crouch, then lowered himself to sit cross-legged. Their gazes locked and a tremor of apprehension sparked to life. He gave her a small wink, and her fear faded as answering warmth bloomed in her chest. He removed his shoes, then his shirt, setting them aside. Placing his hands palm up, one on each knee, he nodded before closing his eyes.
A chill raced down her spine. He was lost to her in more ways than one.
Chapter 8 "We're ready to begin." Quinn's soft words jolted her into action. Pulling the lighter out of her pocket, Maeve lit the fat, white candle in the floor candelabrum in front of her. She glanced around the room to see Val, Shai and Sunni doing the same. Barefoot, Quinn walked to the edge of the pentagram near the central point of the star. He wore baggy, white cotton pants and a matching, oversized, long- sleeved shirt. Runic symbols in gold thread decorated the hem of the shirt. His expression was solemn and his mannerisms calm and confident. He withdrew a fat vial of clear liquid from his pocket. Opening the cap, he dipped his fingers in the substance. "Guardians of All that is righteous." He anointed the candle, starting in the middle then moving up. "I call upon you to attend our circle here." He started in the middle once again, this time moving down to the base. One by one, he walked to each of the remaining candles aligned with the points of the pentagram and performed the same ritual. Once completed, he returned to the center point. "I call to you, Goddess, to attend our circle here." He raised his hands toward the ceiling. "Our Goddess of the moon reigns over all who attend me tonight. Those who strive to subvert her work have no power within this circle." The icy finger of a breeze tickled the back of her neck as the temperature in the room dropped. Maeve shivered and barely managed to resist looking over her shoulder to see what stood behind her. "I call upon the power of the Goddess to set the darkness to light within this sacred place. Banish that which is ill and protect that which is yours by right and natural law." Cool air washed down her back, causing gooseflesh to break out on her skin and the candles to flicker. "Hold your children to your bosom and cast out what is malignant. Those who serve themselves by doing only harm are not welcome here." Her vision wavered as a slight movement caught her attention. She blinked, staring hard at the area several inches from Sinjin's chest. Smoke appeared to seep from the front of his shirt just above his heart. She glanced at the others to see if they'd noticed the phenomenon, but they were paying rapt attention to Quinn's ritual. "Protect your child, Damien St. James, so he may work in your name. Nas miosa imich an seo-a mhain
an leus failte." The smoke thickened with each word. With a wave of his hand, Quinn urged Val to join with him in the chant. As his voice joined the witch's, Maeve turned to see Val had noticed the smoke and was now staring at it with an expression of fascinated horror. "Nas miosa imich an seo-a mhain an leus failte." The small cloud began to thicken and enlarge. "Nas miosa imich an seo-a mhain an leus failte." It swirled like a miniature thunderhead. "Nas miosa imich an seo-a mhain an leus failte." The movement increased as Shai and Sunni's voices joined the men's. "Nas miosa imich an seo-a mhain an leus failte." With each utterance, the movement increased and the temperature dropped. Much more of this and she'd be able to see her own breath. A scent like that of burning leaves filled the air. Concentrating on the cloud, Maeve licked her lips and began whispering the words. "Nas miosa imich an seo-a mhain an leus failte." "Nas miosa imich an seo-a mhain an leus failte." "Nas miosa imich an seo-a mhain an leus failte." "Nas miosa imich an seo-a mhain an leus failte." Quinn raised his hand and pointed a finger at the spinning darkness. "Begone." The quietly spoken word had a cataclysmic effect. The cloud coalesced into the form of a dagger, its sharp point directed at Quinn. "Oh my god," Maeve whispered. The smoke-dagger hurled itself at him, yet he didn't flinch. As the tip reached his chest, it lost form and surrounded his chest and arms in a wide band of darkness. "Remove yourself and your vile stench of malignancy and leave us in peace." The smoke fused into a cloud once more, accompanied by a hollow, ghostly wail. The manifestation flew around the room. Maeve dropped to the floor when it came close to her head as it raced past her. The candelabrum tilted, and for a second she thought it would come down upon her. She grabbed the base to steady it before climbing to her feet in time to see the cloud slam into the center window. With a crash, the window exploded outward.
An unearthly crack of thunder shook the house and set the candle flames to dancing. Quinn raised his hand once more, made a motion, and the flames stilled. Within seconds came a wail of frustration. She looked at Quinn, who nodded in answer to her unasked question. It was Mortianna, thwarted at last. "It's a very old spell, but my father taught me well. As long as the candles continue to burn, the vampire will be free from harm. However, there are only two ways to reverse theA' bhais Cadail. Either she has to do it herself or it will occur automatically should she die." His gaze seared into hers. "We have three days at most."
Maeve's heart leapt as she heard footsteps pause outside her bedroom door. It could only be Quinn as the others had left the house to feed. Would he enter? Did she want him to come to her? Yes. Her shoulders slumped as she heard him walk across the hall to his own room. Seconds later, the door creaked as he opened it, then again as it closed. She grabbed a pillow and held it over her face as she let loose a noisy groan of frustration. Her emotions were tangled when it came to Quinn. One minute she wanted nothing more than to spend eternity wrapped in his arms, other times she felt guilty for deceiving him. Cowardice had kept her silent when she could have told him the truth earlier tonight. But he'd leave if he knew the reality of her life. She dropped the pillow. She should be working on her plan, not dallying with him. But never had she met a man like him and never would she again. He reached a part of her soul she'd long since thought dead. Could she walk away from that? No. He made her feel more alive than ever before. The reality of their situation was that their time was limited. Knowing that tomorrow for them did not exist, could she go to him? Yes. Her stomach clenched as the answer reverberated in her head. Yes, she could and would go to him. That decided; she rolled off the bed and padded to the wardrobe in stocking-clad feet. Stripping her clothing as she went, she discarded them in a trail on the floor. She opened the door and rifled though the contents. Damn! Didn't she have anything that wasn't black? Just as she reached the back of the cupboard, she found the perfect garment. Her palms broke into a sweat as she pulled the satin hanger from its dark repose. The emerald green silk shimmered in the candlelight as she inspected the gown and robe. Lacking any adornment, the chemise straps were set wide apart and the matching robe was long-sleeved and came to mid-thigh on her. It was the perfect outfit for seduction.
She slipped the gown from the hanger and pulled the cool silk over her body. Glancing in the mirror, she noticed the chemise skimmed her curves and showed, without doubt, that she was a woman. She licked her lips. She'd never tried to seduce a man. Seduction wasn't something she'd ever had time to play with. In her experience, men were like the old joke about how to get a man into bed. You bring beer and show up naked. But she had a feeling Quinn wouldn't fall for that. She pulled the robe on and tied the sash, shivering as the silk covered her skin. Even though she had a fire burning in the room to ward off the chill, she was cold from the inside out. Only one thing could warm her, and he was in the next room. Picking up a candle, Maeve faltered as she crept out her door. What if he turned her away? What if he doesn't? Good point. The floor was cold beneath her feet as she approached his bedroom door. Partially opened, she glanced down to see that a wrinkle in a rug had stopped the door from shutting all the way. The fates were on her side. She peeked through the opening and caught a glimpse of a huge fire crackling in the fireplace and dancing shadows on the wall. It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open, wincing as it creaked loudly. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her, mindful of the wrinkle in the carpet. The warmth from the fireplace surrounded her as she approached the bed, her heart in her throat. "Quinn?" Her voice came out as a squeak and she fought the urge to laugh. Look at her, Miss Kick-Ass-And-Take-Names-Later, quivering over a man. Shai would get a kick out of that. That's all he was, a man. Holding her candle higher, she stepped to the foot of the bed. Just an ordinary, run-of-the-millHe was asleep. His silky blond hair was tumbled over his brow, giving him the appearance of an exhausted child. His skin was golden against the pale sheets and it appeared he slept in the nude. The cover was pushed low on his stomach and a fine line of silken hair ran down the center of his abdomen to vanish beneath the sheet. He lay on his side, arm outstretched as if reaching for someone on the empty side of the bed. Her stomach gave a quiver and she licked her lips. Now what should she do? Climb in bed with him? Wake him up? Leave? As she reached out and brushed her finger across his palm, a shiver racing up her arm. She glanced at his handsome face. Okay, so maybe he was more than just a man. What she'd witnessed downstairs was certainly testament to that. He was a witch of tremendous power and certainly too good for the likes of her.
She should leave. Turning, she froze as strong fingers curled around her wrist, preventing her escape. "Don't go." Quinn sat up and tugged her closer. Taking the candle from her, he set it on the bedside stand. Helpless to resist, she climbed into his bed when he pulled back the covers, inviting her in. "I'm so cold." She was dismayed to hear her voice break. "Let me warm you." He replaced the covers, then tugged her into his arms. Heat surrounded her as he drew her to close to his body, and she wanted to weep at the sheer pleasure of it. Their legs tangled as she placed her hands on his chest. His heartbeat thudded against her palm. She raised her head, her nose bumping his. The scent of warm man swirled around her. His breath mingled with hers and she inhaled his essence. Eyes locked, a slow tingle began in her throat as their breathing mated. In. Out. In. Out. His face was less than an inch from hers and she tasted him on her lips. He mimicked her and placed his hand over her heart, their bodies aligned as her heart joined his in rhythm. Warmth shafted through her body, expanded into her chest, and coursed down her arms with each beat of her heart. His free hand slid around her body to the base of her spine, bringing her body tight against his. "Put your hands on me." His voice was warm velvet. Maeve slipped her arm around him, aping his movements by placing it on the base of his spine. His swift intake of breath indicated she'd done the right thing. She slid her other arm around his neck, bringing him within millimeters of her mouth. It was incredibly erotic to lie in a man's arms and touch, yet nottouch . She ached: her breasts, her mouth, her thighs, the warm, honeyed flesh between them. She was powerless as sensations washed through her, her desire growing with each breath. Her body softened and moistened to accept him, yet he made no move to take her any further. Their joint breaths quickened and desire rode low and hard in her abdomen. Their breathing deepened. Her nipples tightened as the tension spiraled even higher. Air raged through her lungs, as their gazes remained locked. His blue eyes were dilated and stormy with arousal. Their breathing quickened and, without warning, she peaked, spasms of ecstasy moving through her as gentle and welcome as a sunrise. Wave after wave of delicious sensation undulated through her as a soft cry escaped her mouth. As the final shock waves ebbed, he tucked her head into his shoulder as she floated back to earth once again,
secure in his arms. Moments later as the lethargy receded, she stirred, only to realize that Quinn hadn't found his own release. Full and heavy, his erection lay between them, pulsing against her lower stomach. His breathing was harsh. She pulled away to meet his dark eyes. They glowed with an inner warmth she didn't have the strength to question. "What did you do to me?" she whispered. He rubbed the back of a finger down her cheek. "I didn't do anything. We did it together." "I've never-" She stopped when those mouthwatering lips curled into a satisfied grin. "I mean, I have, of course. With you, even... I haven't been...I mean, I'm hardly a virgin at my age-" "Of course." His grin grew wider as she became more flustered. "I've just never-" She waved her hand as words deserted her. How could she describe such an experience? "Very few have." His smile turned wicked. "But there's more to come." Heat curled in her low belly. "Mmm, I'm not sure I can survive much more, but I'll do my best." She rubbed her foot against the back of his calf, enjoying the friction of his hair against her sole. "Lead on, teacher." He nuzzled her collarbone. "Mmm, nice outfit." She glanced at the rumpled silk. "Thanks." "Now take it off." She smiled and reached for the belt, but he stopped her. "Allow me." She fairly purred as he urged her onto her back and shoved the sheets out of the way. He rose over her as naked as the day he was born. Bracing his hands on either side of her waist, he leaned forward and picked up one end of the belt with his teeth. His eyes giving heated promises soon to be delivered, he leaned back, pulling the silk with him to loosen the bow. The robe slithered open to reveal the chemise beneath. He dropped the tie. "You're so beautiful," he whispered. In that moment, she truly felt beautiful, but an attack of shyness had her wanting to cover herself. "Only through your eyes." Her voice caught and she was startled to feel the prick of tears. "You were beautiful long before I set eyes on you." He moved forward to place a kiss on the exposed skin of her throat. At his urging, she sat up and he slipped the robe off, discarding it over the foot of the bed. Unhurried hands brushed the straps from her
shoulders, his mouth caressing each inch of flesh he uncovered. Maeve tipped her head back as he pushed the chemise to pool about her waist. Cool air washed over her skin. Instinctively, she curved into him, offering herself. His hands stroked her sensitive flesh, her nipples hardening to aching fullness. Sensation crowded her mind as he took one into his mouth. She gasped, clutching his shoulders as he teased her with his tongue. Sobs escaped her as he suckled, first one, then the other. She lay back on the bed, pulling him with her, tangling her fingers in his hair as he nibbled on her skin. His fingers pulled up the hem of the chemise, stroking the sensitive skin of her inner thigh before delving into her damp flesh. A groan rumbled from his chest, a mixture of desire and impatience. She reached for him, her fingers curling around his hardened shaft. Stroking his sensitized head, she whispered, "Come into me." He braced himself over her and kissed her, a mere brushing of lips. His chest rubbed hers as he nibbled at her lips before biting the lower one. She slipped her hands to his waist to guide him into her. She felt the warm, damp head of his erection pressing against her. Instinctively, she arched. "Now." She hissed. He entered her with a smooth thrust, and she took him deep. "Ahh..." His strangled cry was music to her soul. She linked her ankles around his waist and urged him on. Each thrust grew wilder as his skin dampened with his exertions. With every motion, she rushed to meet him, glorying in the sensations he aroused within her. Her cries mingled with his as they approached the summit. In a blinding flash, ecstasy exploded within her body. Delight rippled through her as he joined her on his journey. With his weight barely supported on shaky arms, she easily tugged him down upon her and he tumbled with a groan. Contentment flooded her sated limbs as she reveled in the pleasure of keeping him still buried deep within her. Never had she felt like this with any other man. Quinn reached a part of her she'd never explored. A smile rode her mouth as she closed her eyes, basking in the rare feeling of well-being. She only hoped it lasted a while longer.
Chapter 9 All his life he'd been capable of handling any situation. His stepmother had taught him how to cook, wash clothes, gather herbs and heal the sick. His father had taught him to be independent, trust his instincts and examine every aspect of a given situation.
The only thing Quinn had never been able to handle was a crying woman. He'd rather do back handsprings through a briar patch than deal with a woman's tears. He felt helpless when a woman cried, just like he did now. He watched Maeve struggle for control before she finally gave up and rolled away from him. She was leaving. Without thinking, he reached for her, wrapping her in his arms. For a second, he thought she'd protest; instead, she relaxed against him. Tremors wracked her body as she fought to rein in her emotions. Silent tears continued to fall as she settled her back against his chest. She surrounded him with her female scent, and his burgeoning arousal nestled against her backside. He dropped a kiss just below her ear. "Want to talk about it?" She shook her head. "Sure?" He kissed the curve of her shoulder. She nodded, her tears dampening his arm. "Anything you want me to do?" She shook her head. "Are you sure about that?" He nibbled her shoulder. "Yes." Her voice caught as she leaned into him to allow better access. He smiled against her neck. "You don't sound sure to me." "Love me," she whispered. "I'm pretty sure I can manage that." He kissed the nape of her neck, enjoying the sensation of her flesh against his mouth. She slid her arm back and reached for him, her fingers encircling his swelling cock. Stroking his eager member, she zeroed in on caressing the sensitive underside, just below the head. If she kept that up very long, he'd be a goner. "You have some very talented hands." He hissed, his breathing growing shallow. He cupped her breast. Her skin was silken against his palm as he plumped his prize. His thumb teased her nipple from slumber into rigid awareness. "Mmm, thank you, kind sir." She purred. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensations she aroused in him. Her hands, deft on his body, stroked and seduced, each movement slow and measured. He gritted his teeth as she increased her pace, drawing out each stroke until his toes curled. Lovely as this might be, it was time to call an end to it before he disgraced himself. He caught her restless hands and pulled them away from him. She made a sound of disappointment, then
stilled as he slid his hand down her thigh, nudging her. Maeve parted her legs for him. He slipped his knee between hers, and she rested her leg on his, her body relaxed against him. A watery sigh escaped her as he entered, still slick from their earlier play. He moved easily within her damp flesh. Entwined as intimately as a man and woman could be, Quinn rocked against her, drawing out each motion and keeping it languid, sensual. Each breath that escaped her became a sigh as her fingers entwined with his. He continued his slow pace toward fulfillment. He was in no hurry and he sensed she wasn't either. Buried deep inside her, flesh against flesh, seemed like the perfect way to spend eternity.
One minute she was warm and relaxed in Quinn's arms, the next a crash sounded in the hallway, jarring Maeve into awareness. In one smooth movement, she rolled from his arms and grabbed the handle of a short sword that lay on the nightstand. Facing the bedroom door, she took a defensive position. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him climb off the bed as the door burst inward and Sunni stumbled over her long skirts, almost landing in a heap on the floor. She clung to the doorknob to regain her balance. "Oops, the door wasn't shut properly." She grinned and her smile vanished as she caught sight of Quinn, naked. "Oh my." Irritation flashed hot along Maeve's skin as she moved into the vampire's line of vision, cutting off what she knew to be a delectable display. "Did you need something, Sunni?" "Val sent me upstairs to get-" She nodded in Quinn's direction, then averted her eyes. "Quinn?" she prodded. "Him." Sunni finished lamely, a faint blush appearing under her pale skin. She seemed unsure where to look. "We'll be down shortly." "Umm, okay." Lacking the usual grace of a vampire, Sunni lurched from the room, shutting the door behind her. Maeve shook her head. If the sight of Quinn naked had that much of an effect on Sunni, she was glad the vampire hadn't come in a few minutes earlier. She would have been mute for life. She stiffened when she heard Quinn's chuckle from behind her. Turning, she scowled at her naked lover. "What's so funny?" "I've never rendered a woman quite so speechless before." He reached for his jeans and pulled them on. "I could get used to this." She rolled her eyes as she laid the sword on the bed within easy reach. "Yeah, well, Sunni's been sheltered all of her life. Don't get your hopes up." Her glance grazed the front of his unbuttoned jeans. "Or anything else."
She snatched her clothes from the foot of the bed and, nude, marched from the room, leaving Quinn wearing a thunderstruck look. Stifling a grin as she heard him laugh, her heart felt lighter than it had been in years.
The ballroom was oddly light as she entered, hand in hand, with Quinn. The candles still flickered around Sinjin as he lay in his dark sleep, but that wasn't the source of the light. Her gaze moved outside, her heart stopping in her throat. The minions had formed a ring just outside the salt circle. Every other one held a large torch, the flames dancing in the darkness. "What are they doing?" she asked. "We have no idea. We were hoping Quinn could answer that." Val stood near the shattered center window, his arms crossed over his chest. Mortianna moved into the circle of light to stand behind the minions, her expression serene. Her gaze locked with Maeve's and the witch nodded. A knot formed in her stomach. No, not now! Mortianna had come for her in answer to her spell. Agony lanced through her as she closed her eyes. What had she done? "I don't know why she's here," Quinn's voice was low. "But I'm going to find out." "I called her." Maeve forced herself to drop his hand, and she shivered as she moved away from him, suddenly bereft. She turned her back on the witch to face her friends. Their expressions were patient, Quinn's confused. "Why?" he asked. "I needed her help." "What kind of help could Mortianna afford you?" Shai spluttered. "I need a spell, one that only she can give me." Silence. She met Quinn's gaze, pierced by the anger and hurt she saw. "You'd betray your friends for this spell?" His tone was flat. She shook her head. "You don't understand." "Then explain it to me." He crossed his arms over his chest. He was already condemning her. Images of her family flashed before her eyes. Panicky, she glanced at each of her friends, but they offered no assistance. She swallowed.
"Eleven years ago, a vampire killed my sister. Rebecca was my twin and I watched her die. Do you know what it's like to hear someone you love die screaming your name?" Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she'd cut out her tongue before she'd let one fall. "My twin, my other half, died and I couldn't save her. I failed her." She wrapped her arms around her waist as her stomach lurched. "He took my family, he tookeverything of value to me. For that, he must die." "You're a fool." His tone was sharp. "You would sacrifice your friendships for this? You can't engineer redemption through revenge. It's gained through growth. You learn from the events of your life and you move on. You don't set out to have your revenge, it's meaningless." His words cut her to the quick. She resisted the urge to look and see if they'd left marks on her skin. "I know what it is to lose a loved one," he continued. "I lost my best friend many years ago because I lost my temper and sought revenge on someone. He died because he trusted me to do the right thing, and I failed him. Trust me when I say the price of revenge is too dear, Maeve. If you go through with this, you'll lose everything you hold dear. That includes your integrity and honor." "What good are integrity and honor when my sister lies in her grave?" she shouted. "What good were integrity and honor when my family turned their backs on me?" "What would your sister want you to do?" Live life and be joyful... "Avenge her death," Maeve whispered. "Then your sister also was a fool." One look at his closed expression and all feeling died within her. She went numb from head to toe. He couldn't, or wouldn't, understand her plight. Which, she didn't know. What she did know was that he wasn't hearing her, he'd shut her out. Now, she had only two choices: either he gave her the spell, or she went to Mortianna and paid whatever price asked. She refused to beg him for it. "I'm asking you to please give me theA' bhais Cadail spell." Her voice was dead, exhausted. "No." So be it. She turned her back on him and walked to the door. "Where are you going?" Sunni quavered. She didn't answer. She was afraid that, if she opened her mouth to speak, she'd start screaming and never stop. She'd do anything to avoid breaking down in front of him ever again. Footsteps followed as she exited the ballroom. The front door loomed and she half-expected Quinn to interfere and prevent the doorknob from turning, but he didn't. The cool wind whipped into the house as
she opened it. "Don't do this." Shai's words ended in a sob. Leaving the door open, she stepped into the darkness. Where the sword pointed outward, Mortianna stood, a soft smile playing about her lips, her cape just shy of the salt circle. She walked down the steps toward the witch. "Maeve-" She ignored Val's voice as she approached, stopping short of the sword hilt. "Will you give me the binding spell?" Mortianna's smile grew wider. "Of course I will, my child. That's why you called me. Knowledge is strength and we all must help our sisters follow their destinies." She turned to look at her friends one more time. Val stood on the bottom step, his arm around a crying Shai, his expression somber. Sunni stood near him, her cheeks streaked with tears. Quinn. He stood alone on the top step, framed in the doorway, arms crossed on his chest. Those same arms that had held her so tenderly less than an hour ago were closed to her now. His expression was cold, his gaze locked on her face. His visage blurred with her tears as she turned away. Stepping over the sword, she moved to Mortianna. Darkness surrounded her as the witch swept her into her cape. "Welcome home, my daughter."
Chapter 10 She'd left him. One minute she'd been in his arms, warm and vital, the next she'd been swept into Mortianna's cape and they'd vanished. Quinn dropped into a chair and ran his fingers through his hair. Had he handled the situation right? He'd thought so. He was obligated by his lineage to protect the secrets of witchcraft he'd been given and it wasn't a task to be taken lightly. Her thirst for revenge would be the end of her. Knowing that, what should he do? Let her walk her own path? Step in and save her from herself? Weary, he rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Quinn." Shai stood in the archway of the library. Her expression was uncertain, her emerald eyes unfathomable. He looked away. He wasn't up to dealing with normal conversation right now. "Shouldn't you be getting
ready for bed? Morning approaches." "Soon." She advanced into the room. She hadn't taken the hint. Resigned, he tipped his head to rest against the back of the chair. "What can I do for you, Shai?" "Nothing for me. Though I must warn you that was a dangerous thing to say to a vampire." He heard the amusement in her tone and couldn't help but smile in return. "You're right." "Is there anything I can do for you?" "Not unless you can give me answers to this mess." Through narrowed eyes, he watched her slide into the armchair near him. "Actually, I can." He raised his head and met her eyes. In their depths, he saw compassion and truth. Vampire or not, Shai had a good soul. He wasn't sure he was ready to hear what she had to say, but he couldn't turn his back either. "Go on." "Have you heard of a vampire named Mikhail?" He nodded. Now he knew he didn't want to hear the whole story. Mikhail was known for being one of the most brutal vampires who'd ever walked the planet. "I've heard of him." "What do you know about him?" "Not much. He's one of the most powerful vampires and he's one of the oldest. Last year, he gathered an army and attempted to overthrow the Council of Elders. I heard the son of a Druid High Priest defeated him. That's pretty much the extent of my knowledge." "Do you know why Maeve wants the binding spell?" she asked. He shook his head. "Mikhail was the vampire who murdered her sister eleven years ago. " He sat upright as shock washed through him.No, she wouldn't... He knew the answer but he had to ask the question anyway. "She's going after Mikhail?" "Yes. When I was a child, Mikhail killed my mother. I didn't know it then, but he waited for me to grow up before he finally came after me, too. Eleven years ago, I was working as a reporter in New York City when he began stalking me by killing women who resembled me. Rebecca, Maeve's sister, was his last victim." She shook her head, her expression sorrowful. "After her death, Maeve's family sensed something had
changed, but they couldn't pinpoint what. After a year, maybe two, they turned their backs on her and she removed herself from their lives. She doesn't admit it, but she was devastated. She lost her sister and her family in a very short period of time." She leaned into the chair, her expression weary. "I gather from what she said earlier that she hopes killing Mikhail will redeem her in the eyes of her family. She's spent the last ten years honing her skills to take on Mikhail. My guess is that she thinks the binding spell is the key to success." Oh my Goddess, Maeve, why didn't you tell me? He shook his head. "The spell will get her killed." Shai's eyes widened. "How so?" "It takes an experienced witch to wield it effectively. It takes a great deal of power to cast and even more to maintain. It isn't the casting, it's the maintaining of the spell and that takes years of practice. Most spells require a burst of energy to cast them. This one requires prolonged exertion and it takes years to perfect that ability. There's no way she can hope to succeed." He looked at his hands, hands that had cast many spells but never theA' bhais Cadail . Could he cast and maintain it? He wasn't sure, he'd never tried. There were very few witches who could complete the spell and live to tell about it. "Oh my." Shai's gasp tore at his heart. A subtle tapping turned his attention to the window. Darkness reflected his image and, in a spill of firelight, he saw movement. On the terrace stood a massive raven, its sharp black gaze locked with his. The bird tapped the glass with its beak and, this time, Quinn rose from his chair and walked to the French door. "Shai, can you leave us alone?" He opened the door to admit the bird. It hopped into the room, its sticklike feet making no sound on the carpeting. Quinn glanced at Shai, catching her speculative gaze. He had no doubt she'd be asking him questions later, but she nodded and rose from the chair. "Sure thing. I'll close the door." As she left, the bird flew into the chair she'd just vacated. Fathomless black eyes stared into his. Quinn smiled. "Hello, Father." The bird bobbed its head, then spread its wings. In the space of a few seconds, the feathered creature transformed. Clad entirely in black, Keirgen was a distinguished man with golden hair tinted at the temples with silver and laughing brown eyes. "How's the family?" Quinn asked. "Your brothers and sisters are fine and your mother sends her love. She's a bit peeved that you haven't contacted her about attending the yearly Samhain feast." He waved a mock-admonishing finger at his son. "She's threatened to come after you with her rolling pin."
He grinned at the thought of his tiny, five foot three stepmother coming after him with a rolling pin. Dainty and good-natured, Emme was a delight and she wouldn't hurt a fly. "I meant to get back to you, but I've been pretty busy lately." Now, there was an understatement. Keirgen nodded, his gaze sharp. "You look tired, my son." Leave it to his father to say it like it is. "I am. It's been a rough few days." He gestured to the brandy snifters. "Care for a drink?" "No thanks, I don't like to drink and fly, it makes me dizzy." He gestured for Quinn to sit, waiting until his son was seated before he spoke. "I think you know why I'm here. I've heard disturbing stories about Mortianna and I've come to speak with you about it. I've been hearing she's banding the witches together and she wishes to join forces with someone, a vampire, to overthrow the Council of Elders." "Mikhail?" "Possibly, probably. He made a very public grab for control last year. I'm hearing another name also, Gabrielle DesNoir. She's said to be Mikhail's consort and a lesser vampire, only about a hundred years of age." Quinn frowned. "What does Mortianna hope to accomplish with this?" "Power over the vampires and were-animals? I don't know for sure." His father's gaze was direct. "One thing is certain, she wants the vampire you're protecting and she'll do anything to get him." "Including using an innocent." Kiergen nodded. "That's a given. Mortianna will do anything to further her own end, including destroying her own child. She could care less if an innocent gets hurt." Quinn fixed his gaze on the fire. He knew what his father was telling him even if he didn't come out and say it. As her son, it was his responsibility to stop Mortianna from causing further damage. This new wrinkle was bigger than Maeve and her problems. The delicate balance of power in the world of the preternaturals hung by a thread. If Mortianna succeeded in her scheme, many people would die. Until Bliss' death, she'd been a reluctant figurehead in the realm of the witches, as she'd always preferred being left alone. When called upon in matters of dispute, she'd been known for fairness in her judgments even if her punishments were harsh. She didn't tolerate fools gladly and she let that be known far and wide. But the tide had turned. In the last few months, the mortality rate among the preternaturals and witches had been rising. The rumored reason was Mortianna. With the death of Bliss, the witch had become unbalanced, lashing out at those surrounding her. "I'm sorry it's comes to this, my son." He saw genuine sorrow on Keirgen's face. "I know, Father."
"A child should never have to chose between what's right and his family, but there are times when hard decisions must be made. This will probably be one of your most difficult." Something died within Quinn's soul as he accepted his father's words. "You're right. But I think I knew a showdown was imminent the moment I crossed her and stopped her from killing Maeve." "I heard about that." Keirgen smiled. "Good show, son." "What else could I do?" "Just what you did." "So now I have to decide what I'm going to do next. First off, what can you tell me about the minions?" His smile faded. "Nasty buggers. The only thing I know is they can't stand water. They dissolve like sugar and the smell is abhorrent." "That explains it, then." He told his father about the peculiar "corpses" they'd found a few days earlier. "I don't know what happened to Mortianna." Keirgen rose from his chair and placed a hand on Quinn's shoulder. "She wasn't always like this. I think Bliss' death seriously unhinged her. Mortianna is your biological mother, but I want you to know that, when I left her, I kept the best of her with me." "She was never my mother." Quinn's throat tightened. "She ceased to be anything to me the day she turned her back on us. You, Emme and the kids are all the family I ever needed." Keirgen blinked, his eyes suspiciously shiny. "You were more than I could have hoped for in a son." He gave Quinn's shoulder a squeeze before he pulled away and walked to the French door. "I'll tell Emme to expect you around Samhain if not on it." He winked at his son. "And maybe I can keep her from coming after you with that rolling pin." Quinn grinned. Keirgen's smile faded. "Right now, you have much to do. Your destiny lies before you. Embrace it and walk in light." "Walk in light," he echoed. The mantle of inevitability settled on his shoulders as his father stepped into the early morning. Transforming once more into a raven, Keirgen headed for the brightening skies. Quinn rubbed a hand over his eyes to shake off his weariness. He knew what he had to do.
"So tell me, what do you want with the binding spell?" Maeve rubbed her eyes, trying to rid herself of the fuzzy sensation in her head. When Mortianna had closed the cape around her, she'd lost consciousness only to awaken in what she assumed was the witch's lair.
She cleared her throat before meeting the woman's gaze. "Does it matter why I need the spell?" Mortianna's brow arched as a slow smile curved her lips. She nodded before turning her attention to a heavily laden table and the myriad of objects contained on it. "It doesn't matter to me why you need the spell, I'm merely curious." She reached for a thin sheet of ivory parchment and selected a black quill from a glass container. "By giving you the spell, I'll be breaking thousands of years of silence. It's never been given to a mortal and very few witches have the knowledge even today." She selected a small pot of red liquid. "What I offer you is quite the coup. Many have died in pursuit of this knowledge." She dipped the tip of the quill into the liquid and began to write. What would it hurt to tell her? "I have a score to settle with someone." "Really? And this calls for theA' bhais Cadail ? Now this is interesting, indeed." The scratching of the quill over parchment stopped as Mortianna glanced at her. "Revenge is a motive I can understand. It appears we have much more in common than I thought. Who is he, a mortal?" "Vampire." "Ahh, that explains it." She nodded slowly. "May I ask who you wish to use this spell on?" "Mikhail of Kiev, the vampire who killed my sister." The witch's expression was startled before turning faintly admiring. "It appears I've underestimated you for you aim high." She turned away once more and the scratching resumed. "Will the binding spell work on a vampire of his power?" "Oh, yes. The binding spell works on any living creature. However, one thing stands in your way." "And that would be?" The sound of spiked heels on stone sounded behind her. Maeve tensed as the sensation of cold air prickled over her skin. Her eyes narrowed as her preternatural senses screamed the arrival of the dead. Vampire. Slowly she turned, every sense on alert. Walking toward her was Gabrielle DesNoir, Mikhail's consort. She was a stunning woman. With the fairest of skin, her blue eyes were piercing - unearthly - and her hair was black as night. Her lips were ruby red and her fangs flashed as she smiled. Clad in black leather from neck to toes, she looked like the spawn of Satan. The scratching stopped. "Have you met my new friend, Gabrielle?" Maeve's stomach gave a lurch. Since when did Mortianna declare herself friends with any of the dead? This couldn't be good. "Not formally." Her lips were stiff.
Gabrielle smiled, her dark eyes mocking. "Maeve Leigh? At long last we meet. I've heard a great deal about you." "Funny, I've heard nothing about you." She kept her tone bland. Gabrielle's eyes narrowed and her breath escaped in a slight hiss. Her expression turned calculating. "Oh, I know." She snapped her fingers. "I'd mistaken you for your sister, Rebecca. Mikhail speaks of her very highly." Maeve curled her fingers around the ends of the chair arms. Gabrielle's words had scored a hit, but she'd be damned to hell before she'd let the vampire know she'd drawn blood. A trill of laughter escaped Mortianna. "Now, ladies, let's sheath the claws and get down to business. I think we can all benefit from each other's expertise. I've decided we need to form an alliance." Inwardly, Maeve balked. She had no desire to enter into any type of relationship with the vampire. She'd heard of Gabrielle and her cruel nature and she wanted no part of it. While Maeve would do almost anything to achieve her goal, dealing with the bloodsucker might be the breaking point. What would the witch ask in return for the spell? Then the question would become was she willing to pay the price? An image of her sister's face rose in her mind. Yes, she would. "What do we need fromher ?" Gabrielle was looking at her as if she were some sort of creature that had climbed out from under a rock. "Plenty. Whether Maeve knows it or not, she's the key to our plans." Maeve stiffened, her instincts telling her to run at the same time her body refused to obey. She remained planted in the chair. "What do you mean by that?" "Gabrielle has approached me about the witches' lending aid to her and Mikhail's bid to rule the Council of Elders. I, in turn, want Damien St. James' head on a platter." The witch smiled and it wasn't pleasant. "That's where you come in." Maeve rose from the chair. It took all of her strength to keep her knees locked and her feet rooted to the ground as her head swam. They wanted Sinjin in exchange for the spell and that she would not do. Sacrificing her friends was the only price she was unwilling to pay. "I can't help you. Quinn appointed himself Sinjin's guardian and he won't back down." "He would... for you." She crossed her arms over her chest. "You expect me to convince your son to relinquish Sinjin into your hands?" Mortianna smiled and nodded. "And, in return, I'll give you the spell." She didn't even have to think about it. She had no qualms about destroying herself, but she wouldn't pull Quinn and Sinjin down into her own personal darkness. "No."
Mortianna's brittle smile froze. "What?" Her tone expressed her disbelief. "You heard me the first time. I said no." A shriek of laughter escaped Gabrielle as she pointed her finger. "You're a brave one. Foolish, too." "You ask for the spell, yet you will not do me the smallest favor?" the witch asked. "This is hardly a small favor." Maeve shook her head. "You can request anything but this from me. You're asking me to betray two good, brave men. One of them your own son." "I have no son!" Mortianna thundered. "My only child, my precious daughter, lies dead in the other room. She's dead because a vampire laid his hands on her. That vampire will know my vengeance as will his cohorts in the dark realm. Either you stand with me or you stand against me." Maeve turned away and walked to the door. A mad itch sprang to life between her shoulders seconds before icy fingers closed around the back of her neck. Halted in her tracks, she was whipped around to face Mortianna. She grabbed for her boot knife only to find that her muscles wouldn't respond to her command, as if she were paralyzed. Her brain screamed for her to move, but she was unable to answer the desperate summons. "You would defy me?" Mortianna snapped. She couldn't answer so she settled for glaring at the witch, leaving no doubt as to her feelings. "You have disappointed me." Gabrielle loomed behind the witch, her eyes glittering with bloodlust. "Let me have her." She licked her lips. "Nothing tastes as good as the blood of innocence." Revulsion crawled under her skin at the thought of this vampire's hands on her. "No, I have other plans for her. I think a few weeks in theoubliette will remind her of the correct priorities in life." The Little Place of Forgetting. Terror sprang to life as Mortianna dragged her in an iron grip to a small door on the far side of the room. Horror beat a desperate tattoo in her chest as she was forced into the darkness. The witch grabbed a torch to illuminate their way down a narrow, twisting passage that led deep into the earth. Maeve stumbled over the uneven dirt floor as they worked their way deeper still. The scent of mold, decay and damp earth invaded her nose. All too soon, the flickering golden glow illuminated a dark pit near a wall. A strangled scream locked in her throat as Mortianna pulled her to the ledge of a large pit. "I want you to think on this as you reside in theoubliette ." The witch lit another torch hung on the wall with the one she held in her hand. "Since you're immortal, I shan't have to worry about you dying on me. Again and again, your mortal body will dehydrate and die alone in the darkness, and your immortal soul will rejuvenate it to begin the cycle of life and death once more. It will be never- ending. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Bile threatened to choke her as she quivered in the witch's grip. Oh, what she'd give to feel the hilt of her knife against her palm. Mortianna continued in a musing tone. "I wonder how many times an immortal can starve to death before the body and soul give up and actually expire? I suppose this could be an experiment of sorts." Gabrielle gave a cackle, forcing Maeve's gaze from the witch. "Good-bye, dear, It was so lovely meeting you," the vampire said in a singsong voice. Mortianna jerked her, swinging her gaze back to the witch. "Shall we see how deep the pit is?" she taunted. Maeve watched as the witch dropped the torch into the hole. It kept falling and falling until it was but a tiny speck in the darkness. Then it vanished. Immortal or not, how could she even survive the fall? "Ah, before you go-I have a present..." Mortianna released her grip on her neck. Placing her hands on either side of Maeve's head, her vision dimmed as darkness surrounded her. "Here is a little something to keep you company in the dark." The witch's voice dropped into a whisper. "Uile fois...I give you the gift of knowledge..." A scream broke from her lips as cutting pain tore through her head. An icy wind invaded her brain carrying with it a myriad of images. They jumbled and danced like a kaleidoscope in the hands of a two-year-old as her body jerked uncontrollably in the witch's grasp. Consciousness dimmed.
She didn't know how much later it was when Mortianna released her. Ears buzzing, Maeve wavered on wobbly legs at the edge of theoubliette . Her mouth was filled with the taste of blood and her brain staggered with the unwanted knowledge thrust upon her. Broken images flipped before her eyes like a slide show while bits of conversations played in her ears like that of an audio tape set to repeat. Exhaustion threatened to send her to her knees. "Sleep well, my daughter, and come back to me with your loyalties in place," Mortianna whispered. "Your destiny awaits you." A gentle hand brushed the small of her back, just enough to tip her into the unfathomable darkness.
Chapter 11 "You realize that we're willing to die rather than turn Sinjin over to that madwoman." Val's eyes fairly smoked with displeasure. Shai shot Quinn a look that pleaded for understanding while she tugged her lover's sleeve. "That's his
mother ," she hissed. "Something he should have told us earlier. The woman is insane." Val stalked away. Silent, Quinn acknowledged the truth of his statement. As a child, he'd yearned to have a relationship with Mortianna. Even now, there was a part of him that still wanted her acknowledgement. However, it was apparent that it was impossible. How sad for both of them. His upbringing had been idyllic and, in Emme, he'd had the perfect mother. She'd been the one to hold him when he was sick, bandage his injuries, and kick him in the backside when he'd needed it. He'd never lacked a loving mother figure. All this time, what he'd imagined as the hole in his life left by a non-relationship with Mortianna, was actually a hole in himself. A hole that had been healed by Maeve. Her misguided journey to secure what, in her mind, was her redemption, had led to his re-evaluation of life. Now he just had to get her back, this woman he loved. Loved. A sense of wonder expanded through his chest. He loved her. He loved her fierce spirit, her sense of adventure and her loyalty to her friends and to her sister. She was misguided in some ways, but nothing she couldn't work out. He hoped. He looked at Shai. "Mortianna wasn't a mother to me, never has been. I was raised with my father and his second wife, Emme, who is the mother of my heart. Until a few days ago, I'd never had any contact with Mortianna." Her expression was skeptical. "I need to know where you stand, Shai." He braced his hands on the desk between them. "If I'm going to go against Mortianna and stop her from this madness, I'll need all the help I can get." A slow smile crept across her face. "What did you have in mind?" He returned her smile. "I need you to gather the troops. We're going on a little trip." "We are? Where are we going?" Her eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Oh, no, you don't." He shook his head, a smile on his face. "That would ruin the surprise." "Spoilsport. I can't guarantee Val will jump in with both feet until he knows what you're planning. My man is rather cautious. " "I'll explain later. Gather everyone and we'll discuss it then." As Shai left to do as he'd requested, Quinn uttered a quick prayer for Maeve's safety. If the Goddess would look after her until he could get to her, which was all he could ask for.
The darkness was smothering. Head throbbing, Maeve leaned against the unseen wall, the cool stone contrasting with the strangely warm air. Exhaustion screamed through her body as she closed her eyes once more. All she wanted to do was sleep. She had no idea how long she'd been in her prison. Her body craved food and she longed for a glass of water, but there was none to be had. Was the witch correct? Would she die in this pit only to be resurrected by the curse of immortality? Brilliant specks of light flashed against her eyelids as she tried to remember exactly how she'd ended up here. Memories of her time with the witch and the vampire were disjointed, like loose images in a photo album. Open another page and the photograph slipped through her fingers. While she recalled speaking with Gabrielle and Mortianna and she certainly remembered the witch's demand that she turn over Sinjin, she had no memory of landing in this dark hell. One minute she'd been up above, the next she'd been here, in the depths of the earth surrounded by darkness and the overpowering stench of sulfur and decay. She kicked her leg, her foot connecting with yet another bone, sending it clattering over the uneven floor. Theoubliette was scattered with human bones, or, at least, she thought they were human, and rotting clothing. Every now and then, she heard a rattle of disturbed bones and the patter of tiny feet in the darkness. She wasn't alone, after all. A reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. It seemed Mortianna hadn't quite gotten her wish after all. Her smile faded. Where had she gone wrong? An image of Quinn crystallized in her mind and a shaft of sorrow pierced her heart. She remembered too many things about him. He really had a great laugh but, in general, he was serious most of the time. His eyes turned darker, stormy blue when he was turned on, and his smile could make a woman's toes curl. His touch gave her shivers and the scent of his skin made her want to curl in his arms and stay there for eternity. Her throat tightened. The reality of Quinn far outweighed her desire for revenge - too bad she hadn't realized that before she'd leapt. She'd gone with Mortianna for two reasons. Quinn had refused her the spell, and her life had become one long quest for revenge. She'd been wrong. Slow on the uptake, she only now realized that what she really wanted was what she could have had. It had been staring her in the face for days. Tears stung her eyes. Her desire for revenge was a valid emotion in one sense; she'd lost the person dearest to her, so it had been natural for her to want Mikhail to pay for his crimes. Yet, in the span of life, she'd been foolish. Reb was gone and nothing would bring her back. And Maeve had allowed her life to become a mockery of her sister's. Her time consisted of training and planning, all to bring down a vampire who'd destroyed the other half of her heart. Tears slipped from beneath her eyelids to be ignored.
What had happened to the young woman who'd laughed with her friends, flirted with guys, played guitar, frolicked in the rain and had only wanted to become a chef? Hell, when was the last time she'd cooked? She swallowed hard. Effectively, her life had ended the moment she'd met Mikhail on the campus of SUNY where she and Reb had attended school. She, too, had died with her sister, only it had taken eleven years for her to realize it. A mirthless smile touched her lips as pain lanced through her chest at the realization. Mikhail had won and she'd never known. Her sister, her other self. A sob erupted even as she tried to prevent it by biting her lip. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth to stifle those that followed. What would Reb say to her right now? Get off your ass. All is not as it seems. A bark of laughter bubbled to mingle with her bitter tears. Had she been in theoubliette long enough to go insane? Maybe she was already dead and didn't know it. Was this the other side? She opened her eyes only to see darkness. If this was it, heaven was highly overrated. Who said you were going to heaven? You could very well be in hell and not know the difference. "Except I don't believe in hell." Her whisper sounded loud in the silence. Don't you? A cackle escaped her. That had sounded like her sister's voice. It was just like Reb to get right to the heart of a matter. She'd never believed in letting grass grow under her feet. With a groan, Maeve pulled her legs up tight to her body and leaned her forehead against her knees. All may not be as it seems, however, she'd gone over every inch of her prison, searching every crevice on her hands and knees, and it wasn't as if there was a door. Hell, even a crack in the wall would help, but there was none to be had. Isn't there? She raised her head and blinked watery eyes. That definitely sounded like her sister. "Reb?" Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. "Is that you?" she whispered. Silence. She'd really gone off the deep end this time. She straightened her legs and rubbed her damp eyes with the hem of her shirt. She blinked several times. Yep, it was still dark. Leaning her head against the wall, she closed her eyes once more. Her sister's image swam before her eyes. God, she missed her. Will you get off your ass? Maeve started, her head jerked upright, her heart thudded in her chest. Was that real? No, it couldn't be... She had to be hearing things. No you're not-now, get moving, you have work to do.
"Reb?" Yes? Startled, Maeve leapt to her feet as if scalded. As she stood, her head connected with a rocky overhang. She sat down hard, head smarting and ears ringing. Rubbing the spot, she scowled. "Of all the stupid things..." she muttered. You've got that right. A ghostly giggle raised the hair on her arms. "How can you be talking to me?" Do you remember the witch putting her hands on you and whispering something? Maeve frowned as images flashed through her mind. Mortianna dropping the torch, Gabrielle laughing, cold hands on either side of her head, then a tremendous flash of pain. She flinched. "Yes." She gave you the gift of knowing, more commonly called the Knowledge of the Ages. "What does that mean?" You'll figure it out as you go. Right now, you need to get out of this hole or all will be for naught. Maeve blinked, her mind whirling with possibility. Did she have the ability to escape this hell? She looked around. The darkness didn't seem to be as complete as before. She held her hand several inches in front of her face. Yes, she could see the pale outline of her fingers. Excited, she scrambled to her knees. Why was it lighter in here? She blinked again several more times. Across from her, a section of the wall looked vaguely lighter than the stone around it. She frowned. That hadn't been there before. How could she have missed such a thing? Was it a trick? Does it matter? She jerked as the voice sounded in her head once more. Was it really her sister? She didn't know for sure. Whatever or whoever it was, it was showing her the way out. She got to her feet and approached the new find, careful to shuffle her feet to avoid tripping over objects scattered about the lumpy floor. Feeling the walls with her hands, she located the lighter area to realize it was a narrow recess in the wall. She squeezed into the niche. A fresh draft of air touched her cheeks and she took a deep breath. Excitement tingled down her spine as she examined her ticket to freedom.
A narrow shaft led up into the rock and it was definitely lighter in here. Daylight? Had it been cloudy in here earlier and that was why she'd missed it? Was it a way out? If it was, she was in for a climb. "Thank you," she whispered. Finding a handhold, she pulled one foot closer to freedom.
Chapter 12 Quinn stared at the façade of Mortianna's house. She should think of remodeling it. The sheer number of windows on the south side made for a liability when it came to defense. Then again, who would dare face the dragon in her lair? Only a fool. Guess that makes me a fool. He assessed the situation as he exited the Rover. Through the windows, he saw the minions gathered in a circle around the outer edges of the pentagram. Standing two deep, they surrounded Bliss' coffin, resembling a military honor guard from hell. Mortianna was nowhere to be seen. "Aren't we delivering ourselves right into her hands?" Alexandre Saint-Juste asked as they approached the front door of Mortianna's house. The leader of the Council of Elders had met them outside of London, joining forces with them for the coming confrontation. "You've got that right," Val muttered. "How do we know this isn't a trap engineered by you and your mother?" "Regardless of what you think, I'm here to rescue Maeve and put a stop to the nonsense my mother started." Quinn stopped at the door, turning to face his companions. "You don't have to enter. This isn't your battle." "Like hell it isn't," Val answered. "That witch threatened the life of my best friend and aligned herself with Mikhail, who is my problem. This battle is mine whether you like it or not." Quinn nodded then looked at Alexandre. He straightened. "I'm the head of the Council of Elders." He threw a wry grin to Val. "Such as it is. It's my duty to protect the interests of those I serve." "I want both of you to know that I'm not sure I can convince her to back down. This could get ugly real fast. We may very well die here tonight." Val threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Nowhe tells us." Alexandre grinned and looked up at the clear night sky where thousands of brilliant stars twinkled. "It wouldn't be a terrible day to die." Taking that as their acceptance of the situation, Quinn nodded and reached for the doorknob.
"Shouldn't we knock?" Alexandre asked. He shook his head. "Trust me, she already knows we're here." Before he could turn the knob, the door opened wide to admit them. The entry was empty and gaslights flickered in the breeze from the open door. "I guess we've just been invited in." Val said, stepping through the door. Quinn followed with Alexandre close on his heels. The door closed silently behind them. "Parlor tricks." Val muttered under his breath, contempt dripping from every word. Quinn nodded. He'd warned them earlier that Mortianna would try and throw them off balance with small feats of magic. If anything, she was predictable. He led the way to the room where Bliss lay in state. Quickly, he scanned the room and saw that neither Mortianna nor Gabrielle were there. Only the minions stood in their silent rings around the casket. "Damn," Alexandre hissed, his gaze locked on the coffin. Val motioned to him and, together, they approached the coffin, shoving minions out of the way with their hands. The little beasts regrouped seamlessly behind them as if nothing were amiss. Both men stared at his stepsister; Alexandre's face carefully blank while Val's expression was troubled. "Why?" Val asked. "Why didn't Mortianna bury her daughter?" "Because I couldn't bear to place my child in the cold earth." Mortianna swept into the room. Dressed in her usual black, Quinn was shocked at how old she looked. Deep grooves bracketed her mouth and her hair was heavily silvered. Her magic was fading even faster now. What caused this drain of her powers and why did she seem to be oblivious to it? Was it theA' bhais Cadail ? Was this the price for using it? She continued. "I realize, being a vampire, you don't understand my reluctance. But, to us, being underground is abhorrent." She walked to the coffin, the minions parting like water before her. "On the contrary, Mortianna, not all vampires sleep below ground." Alexandre responded. "The smart ones do." A small woman entered the room dressed in black leather from head to toe. This could only be Gabrielle. She smiled at Alexandre, her fangs catching the light. "Alexandre, so lovely to see you again. I see you've met my new friend, Mortianna." The witch gave the vampire an indulgent smile before she redirected her attention to the men. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" "You know why we're here." Quinn said. "We've come to retrieve Maeve, among other things." "Maeve?" Mortianna feigned surprise. "She's doing quite well, I assure you. We've reached an agreement and she's perfectly content where she is." "I'd prefer to hear that from her," he responded.
She shook her head. "I'm afraid that's impossible, she's quite busy right now. She has much to prepare for." "You gave her the spell?" "Oh, that and then some." She nodded, a satisfied smile on her face. What the hell did that mean? "You gave her more than the binding spell?" Val asked. "I'll say," Gabrielle drawled. "Where is she, Mortianna?" Quinn pressed. "Oh, really, trying to spoil my fun." She rolled her eyes. "Her priorities weren't in line with our goals, so I made a gentle suggestion that she rethink before proceeding any further. I feel it's good to have a plan prior to battle." "She's not on the premises," Val said. "I can't feel her." Alexandre nodded agreement. "You're so right, vampire." Mortianna waved her hands as if to signal the end of the discussion. "Let's talk about her later. I have a feeling we have many more stimulating things to discuss." She gave a chilly smile. "I'd like to invite you to partake of some refreshments. However, I have no fresh blood on hand." She shrugged. Quinn was reluctant to let the subject of Maeve go, but, for the moment, he didn't see that he had any choice. All he could do was hope she'd remain safe until he could ascertain her whereabouts. "I'd like to talk to you about your plans with Gabrielle." He nodded in the female vampire's direction. Mortianna laid a hand on her daughter's coffin. With a great show of unconcern, she traced one of the seams on the glass lid. "Why is this any of your business, myson ?" "You made it my business when your actions threatened the lives of innocents." He moved through the lines of the minions, using magic to shove them aside so he didn't have to touch them. "Historically, the witches have never chosen sides nor have we participated on the Council. When Bliss was on the Council, she was careful to never speak for the witches, only the revenants. Now you're about to change all of that by joining with Mikhail and Gabrielle. What do you hope to gain from this?" "Control of the Council, of course." She spoke slowly as if he were a child. "What would you do with control of the Council? What do you hope to accomplish?" She shrugged. "Wealth, more power, the elimination of vampires." Gabrielle snapped to attention. "Hey, that's not what-" "Shut up, you twit!" Mortianna snapped. "You're a silly child who should know better than to trifle with a
witch of my powers." Her lip curled. "You and your kind sicken me." As she ranted, Quinn slipped a hand into his pocket and opened the top of a small drawstring bag he'd deposited there earlier. Contained in the bag was a small amount of magical powder he'd created using dirt, a variety of crushed herbs and dried mother's milk. Dipping his fingers into the talc-fine powder, he pinched a small amount between his thumb and forefinger. Withdrawing his hand, he rubbed his fingers together, disbursing the powder in a small but steady stream as he walked toward Mortianna. "Vampires," she continued, "prey on humans and innocent little girls like mine. They take and destroy purity, subverting it into something dark and evil. I want no more of your kind to walk the planet." Gabrielle flinched. "I-" "Begone, fiend," Mortianna snapped, waving her hand in Gabrielle's direction. The vampire gave a hiss as four of the minions turned and started in her direction. "You haven't heard the last of me!" With her gaze throwing daggers at them, she ran from the room, the minions hot on her heels. "What about Bliss?" Val asked. "What would she say about this?" Mortianna scowled at him. "My daughter can't say anything. She'sdead . Why do you think I'm doing this?" Quinn continued his slow journey as the conversation ebbed and flowed around him. Careful to keep his movements unobtrusive, he divided his attention between his task and the discussion, waiting for the right time to jump in. "I meant, if she were here right now, what would she say about your plan?" Val's tone soothed. Mortianna frowned as if confused. Her gaze fixed on a spot on the floor as if something were troubling her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Quinn knew exactly what was bothering her. Already the powder was taking effect. He continued his task, moving in a wide circle around his mother, enclosing them in a circle of fine powder. "Why do you think I'm doing this?" she repeated. She rubbed a spot between her brows. "My daughter, my beautiful daughter," she whispered. "Don't you think she'd be upset that you're trying to destroy her friends?" Alexandre asked. "Well, of course she would be. The silly twit believed she was in love with St. James. He bewitched her. What mortal could love a blood-sucking fiend?" She began to pace. Quinn kept an eye on her as he completed the circle. Unaware of the boundaries, Mortianna paced within it. The enchanted powder was keeping her secured without her knowledge. So far so good. "Mother," he spoke, drawing her attention. He stood across from her, the casket between them. She looked up and he was struck by her grief, etched in every inch of her face. For all her faults, Mortianna had truly loved her daughter.
But not him. Never him. He waited for the pain to come, but it didn't. Only a whisper of bittersweet agony resonated as he thought of the severed relationship between his sister and mother. His biological family certainly took the fun out of dysfunctional. He shook himself back to the present. "Aren't you forgetting something?" "What?" she snapped, clearly irritable. "Bliss loved Sinjin with all her heart." He looked at the serene face of his sister. "And he loved her to distraction." He met his mother's gaze one more. "Vampire or not, your mortal daughter did love a blood-sucking fiend as you put it." For a second, he thought she'd erupt in flames. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparked before she forcibly calmed herself. "He tricked her," she said. "How? How did Sinjin trick her into loving him?" She waved her hand and resumed her pacing. "I don't know. Vampires havepowers that even I don't understand completely.My daughter could have never loved one ofthem ." She indicated Val and Alexandre. Quinn laid his hand on the casket, the glass chilly beneath his palm. "You keep ignoring the fact that Bliss did love one of them. She wished to spend her life with him, but she couldn't because you forced her to make a choice. She chose to leave him and keep him alive, rather than allow you to kill him." He stroked the glass directly above his sister's face. "What else was I supposed to do?" Mortianna's pace increased. "Let them live in peace." He traced the sign of the pentagram over his sister, disbursing the last of the dust that clung to his fingertips. "It didn't bring her back to you, did it?" "No." The one word came out as an anguished sob. "You drove your daughter out of Sinjin's life, but you admit she didn't readily accept you back into hers." He turned from the casket. "And now you're going to exact your vengeance on the vampires, many of them innocent of any wrongdoing, becauseyou made a mistake?" Slowly, she turned her face to him. She appeared to have aged another ten years in the past few minutes. Her eyes burned bright with anger as she beheld her first born. "My only mistake in life was in having you." She pointed at him. "Your father was weak, and he bred a weak child upon me. Once I discovered this, I cast you both out. I should have drowned you at birth." Quinn refused to react under her venomous gaze. "I guess you made two mistakes then." He glanced at Val and Alexandre, giving them the prearranged signal to divide and conquer. "One which I shall soon rectify," she said. He shifted, careful to keep her attention on him as he moved, so she wouldn't see Val and Alexandre as
they dealt with the minions. "You would kill your own son?" he asked. "The Rede states 'An it harm none, do what thou wilt'. You'd violate this basic tenant of witchcraft?" Mortianna laughed and it wasn't a pleasant sound. "You fail to see the big picture. There is so much more than your feeble white magic. There are untapped resources of alchemy out there." She waved her arm to indicate outside the boundaries of the house. "There are no limits on power, and it's there for the taking. Anything can be had." "For a price?" "Some prices, regardless of their size, should be paid for the gain they offer." She shrugged. "Who can put boundaries on the gift of limitless knowledge? What price would one pay for anything they desire? Everything, Quinn, most would give everything." He thought of Maeve and her thirst for revenge. He wondered what she'd say to that after spending several hours in Mortianna's company. Was the price too high for the knowledge it afforded? "I can set boundaries." He spoke quietly. "If I can't look in the mirror every morning and like what I see, the price is too high." "Fool!" Mortianna gave a bark of laughter. "Exactly as I thought. You're weak just like your father." He smiled as he saw the first minion melting into a puddle. He switched his gaze to his biological mother. "I'll take that as a compliment." Her eyes widened, then narrowed. She turned to see Alexandre and Val moving methodically among the minions, injecting them with water-filled syringes. As they worked, the minions dropped into sodden puddles of smelly brown wool. "Stop that!" she shrieked, stalking toward Val, her anger fading to amazement as she was restrained by the boundary of the circle. "What the-" "It's over," Quinn spoke. "It's time to put the darkness behind you and put aside your ideas of vengeance." "You did this." Mortianna accused, swinging around to face him. "You would betray your own flesh and blood?" "For the love of my sister, yes." "Your own mother?" she shrieked. "You were never my mother," he shot back. "You are nothing to me." "You'll pay f r this." With a mad gleam in her eye, Mortianna raised her hands and pointed in his direction. Quinn cast a quick protection spell around himself before the first blow fell and white light blinded him.
The room erupted into chaos as Maeve entered. A few minions were flying about while many lay melted on the floor, the stench of cotton candy and wet copper was overpowering. Val and Alexandre, armed with brightly colored water guns like the ones her nieces and nephews had used on hot summer days squirted the little beasts as they attacked. Minions were dropping to the ground while the wounded ones grew enraged and tried to dive- bomb their tormenters. One came too close to Val and he pulled out a fat syringe and stabbed it in the shoulder, injecting the clear fluid. A shriek came from the hapless creature before it dissolved. A crack rent the air and she turned in time to see Quinn fly across the room as if shot from a cannon. He stopped abruptly as if he'd hit an invisible wall and slid to the ground. Mortianna stood near her daughter's casket, looking much older than she had the last time Maeve had seen her. Her eyes glowed with madness as she stared at her son, hatred etched throughout her posture. She was going to kill him. "Make your choice, Maeve." Val spoke. She turned to see him walking toward her, his water toy almost empty. "Will you help Quinn or sacrifice him so Mortianna will give you the spell and the key to your revenge?" Quinn rose from the floor to face his mother once again. He said something she couldn't hear over the thudding of her own heart. Mortianna raised her hands as Quinn did the same. Lightning broke from her fingertips and raced at Quinn in the blink of an eye. A shriek lodged in her throat as the sparks stopped midway between them, curling into a ball of light. As Quinn shifted his hands, the ball changed shape and moved closer to Mortianna. The witch scowled and leaned forward as if to put more effort into moving the ball of light. It began to swing back toward Quinn. "Get more water and worry about your own problems, I'll deal with Mortianna." Maeve walked through the sea of flying bodies and melting minions, untouched. When one of the beasts came too close, she kicked it and moved on. "You can't breach the circle," she heard Alexandre call from behind her. She paused at the edges of where she thought the circle might be. She couldn't see anything on the floor but the power rolled in the air like waves. She held up her hands to absorb the sensation prickling her skin. Tingling ran through her palms and raced along her arms and shoulders, coalescing in her abdomen. Her head swam for a split second as images like slides flipped before her eyes. None of it made any sense. She blinked and the images cleared in time to see Quinn falter and the ball of lightning swing toward him. Without thinking, Maeve stepped into the circle behind her lover. "I'll be damned," Val muttered. She had the satisfaction of seeing Mortianna's eyes widen as their gazes met. The ball swooped and
raced toward the witch. She came to her senses and sent it whizzing back at Quinn. Maeve placed her hands on Quinn's shoulders and leaned into him. Concentrating on her hands, she envisioned a brilliant white light collecting in her chest to shoot down her arms and into her palms. Exhaling, she shoved the light into him in a blast of energy. Quinn straightened and moved his hands. The light threw off blue sparks as it raced toward Mortianna. She gave a shriek as the ball hit her in the midsection, knocking her to her knees where she crouched, gasping for breath. She curled her arm over her abdomen as if in pain. Maeve stepped away from Quinn, careful to avoid his gaze. "How did you do that?" He gasped for breath also. "She did it." Maeve pointed to Mortianna. "She gave me the Knowledge of The Ages." "She did what?" Maeve met his incredulous gaze. "She said she gave me the power of the ages before throwing me into theoubliette ." She frowned and looked at her hands. "I'm not really sure what it means though." Quinn laughed, and Maeve stared at him, startled. "She defeated herself. She gave you her powers and her ability." He waved his hand at the woman who lay on the floor, glaring at both of them. "Mortianna was the keeper of the Knowledge and she gave it to you." He looked at the witch. "You really didn't know, did you? Only one person can hold the sum of the Knowledge at one time and you gave it away." Stunned, Maeve looked at Mortianna, then back at Quinn. "I'm a witch?" She gulped. He nodded. "I'm a witch," she repeated. Her knees sagged and he reached for her. "Steady now." "I-" An enraged shriek tore them apart as Mortianna came up off the floor, a lethal Turkish knife in one hand. She pointed it at her son and charged. Maeve took a flying leap, barreling into the witch's side and diverting her path. Without thinking, she grabbed for her boot knife. Her attention divided, she stumbled over Mortianna's cape, and together they fell with Maeve landing on top. She grabbed Mortianna's wrist and watched as her expression turned from one of rage to one of surprise. She sprang to her feet, and her stomach turned when she saw both the Turkish knife and her boot knife embedded in the witch's chest. She staggered back, her feet tangling in the cape once more. She almost fell before strong arms encircled her waist and held her upright.
Quinn. "I killed her," she whispered. His arms tightened. Mortianna struggled to rise to her knees. Crawling, she crept to the casket, trails of blood marking her path. Staring raptly at her daughter's face, she clawed at the glass, but her strength gave out and she fell to the floor. Her body brushed a small plaster column, tipping the vase of flowers to the ground. The vase shattered and spilled the bounty of cream-colored roses across the floor. "Bliss." Mortianna whispered as blood erupted from her mouth. Her eyes glazed and her lips barely moved as she breathed her last words. "Forgive me."
Epilogue Tears spilled down her cheeks as Maeve watched Sinjin place a dozen red roses on the casket. Torchlight flickered across the faces of her friends as they gathered to bid farewell to Bliss. Conor MacNaughten stood at the head of the casket, his words soft and melodic in the still of the Samhain night. Jennifer Beaumont stood next to him, wiping tears surreptitiously as he spoke the final prayer. Alexandre stood next to her, his Armani armor in place and his expression stoic, but his eyes glimmered with unshed tears. Beside him stood Shai, who leaned on Val's arm, both wearing stricken expressions. Maeve stood at the foot of the casket with Sunni who was dry-eyed and solemn beside her. Next came Fayne. The massive were-cat stood stone-faced, his arm around his weeping mate, Erihn. Sinjin stood next to her, his head bowed, his gaze fixed on the face of the woman he'd loved for so many years. Then there was Quinn. He stood beside Mac, his face expressionless. Only the tightness of his jaw hinted at inner turmoil. After the death of Mortianna two days before, a whirlwind of activity had commenced. They'd buried the witch in an oak grove behind her house. Surrounded by the remains of her minions, Maeve hoped her tortured soul would find peace at last. Hilton, Sinjin's butler, was found dead in the wood surroundingAisling Crioch earlier in the day and he'd been laid to rest in the St. James family cemetery. Maeve would dearly miss the gruff man who'd snapped at her for entering the hall with wet boots yet concocted herbal teas when she was ill last month. Now, in Sinjin's beloved Highlands, they attended to Bliss. Inwardly, she sighed. So much death had
surrounded them in the past year and she could only hope for the sake of her friends that it would end soon. "Sinjin says this meadow is filled with heather in the warmer months," Sunni whispered. "I'll bet it's lovely." Maeve jerked back to awareness. Mac had fallen silent. "Yes," her words were scratchy. She cleared her throat. "I think Bliss would be pleased." The men stepped forward to take the ropes that lay strung beneath the casket. They lifted it and Jennifer and Shai removed the wooden slats that had held the coffin above the grave. Silently, the men lowered the casket into the hole. Maeve swallowed as Val and Fayne picked up shovels to complete their task. Quinn stopped Fayne. "Please." He held out his hand for the shovel and the were-cat acquiesced and handed it to him. Sinjin followed suit, and soon both men shoveled the dark earth into the grave. Maeve flinched as the first shovelful hit the reinforced glass of the coffin. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she watched the two men who'd loved Bliss the most put her to rest. Once their task was complete, they all stood silently for a moment. Nothing moved, not even the night creatures. Then Mac held his hand out to Jennifer. Silent, she took it. He dropped a chaste kiss on her lips and they turned away. He grabbed a torch as they walked down the hill to the house. Fayne reached for Erihn, pulling her into his arms. He dropped a kiss on her head before they, too, started down the track. Alexandre was next. He walked alone, his head high and his shoulders stiff. Maeve caught the look of longing Sunni gave him as he passed, ignoring her presence. Her shoulders slumped. Val came up behind Sunni and slid an arm around her, steering her toward the path. Shai joined them, and, grabbing a torch, she linked an arm around her lover's waist as they joined the procession. A lump lodged in her throat as she watched Quinn and Sinjin standing across the grave from one another. They were as different as night and day. Quinn as light as Sinjin was dark. Quinn was warmth and sunshine, Sinjin cool and deadly. It was the warmth that held her heart. Turning, she walked to the path, tears blurring her vision. More the fool was she to love a man who would never return her feelings. She'd made a huge mistake by walking away from him, then had compounded it by taking the life of his mother. Granted, Mortianna had been trying to kill him at the time, but murder was murder and Maeve had been the one to end Mortianna's life. She sighed. She wasn't cut out for this. All her life, all she'd wanted was to be a mother and a chef. Children and food were her two greatest
passions and she had neither. "You forgot something." She jerked as Quinn's voice intruded. Hastily, she wiped her eyes before facing him. He stood a few feet away, his eyes red and his expression solemn. A torch flickered in his hand. "Sorry, I did forget, didn't I?" She reached for the torch, surprised when he held it away from her. "No, I didn't mean the torch, I meant something else." She glanced at his other hand. Empty. She shook her head, not sure she could speak. "You forgot me," he whispered. Her heart leapt into her throat and she stepped back, unsure what to say. Surely he didn't mean what she was thinking. "I could never forget you," she ventured. He smiled and her toes curled. "That's good because I have no intention of letting you ever forget me." He reached for her hand. "Seeing that you and I will be together for a very long time, that should be impossible." "Together?" Her voice was faint. "Like peanut butter and jelly." With a gentle tug, he pulled her toward him. Their hands linked, he guided her arm around her back and pulled her into him. "It's hard to forget someone when you wake up beside them every morning." He leaned closer. A shiver of delight ran down her spine at the prospect of seeing his face day and night. Could they make it work? "But I killed your mother," she blurted, seconds before his lips touched hers. He pulled back. "Yes, and she was trying to kill me. You saved my life." "I thought she was immortal. How did I kill her?" "She lost her powers when she used the binding spell. She would have survived if she hadn't given you the Knowledge of the Ages. She literally threw her power away." He shook his head. "While I regret Mortianna's death with all my heart, she brought it on herself. If you hadn't done it, I would have. I realize now that she wouldn't have backed down no matter what the stakes were." Tears overflowed once again as she sniffed and leaned into him. "You have to admit, it'll make for some interesting stories for the grandchildren," he chuckled. "What?" Maeve scrubbed at her cheeks. "Grandkids?" "Yes." He released her enough to turn her toward the house. "Dozens of them." "Dozens?" she stammered.
"Yes." He grinned, his expression turning mockingly lecherous. "I think we'd better get started soon, don't you?" Her heart grew lighter as joy bubbled into her soul. She wasn't sure what she'd done to deserve such a man, but she wasn't taking any chances this time around. She was going to grab him while she had the chance. "Now, aren'tyou forgetting something?" He frowned. "What?" "You haven't asked me to marry you." He stopped, his expression so comical she wanted to laugh. "Married? You want to get married?" "Oh, yes." She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, relishing the feel of his steely frame against hers. "I want our children to have your name legitimately." A silly grin spread across his face. "You're serious? You really want to get married?" She nodded. "Okay." He wrapped his free arm around her waist and hugged her tight, brushing a light kiss across her lips. She purred and nipped at his lower lip before she pulled away to see him watching her, love written on every inch of his face. Had anyone ever looked at her like that? Not until Quinn. Her heart swelled with joy. She laughed and pulled free of his arms. Taking his hand, she steered him down the hill. "That's a very nice suit you have on." He glanced down at the somber, black Perry Ellis suit. "Thanks." His expression was perplexed. She released his hand to move in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. "Now, take it off."
One With The Hunger Book I: The Shadow Dwellers
by
J.C. Wilder
Copyright © 1998 Lisa Hamilton Previously published by Dreams Unlimited.
Cover Art by Emily Black Cover Art copyright © 2001 Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville, ON L6M 2Y1 [www.ltdbooks.com] All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law. National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data Wilder, J. C., 1965One with the hunger [computer file] ISBN 1-55316-070-3 I. Title. PS3623.I45O54 2001 813'.6 C2001-902072-4
Dedication For those who dare to dream...
Chapter 1 "I think you should take a lover." Shai paused, her baked potato-filled fork poised in mid-air. She stared aghast across the table at her friend. "Excuse me?" "Ohhh, yes," breathed Melanie, "tall, dark and handsome." She twirled a lock of icy blonde hair around
her forefinger and fell back against her chair, a smile curving her full mouth. "And rich, of course." "I think it's a wonderful idea, if I do say so myself." Vivian, the instigator of the conversation, leaned forward, her elbows on the pristine white tablecloth. The stub of a Spanish cigarillo burned between her fingers as she pointed at Shai. "Just what you need to get out of your rut." The rich smoke from the imported cigarette drifted lazily around her head then vanished, vanquished by the efficient air conditioning in the restaurant. "I wasn't aware I was in a rut," Shai said pointedly. Vivian rolled her beautiful blue eyes and looked at her as if she were, at the very least, a dimwitted child. "Well, of course you don't see it, dear, that's what your friends are for... to point out these things." "Even if I don't ask you to," Shai muttered. Erihn ignored her. "Why do you think we bought that outfit for your birthday?" She waved her speared shrimp in Shai's direction. "Vivian said we had to prime the pump, so to speak." Shai glanced at the new clothes she wore. Granted, the clothing that had appeared in a beautifully-wrapped package on her doorstep earlier in the afternoon weren't her normal cup of tea. The short, black velvet skirt, long-sleeved black silk blouse and brilliant emerald green silk jacket weren't bad. In fact, they looked lovely on her, she admitted shyly. Before tonight she would never have dreamed of wearing such a revealing ensemble. She had to fight the urge to tug down the skimpy skirt every time she moved. She'd never worn anything in public that only covered her to mid-thigh; it simply wasn't proper. But it wasn't the clothing that worried her; it was the lingerie that had accompanied the gift. "I'll bet she isn't wearing them," Jennifer, a dark-haired, sloe-eyed woman, speculated. "Think so?" Vivian stubbed out her cigarette. "Enlighten us, little Shai. Are you wearing the naughty underwear Jen and I picked out?" "That's rather personal." Shai stalled, setting down her fork with a clang before reaching for her wineglass. The deep burgundy resembled blood inside the Irish crystal. In the dim lighting of the restaurant, the liquid glowed and shimmered as if lit from within. She took a hesitant sip, her mind scrambling for an excuse for not wearing the deliciously sexy lingerie. Too small, maybe? No, Jennifer would see right through that one. Damn! She wished they'd not gone shopping together last week. She set her glass down once more. Maybe she could say a panty raid had occurred while she was in the shower. Or armed guerillas had entered her apartment and stolen them at Uzi- point. "Looks like you're right. She isn't wearing them." Melanie untangled her hair from her finger and returned her attention to her plate. "I'm not sure why I put up with you guys," Shai grumbled. She picked up her fork and stuffed the now-cold bite of potato in her mouth, chewing as she glared at her four friends. "Because we're family in every way that counts," Erihn answered matter-of- factly. "And you love us."
Jennifer grinned like a well-fed Cheshire cat. "That still doesn't answer the question. Are you wearing the naughty bits Viv and I bought for you?" Shai felt the blush heating her cheeks. While she'd been delighted with the clothing her friends had picked out, the lingerie was intimidating for someone who'd religiously worn plain white cotton all her life. The black lace demi-bra and matching thong had lain on the bed until the very last minute. As she was getting ready for the evening, she'd kept glancing at the lingerie, torn between her desire to don it and her wish that it would vanish into thin air. In the end, she'd relented. Sitting in the trendy New York restaurant wearing an outfit and lingerie that would have cost her a week's pay, Shai felt truly free for the first time in her life. She shifted in her seat, her bottom bare against the black silk half-slip. The whisper of black-seamed thigh highs felt foreign and sexy against her skin. "Yes, I am." She slapped her fork down on the table with a thump. "And I like it." "Bravo, darling." Viv raised her glass in a mock salute. "I suspected as much." Jennifer shrugged out of her black velvet bolero-style jacket to reveal gleaming porcelain skin and a tiny black leather bustier. "Maybe I should take another lover," she commented to no one in particular. "Wore out Marcel already?" Melanie asked. She picked up her glass of wine and finished it off. "That's the problem with men today." Vivian reached for a new cigarette from Melanie's pack. "No stamina." Erihn swallowed a gasp as she ducked her head. Her face half-hidden by a wing of rich brown hair, she busied herself with digging a chunk of crabmeat out of a claw. "More ginseng? Powdered deer antler?" "It would be hard for anyone to keep up with you, Viv dear. How many days a week do you go to the gym?" Melanie asked. "Three." With a flick of a gold lighter, she lit a fresh cigarette. "I can crush a tin can between these thighs." "Isthat why you go through so many men? You crush them to death?" Melanie teased. Shai glanced at Vivian. "And this is a good thing...how?" "Maybe Viv is into recycling," chortled Erihn. Vivian eyed Erihn's Rubenesque figure. "It wouldn't hurt you to go once in a while." "Oh no, not me." Erihn caught the waitress's attention and waved her hand at the empty wine bottles to show that they needed another one. "What would I do with a man?" A tender look entered Vivian's eyes. She reached over and brushed Erihn's hair away from her face. Her nimble fingers lightly traced the scar that marred the young woman's cheek.
A madman in Central Park had ended Erihn's budding modeling career seven years ago. In broad daylight, he'd grabbed her as she'd left a photo shoot. He'd kidnapped and terrorized her for three long, agonizing days before the police had caught up with him. She'd escaped with her life and a horrendous scar that would forever mar her face. But it wasn't the exterior scars that concerned her friends, it was the ones hidden deep inside they worried about. To this day, Erihn refused to speak of the incident that had forever changed her life. "I think you're perfect the way you are," Vivian murmured. Tears glittered in Erihn's deep brown eyes. "Thanks." Shai felt the tears stinging her own eyes. This was why she loved these women. Because they were family in the ways that counted the most. They were there when they needed one another and even when they didn't. For the past two years, they'd laughed and cried together, sharing their lives as only they could with other women. In a silent toast to her friends, she picked up her glass and drank. "Well, I for one have no desire to crush anything between these thighs," Jennifer spoke. "Anything that gets between these legs will sigh with pleasure...not pain." Shai choked on her wine. Without missing a beat, Jennifer pounded her on the back as she continued. "I haven't had any complaints yet." "Nor will you ever, dear," Melanie said. She grinned as the waitress appeared with another bottle of burgundy. "Can you grab some of these here?" She waved her hand at the empty wine bottles that littered the table before returning her attention to her friends. "Of course, that doesn't fix the matter at hand." "Which is?" Erihn asked. "Finding a lover for Shai," Vivian frowned at the young woman. "Weren't you paying attention at all? "Well, of course I was. I'm sitting right here." Shai leaned back, the base of her wineglass hitting the plate with a chime of fine china. "How in the world did we get on this topic? Who says I need a lover anyway?" "I did, dear." Vivian captured the bottle of burgundy before Melanie could help herself. She leaned around Erihn to fill Shai's glass and then her own. "It's your thirty-first birthday today and, in the two years I've known you, you've never mentioned a man once." "So?" "This needs to stop." Melanie liberated the bottle from Viv and filled her own glass. "Come to think about it, I've never heard you speak about any men. What's up with that?" Shai picked up her glass and took a quick swallow. How in the world was she going to get out of this one gracefully? She set the glass on the table before she spoke. "Just because I don't need a man to make my life complete, does this make me a freak?" "Yes," they all spoke in unison. Shai rolled her eyes. "So much for woman's lib. It's lost on you guys. I don't see anything wrong with being alone."
"I do. It simply isn't natural." Jennifer leaned forward to pick up her case and extract a cigarette. "Take me, for example. I'm a very successful journalist and I'm not in a relationship. However," she dropped the case on the table, "I do have several gentlemen I can call to entertain me and take the edge off." Shai blinked. "Take the edge off what?" "Sex, dear." Vivian snared a crab claw off the platter in the center of the table and set to freeing the succulent white meat. "You know, to get your rocks off?" "To get nailed," Jennifer returned, her tone wry. "To poke the hole in the doughnut," Melanie chimed in. "Youladies are so vulgar," Erihn spoke without heat. Vivian grinned, "Thank you, little mouse." She popped the chunk of crab, dripping with butter, into her mouth. "Oh, brother." Shai rolled her eyes again. "You're a virgin," Melanie announced. Silence reigned at the table as Shai found her friends hushed for the first time that evening. They watched her, their expressions ranging from doubt to wonder as they pondered this idea. She squirmed in her seat, uncomfortable with their questioning stares. She wasn't a virgin...but she wasn't far from the mark either. In fact, Melanie's off-hand statement was a little too close for comfort. Hasty fumblings in college with a nearsighted computer major didn't make for a satisfied woman. After her somewhat anti-climactic experience, she'd decided that sex wasn't all it was cracked up to be, so she hadn't pursued it further. However, technically, she wasn't a virgin. "I am not," she protested. "Just because I don't sleep with half of the New York Yankees..." "I object." Vivian dipped another bit of crab into her container of drawn butter. "It was only the first baseman and the shortstop." A sensual throaty laugh escaped her. "And let me say, my dears, he was anything but short." "Really?" exclaimed Melanie. "Do tell." Vivian shifted in her seat. A soft smile played about her thin, red-painted lips. "He had this thing about biting my toes as he came." She shook her head. "Very strange, as I'd never seen that particular trick before. But he did have this amazing maneuver with..." "Stop!" Erihn's hand came up to halt any further revelations, her cheeks crimson. Jennifer reached for the wine. "That's a word that's never passed Vivian's lips." "Oh, I don't know, the worddon't might have been in front of that." Melanie cracked a lobster tail with a practiced flick of her wrist as the ladies dissolved into laughter.
Shai drained her wineglass. Her cheeks were hot and she just knew she was blushing to the roots of her already-red hair. She'd never understood how all of them had become friends over the years. They were all so different with very little in common. She glanced at Vivian, stunning in her blue silk jacket and black leather pants. Her clothing, cultured accent and mannerisms screamed money. Divorced several times, Vivian was known for her outlandish lovers, her flaunting of society's mores and her family's seemingly limitless supply of cash. She was lesser known for her charitable works with the homeless within New York City, but that was something she rarely spoke about. A stunning brunette with a wicked sense of humor, she moved in circles that Shai could only dream of. Jennifer, physically, was almost Vivian's twin. Both had black hair, Jen's long and straight while Viv's was short and curly. Distinguished and elegant, Jennifer was one of the nations' top print journalists and Shai's co-worker at theNew York Times . Jennifer was also one of the lucky three percent who made the big money at it. After writing a piece on a little known war in South America and winning a Pulitzer, the sky was the limit for her and she wrote her own ticket. Shai knew little about her background and Jennifer volunteered very little personal information. Melanie was the vivacious one of the group. Blonde and a bit ditzy, she'd worked for a late night television talk show as the cue card girl. Her many appearances on television when the show's flamboyant host had picked on her during the show had given her entrée to commercials and soon she was headed to Hollywood to make her first movie. She dreamed of making it big in the movies and marrying Mel Gibson. While the Mel Gibson part was out, they all wished her well and supported her at every turn. And then there was Erihn who was like none of them. She was a romance writer and a long-time friend of Jennifer's. Erihn and Shai had met when Shai, on her first assignment as a reporter, had been sent to interview her on the changing face of romance novels. Both women were almost painfully shy, but they'd hit if off immediately, becoming the best of friends. But someone was missing. "Where's Evie?" Shai asked. Vivian shrugged and reached for a roll. "Maybe she got tied up?" Melanie sighed. "Only if she's lucky." "No. Don't tell me that white-bread man you're engaged to ties you up?" Jennifer drawled. Erihn leaned forward, the candlelight flickered over the scar, making it softer, less apparent. Shai could practically see her jotting mental notes for yet another book. "Only once." Melanie's creamy skin grew flushed and Shai couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol, conversation, or the memories of the event in question. "It was wonderful. Liberating, actually." Vivian licked butter off her fingers and grinned at her blonde friend. "Isn't it just?" Shai blinked. After all the years of outrageous conversations, she should be used to this kind of talk by now. But she wasn't and it made her uneasy. Sex was foreign to her and, in her mind, overrated. She picked up her wineglass and drained it yet again. She'd already had much more than she was used to
drinking and tomorrow she'd pay the price. "So, what's your ultimate sexual fantasy, Jennifer?" Erihn asked, her eyes bright with curiosity and far too much wine. "Mmmm," Jennifer paused, her lips screwed up in concentration. "I don't know." A wicked gleam entered her eyes. "How about handcuffed in the back of a police car? Cuffed to the dividing cage while Joe Police-guy frisks me with his really hard...baton." Erihn and Melanie dissolved into laughter as Vivian smiled. "Been there, done that. His last name was Mathison from the 13th precinct here in New York." She sighed and picked up her wineglass, her eyes growing dreamy. "And, oh my, what a baton he had." "Okay." Jennifer stubbed out her cigarette, her tone challenging. "What's your ultimate fantasy, Viv dear, and don't be shy." "Yet another word that's never been associated with Viv," Melanie laughed. Vivian paused, her glass halfway to her mouth. Her expression turned whimsical. "Well, I can't honestly think of many things I fantasize about when, let's face it, I've lived most of them. I suppose, if I really had to come up with one, there is the bar wench fantasy, the Madame and slave fantasy, and the bad cop fantasy isalways a good one..." "Just one, Viv. You needn't recite your entire repertoire of tricks," grumbled Jennifer. She picked up the now-empty bottle of wine and waved it in the direction of the waitress. "Hmm...probably the saloon girl fantasy." Vivian shifted in her chair. "I'm working in a saloon in the old west as some trail riders come in. Three of them, I think. They order a drink as they eye me in my revealing peasant blouse." She traced her fingertips lightly over the suntanned skin showing between the lapels of her jacket. A sensual smile curved her lips as she began to lose herself in the fantasy. "The tallest man's name is Stud Lonewolf and he's a sight for sore eyes. With long blond hair, dark blue eyes and pecs that would make a romance cover model cry with shame. As I set his drink in front of him, he grabs my wrist and pulls me into his lap." She shifted in her seat once more before crossing and re-crossing her legs. "I can tell it's been a long time since he's seen a real women. He whispers in my ear all the wicked things he wants to do to me. As I lean back against his chest, he reaches up to untie my blouse and my breasts fall free. Callused fingers tease my nipple as his knee parts my thighs. "His teeth nip my neck as one hand traces down my side, across my thighs to the bottom of my skirt. His hand on my skin causes goosebumps to break out. His fingers tear into my pantaloons to plunder my waiting flesh. Growing impatient, he reaches down with his free hand to unleash himself before lifting me to rub against his stiff rod. My eyes fly open at the sensation to realize that his two friends are watching me. As their eyes grow dark with lust, Stud impales me on his manhood." Her voice changed pitch as she continued. "Soft groans escape my lips as his blond friend comes forward. His greedy lips suckle my breast as I twine my fingers in his hair. The third man comes over to take my other breast into his mouth as Stud forces me up and down...up and down. It's relentless. Just as I begin to reach my peak, he comes with a growl, deep inside of me. "For a second, I'm disappointed. But, before I can draw breath, the blond cowboy grabs me around the waist and tosses me on the table, thighs spread. Releasing a cock that would do a horse proud, he
shoves inside and begins thrusting. Pumping, pumping until screams claw my throat and I shatter into a million pieces in his arms." Vivian slumped in her chair and fell silent. Her cheeks were flushed, a look of near satisfaction on her face. Shai swallowed hard and reached for her wineglass.Goodness... "What about the third guy?" Melanie asked, entranced. Leave it to Melanie. Shai struggled not to choke on her wine. Vivian picked up her napkin to fan her rosy cheeks. "Oh, him. I wait and nail him later." Jennifer burst into laughter and slapped her palm on the table. "Bravo, dearest!" Vivian grinned. "Too bad I only have a vibrator to go home to tonight. I'm feeling a bit frisky right now." She cast an appraising look around the restaurant as if to spy a willing victim. "Amen, sister," Erihn whispered. She picked up her wine and gulped the remains. Jennifer turned her dark eyes on Shai. "So tell us what gets your panties in a bunch, my dear?" Shai blinked. "My fantasies?" Vivian gave a throaty laugh. "Why, of course. I have a feeling you aren't as pristine as you pretend to be." Her flashing blue eyes dared Shai to step up to the plate. "Whoever said I was pristine?" Shai squeaked. "No one, dear." Erihn patted her hand as if to soothe ruffled feathers. Shai stared at her neglected dinner while four pairs of expectant eyes watched her. What did she do now? She cleared her throat. "Well..." She hesitated before letting her eyes drift closed. "I'm lying in my bed. It's a hot summer night, like tonight. The drapes are moving in a faint breeze, but it's not strong enough to relieve the humidity that has me trapped in my bed. Restless, I kick at my covers as a shadow appears in the window. It's a man." "Who are you?" She whispered. "You know who I am." His voice was deep, sensual like the purr of a giant jungle cat. Ripples of awareness moved across her skin. Her nipples tightened beneath her simple cotton nightgown. "Yes, I know who you are." She sat upright in her bed and held out her hand in silent invitation to the dark figure in the window. "What do you want from me?" he asked. "Come to me."
"You're inviting me in?" "Yes," she replied. "Once I cross the threshold, there is no going back. Is this what you really want?" She rose to her knees, her gown clinging to her overheated skin. "Yes, I want you, all of you." His teeth gleamed in the darkness when he smiled. He stepped in through the window, onto her window seat, scattering soft pillows with his booted feet. He was very tall, much taller than her five foot four. He was dressed in all black-- black jeans and a black T-shirt that stretched across his broad chest and shoulders. Black hair brushed his shoulders in a tumble of riotous curls. Feverish blue eyes gleamed beneath heavy brows. His full sensual mouth curved in pleasure. "I've come to give you your ultimate fantasy." She gave a faint nod. He held out his hand, tempting her to reach for the ecstasy he offered. Hesitant, she reached for him, her breath caught as his warm fingers closed around hers. With a gentle tug, he urged her to her feet. Her gown swirled around her thighs as she moved toward him. A strong arm slipped around her waist as he gathered her close, his arousal evident against her lower stomach. "Tell me what you want," he whispered against her skin. His lips moved over her neck, taking a nibble here, a taste there. "Everything. Anything. I want every woman's fantasy." She sighed as his mouth touched her ear, teasing the delicate lobe. His husky chuckle raised gooseflesh on her skin, "I did your laundry and balanced your checkbook." Shai opened her eyes to find her friends staring at her, their expressions ranging from wonder to outright amusement. Suddenly, Melanie and Erihn broke into shrieks of laughter. Viv lifted her cigarette case, a soft smile tugging at her mouth. "Well, that's definitely a fantasy we know will never happen. Brava, my friend." Jennifer shrugged. "Not true, Viv. It could happen with some men." She turned toward Shai. "Is that your fantasy? A tall dark stranger entering your bedroom in the dark of night? To make love to you until you can't think? To fulfill your darkest fantasies?" "Sounds good to me." Erihn reached for her glass of water. Tears of mirth streaked her cheeks. "I don't know." Shai shrugged. "If I knew I was perfectly safe?" She took another drink of wine. She knew she was half-past drunk now and careening her way into dangerous territory. For her to discuss her sexual fantasies was something she would never think of doing, ever. But here she was, sitting in a public restaurant drinking loads of wine and discussing intimacies with her friends. A sudden streak of boldness shot through her and she sat forward, slamming her glass onto the table.
"Sure? Why not? Who wouldn't want to have a dark handsome stranger take control of them, body and soul? To make love until they merge as one? To be worshipped with his body till the end of time?" Jennifer nodded, a speculative gleam in her eyes. "Another one of my favorite fantasies." Vivian nodded slowly. "As is mine." She raised her wineglass in Shai's direction. "Happy birthday, my friend. I think you just revealed more about yourself than you'll ever know." Jennifer raised her glass. "And may your darkest fantasies come true, my dear Shai." Shai laughed and raised her glass as Erihn followed suit. "To fantasies." Chimed in Melanie as they clinked their glasses and the occupants dissolved into laughter. Shai raised her glass to her lips and the laughter caught in her throat when a shifting in the shadows snared her attention. She glanced over Melanie's head to stare into the darkest blue eyes she'd ever seen. Prickles of awareness raced across her skin and her nipples tightened against the soft lace of her bra. Her mouth went dry. Surely he was a figment of her imagination. No mortal man could have eyes so dark, so ageless. So haunted. He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. Piercing blue eyes shadowed by winged black brows. Black hair swept away from his high forehead to fall an inch below his shoulders in soft waves that her fingers ached to explore. Sharp features, high cheekbones and a patrician nose, saved from austere by his mouth. Full and sensual, it screamed of long, hot nights, rumpled silk sheets and musky sex. It was the face of a fallen angel. He was definitely not of this earthly plane. Images came unbidden of the two of them in her wrought iron canopy bed. Sweat gleamed on skin as his hands stroked her overheated flesh seemingly everywhere at once. Her heart thundered in her chest as she imagined his lips on her stomach, leaving a damp trail as he moved toward her breast. His mouth closed over its aching tip and he suckled deeply as she arched off the bed toward him, wanting more of his dark magic. Her hands clinging to broad shoulders, her thighs opening to him, permitting access to the apex that wept only for this man. For his touch alone. A whimper broke from her lips as sensation poured through her body. She jerked in her chair, her wineglass clattering against her plate as she bobbled it and blindly set it down. Her breath came in gasps, the unexpected arousal leaving her unsatisfied body throbbing in places she barely acknowledged even existed. Erihn turned and frowned at her as Jennifer gave a delighted laugh and held her hands toward the stranger in greeting. "Are you okay?" Erihn whispered. Shai was shaken as he broke eye contact, looking away from her to speak with Jennifer. She nodded, wondering if she really was okay. What on earth was wrong with her? She'd never reacted like that to another human being in her life. She moved the wine out of reach and picked up her glass of water. No more alcohol for her, that was for
sure. The stranger's voice interrupted her musings. It was deep and resonant with a faint accent she couldn't place. A shiver zipped across her skin. Rich, like dark chocolate, fine aged brandy or velvet, it was a voice she could listen to for an eternity. She resisted the peculiar urge to swoon. "I had business with Jacques, the owner here." He moved with the lethal grace of a big cat. Unconscious, sexy. No mortal man should be able to move like that. It had to be illegal somewhere. Pleasure curled in her stomach, sending waves of desire racing through her blood. Stop that. Time to sober up. Coffee, maybe? Yes, coffee, that would surely do the trick. She glanced around for their waitress who was nowhere in sight. Damn! The stranger laughed and her toes curled with pleasure as her gaze was dragged back against her will. He held Jennifer's hand and Shai struggled to quell the rush of jealousy as he brought it to his mouth. His smile was intimate, his gaze knowing as he brushed his mouth over her skin. Jennifer laughed and pulled her hand away. "Quit trying to impress me, Val. You forget yourself." He smiled easily, unabashed by Jennifer's rejection and Shai's heart gave a little flutter. This man was dangerous to her well being and she knew, in that instant, nothing would ever be the same again. He glanced around the table, his gaze coming to rest on her. His eyes glittered with a dark heat. "Indeed, I do. It's hard to remember myself when I am surrounded by such beauty." He tipped his head in her direction. The dim lights gleamed in his thick glossy black hair, giving it a bluish sheen. Melanie gave an awkward twitter as Shai forced herself to look away. "Is it?" quipped Vivian. Her eyes were fastened to the front of the stranger's pants. "Doesn't look like it to me, but give it some time." A catlike smile curved her mouth as she licked her lips. He chuckled as he moved around the table to take Vivian's hand and kiss it also. He crouched beside her to murmur something into her ear as Viv pressed her ample breast against his chest and circled an arm around his shoulders, tangling those obscene red nails in his hair. Shai's cheeks heated in the face of such a blatant attempt at seduction. She shifted her gaze, staring down at her plate while trying to ignore Vivian. She'd never been the kind of woman who attracted men easily. There were times when simply conversing with a man could bring on hives. She wished she could slip under the table and vanish in the face of her friend's easy sensuality. The soft caress of a fingertip touched her cheek, bringing her head up. She glanced around. No one was even looking in her direction, let alone close enough to touch her. "Shai." Jennifer's voice brought her attention back to the table. "I'd love for you to meet someone. This is Valentin and he's a very old and dear friend of mine." She waved her hand in his
general direction. "Val, this is Shai Jordan, a much newer friend of mine." Shai caught the amusement in Jennifer's voice and flushed. She tensed as the dark man untangled himself from Viv and moved toward her with his lazy grace. A richly embroidered vest hung open, displaying laces on his flowing white shirt. Open at the throat, it revealed the strong column of his throat melding into broad muscular shoulders. Black jeans clung to taut muscular thighs. A black belt with a plain gold buckle circled his waist and black boots encased his feet. Easily he captured her hand within his much larger one. Warmth surrounded before invading her chilled flesh. Strong fingers, artist's fingers, encircled hers as he slowly raised her hand toward his mouth. "Enchanté." His breath teased the sensitized skin of her knuckles. His lips were warm and dry, eliciting a shiver as his tongue touched the back of her hand. Carnal images crowded her mind as desire burned her like a wildfire. Before her eyes flashed images of this man in her bed, buried deep within her, burrowing into her very soul. Val pulled away, his teeth shutting with a sharp click and Shai caught a glimpse of an emotion akin to shock racing across his face. Was he in pain? "Are you okay?" she asked, startled when her voice came out husky. He flashed her a picture perfect smile. "Better than I was before meeting you." He straightened smoothly, never releasing her hand. "Ladies, it has been a great pleasure seeing you, but I am afraid I have to run." He glanced down at Shai, his gaze capturing and holding hers easily. "Business does not await my personal pleasures." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Vivian fairly purred her displeasure. "That's too bad, Val. It's been such along time since we've seen each other. We're headed to the Pyramid after dinner. Maybe you can join us there?" "Indeed, it has been a long time. If I can get away, it would be an honor to join you ladies this evening." His gaze never left Shai's as he raised her hand to his lips once again. "Until next we meet, little one." He kissed her hand a second time, his teeth brushing her skin before he released her. Turning, he headed toward the door, every woman's eye on him as he exited. "Nowthat is a fantasy," Erihn announced into the silence. "It seems our little Shai caught Val's eye," Jennifer commented. "Lucky girl. I've been after him since he first appeared in New York about a year ago." Vivian's tone was sour. "Never even looked twice at me." "I certainly wouldn't kick him out of bed," Melanie said. "I wouldn't either," Shai, still feeling dazed, spoke through numb lips. Vivian laughed, her pique apparently forgotten. "It's about damned time. A man to turn Shai's head. And what a man he is." She leaned closer to Shai. "Watch out, little one. Val is one of the sharks in the ocean of life," she paused. "Of course, that makes him all the more desirable." She raised her wineglass. "Here's to Shai and her deepest, darkest fantasies. Long may Val fill them...and a few other things." "I don't..." Shai began, only to realize they were no longer listening to her. Shivers danced along her
spine as she recalled his deep blue eyes and sinfully sexy mouth. "Oh, what the hell... Here's to fantasies."
Chapter 2 Shai tumbled headfirst through her apartment door. Clinging to the doorknob, she skidded to a stop as her oversized purse banged into the coat tree, sending it crashing to the floor. She straightened and stared at it, her vision distorted as if she were underwater. "Bummer." Her voice sounded slurred and she giggled as she kicked the door shut with one foot. She started across the wood floor toward the darkness of her bedroom door. As she walked, she discarded her clothing in an uneven trail, marking her progress through the apartment. Her silk jacket landed on the arm of a chair, her purse a hill of soft leather in the middle of her living room. Next came her black skirt, a puddle of velvet in the hall. As she neared the doorway, she noticed with alarm that the room was tilting. She reached out a hand to brace herself against the wall and keep herself upright. "What the..." She glanced down at her feet. One high-heeled shoe was missing. She turned too fast only to send her head spinning and she staggered into the wall with a thud. "Oooof..." She squinted toward the hall, looking for the missing footwear. Her errant shoe lay tangled in her skirt. "Too much effort." Turning, she stumbled through the door, losing her other shoe in the process. Her shirt slithered to the floor. Her four-poster bed lay bathed in a pool of brilliant moonlight. The windows were wide open and a soft, humid breeze tugged at the heavy blue drapes. With a sigh of delight, Shai fell onto the bed, her body numb with drink and sensual intoxication. Her fingers curled into the crisp white sheets. Oh, how she loved her bed. It was the best bed in the world. Unbidden, an image of Val entered her mind. She groaned. Val in her room. In her bed. In her. She closed her eyes and grabbed a pillow to cradle it against her overheated body. Enough of that. Fantasies were one thing, but her reality was that a man like Val would never be interested in a boring, white-cotton woman like her. She sighed into her pillow and scrunched her face deeper into the pristine cotton, willing her body to relax. Within seconds, she gave in to the demands too much alcohol had placed on her, and she fell asleep.
She looked like a whore. The vampire settled on the windowsill, mere feet from the woman's sleeping form. A derisive smile curled his lips. Whore or not, she was even more exquisite than he'd ever imagined. Thick red hair lay tumbled across her pillow in a river of curls. Dark lashes shadowed her cheeks, hiding eyes he knew were a brilliant green. A small, delicately shaped nose with a slight bump at the bridge as if it had been broken at one time. Her mouth was generous with a full lower lip and slightly thinner upper one. Her skin was the creamy delight of a redhead. Her throat was slender, marred only by a small scar at the base on the right side. Perfection. A black lace bra barely covered her breasts, full and round. He ached to touch them, to taste them. Her belly looked soft and inviting while her hips and upper thighs were covered by a silk half-slip. Naughty black nylons encased her thighs and lovely calves down to slender ankles and feet. A delicate gold ankle bracelet glittered in the moonlight. He certainly appreciated her choice in underclothing. But he was surprised that a woman as conservative as Shai would dress like a seasoned harlot beneath her street clothes. It would be so easy to kill her, he thought dispassionately. He knew exactly where to touch her slender throat and, in mere seconds, she'd be one of the dearly departed. Just another victim found dead in their bed in the city called New York. He looked at his hands, his pale skin gleaming white in the moonlight. They didn't look like they were over nine hundred years old. Nine hundred years of murder, mayhem and blood. He stroked his chin. For Shai's sake, it would be more humane for her if he did kill her with his hands. Quick and efficient, no fuss no muss. No mortal would want to live through what he'd planned for her. But even when he'd been human, he hadn't been humane. A mirthless smile curved his mouth. Oh, how he wanted her. More now than the first time he'd laid eyes on her. Every year, the desire had grown stronger until he'd reached this breaking point. Sitting outside of her bedroom window watching her sleep, lusting after her yet unwilling to touch her. Yet. Soon her time would come. A faint, self-deprecating laugh escaped him. She stirred in sleep, a frown marring the perfection of her face. As if she knew he was there, she turned her face and twisted her body away from his gaze as if to avoid him. The silk half-slip tightened, sliding up to reveal the tops of her stockings and the tiny black thong panties she wore. The vampire's breath caught in his throat and a faint hiss of air escaped him. Her panties left nothing to the imagination. Moonlight gilded the perfection of her skin, the smooth slopes and tantalizing indentations.
Her backside was larger than considered fashionable by today's standards. But it was perfectly round and taut. He preferred his women to be shaped like women, not sticks with boobs. This beauty had something to hang onto, a backside that would fill his ample hands admirably. He longed to slip in her window and grab her, pulling her against his raging erection. To bury himself in her softness until she cried. He pictured himself in bed with her, her body moving against him, her eyes sleepy with lust. A growl escaped his throat. With one last look at the sleeping woman, he turned away. Mortal women. They were the downfall of many a vampire. To meld with living flesh, breathing and crying out beneath him, on top of him, it didn't matter. It was an addiction and he was in serious need of a fix. Weakness was weakness and it had to be either destroyed or appeased. He glanced back at her. It was rare that a mortal had reached him the way she did, the way she always had. Just as her mother had many years before. He bared his teeth. The moonlight seemed even more brilliant than it had been before. It was time to feed and feed he must. Clicking his jaw in frustration, the vampire caressed her one last time with his gaze. Moving with the near silence of one of the very old, he leapt from the window to the alley thirty feet below. He landed with a gentle thud and straightened, checking to ensure his clothing was in perfect order before moving toward the mouth of the alley and the darkened streets beyond. Shai's time would come, as would her companions. He knew that for a certainty. Unfortunately her friends were average, not exceptional like her. If they'd been exceptional, he might have spared them. The only possible exception was Jennifer. She could be a problem. But the rest of them would serve their purpose and serve it well. First things first, though. There was a merry game to be played. The players in this drama were in place and act one had already commenced. Laughter filled the night as the vampire faded into the shadows.
"So who's the woman?" Val started, the forgotten book falling from his fingertips to land on the pine floor with a hollow thump. He looked up to see his unexpected visitor standing near the fireplace, a bemused expression on her face. "Miranda, what a lovely surprise. I didn't hear you pop in." A silvery laugh echoed in the expanse of the library. "That's a new one." Miranda shed her black velvet cape and draped it over the back of the chair across from him. She stooped to rescue the leather-bound book from the floor. "Wuthering Heights," she read, carefully closing the cover. Her crimson fingernails
gleamed in the subdued lighting as she stroked the priceless binding. "First edition, even. Dreaming of unrequited love, my friend?" A smile danced across her face as she perched on the arm of the opposite chair. "Just enjoying a classic, my dear." Val rose from the chair to reclaim his book from her. She didn't release it. "What's her name?" "And why do you think a woman is on my mind?" he asked, careful to keep his tone light. Her smile turned sad, almost disappointed. "And who knows you better than I? You can fool others, but you can never fool me." He brushed his finger down her cold cheek. The first time he'd laid eyes on her, he'd thought Miranda was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. Hair as black as night fell in thick luscious waves to her tiny waist. Skin the color of clotted cream, by contrast her lips were full and red. Deep blue eyes framed in sooty lashes stared, unflinching in their regard of him. Tall and built like a Rubenesque statue, she was perfection wrapped in a rich, black velvet dress. She was a woman many men would desire. Miranda was his dark angel, his savior. She'd saved him from himself many times through the years they'd been friends and confidants. But he also knew she wanted more, much more than he could give. It pained him to hurt her so. When he'd met the red-haired angel last night, he'd known it was inevitable that someone would be hurt. Unfortunately, it would be Miranda. "Never you, Miranda," he whispered. She released her grip on the book; her gaze unwavering as she folded her hands in her lap like a prim spinster at an afternoon tea. "She's mortal?" "Yes." His tone was resigned. Didn't she see that he didn't want to hurt her with this? "Do you love her?" Anger surged to life. How could he dare love any mortal woman? Their relationship would always be doomed to failure and loss. A vampire would always outlive a mortal, many lifetimes over. "How can I love her?" he bit out. "How can I love anyone?" "The same way any of us can love." Her tone was soft, her voice musical, sensual. It was that voice which had pulled him back from the edge many times. He felt the lure of it even now. "I've only met her once." "She must be quite the woman to have captured your attention." "It's only lust." He said the words, but they rang hollow to his ears. "If you believe it's only lust, then you're a bigger fool than I ever knew you were." She looked down to pick at imaginary lint on her skirt. "You realize that mortals can be our downfall?" "Yes."
She abandoned her task, raising her gaze to meet his. "Do you want to die that badly?" she whispered. "No, not anymore. I have you to thank for that." He moved away from her and toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. "I don't know how to explain it." Burgundy velvet drapes were pulled back to reveal the clear, starry night. The shadows beyond the glass beckoned his soul and, for the first time in many years, he wanted to curse the night which enshrouded him. "You don't have to explain, Val," Miranda spoke softly. "You owe me nothing." "No, you're wrong," he said, his voice harsh. "I owe you everything." He turned to the beauty who stared at him with the face of love. Love that would ease the crushing loneliness of his life. Love he could never return. "Everything." "You owe me nothing you will not give willingly." Her tone was pained as she rose from her perch. "I'll take nothing you do not offer of yourself." She picked up her cape and moved to stand before him, her cool fingers caressing his face as if committing it to memory. She dropped her hand as tears filled her eyes. "I take my leave of you with a heart filled with love for the boy you once were, and the man you've become." She vanished, leaving the faint scent of jasmine and a delicate tingling on his skin. His heart heavy, Val turned, his eyes once again searching the darkness of a New York night. How had his life come to this?
Retribution Book II: The Shadow Dwellers
by
J. C. Wilder
Copyright © 1999 Lisa Hamilton Previously published by Dreams Unlimited.
Cover Art by Emily Black Cover Art copyright © 2001 Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville, ON
L6M 2Y1 [www.ltdbooks.com] All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law. National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data Wilder, J. C., 1965Retribution [computer file]
ISBN 1-55316-072-X (electronic) ISBN 1-55316-930-1 (REB 100 1200) I. Title. PS3623.I45R48 2001 813'.6 C2001-902071-6
Dedication If you are truly blessed, someone will enter your life and demonstrate that courage, strength and dignity are more than just words in the dictionary. This one's for you Daddy.
Acknowledgements I would like to thank the following people, without whose support there would be no J. C. Wilder. Carol - Your friendship and wisdom mean more to me than you will ever know. Julia - For saying "You Can" every time I say, "I can't." Debbie - For listening to me blather about vampires, were- cats and witches...oh my! To the Ladies of the Keep - may the Moet always be chilled, may the bonbons always be Godiva, and may the DB's always dance in your honor.
Chapter 1 Current day - London, England Conor MacNaughten gripped his partner's generous hips as he thrust into her. Her magnificent breasts, highlighted by the harsh noonday sun, jiggled with his movements and with each thrust an excited cry broke from her lips. Damp blonde hair obscured her features as she dug at the tangled sheets with red-tipped claws. The scent of sex filled the air. Catherine had the best breasts he'd seen in years, at least for breasts that were organically grown. Large and pert with coral shaded aureoles and distended nipples, these beauties were a feast for a starving man. And Conor MacNaughten considered himself a starving man. His hips never slowing, he leaned forward, took a firm nipple into his mouth and suckled deeply. A hoarse cry emerged from Catherine's mouth as she bucked wildly beneath him. She reached for him and fisted her hands in his hair. He nipped at her breast, leaving a tiny love bite before lavishing attention on the other as he continued his slow thrusts. Rolling his hips easily as he slipped into her moist heat, he felt the faint tingling in the back of his calves that signaled his approaching orgasm. "Conor...." Mac paused, stifling a groan. While her body was any seventeen-year- old's wet dream, her voice was a definite problem. Shrill and somewhat whiny, it was the voice of a petulant five-year-old, not a mature, sexually adventurous woman. And he definitely was not in the mood to listen to it now. It had been over three weeks since he last had sex and he had some lost time to make up. Without as so much as a "by your leave," he withdrew from her damp heat, and gathered the scattered pillows from the floor. As he bent over, his medallion swung forward on its fine gold chain and hit him on the nose. Impatiently, he tossed it over his shoulder and continued his task, piling the pillows on the bed. Grabbing her by her waist, he then rolled her over onto the pyramid of silk so that her generous backside now pointed upward. "What are you...." He cut her off by gently pushing her face down into the sheets, angling her backside even higher and exposing her glistening inner flesh. He thrust deep inside her once again and her muffled squeal of delight emanated from the bedcovers. Taking a firm grip on her hips, Mac settled himself in for a leisurely ride.
Current Day - South of Manchester, England Terror and rage warred within Jennifer Beaumont's soul as she entered the sprawling house. Rage was winning the battle. The massive front door slammed with a heavy thud as she kicked it shut. Her Italian leather pumps
clicked sharply on the marble floor as she barreled toward the double doors of the library. She tossed her purse in the direction of the glass-topped table in the center of the foyer, where it glanced off the towering vase of pink and white gladioli. The arrangement tottered dangerously before righting itself. "Damn his miserable hide," she swore as she wrenched the brass doorknob downward. She hit the oak door with the palm of her hand, slamming it backward into the wall with a crash, destroying the cozy scene inside. The vampire Mikhail stood before the fireplace watching her entrance with an indulgent smile. Hundreds of years ago, she'd thought Mikhail a handsome man. At six feet in height, every inch of it lean-muscled, he cut a striking figure. His pale gold hair was shorn just beneath his ears and neatly combed back to reveal a narrow face with exquisite cheekbones, sharp nose and a full mouth. With his impeccably cut black leather pants that accentuated his strong runner's legs and his flowing white silk shirt, he resembled a golden pirate of old. It was only when she looked into his eyes that she could see his one flaw. He had no soul. His icy blue eyes reflected only emptiness. "Damn your black heart, Mikhail," Jennifer ground out. "You've gone too far this time." He laughed gently and held his arms out as if he expected a welcoming hug. "Darling Jennifer, is this anyway to greet your master?" Jennifer could barely control the rage that flared as he spoke. She wanted to scream until the fine crystal of the chandelier shattered, raining down on them in piercing shards. She wished to tear him limb from limb, scattering the pieces to the ends of the earth. She wanted to personally escort his black soul to the very gates of hell. Calling upon her infamous iron will, she restrained herself. Throwing a fit in front of Mikhail would accomplish very little. Indeed, it would only give him the upper hand. "What have you done?" she bit out. Mikhail's smiled smoothly, his movements fluid as he picked up a squat Baccarat crystal glass filled with a thick red liquid. Jennifer caught the scent of chilled blood, like cold wet pennies, as he slowly swirled the glass. "I have no idea what you are speaking of, Jennifer," he purred. Never taking his eyes from hers, he took a sip of the liquid. Jennifer masked her revulsion as he swallowed. Mikhail's smile broadened as he licked his lips and tipped his head slightly in her direction. "Is this an example of your legendary manners, Jennifer? You storm into my home, damage my library wall and so rudely ignore my guest." With one slim, pale hand, he gestured to the woman seated on the couch. "Your mother would be ashamed of you." Ignoring his jibe, Jennifer's lip curled as she turned to see Gabrielle DesNoir. Gabrielle's brilliant blue eyes gleamed in stark contrast to the whiteness of her long hair and pale skin. Her full lips were painted a shiny blood red. Her finely honed body was clad in a white leather bustier dress, with matching silk stockings and four-inch pumps. All in all, she was a perfect advertisement for an ice princess from hell.
Gabrielle was well known and not particularly well liked in most vampire circles. Her appeal lay in the fact that her lover, Mikhail, was one of the most powerful vampires on the planet. Very few immortals dared to say no to him. Gabrielle was a young vampire, only about a hundred years old and still learning. With Mikhail as her mentor, she was far more advanced than the average century-old vampire. She was also known for her lack of scruples, which made her the perfect partner for him. Jennifer inclined her head in Gabrielle's direction. "Gaby," she acknowledged, knowing how the other woman detested the shortening of her name. "ChèreJennifer, so lovely to see you again." Gabrielle's voice was thick with a French accent that Jennifer knew to be as false as her current hair color. Jennifer turned back to Mikhail. "Where is she?" "I have no idea what you are talking about." He braced his shoulder against the ornate fireplace mantel. His eyes gleamed with the golden glow from the leaping fire. He reminded her of a sleek jungle cat readying to pounce on its unsuspecting prey. While he might decide to make her his next victim, she wouldn't go down without a fight. "Who's missing?" His expression was bemused. "Miranda of Glencoe." Jennifer didn't miss the spark of satisfaction that flared in his eyes before he feigned surprise. "Really? Miranda is missing? How dreadful. My love," he addressed Gabrielle, "when was the last time we saw Miranda?" Gabrielle rose from the couch with her unearthly grace and moved toward her lover. "Well, I think it may have been a few years, at least. Maybe it was at Kitty Von Helgen's birthday party? She'd just turned 371 though she doesn't look a day over 40." She reached Mikhail's side and took the glass from him, then turned to Jennifer. "I don't remember seeing you at that party. Weren't you invited?" She took a drink, her sharp eyes watching Jennifer over the rim of the glass. Jennifer struggled keep her expression impassive. "I hope the next time I see Kitty Von Helgen it will be to spit upon her rotting corpse," she spoke evenly. Ignoring Gabrielle's start of surprise, she turned her attention back to Mikhail. His icy eyes were amused. "You've gone too far this time, Mikhail," she warned. "Dearest Jennifer, you wound me." He placed a slim hand over his heart as if her words had dealt him a mortal blow. "How can I wound someone who is not human?" She glanced from Mikhail's amused gaze to Gabrielle's self-satisfied one. They were presenting a united front. Maybe now was a good time to put a crease into it. A little dissension in the enemy's ranks was a good thing when faced with open warfare. "Both you and I know that I could never actually hurt you, Mikhail." Jennifer moved over to a navy leather wing chair and settled herself on the arm. Carefully she arranged her burgundy skirt, allowing Mikhail a flash of thigh. She swallowed her revulsion as she felt his interested gaze sweep her flesh. "However," she leaned against the back of the chair, her posture deceptively casual. The v-neck of her blouse gaped slightly, allowing Mikhail an unobstructed view of her black lace bra. "We both know that would be a waste of time and energy."
Mikhail smiled faintly. Gabrielle hissed her displeasure as her lover's gaze lingered on Jennifer's exposed flesh. Mikhail ignored her. "What do you want from me, little Jennifer?" "The truth." Jennifer shifted so her blouse once again obstructed his personal peep show. "Renault found evidence of drugs and he saw you and this she-cat steal Miranda away. I want to know why you have done this. As you know, Miranda is an old and dear friend of mine and quite naturally I am concerned for her welfare." Mikhail's smile faltered and then returned in full force. "So much for stealth, my dear," he said to the bristling Gabrielle. He looked again at Jennifer, "And here I thought I was being so clever." Jennifer wasn't fooled. Mikhail was not a stupid man. Unbalanced and reckless yes, but never stupid. He'd wanted Renault to see him and Gabrielle take Miranda. She was as certain as she knew her own name that this little "slip" was a part of his plan. Now she just had to figure out the purpose of his actions and how to get Miranda out of the middle of it. "What have you done with her?" "I have her hidden away, somewhere safe." "I want to see her." "No," Gabrielle snarled. "You cannot see her. Now you toddle off and tell Val..." Jennifer glanced at Gabrielle, concentrating briefly on the crystal glass in the other woman's hand. A second later it exploded, raining blood and crystal over both Mikhail and Gabrielle, who erupted into shrieks while Mikhail looked pained. "Really Jennifer, Baccarat crystal. Was that necessary?" He retrieved a snowy white handkerchief from his pants pocket and dabbed at the front of his ruined silk shirt. "I think you have damaged enough of my possessions for one day. First you damage the wall by throwing the door open, now this." "You fucking bitch," Gabrielle snarled, her accent changed from stilted French to harsh Brooklyn tones. Jennifer noted with some satisfaction that the exquisite crystal had cut deeply into the woman's hand. Blood flowed from the wound and if it was possible, she looked even paler than before. Jennifer laughed shortly, "It isn't as if you won't heal." She rose from the arm of the chair, fixing Mikhail with her stare. "I meant what I said, Mikhail, I want to see Miranda before this goes on any longer." Mikhail tossed the blood-soaked cloth into the fire with a hiss. "Fine. I will...." "You cannot take her to...." Gabrielle interrupted. "Silence," Mikhail ordered. He glanced down at the slowly expanding pool of blood at her feet. "You are ruining my Aubusson. Get a towel and go drip somewhere else." Gabrielle cradled her injured hand to her chest as she started toward the door and threw a venomous glare at Jennifer. "I will get you for this, you bitch," she snarled. "You are only a revenant, a servant of the Master, and you can be killed." "And you are a woman of your word, aren't you, Gaby?" Jennifer's smile was thin. "Go do your roots,
they need attending." As the female vampire stormed from the room, Jennifer knew she would regret her words sooner or later. Her smile faded. Gabrielle would not soon forget this slight and she just might end up paying dearly for having the last word. Jennifer could only hope that she would not end up paying with her life. Mikhail chuckled, causing chills to roll down her spine. "And you thought that I was bad." Jennifer forced a mocking smile. "You sir, are not a very attentive lover." He rolled his eyes theatrically. "If my dearest Gaby were in true mortal danger, as it were, I would leap to the ends of the earth to save her, or at least into town to get her some bandages. But we both know she will heal within moments and be back to prick your side with yet another thorn." "Which we know will do very little if no lasting damage to me as well," Jennifer said lightly. "Touché." Mikhail smiled as he moved across the room to take her arm. "You asked to see Miranda. She is this way." She took a deep breath, steeling herself for his touch. As his cold hand clasped her arm, the chill sank instantly through the silk of her shirt and fear once again reasserted itself. The first thing she was going to do when she got back to the house was burn her clothing and take a searing hot bath. Yet she nodded serenely and allowed him to lead her from the room. Mikhail escorted her out into the foyer and toward the back of the house. "You have heard the old adage, 'Be careful what you wish for because you soon might get it?'" he asked. Jennifer ignored her growing sense of unease. "What do you hope to accomplish?" He laughed and shivers rippled across her skin. "Even you should know the answer to that one, Jennifer. I want retribution from Val." He shrugged easily as he opened a small door tucked beneath the mammoth staircase. He gestured for her to go first. "He owes me." She glanced uneasily down the narrow, twisting staircase. The scent of mildew, rotting cardboard and something not easily defined reached her nose. She didn't think Mikhail would play foul with her; he needed her too much to accomplish the next step in this deadly game he played. But she still wasn't one hundred percent sure. Besides, she'd never liked small, dark places. "Scared?" Mikhail's smooth voice taunted. Jennifer squared her shoulders and stepped through the door into the stench, stopping at the small landing at the top of the steps that descended into her own personal version of hell. "What does Val owe you for?" she asked, desperate to keep her mind off the numbing darkness that awaited her on those narrow steps. "Where shall I begin? Stealing my women, for one. Shai was mine as her mother was before her. Maeve was also a chosen one as was her sister Rebecca. And let's not forget you, dearest Jennifer. You were to be my greatest triumph until he ruined it. Val had no right to interfere in my plans." He shut the door with a soft click and the darkness was complete. She pressed her back against the wall as he maneuvered past, her hand curled convulsively around the wrought iron banister. He took the opportunity to press tightly against her, and she felt the iron of his arousal. Biting her lip until she tasted
blood, she held herself stiff, unyielding as he reached around her, his breath caressing her unprotected throat. "Do you remember that night?" Cool fingertips caressed the exposed skin. "The night I made you immortal?" "Made me a monster, you mean?" Jennifer choked, unable to hide the bitterness in her tone. "You aren't a monster, darling, and you know it. You will live forever, just like me," his voice trailed off as he pressed a tiny kiss against the base of her throat. "Just like me..." "I am nothing like you," she ground out. She raised her hands to his chest and pushed, but he didn't give an inch. Panic blossomed in her chest as the twin devils of the darkness and the vampire began to claw at her soul. "Ah, darling, you are exactly like me. More like me than you will ever know. That is why I chose you. I would have loved you forever, Jennifer. I would have put you above all others, even Shai. But then you left me." His tone was mock-sorrowful as his hands skimmed down her back to grab at her backside, and he thrust himself against her even tighter. "Escaped is what you mean. Are you angry with Val for taking away Shai and rescuing Maeve or because he, too, escaped you? Is it because he beat you at your own game? He's one of the few vampires that don't cower before you, and that bothers you doesn't it?" She concentrated on her words rather than the man who was pressed so tightly against her. Panic threatened to strangle her as a scream built in her chest. He shoved her, knocking her head into the wall with a sharp rap. "He did not beat me and neither did you. You came back to me not long ago, and you will again," he growled. His hands slid up her back to grip her shoulders, his breath, stale with old blood, on her cheek. "You betrayed me. But then again you betray all the men in your life don't you, my dearest?" Jennifer stiffened at his verbal jab. "I was taught by the master. Aren't we a little old for groping in a closet?" she snapped, struggling for a tone of disdain. Mikhail laughed and then released her abruptly. He flicked a wall switch and the narrow staircase was flooded with light. "If you prefer a bed, I can accommodate you." He moved away, gesturing for her to begin the journey down the twisting steps. "Not on your life." She started down the circular staircase, ducking her head to avoid hitting it on the steps above. "I wouldn't bet on that if I were you." His hand slipped neatly beneath the weight of her long hair, finding the sensitive nape of her neck. She stumbled and had to put her hands on the rough wall to avoid plunging down the remaining steps. "Whose life will you bet on it? Miranda's?" "Stop that," she snapped. Mikhail laughed again and withdrew his hand. "The gods hate cowards." "I would hardly call it cowardice. I would call it good taste," she replied, starting down the steps again, this time keeping herself at least three steps in front of him.
"Still mourning for Conor MacNaughten, my dear? Or shall I call him 'The One Who Got Away'? How about your 'Knight in Tarnished Silver'?" He taunted. "He left and never looked back, did he? Called you a few choice names if I remember correctly. Of course your name was Lilith then, wasn't it? Was betrayal your middle name then too, darling Lilith?" Jennifer clutched at the narrow banister, grateful that Mikhail could not see her stricken expression. She'd driven Mac away for his own good, not that he would have seen it that way had he known the circumstances for her defection. Both of their lives had been damaged, hers irrevocably, by her actions. On that night, over a century ago, she'd been left no choice. But not this time. The vampire wouldn't win this game and she would gladly forfeit her life in an effort to stop him from destroying the lives of others. She forced a carefree laugh from her tight throat. "We parted amicably enough over a century ago, Mikhail. Everyone knows that. Why bring up ancient history?" "Is that all it is? Has the love of your life been relegated to 'ancient history' in your mind?" He chuckled and Jennifer dearly wanted to drive a rusty nail into his heart. "Somehow I don't think so. I think he mattered very much and he still does, much more than you are letting on. Of course, I alone know that he really wasn't the man for you." "Then once again, Mikhail, you are wrong as you were then. I never thought he was the man for me." Engrossed in conversation, Jennifer missed the bottom step. She staggered through the doorway, clutching the doorframe to regain her balance. It opened into a cramped, dank hallway lined with three black doors, each with heavy padlocks. She glanced back at Mikhail. "Is thisLet's Make A Deal and I get to pick a door?" He shook his head, his blond hair gleaming in the subdued lighting. "No, I would say it is more like my own personal chamber of delights." He moved around her easily and strode to the middle door. He unlocked the padlock and opened the door with a flourish. He stepped back, allowing her to once again lead the way. Jennifer saw with a start that the walls of the small room were covered in a shiny reflective material. Candlelight glowed on the walls, giving it an odd golden gleam. She felt like she'd been wrapped in tinfoil. On closer inspection, she noted that thin sheets of beaten sterling silver had been affixed to the walls, floor and ceiling so not a crack of plaster or wood was visible. No vampire or revenant alive would be able to telepathically link to someone on the outside and call for help. Including her. The door closed with a soft snick and she struggled to quell her burgeoning panic. She swallowed, forcing herself to focus on the problem at hand. Now was not the time for hysterics. Miranda needed her calm and focused. Her friend's life depended on the outcome of the next few minutes. In control, she turned toward the narrow bed and the battered woman who lay imprisoned upon it. Under normal circumstances, Miranda of Glencoe was a strikingly beautiful woman. Almost six feet in height, she was built like a Rubenesque statue. Now she lay on the bed, emaciated and pale. Her long black hair was dirty and tangled, her wrists raw from the silver chains that kept her immobilized. Jennifer noted the tattered clothing and the partially healed bite marks on the woman's throat.
"What have you done to her?" she whispered, unable to hide her horror. Mikhail tittered. "Only what I knew would bring Val running." Jennifer swallowed the bile that burned at the back of her throat. Rage clawed at her heart. If it took everything she had for the rest of her days on earth, she would see to it that Mikhail paid for the ill he had perpetrated on Miranda. Even if he killed her in the process, it was a small price to pay for a woman who had been one of her only friends so long ago. She forced herself to move toward the bed, her usually graceful movements jerky. She seated herself on the edge of the bed before her knees collapsed beneath her. Hesitantly she touched the woman's hand, where a golden Celtic knot ring gleamed. Jennifer drew her fingers over the familiar pattern that matched the silver ring on her own right hand. A ring of eternity given a lifetime ago from an old vampire to a young and frightened revenant. A low moan escaped Miranda. From the pale hue of her skin and her apparent weakness, she surmised it had been some time since the vampire had fed. Luckily Miranda was an Elder and could go for a long period of time without feeding and she wouldn't sustain any lasting damage. "Miranda, it's me, Jennifer." She gently stroked the woman's dark hair until her eyes fluttered. "Jen," she whispered through cracked lips. "Hush now. I had to make sure you were alright." Tears burned the back of her eyes as she noted the hollow look of Miranda's expression. What she had endured, Jennifer didn't know, but she had a few ideas of the terror dealt at the hands of Mikhail. "You are in danger here. Leave this evil place," Miranda whispered. "Tell Val that I have caused him enough pain..." "How noble," Mikhail sneered. "Tell him to take his women far from here." Miranda's voice failed her. "No," Mikhail shrieked. "Don't you dare tell him that." In the blink of an eye, Jennifer was hurled away from Miranda's side. She hit the wall with a metallic crash and slid down into a heap on the slippery floor. Dazed, she struggled to her feet as Mikhail loomed over the defenseless woman bound to the bed. As he raised his hand to strike Miranda, Jennifer launched herself at his back. She hit him hard, knocking him off balance enough to keep him from striking her friend. Together they fell over the foot of the bed and onto the floor. Over and over they wrestled until she ended up on the bottom, his body pinning hers. Roughly he shoved between her thighs, pressing his crotch against the apex. "I love women who fight," he ground out, capturing her flailing arms. She struggled, fear making her crazed, and she tried to do anything to get away from him. She clawed at his hands but was unable to inflict any damage because he held her wrists too tightly. Whipping her head around, she snapped at him with her teeth. Abruptly he shoved his arm against her windpipe, forcing her head upward to meet his gaze.
"If you bite me, I will tear you to pieces and feed you to my crows," he spoke slowly. He slid his hand downward to roughly clutch at her breast. Jennifer forced her voice to remain steady, "And if you rape me you will never get your retribution from Val. I will see to it that he takes Shai and Maeve far enough away from you that you will never find them." He stopped his rough caress. "You are making this so difficult," he growled. He rocked his hips against her. "Hmm...I could change my game plan. Maybe I will let Miranda go if you submit to me, Jennifer. Don't you remember how much fun we had? We could have that again, but you're going to spoil everything aren't you?" "'Fun,'" she spat at him. "I don't remember anything f-f-fun..." she choked. He shook his head sadly. "Then you don't remember it as I do. What a pity you cannot remember that night so long ago when..." "I remember everything from that night. All of It." she snarled. He rocked his hips against her again and she strangled a cry before it could make itself heard. "We could have that again," he whispered, his fingers digging painfully into her breast. She glared into his soulless eyes, her breathing harsh. "Hear me now, Mikhail. I will never willingly submit to you." He shrugged, "As if your willingness makes a difference to me. I take what I want and I destroy what I can't have. So be it." "I don't think Gaby would like to see you in this position, would she?" Jennifer tried to ignore his hand as it tightened painfully. She would definitely have some bruises tomorrow. Mikhail laughed, "Gaby does as I say, not the other way around. Nevertheless, I should probably keep my mind on business shouldn't I?" He shifted his hold upward, away from her breast. Tenderly he stroked the slender line of her throat, his movements methodical. "You need to run back and tell Val that I have his little Miranda. I will accept in exchange for her measly life, a meeting with him. He is to come alone to theChapel des Anges Perdu outside Calais, France four days from this evening - midnight." She tensed as he brushed the hair away from the side of her neck. She swallowed audibly as his fingers lightly stroked the base of her throat. "No," she protested, renewing her struggles. A scream began building, as she knew the unthinkable was about to happen as he slowly lowered his head. "Midnight, dearest Jennifer." His icy lips caressed her throat as a scream was torn, against her will, from her very soul. "Midnight." Pain ripped through her body as Mikhail began to feed.
About The Author
J.C. Wilder lives in Westerville, Ohio where she's owned by a Japanese Akita named Severena and a really obnoxious Jack Russell Terrier named Copper Penny. She spends the majority of her time dusting her 6,000 books and staring at her blank computer screen in complete terror. After six years working for CompuServe Inc., she's working as a Business Analyst for the State of Ohio. When not writing, she devotes much of her time to studying the medicinal uses of herbs and essential oils and howling at the moon. You can write to her at
[email protected] or visit her webpage at http://www.jcwilder.com.
Publisher info: Stories that stimulate your laughter, Provoke your tears, Evoke your secret fears, Stories that make you think...The stuff that dreams are made of...LTDBooks www.ltdbooks.com
Table Of Contents Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Epilogue One With The Hunger Retribution About The Author Publisher info:
