Quinn

by D. B. Reynolds

  “Great.” His cousin’s dry voice interrupted what had been a perfect seduction, albeit not the one that the lovely Imogen had intended. “I’m Garrick, by the way.”

  “Oh,” she said, sounding startled. She dropped Quinn’s hand and turned to greet Garrick, as if surprised to find him standing there. “Imogen Cleary,” she said, offering a businesslike handshake. “Lord Donlon’s—”

  “Butler. Yeah, I heard. And I’m Lord Quinn’s lieutenant.”

  “Of course. You’re both expected. Please, follow me.”

  She took off for the castle’s open front door, while Quinn held back long enough to gain a semblance of privacy against vampire ears. “Nice cock blocking, cousin.”

  “Please,” Garrick murmured, rolling his eyes. “You were playing her. She was trying to seduce you, and you beat her at her own game.”

  “I would have let her win eventually.”

  Garrick snorted. “I’m sure. Nice castle, yeah?”

  “If you like that sort of thing.” Quinn looked up with a smile when they reached the waiting Imogen. She tried and failed to hold his gaze, her blush even more visible in the lighted doorway. “You’ve done wonders with this place, Imogen,” he said warmly.

  “You’re very kind, my lord. But I only supervised.”

  He brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek, feeling the heat of her flushed skin. “Lovely,” he murmured lazily.

  “I’ll take it from here, Imogen,” a brisk male voice called.

  Quinn raised his eyes slowly, as Imogen stepped back. He’d sensed the other vampire’s approach and knew this was Ronan Ivers, the vampire who handled Lucas’s business interests in Ireland. Quinn was sure those business interests were wide and varied, but that would change once he solidified his hold on the country. He didn’t mind Lucas’s claim on this modest plot of ancestral lands, but everything else would belong to Quinn once he was Lord of Ireland.

  “Ronan. It’s good to meet you in person after all those phone calls.”

  “A pleasure, Lord Quinn. And at least the phone lines are good over the Atlantic these days. Not so long ago, we might as well have been shouting into tin cans.”

  Quinn’s gaze followed the sway of Imogen’s shapely hips as she hurried away, but he laughed gamely at Ronan’s comment about overseas communication. At 89 years old—32 human, 57 vampire— Quinn was young enough that he’d enjoyed modern tech for most of his life. Not so for Ronan, whose age had weighed on Quinn’s soul when he’d shaken the vampire’s hand. He was at least 200 years old, and Quinn wondered idly how long he’d known Lucas. Hell, it was possible, maybe even likely, that Ronan was Lucas’s child. There was no question that his allegiance was with Lucas, and not the recognized Lord of Ireland. But he didn’t ask for specifics. Vampires could be quite sensitive about their personal histories. It was always better to get to know a vampire well before digging too deeply.

  “Was your flight . . . I won’t say good,” Ronan said, smiling. “It’s a long fucking way from America. But was it at least uneventful?”

  Quinn laughed. He liked this vampire. “You’re right on both counts. We wanted to arrive in darkness, which meant flying too many miles in daylight. Not my first choice, but unavoidable given the distance.” He glanced over at Garrick, then stepped back to include him. “Ronan, this is my lieutenant, Garrick Owen. We appreciate Lord Donlon’s generosity in lending us his jet for the journey,” he continued while the two vampires shook hands. “Having a ride that’s properly outfitted for vampire passengers makes all the difference.”

  Ronan grinned. “Lucas hates flying in daylight, as well.”

  “I suspect we all do.” They walked a few steps in silence while Quinn studied the castle. “It’s completely renovated inside?” he asked lifting his chin at the structure.

  “Top to bottom. It took for-fucking-ever, too. Every time we’d finish an upgrade, a better way of doing it would be invented, and we’d have to start all over again. This latest round should hold for more than a few years, minus a technology re-do every so often. But those at least don’t involve tearing out walls anymore.” He gestured toward the stairs. “We’ve plenty of hours left in the night. We’ll get you settled upstairs, then I’ve prepared a brief on the situation here. I’ll answer what questions I can, and find answers for those I can’t.”

  Quinn and Garrick were ushered upstairs and into a sumptuous three-room suite—two bedrooms and a sitting room—that was worthy of a true Irish lord of old, an An Tiarna. Apparently, Lucas Donlon had a direct bloodline to precisely that title. The castle and lands had been his grandfather’s over 200 years ago. Quinn didn’t know all the dirty details, but he knew Lucas hated his grandfather. He’d bought this place from a bankrupt cousin to make a point—that he was the direct heir, not some twice removed cousin—but he’d also done it in hopes that his grandfather would spend the rest of eternity spinning in his grave. Old hatreds died hard, and since this one had cost Lucas’s mother her life, he was determined to keep it very much alive.

  “You plan to live this way, Q?” Garrick strolled in from the bedroom he’d chosen at random.

  Quinn snorted. “Hell, no. I’m not gentry enough for a castle in the countryside, never mind one as old and titled as this. I’ll take the big city and good plumbing any day. Not to mention air conditioning and lights that don’t flicker every time it storms.”

  “A good generator can fix that. You never did understand how things work.”

  “I know enough to hire people who do. Why the hell do you think I became a lawyer?”

  Garrick laughed. They both knew the real reason for Quinn’s career choice had been his compulsive need to control everything and everyone around him. It was good that he’d awakened as a powerful vampire. He’d never have tolerated being someone else’s flunky. He’d probably have walked into the sun first.

  “Ronan seems like a decent sort,” Garrick said with deliberate casualness.

  Quinn looked over and caught his cousin’s meaningful glance at an ornate table lamp. Ah. So, they were being monitored. Not entirely unexpected. He gave a smug smile and flicked a finger in the air, creating a short burst of power that wiped out every electronic device in their wing of the castle. It was an effort not to laugh out loud as curses traveled up the open stairway. Quinn thought he’d been quite consid­erate. He could have wiped the entire estate. He might be young in vampire years, but he was powerful as hell.

  There was enough moonlight through the windows that neither he nor Garrick felt the need to search out a flashlight. Or, for that matter, bring up the app on their cell phones. Because, of course, their own devices remained unaffected by Quinn’s zap of power. He and Lucas might be nominal allies, but that didn’t rule out a little friendly spying. Anticipating the possibility of electronic surveillance, they’d carefully shielded all their own sensitive gear before boarding Lucas’s jet in New York. Quinn might not know plumbing or HVAC, but he damn well understood power. And he’d never doubted that Lucas would do everything he could to spy on them, not only during the trip, but after they arrived in Ireland. Electronic surveillance was the easy part. The more difficult task would be ferreting out Lucas’s spies from among the Irish vampires Quinn would have to rely on as he built his power base from within the country. Lucas was Lord of the Plains back in the U.S., but he’d been born in Ireland and seemed determined to control her destiny. Or, at least, the destiny of the vampires living within her borders. Unfortunately for him, Quinn had no intention of sharing.

  At the sound of a soft knock on their door, Garrick walked over and opened it to reveal Ronan Ivers.

  “Sorry to disturb,” he said, handing over a flashlight. “We’ve had a power surge of some sort. You’ll want to check your phones and all. Bringing modern tech to these old places is always touch-and-go. I swear sometimes, I think it’s ghosts who dislike th
e changes.”

  Quinn laughed on cue. “I was just telling Garrick that I preferred the city for those very reasons. Give me a new build with no ghosts any day.”

  “Those can be hard to find, even in Dublin. We’re a country of ghosts.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “I’ll be waiting in the library whenever you’re ready. Go left at the bottom of the stairs. You can’t miss it.”

  Quinn lifted his chin in acknowledgment. “A few minutes.”

  Ronan gave a respectful nod and walked away.

  Garrick waited until they heard his footsteps on the stairs before closing the door. “You think he suspects you were behind the power surge?” he murmured.

  “Oh, he does more than suspect. He knows. But if he brings it up, he has to admit they were eavesdropping, which is a violation of traditional Irish guesting laws, if nothing else. And what’s he going to do about it, anyway? Challenge me?”

  “Good point. Are you ready, my lord?”

  Garrick’s use of the honorific wasn’t lost on Quinn. He drew a deep breath. Up until now, this entire venture had been theoretical. Sure, he’d met with Lucas and Raj, and then the incredibly powerful Raphael. And, yeah, he’d helped Raphael fend off a fucking helicopter gunship attack, after which they’d gone back to plotting the invasion of Ireland, because Raphael and the rest of the North American vampire lords had grown weary of fighting off repeated European attacks on their soil. Rather than waiting for the next attack, they were bringing the battle to Europe in a strategy that would force the European vampire lords to defend their own territories instead of attacking North America. But Quinn knew that the larger plan was to change the European vamps’ strategy once and for all, by killing off the vampire lords who were pushing it.

  Ireland was the vanguard of that strategy. Once Quinn seized the country by eliminating the current lord, Orren Sorley, Ireland would serve as a staging point for the North American invasion of Europe.

  He met his cousin’s steady gaze with a short nod. “Let’s do this fucking thing.”

  THEY FOUND THE library easily enough. It was a large room that took up a significant chunk of the building’s first floor, and, despite its name, had very little to do with books. Sure, there was one wall of shelves filled with a mix of modern and old titles, but a cursory glance told Quinn that none of them appeared to be rare or unusual. The absence made sense, given the truly exquisite collectibles adorning the room’s three other walls. Weapons. Ancient bladed weapons of every kind and era. Quinn was a scholar of sorts, a man who loved books and learning. But he was also a powerful vampire who’d quickly understood the nature of his new reality. Vampires were of all ages, but many of them, including some of the most powerful, were old enough to have come from a time long before sub-machine guns or even six-shooter revolvers were the norm. Quinn had set out to study ancient weapons, in general, but he’d been particularly taken by the huge variety of blades in the world—a variety well-represented by the collection on Lucas’s wall. Arranged by nationality or culture—some of which no longer existed—they were in excellent condition, lovingly restored, while not destroying the fine patina of age that blackened intricate designs, and retaining a lethal gleam on every sharp edge.

  “Beautiful,” he said, half to himself.

  “Lord Lucas is a man of war,” Ronan commented.

  Quinn glanced over. “So I’ve heard.”

  “And you, my lord? What is your preference?”

  Quinn let the “my lord” go yet again. Better for Ronan to start thinking of him as the Lord of Ireland, equal to Lucas. Hell, above Lucas in this country.

  “My preference, Ronan, is for victory. I do whatever it takes, use whatever weapon it requires, to reach that end.”

  Ronan gave him a tight smile. “Then let’s get started, shall we?”

  TWO HOURS LATER, Quinn was thinking that flat out violence might be the way to go. Bloody, efficient violence exacted on Ronan Ivers and every one of Lucas’s people, including possibly Lucas himself. It would be an even match, but Quinn thought he could take the Plains Lord, if it came down to it. Either way, it would be better than sitting in the library listening to Lucas’s plan for Quinn’s takeover of Ireland. Which, naturally, included a great deal of influence for Lucas himself.

  Did the guy never give the fuck up?

  Quinn pushed away from the table impatiently. He was getting a headache. A fucking headache. Vampires didn’t get headaches. It was all those beautiful blades hanging on the library walls. The damn metal was ionizing the air. Or maybe it was just listening to Ronan detail, for what felt like the 5000th time, how he and Lucas’s other loyalists were going to facilitate Quinn’s takeover of Ireland.

  “Facilitate, my ass,” he muttered under his breath. “Yeah, fine,” he said more loudly, intending to be heard. “Look, Ronan, I appreciate all the work you’ve obviously put into this, and we’ll certainly be studying it in detail.” He jerked his head in Garrick’s direction, signaling it was time to make their exit. “But I intend to go in small first. God and Garrick know I’m a man who believes in research, but I need to get a feel for the country itself. And the only way to do that is by working from the ground up.” He stood, and his cousin followed suit. “Garrick and I will leave for Dublin tomorrow night. Just the two of us,” he added, reiterating what he’d been saying for the last hour, despite Ronan’s repeated offers and assumptions that he’d be sending a team along with them.

  Quinn didn’t need Ronan Ivers’s permission or approval for whatever he chose to do next. Lucas had been generous with his resources, and Quinn was grateful. But Lucas needed to step aside now. Ireland was Quinn’s, and it was time for him to step up and seize what was his.

  Chapter Two

  Howth, Ireland, present day

  EVE SAT ON THE bed to pull on her leather stiletto boots, the final component of her vampire hunting costume. That’s how she thought of it—as a costume. She didn’t dress this way on what she considered her off time, those rare nights when she met with old friends from univer­sity, or when she wasn’t hunting anything other than a hot cup of tea and a warm bed. The boots had cost too much money, especially for someone without a real paying job, but they were necessary. She spent long hours walking and running in those boots when she was on a hunt, and they had to be comfortable, as well as sexy. She stood and surveyed herself in the full-length mirror on the closet door.

  “Sexy as sin,” she told her image. She stared a while longer, until the familiar sadness began creeping in, and she turned away. “Stop that shit,” she hissed. That was another familiar thing of late, talking to herself. She lived alone in this closet of a flat, a single room with a small bathroom, and a microwave and sink that passed for a kitchen. Most nights, she was out on the streets, tracking vampires, killing the ones who deserved it. She didn’t kill every vampire she came across. She killed the ones who abused humans, the ones involved in crimes, like the smugglers in Howth, who imported guns and drugs, the ones who killed without a thought.

  It wasn’t easy for her, and it wasn’t without risk. She wasn’t a large woman, and she sure as hell didn’t possess any superpowers, like strength or speed. She had brains and determination going for her, but, if she was honest, it was her looks that got her close enough to do the deed. She hated it, but mostly she seduced her targets, getting them away from their friends, into a dark alley, or behind a building. She’d fill her thoughts with sexy images, wait until they were distracted by her breasts, and then go in for the kill.

  It sounded easy when she thought of it that way, but it wasn’t. In the beginning, she’d spent more time running away than killing. Even now, it wasn’t easy to ram a wooden stake into a person’s chest, even if that person was a vampire. And it wasn’t squeamishness, either. It was physicality. The human chest had all sorts of safeguards meant to protect vital organs,
like the heart, which wasn’t just sitting there waiting to be stabbed. But Eve had studied, and she’d improved. She knew just where to slide the knife. Because, yeah, that was another lesson she’d learned. The fatal blow didn’t have to come from a wooden stake. That was a myth. Anything that destroyed the heart would do, and a knife worked a lot better than a wooden stake. It sure as hell penetrated more easily, anyway. A gun could, potentially, wreak even more destruction in a shorter amount of time. And from a distance, too. Of course, guns made noise, even the silenced ones, and she preferred not to draw attention her way. But that wasn’t her biggest problem with guns, since she typically hunted in or around noisy pubs and other public places where vampires hung out looking for a meal. No, her biggest problem was that guns and ammo cost a lot of money. Something she didn’t have, obviously, or she wouldn’t be living in this dump of a flat.

  She’d bought a small Smith and Wesson revolver from a black market seller. It had cost more than she could afford, and it hadn’t been worth it. Not for killing vampires. She suspected a different type of ammo would be more effective, but she could hardly walk into a shop and ask what it would take to blow a vampire’s heart apart. Vampires had rights in Ireland. It would be the same as if she’d asked how best to kill her husband, or her mother. There might even be some law that required them to report that sort of thing. Besides, she doubted the local gun shop owner either knew or cared to know how to kill a vampire. Vampires were public and all—not only in Ireland, but around the world—but they were also discreet. Most people preferred to pretend they didn’t exist, which was easy enough, since most would never, in their entire lives, encounter a real vampire.

  So, she turned to the internet. But though Eve was a whiz when it came to online research, intel on killing vamps seemed to be missing. It was as if the vampire community had teams of people whose only job was to make sure there were no helpful hints about vampire hunting on the internet.