So, a knife it was. A big, very sharp knife that she carried in a specially made sheath down her right thigh. The black leather blended seamlessly with the black of her skirt, and most people, including most vampires, never saw the blade until it was drawn. She made sure of it. Like males everywhere, vampires liked to get up close and personal with women, and Eve used that against them. While the vampire was pawing her breasts, she was slicing his throat. It didn’t kill him, but it weakened him enough that she could stab him in the heart with the same blade.
As for the paying job part of her life . . . Well, vampires had money, especially the criminal types she mostly had contact with, and they tended to carry a lot of it with them. Once they were dusted—which was a whole ‘nother category of disgusting—they had no use for that money, and, sure as hell, no heirs to claim it, even if she’d bothered to go looking. She thought of herself as a modern-day bounty hunter, and the money as her reward. Combined with her side job of writing research papers for unmotivated university students, she had enough income to provide food and clothes, and to pay for this flat, which, ratty as it was, at least let her live on her own and not with her mother, Brigid. As if the thought conjured her up, Eve’s mobile came to life with the theme from the movie Halloween. It was Brigid’s ringtone and couldn’t have been more appropriate if it had been written specifically for her. Eve doubted Brigid would ever understand the not so subtle message that ringtone sent. Mother and daughter had never been close. Eve’s brother, Alan, had always been their mother’s favorite child, mostly because he was male, but Eve thought it might also be that the young Brigid and her husband had still been madly in love when Alan was born. By the time of Eve’s unexpected birth, unfortunately, economic reality and the hardships of years spent working on the docks had taken the bloom off the rose of their love. There was also the fact that Eve and her da had been close, something Brigid had bitterly resented. And when her da had died, Brigid had come right out and told the 8-year old Eve that it had been her fault, that if she’d never been born, her da wouldn’t have had to work so hard and been so tired that he’d had the accident that killed him.
Alan had been 17 at the time. He’d been outraged on her behalf, defending her against the unfairness of their mother’s accusation, even amidst his own grief. He’d stepped in, time and time again after that, becoming the only parent Eve had really known. But then he’d died, too. And this time Eve knew it was her fault.
She and her mother never talked about Alan’s death, except to agree it was Eve’s responsibility to get revenge for his murder. Eve had never told Brigid that it had been vampires who’d killed him, and yet Brigid had known. It made Eve suspect that her mother had known, long before Alan died, what he’d been up to. That he’d been flirting on the edges of some criminal activity or other that had included working with vampires, and Brigid had gone along with it. Had he done it because they needed money for Eve’s university tuition, for books and all the other supplies? That’s what Brigid had told her. That’s why she said it was Eve’s job to avenge his death.
Eve didn’t know if Brigid was being honest with her, and doubted she ever would. Her mother had only two expectations of her daughter— one, to kill the monsters who’d murdered Alan, and, two, to solve all of Brigid’s problems for the rest of her life. Eve tried, and sometimes failed, because that was Brigid’s deepest, sickest, wish. And yet, Eve kept trying, even as she recognized that she was really trying to win her mother’s love. Even as she knew that it would never happen. Pathetic.
She sighed and let her mother’s call go to voicemail. She’d pay for it later, but she had a job to do tonight, and she didn’t need her mother’s demands distracting her. Killing vampires had become second nature, but she never forgot how dangerous it was, how easily she could be the one who ended up dead. Or worse.
Pulling her skirt up over her thigh, she slid her knife into its sheath. She smiled, remembering her first efforts, and how she’d carried her knife down her back. Her long hair had become so ragged from the blade that it had taken years to regrow. That sort of thing didn’t happen now that she’d switched to a thigh sheath. In fact, she’d become quite the expert at killing vamps. The thought should have made her happy. When it didn’t, she realized how tired she was, and how much she’d rather stay in with a hot cup of tea tonight. She chastised herself for that kind of self-pity, and reminded herself that she did it for Alan. That he deserved justice. And when a tiny voice asked what that meant, how many vampires would have to die before his ghost was put to rest, she shut down every thought except one.
The sun was down, the vampires were out, and it was time to hunt.
QUINN STRETCHED in the uncomfortable bed, reminding himself, as he had every night since they’d arrived in Howth, that he needed to buy a new one. He’d bought the house partially furnished. It was a convenience, though none of the furnishings were to his taste. As he’d told Ronan Ivers, he was a modern man through and through. He appreciated the beauty and value of old things, but he didn’t want them in his home. Bad enough that he was becoming an old thing, he didn’t need to be surrounded by them. Even if he’d never look any older than the 32 years he’d lived as a human.
“Garrick!” he called as he opened the bedroom door.
“Yeah, I know.” His cousin’s dry response came from down the hall. “Remind you to get a new bed.”
Quinn growled and headed for the shower. The house had four bedrooms and three bathrooms. More than enough for two bachelor vampires, but, spoiled American that he was, he would have preferred an ensuite bath, so that he wouldn’t have to step into the hallway in all his sleep-disheveled glory just to take a piss. So, call him a grouch. He’d never been a morning person. It was a personality trait which had apparently transferred itself from sunrise to sunset upon his rebirth as a vampire. And on top of that, he really missed the caffeine rush of morning coffee. Vampires didn’t benefit from caffeine. Their bodies were no longer able to metabolize it, but like many vampires, Quinn still drank it for the taste. It was a holdover from his human life, especially the years he’d spent in law school, and then, even worse, the time he’d spent climbing the corporate ladder at the big law firm who’d recruited him right out of school. He’d claimed a generous salary, even as junior associate, but the hours had been killer. This new coffee routine stabilized him, but he really missed the thrill of that first caffeine jolt.
He leaned into the shower and turned on the water, letting it run hot. The shower, at least, had been updated, along with the rest of the plumbing in the old house. It was the reason he’d bought the place. Well, that and the fire sale price, because the previous owner had been promoted to a position on the continent. He’d been eager to sell, and Quinn had been offering cash. It was a match made in heaven. Or hell.
He stood under the pounding, hot spray and considered what to do with his night. Garrick would be driving over to Dublin proper to do some light scouting, under clear orders not to engage or endanger himself in any way. His cousin was good at blending in, listening while others talked, and stepping into the shadows, despite his substantial size. People, humans and vampires alike, tended to underestimate him, mistaking his preference for silence as an absence of thought. In reality, Garrick was quite brilliant, his mind sharp as an edged blade, his body a honed weapon. All of which made him an excellent scout.
And while his cousin would be prowling the streets of Dublin, Quinn would be doing the same here in Howth, which was one of Dublin’s outer suburbs. To all appearances, it was a quiet fishing village on Dublin Bay. It claimed a fair number of tourist attractions—old castles, beautiful hillsides, lovely bayside location, and the like—but at night, the sidewalks rolled up and the vampires took over. Few tourists, or even residents, seemed to be aware of just how many vampires there were in Howth.
Quinn, on the other hand, had made it his business to know exactly that. Orren Sorley, the curr
ent Lord of Ireland, was into a lot of shady commerce, just as his predecessor had been. Sorley had done very little to change or improve the vampire economy of Ireland, taking on the various businesses he’d inherited with the title and letting them carry forth with barely a notice by anyone, other than the former lord’s closest allies, all of whom were now dead and dusted.
Quinn had been surprised to discover just how much illegal trade came through Howth’s small port on the average night. During the day, it was a thriving fishing village. At night, it became a smuggler’s paradise. A vampire smuggler’s paradise. The ships that slipped into the harbor after dark wouldn’t be recognized by any of Howth’s hardworking fishermen. The smugglers started arriving around midnight and were long gone by the time the early rising denizens of Howth were beginning their day.
Quinn had assumed, based on everything he’d been able to discover from the official police files, that Dublin Port, in the city, was the center of Ireland’s drug trade. After all, Dublin was Sorley’s home base. It made sense that he’d want to keep his cash cow close at hand. But that wasn’t the reality. Not to say there weren’t plenty of drugs coming in through Dublin Port, but there was also a lot of competition. Ten gangs controlled the vast majority of the drug trade coming into the main port, and only two of them were Vampire. Not long before Sorley killed him, Lord Tiege had decided he’d be better off establishing a new route, rather than trying to compete in Dublin Port. And once he’d added guns to the smuggling business in Howth, Ireland’s vampires had a nice, profitable income stream, albeit an illegal one. But then, there had always been, and would always be, a lot of money to be made in smuggling. Today it was drugs and guns, tomorrow it would be something else. Quinn’s only decision was how much he wanted to invest in smuggling as a major source of income for Irish vampires. The answer was not much, but he couldn’t change it overnight, either. Too many vampires derived their main income from smuggling and were either unqualified or unwilling to try anything else. But over time, Quinn intended to bring his new territory into the light, so to speak. Not the light of the sun, but of legitimacy. He’d made a hell of a lot of money during his years as a corporate litigator, had made even more investing it over the years since he’d been made a vampire. And now, he was willing to put his money where his mouth was, willing to invest his own wealth into Ireland’s future.
But first, he had to become Lord of Ireland. And to do that, he’d have to sink into the depraved depths of the current vampire economy. Which was why he now owned a home in Howth.
“You ready?” Garrick asked, sometime later, when Quinn descended to the first floor.
“No,” Quinn replied sourly, then grinned. “Yes. Remember what I told you. No heroics. You’re there to reconnoiter only.”
“Yeah, yeah. You worry too much.”
“That’s because you’re the only family I have,” Quinn said in a moment of seriousness.
Garrick paused with his jacket halfway on and studied him. “It’s going to be okay, Q. You can do this, you know.”
Quinn grinned. “Don’t I know it. All right, we meet back here two hours before sunrise to compare notes and decide what’s next.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. You’re like an old woman.”
“That’s Lord old woman to you, asshole.”
Garrick laughed and pulled open the front door as Quinn followed him outside. Garrick scowled at the nondescript mid-sized sedan sitting the driveway. “You could at least have gotten me a decent car.”
“This one will blend, which is your job, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah. You sure you’ll be okay on your own here?”
Quinn gave him a dry look. “I’ll manage.”
Garrick punched his arm hard enough to hurt. “See you in a bit.” He pulled open the car door and slid into the driver’s seat, and then cruised down the drive and onto the street without another glance.
Quinn rubbed his arm. He’d never have to worry about becoming too arrogant in his lordship. Not with Garrick around. His cousin would always see him as simply Quinn, the cousin he’d known all his life. Though he always treated Quinn with careful respect when anyone else was around, because appearances mattered.
He contemplated the simple sedan he’d rented for himself, no happier with it than Garrick had been with his. If appearances mattered, shouldn’t he be driving something better? An elegant and lethal bullet of a car, maybe. “But not tonight, boyo,” he muttered to himself. Tonight, he was haunting the docks of Howth like one of the many ghosts that supposedly plagued the place. And by morning, he intended to be in control of a good part of the district’s illegal trade. It was his first step. Tonight, Howth. In one month . . . all of Ireland.
EVE STEPPED CAREFULLY as she cut through the old graveyard and over to the steep stone stairs that dropped down to the next street level. She’d been taking that shortcut all her life. She and her mates had played in the graveyard when they’d been too young to understand the superstitions of their parents, and had then defied those same superstitions as teenagers, proving their courage by drinking and making out among the old gravestones. When she’d left Howth for university, she’d never intended to return. She’d had big plans for her future, and none of them included the small fishing village where she’d been born.
But then her brother had been murdered, and her plans had changed. She’d come back at first just to stay with her mother for a bit, to set her on her feet since Alan was gone. He’d left Howth for Dublin, too, but he’d been a far better son than Eve had been a daughter. He’d come home every week to visit, sometimes more than once. Of course, his visits with their mother had been far more pleasant than Eve’s. He was the son, the favorite. The only child Brigid Connelly had ever loved.
With her brother gone forever, Eve had stepped up and done her best to take care of her mother. The old woman didn’t give her so much as a smile of thanks, but Eve did it anyway. For Alan’s sake.
At the same time, she’d started researching vampires, reading everything she could find about them online, in magazines and books. From lofty academic tomes to the paparazzi’s gushing reports, she’d read it all, studying every word, scrutinizing every photo. After nearly a year of that, she’d felt ready to return to Dublin and start hunting. But fate had intervened, with her very first hunt.
Howth, 4 years earlier
EVE STROLLED ALONG the deserted dock, hugging herself against the cold and damp night air. She hadn’t intended to walk this far or this long. She’d argued with her mother. Again. They couldn’t be in the same house without going at each other. Hell, they couldn’t be in the same city. Tonight, Eve had informed her mother of her intention to return to Dublin and the university. That last part was a lie. She had no intention of going back to school, but she wasn’t going to tell her mother that, any more than she was going to share her plans to start hunting vampires.
As for tonight and her big announcement, she’d half expected her mother to be relieved that she was leaving. She should have known better. It didn’t matter that Brigid Connelly hadn’t a single kind word for her own daughter, that no matter what Eve did, it was never good enough. Brigid demanded attention, and since Eve was the only child she had left, Brigid’s needs became Eve’s obligation. An obligation she couldn’t fulfill if she lived in Dublin, because they both knew that once Eve left Howth, she’d never come back. Brigid would be on her own, and that was unacceptable. So, Eve’s mother had laid into her tonight, telling her what a thankless daughter she was, comparing her to Alan who’d reached sainted status in their mother’s memory. She’d even gone so far as to predict her own early demise as a direct result of Eve’s neglect. Eve knew her mother far too well to buy into the guilt trip, but it troubled her all the same. She’d long ago stopped expecting affection, but shouldn’t a mother want her child to succeed? Even if only for bragging rights among her friends? Shouldn�
�t she be happy that Eve was going back to school, making something of herself?
She felt a brief flash of guilt, reminding herself that that part of her story wasn’t true. She was going back to Dublin, and she was going to make something of herself. But it wouldn’t be as a barrister or an accountant. She was going to avenge her brother’s death by destroying as many vampires as she could . . . before they killed her. She had no illusions about living a long life, but she’d take a lot of them with her before she died.
She stepped off Howth’s concrete pier and onto the wooden planks of the dock, wishing she’d worn something other than her new spike-heeled boots, but she needed to become accustomed to walking in them. She’d also taken to wearing the revealing clothes she’d purchased as part of her costume, wanting to get a feel for the way they moved, wanting to be sure she could move if she had to. These were vampires she was hunting—faster, stronger, and probably a whole lot wilier than she was. The outfit showed a lot more skin than was normal for her. It was sexy and form-fitting, and it made her look like vampire bait, which was exactly the point. Everything she’d read said that vampires liked to seduce their victims, that when a vampire fed, it was the best sexual high in the world. Eve didn’t know about that, but she did know that most vampires were male, which meant most of them would be attracted to women.
Eve was confident in her ability to appeal to men. She knew she was pretty. Some men had even called her beautiful. Although they’d wanted to have sex with her, so she took that with a grain of salt. But there was no doubt that men paid attention when she walked by or entered a room. She had a body they liked, with full breasts, a slender waist, and curvy hips. Add in her new vampire killer outfit, with its cleavage baring neckline and short skirt, and she not only looked hot, she looked available.
Of course, her intent was to kill a vampire, not seduce him, so she’d designed a concealed weapon for herself. It was a big knife in a sheath down the center of her back, hidden beneath the fall of her long, thick hair. Her plan was to wait until the vamp was preoccupied with her nearly naked breasts and neck, then pull the blade and stab him somewhere vital. She wasn’t an expert, and didn’t expect that first strike to kill him. But while he was howling in shock, she’d then pull out her second weapon—a slender, but sharp and strong, stake—and stab him in the heart. She’d practiced the maneuver on a dressmaker’s dummy that she’d bought at a thrift shop in Dublin, and felt good about her chances.
Quinn Page 3