Quinn

by D. B. Reynolds

  But tonight wasn’t supposed to be about killing vampires. She was going to hunt in Dublin, where her brother’s killers lived their shady lives. She’d donned the outfit without thinking, and by the time she’d realized what she’d done, she’d decided to “fuck it.” Her plan had been to offer a dutiful good-bye to her mam, climb into her car, drive to Dublin, and never come back. Her mother’s excessive nastiness had delayed that plan, but it wasn’t completely dead yet.

  “Not dead yet, Evie girl,” she muttered to herself. “But it will be if you don’t stop moping around this stupid Howth dock and get your ass on the way to Dublin.”

  Deciding to head for the city that same night, she stuck with her route along the wooden dock, since it was the quickest way back to her car, which was parked at her mother’s house. She’d no sooner made that decision, however, than her heel caught between the planks yet again. Cursing as she freed the trapped stiletto, she changed her mind one more time and, walking on her toes, headed back for the sidewalk. It would take longer this way, but at least her expensive new boots would survive the trip. She was nearly there when a burly male with a scruffy beard emerged from the parking lot of a local pub and stepped directly into her path, bumping her so hard she nearly fell.

  Eve stared in shocked recognition. Vampire. The thug who’d slammed into her and whose meaty hand was now holding her arm was a vampire, his fangs flashing briefly in the moonlight, before he concealed them behind a closed-lip smile. It was on her tongue to give him a curse and an elbow, and be on her way, just as she’d done with a hundred different guys before. But this was it. Her first real vampire. If she failed now . . .

  Her heart was pounding, her mouth too dry to speak. She glanced around. “Not here, girl,” she told herself. A nearly full moon was lighting the dock, gleaming off the still waters of the harbor. And the pub behind the vampire was full of people and maybe more vamps. Someone could walk out at any minute and see what she was up to.

  She smiled at her captor, making no attempt to free her arm. “Thank you,’ she said breathily. “These heels are sweet, but, I swear, they’re going to kill me.” She smiled again, clamping down hard on the shudder that tried to rock her body.

  “Where you hurrying off to, lass?” he asked, his accent strong, his voice as deep as his chest. “Come inside, have a pint.”

  “Oh,” she breathed, leaning in so that her breasts brushed his chest. “I’d love to, but I can’t stay. I’m driving back to Dublin tonight. I’ve a job to get to.”

  “Well, then, let me at least walk with you a bit. So you don’t fall again,” he added with a sly look.

  “Well . . .” Eve pretended her indecision. Should she agree to walk into the dark with this perfect, and very big, stranger? Or decline and stumble away on her own? No decision, really. “I hate to take you from your friends—”

  “They’ll wait,” the vampire said brusquely, then shifted his grip from her arm to her body, dropping his hand to circle her back and grip her side just below the curve of her breast. Using his hold to get her moving, he hustled her away from the crowded pub and up the hill to the deserted street.

  Eve almost panicked. His forearm around her back was pressed right against her knife. What if he discovered the thick leather sheath? What if he pulled her knife and used it against her? She’d have nothing but a sharp stick with which to defend herself!

  His thick fingers moved, stroking the underside of her breast through her shirt. “You’re lucky I found you,” he murmured. “You’re far too pretty to be walking alone. Not with vampires lurking about.”

  Eve saw her chance. Stopping dead in her tracks, she turned to face him. “Vampires?” she asked, pretending shock. “There are vampires in Howth? Real ones?”

  He laughed. “Is there some other kind?” He pulled her close and shoved her into the narrow, empty space between two buildings. The stores were all closed, the buildings dark. There was no one around to witness what he was about to do. But then, no one would be there to witness what she did either. He slammed her back against a rough wall, using his weight to keep her there. “I deserve a reward for being such a gentleman,” he muttered and bent his head to the swell of her half-naked breasts. He licked the delicate skin along the line of her leather top, then probed even farther, digging his tongue beneath the leather to curl around her nipple.

  Eve grimaced in disgust. When she’d set herself up as bait, she hadn’t considered that it would mean getting up close and personal with the vampires before she killed them. And contrary to belief, not all vampires were swoon-worthy romantic hero types. She supposed even the pig currently rooting against her breasts would be considered good-looking, but there was the matter of personal hygiene. She fought the urge to gag and concentrated instead on figuring out a way to reach her knife. Moaning theatrically, she shoved against him, hoping he’d think she simply wanted to get closer to his slobbering mouth. As if. He bought it, though. Giving a grunt of satisfaction, he yanked her against his chest, putting a few precious inches between her back and the stone wall.

  She reached over her shoulder and slid her hand beneath her hair. Her fingers closed around the hilt of the blade, and—She gasped as he suddenly yanked her top down, tearing the leather as if it was paper and baring her breast completely to the night air. Before she could voice a protest, he growled in satisfaction and closed his mouth over her nipple. She jerked at the feel of his teeth against the sensitive bud, followed hard (no pun intended) by the press of his erection against her belly. It was everything she could do to stop herself from kneeing him in the bollocks. She wasn’t a good enough actress for this.

  Closing her eyes, she sucked in a long breath and reminded herself why she was there, why her back was scraped against the rough stone, why her naked breast was hanging out for the world to see, and, dear God, why this animal had his mouth on her tit and his cock against her body.

  She reached over her shoulder, closed her fingers over the hilt, and slid the knife from its sheath. She’d practiced that maneuver a million times. The blade came out smoothly and felt good in her hand. She swallowed hard. She’d never killed. Not even a chicken, much less a man.

  But this isn’t a man, she reminded herself. Looking down she eyed the angles. She’d have one chance to get this right. Gripping the blade in her right hand, she slid her fingers up on the leather-wrapped hilt until they were nearly touching the blade . . . and then she struck.

  Something must have warned the creature in the instant of her attack, because his head came up, fangs bared, his teeth leaving a bloody furrow in her breast. Eve bit back her scream and followed through, slicing the sharp edge of the blade through the taut skin of his neck, his own movement adding pressure to the strike as he raised his head to stop her. Eve had done her homework. She needed to hit an artery, needed to see the blood pump, not gush. An instant later, she screamed as blood burst from the wound, covering her everywhere. The vampire shoved her away, a big meaty hand going to the side of his neck, as he rose to his full height, eyes glaring red fire, fangs dripping with his own blood as he glared down at her.

  Eve dropped the knife, ignoring the sharp bite of pain as it skimmed over her thigh. Her hand went to a pocket sewn into the seam of her skirt, fingers closing around the sharpened stake waiting there. Her skin was too slick, too covered with blood. The vampire roared and smashed her against the wall as she wiped her hand frantically on her skirt, her fingers finally finding enough traction to grab the stake, to lift it. Twisting her hair in one hand, he slammed her head hard against the brick and yanked it to one side. His mouth came down, his fangs pierced her neck, and Eve struck with all her strength.

  She stood frozen, every muscle locked, her entire body trembling in shock as the vampire disintegrated right in front of her. When she finally moved, it was to bend over and throw up, retching until there was nothing but bile burning her throat as her stomach
wrenched in fear and disgust over and over. The hand she raised to wipe her mouth was shaking so hard that she crushed her lip against a tooth, opening up a fresh flow of blood.

  She dropped her hand to one side, shuddering when she saw the dusting of gray ash that seemed to cover every inch of her. Stifling a horrified shriek, she began slapping frantically at her breasts and shoulders, her legs . . . her hair. She thought she’d throw up all over again, but though her stomach revolted, there was nothing left.

  Fighting back the urge to curl up in a ball and sob, she forced herself to think. To move. This vampire hadn’t been alone. She was sure of that. The pub had been crowded, and he’d talked about his friends . . . hadn’t he? She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t think. She just knew she had to get away from there. Had to get away from this pile of dust and mud before some other vampire came along and realized what had happened. Her eyes went wide. Vampires had telepathy. What if his friends sensed he’d been killed and came after her?

  That thought jolted her into action. She hurried down the quiet street, covering her naked breast with one hand, laughing at herself for the gesture. She was covered in blood. If anyone saw her, a naked tit would be the least of her worries.

  Her car was parked behind her mother’s house. She’d fully intended to go back inside after a walk to cool off. But that was out of the question now. Her mother would have to wait. There was nothing left to say anyway.

  The lights were off in the house when she finally stumbled to her car, every muscle quivering in fatigue and aftershock. Her purse was already inside, her key fob tucked down into her boot. She retrieved it with shaking fingers and clicked it once to unlock her small sedan. It wasn’t anything fancy. It was old, with none of the bells and whistles of the better models. But it had been Alan’s once, the only thing of his that had gone to her. Her mother had demanded Eve turn it over, even though she had no need for a car, not even a driving license. But Eve had refused. The car was all she’d had left of the brother she loved, and she was going to need it in her quest for revenge.

  A light flicked on in the house when she started the engine. Her mother. Awakened no doubt by the combination of the alarm’s beep when she’d unlocked the car and the engine noise. Eve saw a curtain stir, but she ignored it and pulled away into the alley.

  She was halfway to Dublin before she stopped trembling enough to consider her night’s work. She’d learned a lot from this first—and what easily could have been her last—encounter with a vampire. To begin with, the sheath down her back had been a stupid idea. It looked good and felt dangerous and sexy, but it wasn’t functional. All it had taken was for the vampire to put his arm around her—something that was bound to happen again—and her main weapon had been useless. Not to mention when he’d pressed her against the wall. That would almost cer­tainly occur again, whether on a dark street or in a club. How many times had she seen a man press a woman against a wall in a darkened club, kissing and groping, while the music pounded? Hell, she’d been the woman against the wall more than once.

  And the damn knife was too big. She hadn’t considered that she and the vampire were likely to be body to body. After all, seduction was her first weapon, right? So, there was bound to be more—she swallowed hard—sexual contact. Not actual sex. But more touching and, ew, licking, like what had happened earlier. She ran careful fingers over the crusty fang marks on her breast, touched her neck which was sore and bruised around the twin puncture marks where he’d barely pierced the skin of her neck. Wounds like that were likely to happen again. Maybe worse. Maybe the next vampire would manage to pierce her vein, to suck her blood. She shuddered, but the reality was unavoidable.

  “Deal with it, Eve,” she said, talking out loud in the empty car. She yawned without warning. Another aftershock effect. Adrenaline crash. Just a few kilometers more, and she’d be home. She shook her head, trying to wake up . . . and frowned. Something was weird. She reached back, wondering if she’d cut herself when she’d pulled the blade out, or maybe put it back in. Half her back felt cold, and her head was too light . . .

  “Oh fuck,” she gasped, her car nearly swerving into the next lane as she felt the back of her head. She brought her hand back, gripping the wheel with both hands as she groaned out loud. A bunch of her hair was gone. She could feel some of the sheared off bits now, covering her shoulders. Could this night get any worse? Her first hunt and what a fucking disaster! The only good thing was she’d managed to kill a vampire.

  She frowned. Okay, so that was good. Very good. She nodded to herself. She could get a new knife, could ditch the stupid sheath and come up with something better. And her hair would grow back.

  But that vampire—that fucking, evil monster—would never kill again.

  She smiled for the first time that night. Finally, there would be justice for her brother. No, not justice. Revenge.

  Howth, Ireland, present day

  QUINN SAT INSIDE the small dockside café, thinking about the cold. He’d forgotten about the winters around Dublin. Sure, it got cold—fucking cold—in New England, where he’d lived and worked for the last several decades. But no one sat around cafés, sipping tea in the middle of the night and staring out at empty marinas, either. If there was any sitting around the marina, it was in a dark bar with good whiskey and a big wide-screen TV. He sighed and signaled for another pot of tea. His reasons for being in Howth had nothing to do with the weather, and everything to do with an uptick in late night boat traffic. That and gossip in the blood houses of Dublin that Lord Sorley was using Howth like a private yacht club—running shipments of guns, and even some drugs, into the seaside suburb on regular fishing boats. In fact, from what Quinn could tell from the several nights he’d sat in this very accommodating café, at least some of the boats bringing in contraband at night were being used for fishing during the day. He hadn’t been able to ascertain if the owners knew about the illicit use of their boats, but he wouldn’t be surprised. Smuggling paid well, and everyone could use a few extra Euros these days.

  He turned to greet the lovely waitress who was delivering his fresh pot of tea, admiring the lush curves beneath her practical uniform, and giving her a smile that brought a lovely pink flush to her creamy Irish skin. “Thank you, love,” he crooned. She rewarded him with a smile that belied the tiredness in her eyes. “Are you off soon?” he asked, brushing his fingers over hers on the tea pot.

  Her blush heated further, and she ducked her head shyly. “Aye. Only another fifteen or so.” She caught her breath. “Unless you need me to stay, sir.”

  “No, you go on home. I’ll probably be here again tomorrow. We can talk then. And call me Quinn.”

  She smiled sweetly. “Thank you, Quinn. And I’m Cassidy.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the curvy Cassidy waved as she hurried out into the night, leaving Quinn behind in the unlocked café, as if he owned the place. And maybe he did. He’d made a variety of investments in Howth, and hadn’t had a chance yet to match every one of his records with a physical building. He was winking at Cassidy as she passed the big window, when the sudden flash of a white hull on the dark water drew his attention.

  With a flick of power, he darkened every light in the building, so that by the time the boat slid close enough to be picked up by the few dock lights on their skinny poles, there was nothing to draw their attention to the empty café.

  Quinn waited, and right on schedule, two vampires strolled out onto the wooden dock. They were both in thick with Orrin Sorley. Not a part of his innermost circle, but definitely close to it and well trusted. Quinn’s goal in Howth was to bring himself to Sorley’s attention. Unfortunately for those vampires out there, the vampire way of moving up was to kill everyone who stood in your way. Lucky for them, he wasn’t ready to make his move yet. They’d live another night, maybe two. But no more than that. Quinn could hear the clock ticking in his head. He had a timetable, and those
two would die. But not tonight.

  Outside, the vampires exchanged a few friendly words with each other, while they stood side by side, waiting and watching, along with the unseen Quinn, as the boat slipped silently past several of the marina’s floating docks. Finally, the engine reversed as the smuggler slowed and turned, making it obvious which dock slip he was aiming for.

  The two vampires strode down to meet it, walking right past the window where Quinn sat in the dark. He wasn’t worried about being seen. For all their success at smuggling, the local vampires were very lax about security. He assumed this was because they’d bought off the local authorities, and no one else was stupid enough to challenge them. It wasn’t a matter of cowardice, it was one of survival. If a local citizen challenged the vamps’ right to do business in Howth, that person—man or woman—would only end up dead. Quinn never blamed ordinary people for choosing to survive. It was the authorities he criticized—the men and women who sucked on the taxpayer’s teat, and who’d sworn to obey the law and serve the community, only to take bribes and look the other way, no matter how heinous the crime. Those fuckers deserved to rot in hell.

  He grimaced, disliking his own thoughts. Too many years in the American legal system had jaded him when it came to the blind wisdom of Lady Justice.