Quinn

by D. B. Reynolds

“Quinn,” she cried his name softly, as if pleading for him to help her, to relieve the terrible need that had taken over her body.

  He pushed her knees to her chest and thrust deeper, harder. Her pussy was swollen with need, satiny with the cream of her orgasm. Her nails scraped down his back and he hissed, drinking in the sensuous pain in an attempt to drown the hunger.

  Her climax started deep, her womb flexing so hard that he felt it against his cock, rippling down his length as she screamed helplessly, her mouth shoved against a pillow to hide her cries from the neighbors. He’d fuck her somewhere private before this was over, somewhere he could hear the magic of her screams as she thrashed beneath him. The image brought his own climax roaring down his cock, joining their bodies in a moment of sheer ecstasy as his release filled her body one more time.

  QUINN HELD EVE until she was soundly asleep, with the duvet pulled up to cover their sweat-cooled bodies. It was a kind of torture, lying there with a warm, willing woman in his arms. Her scent was everywhere. The tiny taste of her blood he’d gotten from her torn lip was like a drug, and he was an addict, demanding more. Cursing himself for a fool, he slid a quiet suggestion into her dreaming mind. He wanted to be sure she’d sleep the rest of the night. Not only to cover his departure, but . . . if she went hunting, he might have to stop her. Or even worse, someone else might do it for him. And he didn’t want her hurt. Hell, he just wanted her. And how fucked up was that?

  He slipped out of bed and dressed quickly. There was no denying the simple fact that he needed to feed. He could take blood from anyone. It didn’t have to be a beautiful woman. He could suck a man’s neck just as well. But hell if he was going to.

  It was a quick walk to the pub where he’d left Garrick. The place was still going strong, though there were fewer people outside. Most of the action was now inside where a live band was playing a mix of traditional Irish and American rock covers, with the crowd cheering and clapping, and just generally having a great time. Quinn waded into the crush of people, using bare wisps of his power to clear a path, scanning for Garrick and not really expecting to find him. By now, he was probably in some willing honey’s bed, fucking and sucking, which is what Quinn would be doing if he had half a brain.

  Hunger gnawed at him as he pushed his way through all those warm, blood-filled bodies, his gaze automatically searching out and finding the perfect donors—young women, flush with health, their faces glowing with heat and alcohol. He liked the ones who were with friends, but not with them. The ones who stood and listened, but rarely talked. They were the easiest to seduce, surprised by his attention.

  “Quinn!” Garrick’s call had him heading for the back half of the pub, where the lights didn’t quite reach, leaving plenty of dark corners. It made Quinn wonder if the pub owner was himself a vampire, or if he was simply a human who was aware of Howth’s bloodsucking residents and offered the perfect environment as an enticement for their business. Plenty of women—and men, too—sought out places where vampires hunted their prey, lusting after the sexual high of a vampire’s bite.

  “Where’s the redhead?” Garrick asked when Quinn joined him.

  “Sleeping,” he said shortly.

  His cousin gave him a searching look, but didn’t comment. “There’s plenty of willing flesh here. It’s not a blood house, but it’s the closest thing to it. The ladies all know the rules, especially back here.”

  Quinn nodded, his attention on a curvy brunette leaning against a wide pillar that straddled the line between the front and back of the club. If she leaned left, the lights glinted off the gold highlights in her hair. But if she tilted right, she was a dark temptation, her full lips playing with the glass of amber liquid in her hand.

  “You going back to the house soon?” he asked Garrick, not looking at him.

  “I can wait.”

  Quinn nodded. “This won’t take long.”

  Sliding through the crowd as if they weren’t there, he walked up to the brunette and stood in front of her, not saying a word. She gazed up at him, her eyes wide with excitement and just enough fear to make her heart pound a little faster, which made her blood pump a little harder. Delicious.

  Quinn took her hand and tugged her deeper into the darkness of the pub, not stopping until they had a private corner to themselves. Using enough of his power to make sure it stayed that way, he bent his head to her neck and inhaled the scent of her.

  “What’s your name, sweetheart,” he murmured against her skin.

  “Brenda, my lord,” she breathed so softly that he wouldn’t have been able to hear her without his vampire-enhanced senses.

  “Brenda,” he repeated, then sank his fangs into her velvety skin, reveling in the soft pop as he penetrated her vein, nearly groaning with pleasure at the taste of her blood. She was young and fresh, with a distinct bouquet of the whiskey she’d been sipping. He had one arm wrapped around her waist, the other around her shoulders, with his hand cupping the back of her head, holding her in place. Brenda moaned softly, and the scent of her arousal filled the air, until she was trembling in his arms. Quinn drank. He was so damn hungry. He’d gone too long without feeding, worrying too much about Eve. The thought of Eve made his throat clench, until he nearly choked in a way he hadn’t since the first weeks of his turning.

  With a silent curse, he drew hard on Brenda’s vein. She jerked in his arms as she suddenly climaxed, and he ignored the flashback of Eve that threatened to invade his thoughts. Fuck Eve. He was a vampire. He had to feed.

  Withdrawing his fangs, he gave sweet Brenda a final lick to sweep up a few lingering drops and seal the wound. She’d have a mild hickey in the morning, if that. But mostly, she’d have a memory of the best orgasm of her life. And, Quinn suspected, she’d now become a regular patron of the local vampires’ favorite pub.

  Quinn kissed the side of her forehead and eased her into a booth, where she wasn’t alone. Two other women, and one man, were similarly sleeping off a vampire’s bite, their bodies completely relaxed, their faces wreathed in dreamy smiles.

  When he exited the pub, Garrick was waiting for him. Sunrise wasn’t far off, and this was still an unfamiliar town. They had to leave enough time to secure their house before they took to their beds.

  They walked the short distance back to the warehouse, where the Range Rover was still parked. Quinn had half-expected some of Christie’s vampires to vandalize it somehow. Spray some graffiti, or at least key the paint job. The absence made him suspect something worse. “We need a bomb detector.”

  “I don’t think they carry those at the local hardware,” Garrick said dryly. Dropping to the ground, he scooted under the big vehicle and searched the rear half, while Quinn did the same on the front.

  “Are vampire lords supposed to do this kind of shit?” he grumbled. “Shouldn’t I have a flunky or two?”

  “Probably. You should make a note.”

  Quinn grunted and rolled out from under the SUV, then jumped to his feet and brushed off his clothes. “Anything?” he asked as Garrick did the same.

  “Not that I could see, but I’m no expert.”

  Quinn shrugged. “If we blow, we blow. But we’ve got to get going.”

  Garrick opened the driver’s door and slid inside. “Let me start it, before—”

  “Fuck that,” Quinn snarled, climbing into the passenger side. “You’re not my canary.”

  Garrick pressed the ignition, shaking his head when the engine started smoothly, and nothing exploded. “You’ve got to start acting the part,” he said with surprising seriousness.

  Quinn sighed and looked away. “When will Adorjan and the others get here?”

  “The daylight crew is already at the Dublin house, getting things set up. The vamp half will arrive tomorrow night.”

  “Good.”

  The rest of the short drive was silent. Garric
k parked the Range Rover, while Quinn closed and locked the gates. The two of them then went through their well-established routine of securing the house against intruders, before closing themselves up in the inner bedroom with even more security precautions.

  Not much longer, Quinn thought to himself, as he settled on the bed. So far, he’d managed to avoid taking on the full mantle of authority that being the Lord of Ireland would require. Sure, he’d bullied Christie and the local vamps into a pretense of cooperation. But he’d done worse than that in a courtroom while wearing a three-piece suit. Besides, it was a short-lived victory. He fully expected to receive an unpleasant welcome when he arrived at the warehouse the next night. The very fact that he was looking forward to it was oddly satisfying. Maybe he was meant to rule, after all.

  On that cheery note, the rising sun’s light filled the horizon, and he was out.

  Chapter Six

  QUINN ROSE AT sunset, ready to fight for control of Howth before the night was over. Christie had probably been on the phone with Sorley before Quinn had been gone five minutes the previous night. And Sorley, no doubt, had encouraged Christie to assassinate the usurper American who thought to waltz in and take over their business. Nation­alism was always a useful tool when urging people to die for a cause, even when the people in question were vampires. But Quinn doubted Sorley’s support for Christie would extend to providing any fighters. First, Sorley had seemed like the sort who’d prioritize his own safety above all others, and, second, it would be an embarrassment if he supplied fighters and Quinn won anyway. It all came down to Sorley’s interests in the end, and fuck Christie if he couldn’t hang on to his own town.

  Garrick was already in the kitchen when Quinn joined him. “More coffee?” he asked, pouring a cup for himself.

  Garrick shook his head. He had earphones on, but a glance at the cellphone sitting on the counter told Quinn he was listening to messages, not music. He hit the home button and pulled the earphones out. “Adorjan and the others will be here within the hour. They arrived in Dublin separately late last night and rendezvoused by phone. They’ll meet up tonight and head this way. Traffic will be heavy, but it shouldn’t take long. The last message came in about five minutes ago, and they were just leaving Dublin.”

  “And the daylight guards?”

  “Everything’s set up. They’ll be ready whenever we get there.”

  “I’ll want to talk to Joshua Bell.” Bell had worked for Adorjan for years, and was now Quinn’s daylight security chief. He was also mated to a female vamp who worked on Raj’s estate.

  “Bell’s at the house and expecting your call. By the way, his wife wants to join him here, but you need to formally agree. Raj has given the okay.”

  “What does she do for Raj again?”

  “Cooking.”

  Quinn looked up in surprise. “That’s not usual for a vampire.”

  Garrick raised one shoulder in a shrug. “She was a chef before she got turned. She cooks for the daylight guards and the other humans on the estate, including Raj’s mate, Sarah. She works at night, obviously, and leaves it for them to do the final prep.”

  “Interesting. I’ll call Bell. In the meantime, we’ll wait for Adorjan and the others. It could get bloody tonight.”

  Garrick looked a little surprised. “You think so? Christie seemed . . . resigned to the new lineup.”

  “Maybe. But I’m not convinced he was nothing but a bookkeeper. The two dead vamps were obviously the muscle, but there’s a better than good chance that it was all an act last night, and that he’s been the brains behind the operation all along. I’m not taking those odds if I don’t have to. And with my own fighters on hand, I don’t have to.”

  Garrick sprawled at the rough wooden table. “As long as we have time to kill, tell me about Eve. And why you left with her, but ended up tapping another woman’s vein . . . again.”

  “Let it go, Garrick.” Quinn understood his cousin’s concerns. Hell, he had the same concerns himself. But he didn’t know what he was going to do about any of them. The smart thing would be to walk away, but he didn’t think that was an option anymore, although he didn’t want to delve too deeply into why that might be the case.

  “I can’t let it go,” Garrick said stubbornly. “Even if you were the only one at risk, I’d keep pushing, but you’re not. We’ve put our faith in you, Q. Put our lives on the line. And it’s not only because we know you can take the territory, it’s because we believe you’ll be a good ruler. And your little girlfriend puts all of that at risk. All of us. I know you. And I know if she gets hurt or killed while she’s out hunting for her vengeance, you’ll track down the vampire responsible and destroy him. And what will that say about—”

  “I said let it the fuck go.” Quinn’s growl was soft, but he didn’t need volume when his words rumbled with power.

  Garrick stood and kicked back his chair. “And you’ve just made my point for me. Deal with it, Quinn. Before she costs all of us more than you’re willing to pay.”

  Quinn could have called him back. Could have ordered him back. But he wouldn’t do that to Garrick, and, besides, he was right. He did have to do something about Eve. He just didn’t know what. Actually, that was a lie. He knew exactly what needed to be done. He had to tell her the truth about what he was. And, if she took it badly, then he’d have to go into her memories, her thoughts—everything that made her the Eve he knew and lusted after—and erase her knowledge of vampires altogether. Or at least the events that had set her on this destructive path of vengeance.

  He wasn’t naïve. He knew there were vampires who needed to be killed. But that wasn’t true of all of them, and it sure as hell wasn’t Eve’s job to decide which ones should die. He wondered how many innocents she’d killed. Hell, he wondered how many vampires altogether. If he asked her, would she tell him? Nothing was ever simple with her. She’d want to know why he was asking.

  “Fuck,” he swore, tossing his coffee mug into the sink hard enough that it broke. “Double fuck.” Wiping up the shards with a wad of paper towels, he tossed the whole mess into the trash, then went into the dining room, with its table full of computers. Only one of those was Quinn’s, which sat on its own at one end of the big table, and he dropped down in front of it now. Checking his email first, he found a lengthy message from Christie, along with a multitude of attachments. He suspected the vamp was trying to drown him in details, but he didn’t know Quinn. Quinn lived for this kind of shit. He loved details, loved lists and ledgers and financial disclosures. Especially the ones trying to hide something from him. He printed out every attachment, then rubbed his hands together almost gleefully and went to work.

  He was still working two hours later, when the sound of more than one engine from the front yard had him coming to his feet, all of his senses on high alert. He first scanned for Garrick, finding him a moment before he heard his footsteps heading for the door.

  “Garrick,” he called softly, knowing his cousin would hear. When Quinn stepped into the long hallway, Garrick was already there, one hand palm down against the door, concentrating. He was strong enough, and he’d been around Adorjan and the other fighters long enough, to recognize their power signatures. A grin crossed his face as he lifted his hand and pulled the door open, then strode out into the night with a howl of greeting.

  Quinn watched as Garrick and Adorjan met halfway between the cars and the house, pounding each other on the back so hard, the concussion must have been heard by the neighbors, even if the howling hadn’t been. He was going to miss that when he became Lord of Ireland. That easy camaraderie, the back slapping and joking. Even Garrick would treat him differently. They’d still be friends, still joke on occasion, but there would be a new distance between them. Unbridgeable. Vampires were hardwired that way. It was necessary. He sighed and walked out into the yard, accepting greetings that were already more reserved than
what Garrick had received—the back slaps not quite as hard, the occasional “my lord” slipped in.

  “Sire.”

  Everything in Quinn responded to that simple word, and to the one vampire who had the right to call him by that title. “Adorjan,” he said, turning to greet the big vampire who was his only child. They hugged briefly in the way of big men, gripping hands and slamming shoulders. “It’s good to have you here, and just in time. Come inside, we’ll brief you on what to expect later tonight.”

  “Tonight?” he said eagerly. The Hungarian accent that was his birth­right was still strong after several years in the U.S., probably because he had no desire to lose it. He was a big guy, an inch over Quinn’s own six foot three, with shoulder length brown hair and brown eyes. Quinn supposed he was considered handsome. Adorjan certainly never had any trouble attracting women, despite the jagged scar that bisected his right cheek, from his eye to the corner of his mouth. That scar marked him as different among vampires. The vampire symbiote could heal almost any injury, even those acquired decades before a vampire’s turning. It was almost unheard of for a vampire to bear a disfiguring scar. Quinn had offered to heal him outright, rather than waiting for the symbiote to get around to it. The big Hungarian had not only refused, he’d had one of the vampire tattoo artists infuse the scar with the same combination of blood and ink that prevented the symbiote from healing tattoos. The scar was a mark of defiance against the brutal regime who’d imprisoned and tortured him. A symbol of his hatred and his triumph, too. Because he’d killed the man who’d given it to him.

  And yet, this angry man who’d trusted no one had seen something in Quinn to admire. After years of working for him as a human, he’d gone down on one knee and pledged his loyalty, and only then had asked to be made vampire. Quinn liked to think he was a good man, a good leader. He’d rejected the capricious cruelty of Marcelina and patterned himself after lords like Rajmund and Raphael. They were unyielding in their power, but they treated their people fairly, demanding only loyalty in return. It mattered to Quinn that Adorjan had asked to be turned, that he’d wanted Quinn to be his Sire. It was a trust that he wouldn’t betray, and it was why Adorjan was one of those vampires who would form Quinn’s inner circle in the centuries to come.