Quinn

by D. B. Reynolds

  Clenching his fists to his sides, he forced himself to stand and turn around to face the others. “We’ve done enough for tonight,” he said, deliberately including them in the overthrow, though their only con­tribution had been to lie on the floor and do nothing. “We’re all going to need our strength for tomorrow. We have some decisions to make.”

  The others hesitated, but then began nodding, murmuring in agreement. “We should rest now,” one of them muttered. “Dawn isn’t far off,” said another, his words coated with fear.

  Quinn waited until they’d all gone to their rooms. He would have collapsed then, if not for Garrick, who pulled Quinn’s arm over his shoulder and guided him to a nearby couch. Easing him down, Garrick said, “Do you need blood?”

  Quinn swallowed, his throat dry. “Please.”

  “Are you okay for me to run to the kitchen?”

  He nodded.

  “I’ll make it quick.”

  Quinn closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch, more exhausted than he could ever remember being. He’d played sports in high school, had kept in shape all through university and law school, had always made gym time part of his routine even when he was climbing the partnership ladder at his law firm. As with everything else, he’d been competitive as hell and played to win. But those activities were nothing compared to this. A few minutes of using his power, and he was wiped out.

  “Here.” Garrick’s voice woke Quinn. His nostrils flared at the scent of blood, and he growled, his fangs sliding out hungrily. Grabbing the bag from his cousin, he used his fangs to slice through the plastic, not bothering with the valve, not even caring that the blood was cold enough to hurt going down. He drained one bag, and took the second that Garrick offered, this one with the valve already open. He drained that one, too, and was halfway through a third, before he slowed down.

  Pausing to catch his breath, he ran the back of his hand over his mouth. “Disgusting, aren’t I?”

  Garrick laughed. “Your manners could use some work, but you got rid of that bitch, so I’ll forgive you this once.”

  Quinn looked up with a bloody-toothed grin. “I did, didn’t I?”

  “You’re the new master now. What’s your plan?”

  “My plan? Shit.” He thought fast. The one thing he knew was that he didn’t want to be responsible for this lot. “I’m going to petition Rajmund down in Manhattan and see if he’ll take us on. He pays lip service to Krystof, but he runs his own city. He’s reasonable and smart, and I can learn a lot from him. I’m no master of others, Garrick. I don’t want it. Maybe someday, but not yet.”

  “Someday, though, Q. The need to rule is in your blood now.”

  Dublin, Ireland, present day

  QUINN THOUGHT about that long ago night as he and Adorjan sped toward Dublin. Garrick had been right. The drive to rule was in his blood. It had been there before he’d become a vampire, disguised as simple ambition. His vampire blood had taken it and driven him to this place and time. Looking back, he applauded himself for choosing Rajmund as their new master. From Raj, he and Garrick had learned all the rules and basic truths of vampire society, things Marcelina should have taught them. He’d been so relieved, at first, to have gotten himself and Garrick out from under her crazy ass rule, that he hadn’t given a thought to climbing any higher in vampire society. But Rajmund had seen the power simmering beneath his skin, and he’d known what Quinn hadn’t—that his vampire blood wouldn’t be denied. That he either had to discipline it or it would destroy him. So, he’d risen in power and skill under Raj’s guidance, coming up through the ranks, learning what it meant to have the power of life and death over people who depended on you.

  And then the wars had started, and he’d known his time had come.

  “You know how to get there?” he asked Adorjan, completely unnecessarily. Even if the vamp hadn’t memorized the route—which he probably had—the Range Rover had a nav system. Quinn hated to admit it, but he was tense now that he was making the move to Dublin. It made a confrontation with Sorley all but inevitable.

  Adorjan didn’t call him on the stupid question. Maybe he understood the reasons for Quinn’s tension. Or maybe his loyalty didn’t permit him to question even that much. He simply smiled and pointed at the nav screen. “Another twenty minutes or so, my lord.”

  Quinn’s cell rang at that moment. Garrick. He accepted the call. “Garrick.”

  “My lord. I wanted to let you know that Casey’s settling things down nicely, but I left Ryan Lopez with him for the next few nights, just in case. Dublin’s close, but not that close. If he needed help, we might be too late.”

  “Good idea. You’re on your way?”

  “We left twenty minutes ago.”

  “Good. We’ll see you at the house, then.”

  “You couldn’t keep us away,” Garrick said, his voice all but vibrating with excitement. “This is going to be fun.”

  Quinn slid his phone back into the pocket of his jacket. He drew a deep, settling breath and smiled. Fun. He could go with that.

  Chapter Seven

  THE NEXT NIGHT found Quinn once again seated at a huge desk— though this time the desk was real, not a dining table making do. He had a laptop in front of him and far too many piles of paperwork stacked around him. In this case, however, the files he was studying were the result of some of Garrick’s world-class hacking skills . . . which meant Quinn wasn’t supposed to be reading any of them. Garrick had managed to crack Sorley’s security, which he’d derided as “pitiful,” and Quinn now had an open invitation to peruse any of Sorley’s computer files that interested him. He was making good use of it, mostly on his laptop. The paper copies were only backup, in case the Irish lord unexpectedly discovered he’d been invaded and managed to block them. Garrick assured Quinn that it wasn’t likely to happen, and, if it did, there’d be no way to trace it back to them.

  Quinn’s deep dive into Sorley’s finances was turning up what he’d expected. Sorley’s businesses throughout Ireland were just as illegal as the smuggling operation in Howth. In fact, he had several other very similar ops, including a substantial smuggling business moving through Dublin’s main port. Even worse, from Quinn’s point of view, was that Sorley’s partner in the Dublin venture was one of the city’s most violent gangs.

  On the good news front, the Irish lord’s various businesses brought in plenty of money, even though he didn’t seem to share it with the Irish vampire community at large. Sorley had to be paying his accountant a substantial bribe to keep that particular fact from the other vampires, including the lord’s inner circle, most of whom lived in the big house in the Donnybrook section of Dublin. Sorley paid them a modest salary, but he could have afforded to pay them much more. He should have. A good vampire lord shared the wealth with his subjects. Sure, the lords lived better than regular vampires, but that was because they were the ones taking all the risks and fighting all the battles. But they also invested in their own people, their own territory.

  Sorley wasn’t doing any of that. He wasn’t only a bad lord, he was a bad businessman. The latter indictment might have offended Quinn even more than the first. In his world, there was no excuse for sloppy financial management. His fingers itched to draw up a vicious memorandum and shoot it off to Sorley and his accountant, but he reined in the impulse, just as the sound of raised voices drew his attention to something happening outside.

  He slid his chair back and stood, all of his senses going on alert. Sorley had given Quinn permission to take over Howth, with the implicit understanding that he would remain there. Quinn had pretended to go along, but he’d had no intention of doing that. Howth had never been more than stepping stone, a way to test Sorley’s mettle. What he’d learned had moved up his timetable substantially. Sorley was weak. Not in power, but in discipline and intent. Quinn saw it, though he thought it probable that Sorley didn’t
. The Irish lord had spent too many decades sitting in his fancy house in Donnybrook, never venturing beyond the nearby suburbs.

  But while that made him weak, it didn’t make him stupid. Within the confines of Dublin, Sorley knew everything that happened. Or almost everything. He’d missed Quinn’s acquisition of the Dublin Ballsbridge property, which had gone through long before he’d ever left the U.S. Though that might be because Quinn had acquired it under a false identification he’d established years ago, and Sorley didn’t have the imagination to consider that possibility. Nonetheless, Quinn had known that once he moved into the house, it would be only a matter of time before Sorley himself, or one of his thugs, took notice.

  Quinn sent a thread of power winding along the hall and down the stairs ahead of him, wanting to know who’d come knocking on his door. From all the yelling, he assumed it wasn’t Sorley. The Irish lord wouldn’t be standing in the yard arguing. He’d have blasted his way in without caring who got hurt along the way.

  Garrick’s voice rose above the others, and Quinn felt the blast of power as two master strength vampires squared off against each other. He quickened his pace down the stairs. Garrick could hold his own one-on-one against almost anyone, short of Sorley himself, but from the sounds of it, whoever that was out front had brought more than a few fighters with him.

  The doors were already open when he reached the front of the house, and he could see his vampires lined up outside with Garrick in the middle. Giving him a telepathic whisper of warning, Quinn moved up behind his cousin and touched his shoulder. Garrick stiffened briefly in protest, as his protective instincts came to the fore, but Quinn pressed harder, and his cousin stepped aside, letting Quinn pass through to stand in front of his fighters. Vampire lords led from the front. At least, the good ones did.

  Seven vampires faced him in a cluster, with one vamp braced ahead of the others. He transferred his glare from Garrick to Quinn, his look of confusion melding quickly into one of sneering disdain.

  “So, you’re the American who thinks he can just waltz in here and take over?” the vampire said, taking up a swaggering stance, with legs planted wide and fingers hooked into his low-slung belt.

  Quinn eyed him with some bemusement. The vamp had a lot of attitude and enough charisma to get this lot to follow him. He’d observed the dynamics of the group from the vantage of the open front door, and he’d be willing to bet this bunch worked together in a kind of gang. They were probably loyal to Sorley, but Quinn’s guess was that they operated independently, paying tithes to the Irish lord, but otherwise having little to do with him. No surprise there. From what Quinn had been able to deduce so far, Sorley favored that type of arrangement. It wasn’t that unusual among vampires. What was unusual was that this group was apparently operating within the confines of Sorley’s headquarters city.

  “I’m Quinn,” he said agreeably, not conceding his motivations or anything else. “And you?”

  “Lon Conover, and Ballsbridge belongs to me.”

  Quinn tried not to smile at the vamp’s arrogance. Ballsbridge was the Dublin district where his new house was located. “Does it? Odd. Sorley never mentioned you.”

  “I don’t give a fuck who Sorley’s mentioned. He might not be willing to fight for Ireland, but I am. And we’re not going to put up with you and your fancy talk sneaking into our town and taking over.”

  “The last time I checked, Sorley ruled Ireland. He knows I’m here, because I told him. There was no sneaking involved. And, for the record, I’m as Irish as you are.”

  “You want to play games, smart guy? You think you can take me?”

  Quinn tilted his head, as if considering the question. “Yes,” he said finally. “I believe I can.” He lifted his gaze with a lazy blink and let a small fraction of his power surround him.

  Conover’s pupils widened in involuntary shock before he could hide it, but then he moved his hands from his belt and tightened them into fists. “I beat back your boy there,” he sneered, nodding at Garrick. “And I’ll beat you, too.”

  Quinn smiled. That wasn’t true. Conover hadn’t defeated Garrick. They’d barely tested each other’s strength before Quinn had shown up. He didn’t yet know for sure what Conover’s true strength was, but he knew Garrick’s. His cousin wouldn’t be taken that easily. But now that Quinn was in the picture, Garrick’s strength was no longer an issue. Or at least, not the most important one. Garrick and the others would back him up, but Conover had challenged Quinn’s right to this place. And Quinn couldn’t let that stand.

  He rolled his head and shoulders, shook out his arms and flexed his hands, all the while grinning at an increasingly pissed off Conover.

  “You ready there, sweetheart?” Conover taunted.

  Quinn’s grin disappeared, replaced by a look of utter focus as he regarded the other vampire. Sending out a wisp of power, he wound it around Conover, taking his measure. “You sure you want to do this?” he asked, giving the vamp an out as he gauged the feedback he was getting. “We could be allies instead of enemies.”

  The only response was a wad of spittle that landed just short of his boots. Disgusting.

  With barely an effort, Quinn upped the level of power in his probe. No longer an undetectable wisp, it became a rope, thick and stinging like a swarm of tiny bees, that wrapped around Conover, trapping his arms against his body, tightening around his thighs until he could barely move.

  The vampire snarled in surprise, then lifted his head with a howl and snapped the binding, freeing himself with a roar of victory as he attacked Quinn with a pummeling volley of power.

  Quinn easily withstood the blow, but he was still surprised at how quickly Conover had broken free. Granted, he’d used only a fraction of his power on the binding, but he’d clearly underestimated the vamp. It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again. None of that showed on his face though, as he studied his opponent, hearing the cheers and jeers of Conover’s vampires, seeing the hatred in their faces, the smug confidence on Conover’s. And suddenly, he’d had enough. Enough vampire bullshit, enough crazy girlfriends trying to kill vampires, enough swaggering assholes who looked at him and saw a mark. Maybe it was time to send a message to every vampire in Ireland who thought Quinn’s American upbringing and Ivy League education made him easy prey.

  He gathered his power, then reconsidered. He didn’t need his fire to take out Conover. Hell, what he needed was to beat the shit out of someone. His mouth curved into a malicious grin. Without warning, he launched a powerful wave of energy, taking out every member of Conover’s gang at once. They fell to the ground, bonelessly, like puppets whose strings had been cut. They weren’t dead. He wasn’t feeling that mean, and the only one who truly mattered was their leader. But they were out of this fight, making it a one-on-one battle between Quinn and Conover, who’d shuddered when Quinn’s power had brushed past him, leaving him standing while taking out every one of his backers. He stared at the vampires lying on the ground, then spun to regard Quinn.

  “What the fuck?” he demanded. “What did you do to them? Your fight is with—”

  Quinn didn’t let him finish. Stepping closer, he swung his fist and landed a power-driven uppercut that shattered Conover’s jaw. He followed up with a jab to the gut that probably ruptured a few organs, another one to his chest that cracked his sternum, and finally a third to his throat, collapsing his esophagus. He’d been right. He didn’t need fire to take down this asshole. This was far more satisfying.

  Conover staggered, but tried to rally, wasting far too much energy on a magical attack, throwing a series of grenade-like bursts that splatted against Quinn’s shields and burned out, fizzling to nothing.

  Meanwhile Quinn stuck with the physical, grabbing Conover by his long hair and head-butting him. He grunted. Christ. That felt like he’d smashed his face into a rhinoceros, but it had been immensely gratifying. And effective.
Conover’s eyes literally rolled in his head as blood poured down his face, mixing with the mess of his already broken nose. The vamp staggered, and Quinn gripped his head again, slamming Conover’s face against Quinn’s raised knee.

  “Submit,” Quinn growled.

  “Fuck you,” Conover mumbled, the words barely distinguishable through his destroyed mouth and damaged esophagus.

  “Idiot.” Quinn stepped back. He had to admire the other vampire’s persistence, but it was wasted. “Don’t make me kill you,” Quinn muttered.

  Conover managed to straighten to his full height. He glared at Quinn out of one bloodied eye, the other so damaged that it was probably ruptured behind the swollen lid. “You think you can, sweetheart?”

  Quinn shook his head in disgust. He was ready to finish this one way or the other. His hands ached, his knuckles were cut and bleeding, and his head hurt like a motherfucker. “Choose, Conover. Right now,” he snarled. “Kneel before me, or die.”

  “Fuck—”

  Quinn didn’t let him finish. He took a single step forward, punched a hole in the vampire’s chest, and ripped out his heart. His eyes locked on Conover’s horrified gaze, as he loosed a tiny flicker of orange flame and surrounded the still beating organ, holding it in his palm until it disintegrated to ash, and Conover fell to dust.

  Slapping his hands together, Quinn stared at Conover’s gang of unconscious vamps. “What do I do with those?” he muttered.

  “You want them dead?” Adorjan’s deep voice snapped Quinn out of his contemplation. He hadn’t been fully aware that he’d spoken out loud.

  “No,” he said firmly. “I’d prefer them alive, but I have to know where they stand.”

  “If you release them, at least some will go straight to Sorley,” Garrick said from his other side.

  “But some of them won’t, and I don’t care about the others. Sorley will find out about this soon enough, anyway.” He glanced around the yard, his gaze going over the walls to the neighboring houses. The lots were big here, but still too close. “We should take this inside. You need my help?”