Quinn

by D. B. Reynolds

  A sudden squeal of tires, along with shouts among his fighters, had him spinning for the front door, ready for a fight. But it wasn’t an enemy who stormed up the stairs. It was the redheaded hunter who’d stolen his heart.

  “Eve? What are you doing here?”

  “QUINN!” EVE WAS so happy to see him standing there, all strong and healthy, that she wanted to throw her arms around him in relief. But mindful of the situation and their audience, she pulled back, her arms stiff and her hands fisted with the effort to restrain herself. Walking right up to him, she nearly missed a step at the sight of his blood-soaked shirt. Her eyes met his. “Are you okay?” she whispered.

  He nodded grimly. “I handled it. What are you doing here?”

  She winced, suddenly unsure. “I came to warn you.”

  He scowled. “About what?”

  “About all of this.” She gestured helplessly at the vampires running around in controlled chaos of the big house behind them. “Cillian was waiting for me at my mother’s house.”

  Quinn frowned. “Who’s Cillian?”

  Eve grimaced. She probably should have mentioned this before. “He’s the other vampire who killed my brother. Him and Barrie Meaney.”

  Quinn’s eyes narrowed, as he closed his hand over her nape and pulled her close. “We’ll talk later about your tendency to keep secrets. Are you all right? And your mother?”

  Eve let her head fall forward to hit his shoulder. She’d be strong again in just a minute, but for now. . . . She let herself lean on him for that instant of time, soaking up the heat and strength of him, feeling his other arm come around her, feeling safe for the first time in longer than she could remember. A single tear rolled down her cheek, soaking into his bloodied shirt.

  “Eve?”

  There was concern in his voice, but also a gentle reminder of where they were and who was watching. She nodded her head and pushed away from him, ending the moment. “Cillian’s dead. So’s the vamp he had with him.” She shrugged. “I don’t know his name. Mac—”

  “Dead . . . what the fuck happened?”

  “They knew I was going to be there, and—”

  “Who’s they? And how the hell—”

  “My mother,” she said simply, trying to keep the emotion from her voice and knowing she failed when Quinn grabbed her hand and dragged her into the house, turning into the first open room and slamming the door behind him, leaving the two of them alone. Quinn didn’t hesitate, didn’t ask permission or give her a chance to resist. He simply wrapped her in his arms, and held her so tightly, she couldn’t have broken free if she’d wanted to. Which she didn’t.

  “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

  “I don’t know where to start. I just—”

  “Tell me what happened. Start at the beginning.”

  He was still holding her, his words a warm rumble against her ear, her own muffled by the hard muscles of his chest. The blood-stiffened fabric scraped against her cheek, and she frowned, shoving him away, running her hands over his chest, pulling his shirt up over what should have been an expanse of ridged muscle and smooth skin, and finding a mass of bruises instead. “What the hell? What is this?”

  He grabbed her wrists to stop her, then ran his hands up to hold her arms. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “Sorley and I did each other a lot of damage, but when he realized he was about to lose, he threw a bunch of vampire guards at me and ran. We’re trying to find him, so I can finish this. Now, tell me what happened, Eve. Is your mother safe?”

  “Safe.” She bit off the word with a bitter laugh. “You know . . . I’m barely welcome in her house, her own daughter. But she invited that murdering bastard in, the same vampire who killed the son she claims to have loved so much.”

  Quinn shook his head, as if to clear it. “I don’t. . . . Eve, you’re not—”

  “They claimed they were local lads—Cillian and some other vam­pire. They pretended to be worried for her safety since, as they said, I was fucking a vampire and you’d probably turned me by now. They told her that whenever I came for a visit, my mam should call them, for her own protection,” she ended bitterly.

  “Did your mother know Cillian personally? Why would she—”

  “No. I think that must have been the other vamp, the one Cillian brought with him. He looked familiar, but I didn’t get a good look at him before. . . . Well, it doesn’t matter now. They’re both dead.”

  “And your mother?”

  “Oh, she’s alive and well. But dead to me.”

  “I’m sorry, Eve. I swear I didn’t know they’d try—”

  “Of course, you didn’t,” she interrupted. “That was the whole point. They were there to kidnap me to use against you. Not great plan­ning on their part, since all of this”—she gestured around them—“was apparently going down at the same time. But all I could think was that we had to get back here to—”

  He grinned. “To warn me. You were worried.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “So, fine,” she snapped. “I was worried. For nothing, as it turns out.” She twisted out of his arms. Or at least she tried to.

  Quinn held on tight, forcing her to look up at him or be suffocated against his stupidly gorgeous chest. “It wasn’t for nothing,” he said, meeting her gaze. “Thank you. And, Eve,—” He waited until she was looking up at him again, meeting his eyes. “I love you, too.”

  Tears flooded her eyes turning everything into a blur of crystalline images. Furious with herself, she thumped a fist against his chest and wished she could tell him he was full of shit. That she didn’t love him any more than he really did her. But damn if she could say it.

  “I’m an idiot,” she whispered. “Falling for a damn vampire. What kind of life can we—”

  Quinn was smiling, completely missing her point. Didn’t he under­stand? He was going to live forever, while she’d grow old and wrinkled. How much would he love her then? And how long could they possibly have before that happened? Ten years, maybe less, before he wanted a younger woman, someone fresh and new. Not one whose skin was beginning to sag, who had to work twice as hard to keep her muscles firm, had to dye her hair against the encroaching gray . . .

  “Eve, darling, you’re thinking way too hard. We’ll talk vampire lovers later. Right now, I have to find Sorley. Like yesterday. My people are spreading out over the city—”

  “Doolin,” she said in sudden realization. “Doolin,” she repeated, seeing Quinn’s puzzled look. “I followed him there several times when I was looking for Barrie and Cillian. I didn’t know their names, yet, but I knew they worked for him, and . . . and don’t give me that look. I’m still alive and in better shape than you, I might add.”

  Quinn scowled, but made a rolling gesture with his hand, telling her to continue. “What about Doolin? Where is that, anyway?”

  “Southwest of Dublin, near the Cliffs of Moher on the west coast. You’ve heard of those?”

  “Right. Okay. Why the hell would Sorley go there so often?”

  “Well, shit, Quinn. I don’t know. I couldn’t exactly ask around about him, could I?”

  He gave her dark look. So much for the lovey-dovey stuff.

  “I think he has family there,” she admitted. “You should ask Mac. He might—” But Quinn was already gone, yanking the door open and shouting for someone to find Mac.

  “YES, MY LORD,” Mac told Quinn. “Lord Sorley, that is, er—”

  “I don’t give a fuck about titles,” Quinn snapped. “Just tell me what you know.”

  “He has family in Doolin. His mother’s people, I think. And a house. He sends money once a month to cover expenses, and they make sure it’s ready whenever he wants to visit.”

  “Why go there at all?”

  “I can’t say for sure. I was only his bookkeeper. But . . . I think he kee
ps a woman in Cardiff.”

  “Cardiff?” Quinn repeated in surprise. “Well, fuck, that makes no sense. Doolin’s hardly the best jumping off point for Wales.”

  “No,” Mac agreed, “but if he wanted to keep his absence from Ireland a secret . . .”

  Quinn pondered the idea. “Maybe. He goes to visit family and sneaks away for a quickie in Cardiff. Shit.” He scowled, thinking. “Is there an airport near—”

  “He has a helicopter, my lord.”

  Quinn regarded Mac silently. “Way to bury the lead. Where’s he keep the chopper? Dublin? Fuck. He might already be—”

  “No, my lord, in Doolin. He’ll have to drive that far, but once—”

  “Once he’s in Doolin, he can hop on his helicopter and be off to who knows where,” Quinn finished grimly. “How far to Doolin from here? How long?”

  “At this time of night, two and half hours? Maybe three if they want to avoid getting nicked for speeding.”

  “Garrick!” Quinn shouted, “Get Lucas’s man Ronan on the line. It’s time for him to choose.”

  Five minutes later, Garrick handed him a phone. “Ronan, my lord.”

  Quinn nodded grimly and took the phone. “Ronan. I need a helicopter. Now.”

  “My lord, I don’t—”

  “Bullshit. You have one hidden in that big barn on the edge of your property, and you have three different vampires on staff who can fly it. I need it in Dublin.”

  “When?” Ronan asked, with a resigned sigh.

  “If you want this takeover to succeed, you’ll have it here five minutes ago.”

  “I’ll need to call—”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll call Lucas myself. You get that thing in the air.” He disconnected and handed the phone back to Garrick. “Find Lucas for me. As a courtesy,” he added.

  Garrick laughed, then turned away and started punching in numbers.

  “You’re going to Doolin?”

  Eve’s voice had Quinn spinning around, taking her hand, and pulling her with him as he strode out to one of his two Range Rovers. He opened the back cargo door, yanked a small, black duffle closer, and began rummaging inside it. “That’s where Sorley is,” he said.

  “I’m going with you.”

  Quinn lifted his head and drew breath to argue with her, but then, seeing her determined glare, he crooked his lips into a half-smile. “Okay,” he agreed and had to swallow a laugh at her look of surprise. “You’re the one who figured out where Sorley would go, and you’re decent with a crossbow, even if—”

  “I don’t need a crossbow anymore. This works much better.” She pulled a 9mm Sig from a pocket in her jacket, checked the safety, and then expertly flipped the weapon around to hand it to him butt first.

  Quinn examine the gun quickly. Bell had told him about the weapon. It was small, probably considered a micro-compact, but a good fit for Eve’s smaller hand. He popped the magazine. “You re-loaded,” he murmured. “Good girl.” He laughed at her look of outrage over his comment and handed the gun back. “Have you been holding out on me, Eve?”

  “No,” she said defensively. “I’ve had the gun awhile, but I never used it except on the range, because I couldn’t get the right ammo until—”

  He raised one eyebrow. “When?”

  “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

  “No one’s in trouble,” he said patiently. “Just tell me.”

  “Well, the other day, after we . . . um, anyway. You went off to do your vampire sleep thing, and I was talking to Joshua Bell, and he . . .” She scowled at him. “Well, what did you think? That I was going to hang around eating bonbons all day? Maybe read poetry in the garden?”

  Quinn fought back a grin at the image. “Hardly,” he said dryly, enjoying her description too much to admit that Bell had cleared it with him before he’d supplied Eve with the ammunition. “Can you shoot that thing?”

  “Absolutely. How do you think I killed Cillian and his buddy?”

  That image drained away every ounce of humor he’d found in the situation. “All right. Do you need more ammo?”

  She shook her head. “I have my own supply.”

  Quinn grabbed the back of his bloody and torn T-shirt, yanked it off over his head, and tossed it into the cargo compartment. Next, he grabbed a bottle of water from his duffel and poured it over his chest, using a towel to wipe away the worst of the blood and dry himself off. His side ached a little, but that wouldn’t last much longer. Digging out a clean T-shirt, he pulled it over his head and turned to find Eve watching with an appreciative gleam in her eye.

  Pulling her in for a quick kiss, he said, “Hold that thought,” then nodded over her shoulder at Garrick who was walking toward him with cell phone in hand.

  Lucas, Garrick mouthed.

  Quinn took the proffered cell phone. “Lucas,” he said brusquely. “This is a courtesy head’s up, from one lord to another. I’ve requested the use of your helicopter on an urgent matter. It’s already in the air.”

  “Good evening to you, too,” Lucas growled. “Ronan already called. My people are loyal.”

  “Funny,” Quinn snapped. “So are mine.”

  Lucas laughed. “Can’t we all just get along?”

  “I will if you will. Thanks for the chopper. I’ll let you know how it turns out.” Quinn handed the phone back to Garrick. “I could hate that fucker really easily.”

  “You’re not alone. He gets on people’s nerves. But he runs his territory well, and the other North American lords seem to like him. Especially Raphael.”

  “Yeah, I saw that. There’s something more than mutual respect between those two. I’d put money on Raphael being Lucas’s Sire.”

  Garrick nodded. “That’s the rumor, but the official line is that it’s neither confirmed nor denied.”

  “Which we both know means it’s true. What’s the status on the chopper? And where’s it landing anyway?”

  “Dublin Castle,” Garrick said, sharing Quinn’s look of surprise. “Apparently, it has a helipad that’s used by visiting dignitaries.”

  “And departing vampires, at least for tonight. Let’s go.” He grabbed Eve’s hand. “You’re with me, sweetheart. I have to make sure you’re only shooting the bad guys.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Doolin, Ireland

  QUINN HAD NEVER been to this part of Ireland. It was a short­coming on his part, he thought, as they flew through the night. Lucas’s helicopter wasn’t one of those five passenger sightseeing types, but a full-on troop carrier. Quinn appreciated it, even as he wondered how the hell Lucas had managed to slip it into the country. Apart from Sorley, who would surely have kept a close eye on Lucas’s property, there was the scrutiny of the Irish government, who would have plenty to say about a private citizen bringing in a piece of heavy military equipment like this. It made Quinn wonder if Lucas’s sights hadn’t been set on ruling Ireland, after all. He shrugged. If so, it was a dream Lucas would have to put aside, because Ireland was Quinn’s now. Or it would be very soon.

  “How long?” he asked the pilot, who was one of his own people. Lucas’s pilot had offered to stay on, but Quinn had declined, promising he’d return the chopper in good order and before the night was through. Probably not in time to fly it back to Lucas’s estate in Kildare, however. He frowned. They’d have to hide the damn thing somewhere. Immediately on that thought, he laughed at himself. He had much bigger worries than where to hide a helicopter. Like getting rid of Sorley once and for all.

  “Fifteen minutes, my lord.”

  Lightning flashed in the night sky, followed three beats later by a crack of thunder so loud that it pressed on his ear drums. The thunder was still echoing through the night, when it began to rain in thick sheets.

  “We’re going down,” came the pilot�
�s warning.

  Great, Quinn thought. He was going to die in a helicopter crash only minutes away from achieving the pinnacle of vampire society. Vampire Lord. A title owned by few and always claimed over the blood and dust of one’s predecessor. And it had nearly been his. His skin tingled with goosebumps as the helicopter dropped . . . and he realized that the vamp had been letting him know they were landing. Not crashing. He looked around carefully. Vampire night sight, notwithstanding, it was dark enough in the chopper that no one should have noticed his two-second look of doubt. Next to him, Eve squeezed his hand, and when he glanced over, she winked. Okay, so none of his vamps had noticed, at least.

  The skids of their helicopter brushed the ground a moment later, the wash of its navigation lights spotlighting another helicopter powering up about a hundred yards away.

  “That bird’s too light to lift off in this weather,” his pilot informed him.

  Taking that as the good news it was, Quinn didn’t wait for his chopper to settle on the wet grass. He pulled the door back and jumped out, searching the area for any sign of Sorley. If the vampire lord hadn’t been able to leave by air, then he had to be running on the ground. But where? And how? Almost too late, he remembered whom he was chasing, what he was chasing. Sorley was a vampire lord. He burned with not only his own power, but the power of all those who were pledged to him. The power of almost every vampire living in Ireland was tied in to his.

  Quinn stopped searching with his eyes and began searching with the power that made him something other. The power that made him not simply Vampire, but a vampire lord.

  Like a shutter flipping open, he saw the night filled with an array of lights, representing the life forces of the people around him. His vampires were solid flames, with Garrick and Adorjan burning visibly brighter, reflecting their greater power. And in the distance . . . the beacon that was Sorley, beaming like a spotlight against the dark sky . . . and moving away fast.

  “He’s there.” Quinn pointed and started running. “In a fucking car.” He’d never catch up on foot. They needed a vehicle of their own. But this part of Doolin wasn’t exactly high density. And even if they managed to find a car or truck, grand theft auto wasn’t exactly one of his—