Guardians of Summerfeld: Full Series: Books 1-4

by Melissa Delport

  “What’s wrong?” Rowena asked suddenly, her eyes narrowed.

  “Nothing,” he answered, far too quickly. Rowena looked back to where Balthazar sat, her face pinched in thought, and then she lifted her head in comprehension.

  “He told you about the Guardians,” she breathed. Of course Rowena would know, Jonas thought darkly. She knew everything. The difference was that he trusted her, far more than he did his father. Rowena would understand.

  “No,” he admitted, his eyes downcast. “I already knew.”

  “Oh, Jonas!” she wailed, sensing the reason for his distress. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I don’t want her to get hurt,” he replied simply.

  “Did he give you a hard time?” she inclined her head at Balthazar.

  “No. But he wants me to spy on her.” Somehow, that was worse.

  “I’m sorry.” There was nothing else she could say. She couldn’t disagree with Balthazar – she saw the logic of his plan - but she didn’t take any pleasure in the pain it caused Jonas.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  Jonas had never been in love before, but the more time he spent with the young Guardian, the more he was convinced that his feelings for her ran deeper than a simple schoolboy’s crush. Monique enchanted him, captivated him, and he couldn’t seem to get enough of her company. It was madness, considering their families despised one another, and especially now that his father wanted to use him as a weapon against her people, but he couldn’t help the way he felt.

  Rowena noticed his expression soften as he became lost in his own thoughts and her mouth turned up in a knowing smile.

  “When are you seeing her again?” she asked softly. Jonas started, and then flushed guiltily.

  “Tomorrow,” he answered eventually. “She’s meeting me in town. The others have agreed to let us watch a movie, alone.”

  “You do know that you won’t really be alone,” she pointed out, and he nodded irritably. “Well, be careful. It’s important that you don’t let on that you know what they are.”

  “Rowena,” he called as she turned away, “do you think maybe we’re wrong about them? That maybe if we…”

  “No,” she shook her head vehemently. “They will never accept us, Jonas. I’m sorry.”

  Chapter 19

  Quinn sensed Drake the second he walked into the diner. She was near the door and lifted her head to watch as he approached. His dark hair was in stark contrast to his fair skin, and his green eyes gave nothing away, no sign that he was pleased to see her, or otherwise. Reaching the table, he towered over her and she had to crane her neck to look up at him.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said, as he dropped onto the seat opposite her.

  “Don’t I always?” he mused.

  They had met a handful of times during the past two weeks, unbeknown to the other Guardians, but their conversation had not changed. Quinn hoped Drake would be able to help her learn the truth about the circumstances revolving around Avery’s death, but she also enjoyed having someone to talk to. If Drake suspected that Quinn was using him as an outlet for her emotional turmoil, he didn’t say anything, but it was obvious to both of them that they were not getting anywhere.

  The waitress bustled over, straightening her skirt.

  “What can I get you?” she asked Drake, giving him the same dazzling smile she always reserved for his arrival. Quinn fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was no wonder ordinary humans were such easy prey for vampires.

  “I’ll have the same,” he gestured at Quinn’s coffee mug. Quinn noticed he didn’t smile back.

  “How are you?” he asked Quinn as the waitress walked away.

  “I’m fine.” Drake probably saw through her lie, but he didn’t contradict her.

  “What have you learned?”

  “Nothing new.”

  “Have you questioned the wolf?” Quinn had told Drake about the wolf bites that had killed her sister. She was still embarrassed when she remembered. It had been the very same night that Isaiah had told her – Quinn had spun wildly out of control, and, in desperation, she had fled Summerfeld, finding herself drawn to the one person she could confide in.

  “Quinn?” Drake asked, opening her car door. She had called him and asked him to meet her, but in the space of time it took him to reach her, she had finally snapped. Overwhelmed with emotion, she sat slumped in her car, in the middle of nowhere, crying, her stomach aching and her body heaving with exertion.

  “Quinn!” he called her name, louder this time, and then he lifted her out of the car as if she weighed nothing.

  “You were right,” Quinn sobbed, uninhibited, into his shoulder.

  He held her in his arms, stroking her back and saying nothing as the truth spilled from her lips in violent, frantic sobs. He showed no satisfaction in the fact that he had been right all along, and Quinn sensed that he took no pleasure in her pain.

  She cried for an hour – the minutes passing so infinitely slowly that she thought she might never stop. She was so caught up in her grief she was almost oblivious to the slow tensing up of his body. But she could tell that he didn’t know how to handle her like this. A small part of her registered the rage swelling inside him and she clung to him even tighter.

  Finally she raised her head. Her lips felt dry and bloodless as she spoke the only words that mattered.

  “I have to find whoever did this, Drake. I have to. Please...” her voice was softer than a whisper, “please help me.”

  He had given her his word. In her self-absorbed state she barely registered his other words when he said he would do this for her, despite the fact that it would mean going against his own kind. That aiding a Guardian was incomprehensible, but that he didn’t care. It didn’t matter to him that she was a Guardian – he would help her because he couldn’t bear not to. The only thing Quinn registered with blazing clarity was the fact that he had said yes.

  “The wolf?” Drake’s voice echoed again, and Quinn shook the memory from her mind. “Have you questioned him?”

  “No,” she answered. “I can’t, not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Quinn,” he began, in a condescending tone. “Your sister was killed by a wolf... or wolves, and the only known wolf to have been outside of Summerfeld at the time is now within the boundaries. Don’t you think that’s probably a good place to start?”

  “He’s not going to tell me anything. He’s an asshole,” she added.

  Drake didn’t hide his smile. “You’re starting to sound like a vampire.”

  “Don’t say that.” She was deadly serious. They both fell silent, musing over the fact that while they might be friends, they were still on opposite sides of a war that had spanned centuries, and they were destined to be enemies.

  “I could make him talk,” Drake said after a long moment. Quinn didn’t bother trying to hide her shock.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I think you know what I’m saying.”

  “I couldn’t,” she shook her head, wishing she sounded more sure of herself. “You’re a vampire. I could never…”

  “Never what? Remove a ward from the City? Leave him at the mercy of someone like me? Do I need to remind you that this beast may have murdered your sister?”

  “No!” Quinn slammed her mug down on the table so hard that a few heads turned in their direction. “No,” she continued, lowering her voice drastically. “Of course you don’t.” Her anger was palpable. “But I trust Isa…” she trailed off, shocked at her own daring. She had almost revealed Isaiah’s name. Despite their frequent conversations, Quinn was careful to never disclose any Guardian information.

  Drake smiled lazily, amused by her discomfort.

  “Still don’t trust me, I see,” he drawled.

  “It’s not that…”

  “It’s exactly that. I’m not offended,” he added lightly. “Perhaps one day you will realise that I am not a t
hreat to you, or your precious City. Until then, keep your secrets. God knows I have enough of my own.”

  “Is there anyone you could talk to?’ Quinn changed the subject, desperately. “You mentioned Genevieve might have answers...” Even speaking Genevieve’s name filled Quinn with rage. Drake had not seen Genevieve since she had orchestrated the attack on Quinn but he had convinced her that Genevieve might be useful.

  “I cannot speak to Genevieve without telling her where I am,” he pointed out. This presented a problem – there was no way they could allow Genevieve near New Haven. The town was too close to Summerfeld. “It is also unwise for you to return to Brookfield. Genevieve believes you to be dead and I think it is best we keep it that way.”

  “But surely when she learns that all those vampires were killed she’ll know that I survived and what I am? Unless you’re planning on telling her you killed them all?”

  “She won’t find out they’re dead. The people she asked to take care of you were of little consequence to her, and she won’t be following up to check on them. Genevieve is powerful and impulsive, but not thorough. Believe me; in her mind, it’s over.”

  “Will you bring it up with her? She sent the message from your phone; she knows I came there to meet you, so surely she must suspect we were friends.”

  “She suspects we were lovers,” he replied bluntly. “And with you gone, she will assume I have moved on.”

  Quinn didn’t know how to respond, so instead she fell silent.

  “Here you go.” The waitress was back, depositing a steaming cup of coffee before Drake.

  “Thank you,” Quinn responded, realising Drake wouldn’t show gratitude. Crestfallen, the waitress hurried off.

  “You should be more polite,” Quinn grumbled.

  “Why?”

  “Forget it.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “What?” she asked warily.

  “Why am I here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You keep calling me to meet you, but we aren’t actually getting anywhere.”

  “We will, we just need to…”

  “Genevieve might have answers.”

  “Okay…so?”

  “So why haven’t you asked me to leave? To go and speak with her?”

  The thought hadn’t even occurred to Quinn. It made perfect sense, but instead, Quinn had kept him here. He had arrived of his own accord, but she had not wanted him to leave after the gypsy bonfire. Drake had become a source of comfort, the only other person in the world in whom she could confide, other than Isaiah. The only other person who knew the truth. He was watching her, expectantly, waiting for her answer.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe you’ve come to enjoy my company?” he pressed. “More than you care to admit?”

  They had not discussed what he had said to her at the bonfire. Drake had admitted to feeling something for her, and while she couldn’t deny she felt something for him too, she had made it clear that nothing could ever happen between them.

  “I don’t want to talk about that,” she said now, keeping her eyes downcast.

  Drake signaled for the bill and she felt oddly deflated. She sipped her coffee as the waitress approached, lost in her own thoughts. Not really paying attention, it took a moment or two before she realised what she was seeing. As the waitress stretched across the table to set the bill down before Drake, the sleeve of her uniform pulled up, exposing two perfect puncture wounds on the inside of her arm, just below her armpit. Drake looked up at her as he handed back the cash, not noticing Quinn’s quiet fury. When he did turn back to her, his eyes widened in surprise at the hard expression on her exquisite face.

  “You fed on her?” Quinn hissed, the second the waitress was out of earshot. To his credit, he didn’t deny it, nor did he look particularly concerned.

  “I did, actually. Her blood is surprisingly bitter for someone so sweet.” Quinn blanched.

  “You’re unhappy?” he remarked dryly, cocking his head to one side.

  “I’m disgusted,” she retorted.

  “Of course you are,” he sighed. “You know, this perpetual disappointment is becoming tedious. It takes all the fun out of our relationship.”

  “She’s a person.”

  “She’s a food source.” He was completely detached, devoid of any emotion.

  “You don’t feel even the slightest bit guilty?”

  “For what? I’m a vampire. And in case you haven’t noticed, she’s still alive.”

  “She serves us almost every day!”

  “Yes, and I tip her very well for that service. In fact, I reward her very well for all her services.” The sexual innuendo was impossible to miss, and Quinn felt the blood drain from her face.

  Drake wasn’t sure what made him say it, but he felt an uncontrollable need to pull Quinn from her high horse. Of course he hadn’t done anything other than feed on the girl, he wouldn’t lower himself to being physically intimate with such a pitiful human, but he was tired of Quinn’s constant disapproval. Let her think the worst of him if she was so determined to keep him at arm’s length.

  Quinn fought the urge to get to her feet and storm out of the diner. She needed Drake’s help, and his confidence. She would go crazy if she lost her only outlet for everything that was going on around her. Besides, he spoke the truth. He was a vampire and he needed blood to survive.

  “It’s none of my business,” she said eventually, and Drake realised that this was the closest thing to an apology he would get. It irked him that she denied her real feelings. He could sense that she was angry and possibly even a little jealous, but she refused to admit it.

  “You’re keeping me in this flea-infested little town. The pickings are slim.”

  “As I said,” she replied, feigning nonchalance, “it’s none of my business. But you’re right – it’s high time you spoke to Genevieve.” Steeling herself, she got to her feet and gazed down at him. “I think you should go back to Brookfield.”

  Chapter 20

  Much to Quinn’s chagrin, she had to spend the following morning in Tristan’s company. It was unavoidable as they had to accompany Monique on her date with Jonas. Quinn felt like the worst kind of person as she and Tristan snuck into the movie theatre just after the opening credits began, moving quietly and taking a seat at the very back. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark after the bright sunshine outside, but she soon spotted Monique and Jonas a couple of rows ahead. Actually, Quinn could only really see Jonas, his mop of unruly black hair instantly recognisable. Jonas was so tall that, even seated, he towered above everyone else, completely obscuring the view of the screen for the teenage girl behind him. All Quinn could see of Monique was the very top of her head, barely visible behind the high back of the theatre seat.

  “I swear I feel as though I’m re-enacting a scene straight out of a cheesy movie,” Tristan grumbled. Quinn felt the same. She hated betraying Monique’s trust but she had made a promise to Camille to keep her daughter safe.

  She was also acutely aware of Tristan sitting beside her. He seemed relaxed and perfectly at ease, even though things were strained between them. Taking advantage of the fact that she couldn’t avoid him in here, Tristan very deliberately took her hand, entwining his fingers through hers. She so badly craved his touch that she didn’t pull away, and when he reached up his other hand and pulled her head toward him, she rested it on his shoulder.

  “You want to tell me what’s going on with you?” he murmured into her hair, his voice so low that only she could hear it.

  She owed him an explanation. They had started something, and then, inexplicably, she had pulled away. She wished she could confide in him and she felt a surge of anger toward Isaiah for asking her to keep such a mammoth secret. Turning to gaze up at him, she shook her head sadly.

  “I can’t. Not yet.”

  “Is it me?”

  “No.” This time she shook her head so hard that her hair
whipped across her face.

  “But there is something going on?”

  Quinn knew that to deny it would be foolish.

  “Yes. Hopefully it will be over soon, but until then I can’t tell you anything. I’m sorry.”

  She wondered if he would press her for more information, but he simply stated, “As long as we’re okay?”

  “We’re okay,” she promised, smiling, before laying her head back down on his shoulder.

  So lost in her own thoughts, Quinn didn’t take in any of the romantic comedy playing out before them, but, when a scuffle broke out halfway through the movie, she was on her feet in an instant. A tall, thuggish boy with slitty eyes had confronted Jonas, and, grabbing Jonas by his brown leather jacket, the bully shook him menacingly. Tristan was on his feet too, as Jonas pulled back his arm and sent the slighter boy sprawling into the lap of the girl behind him. Quinn lost sight of them for an instant as dozens of theatre-goers got to their feet, and by the time she reached the end of the aisle, she saw security marching Jonas and the other boy from the theatre. Monique, following in their wake, gave Quinn a filthy look as she passed.

  Once outside, Quinn quickly intervened as security marched the two boys toward the mall’s central management office.

  “Excuse me,” she called, halting their progress. “What’s going on?”

  Only Jonas didn’t look up at the sound of her voice. He kept his head down, staring unseeingly at the tiled floor. “That’s my niece and her friend you have there,” Quinn added, gesturing at the two of them.

  “Your niece and her friend started a fist fight in the theatre hall as you well know,” the ageing security guard replied curtly. Quinn was impressed by his astuteness; he must have witnessed her and Tristan inside the dimly lit room.

  “We didn’t!” Monique retorted furiously. “He did!” She glared hatefully at the other boy and then, turning to Quinn for support added, “he was muttering and name-calling the whole way through the movie. He even threw food at us.”

  “Is that true?” Quinn demanded of the other boy, who scowled.