Warrior Betrayed: The Sons of the Zodiac 3

by Addison Fox

  Even if Eirene didn’t know the fate that awaited her, Themis did. And the cancer that ravaged her daughter’s body was a vicious taskmaster, exercising its will more and more each day.

  “Mother?”

  Themis turned to see her daughter Atropos. “Yes, darling?”

  “You called for me?” The Moirae’s gaze flicked toward the viewing screen. “I should have known it was to discuss Eirene.”

  “Her time is drawing near.”

  The long column of her neck arched in a graceful nod as Atropos idly fingered the shears at her waistband. “Aye.”

  “She hasn’t done what she must. Montana is in danger and Eirene still hasn’t told her what is required of her.”

  “Why should the girl suffer, Mother? You punish her in some ways even more than you punish Eirene. At least Reeny made her choice. Montana is innocent.”

  Themis’s mother’s heart leaped at the affection in the simple nickname. “Eirene knew the consequences of her choice. You and your sister are the ones who ensured Montana’s existence.”

  “As if we had a choice.” Atropos’s hand flew toward the Mirror of Truth. “Clotho could no more have ignored Montana’s existence than she could her own. Our niece’s fate—nay, her very existence—was decreed the moment you punished Eirene.”

  “She has a protector now.” Themis watched the mirror’s screen split at her words, shifting so that Montana’s image flashed on the screen.

  Both she and her daughter watched as Montana wrapped herself in the arms of Quinn Tanner, her lips pressed to his in a heated embrace.

  “I may be seen as the most vengeful goddess in the heavens, but I’m not a voyeur, Mother. Turn it off.”

  Themis did as her daughter asked, the screen winking back to show Eirene only. “The Taurus will protect her.”

  “You think the Warrior’s presence makes it okay?” Atropos’s voice was harsh as she expressed her opinion. “Does he even know what she is? Where she came from? Your beloved Warriors aren’t all-seeing, Mother.”

  “He’s figured it out.” Themis marveled at her daughter’s ability to put her in her place so quickly. She truly had Zeus’s temperament—steady and sure of herself, brooking no argument from anyone.

  “Eirene doesn’t have many days left and Montana has several trials before she ascends as the next Horae. He might have a basic knowledge of what’s going on, but does he truly understand the depths of what’s to come?”

  When Themis didn’t reply, Atropos pushed harder. “Does he understand she’s becoming an immortal? And even more important, does he understand there are those who will fight to keep her from her ascension?”

  “I can’t interfere, Atropos. You know that. We’re bound.”

  Delicate eyebrows arched above her daughter’s piercing green eyes. “I may be bound, as are my sisters. You’re not.”

  “I can’t betray the balance. It’s what I am, Daughter.”

  “Then we are at an impasse.” Atropos turned on her heel and began to cross the room.

  As she watched her go, Themis brought up another of her beloved daughters, Atropos’s sister. “What does Lachesis say about it?”

  Atropos turned at the doorway, her hand on the knob. “You know she doesn’t share the specifics. She measures the thread, Mother. The trials each person faces are their own to experience.”

  “Yes, but she knows what the trials will be. What does she see when she looks at Montana?”

  “The same thing the rest of us see, Mother. A victim.”

  The catcalls started before Quinn passed by the doorway of the upstairs game room.

  Fuck.

  It had never bothered him before that his office was on the same hallway as the darkly paneled game room. That was, of course, until he’d nearly gotten Kane and Ilsa killed over a stubborn bout of pride.

  For reasons he couldn’t quite understand, both claimed to forgive him.

  But why?

  The question had haunted him endlessly over the last months and he was no closer to understanding it. No closer to figuring out why they didn’t hold him responsible for almost losing their lives with his obstinate, mulish, full-of-piss-and-vinegar pride.

  Whatever awkwardness he’d felt earlier in the company of his Warrior brothers, it couldn’t compare to how he felt now. This afternoon he could hide behind the mantle of work.

  But now?

  Now he had to put on his happy face and act like nothing was wrong.

  Which was the exact fucking reason he now avoided the house’s common areas as if they held the plague. Quinn knew he wasn’t fooling anyone, either, seeing as how Callie had bitched at him just last week, letting him know in no uncertain terms that she thought he was hiding.

  Which he’d scoffed at before closing his office door gently in her face.

  In point of fact, he wasn’t hiding. He was simply ridding the rest of the house of his presence.

  Why none of them could see reason—or his point of view—was a mystery. But how did he explain it to them?

  He was their leader. Self-appointed, maybe, but their leader nonetheless. And he’d failed one of his brothers.

  Which meant he’d failed them all.

  “Look at you, sexy. Hot date?”

  Quinn flashed a middle finger at Brody as he came to a reluctant stop inside the doorway. “As if you didn’t know, asshole.”

  “Ignore him, Quinn. We’re all on heiress duty tonight,” Grey added around a cigar clamped between his teeth as he threw a pile of chips into the center of a green baize-covered poker table. “Just getting in a good ass whipping of my pals here before we get ready to go.”

  Poker night was a relatively new addition to the house. Apparently Ava and Ilsa felt some male bonding was important, so they encouraged this little activity once a week. He supposed there was a side benefit as it also gave them an excuse to gorge on the junk food the puzzlingly slender women seemed to favor with a mad passion—cake batter, ice cream and wine.

  Quinn’s stomach turned over at the imagined combination. How in the gods names the women could stuff down spoonful after spoonful of the raw batter, let alone an entire bowl, he had no idea.

  Of course, the recently uncovered news that Callie was a nymph and Ilsa’s sister meant they had a lot of catching up to do.

  But still.

  Their capacity for gossip and junk food was moderately frightening.

  “Does everyone know their positions?”

  “Drake and I scoped it out a little while ago,” Kane offered. His brothers might be in the middle of a game, but their professional skills were honed to a sharp point and each man knew his duty this evening. “The peace organization running the dinner seems top-notch and we got lucky. Not only are there a bunch of high-profile donors, which has ratcheted up security, but the governor plans to be there, which means they doubled the security staff for the event.”

  Quinn reached for his BlackBerry and reviewed the message he got earlier. “The organizers have placed Montana at the front table. If the governor is there, that will likely help us even more.”

  “Why aren’t you porting her in and out?” Grey’s question was nonchalant, but Quinn admired the tone of respect underneath. His brothers had his back, but they weren’t above questioning his choices.

  “She needs to make an appearance in the publicity line, for starters. And there’s one other little matter.”

  “Oh?” Grey’s eyebrows rose over his piercing gray eyes.

  “She doesn’t know about teleportation yet.”

  “Damn, that’s a big one,” Brody added. “Ava was a bit shaken about it, but she learned to like it quickly enough. You need to tell her.”

  “I know.” Quinn needed to tell her a lot of things. Tossing a book at her to read a few elements of their lore and history wasn’t the same as actually talking to her and giving her the ins and outs of who and what they were.

  “She had a lot thrown at her today.”

  “It is a
lot, Quinn. But parsing out the knowledge is only going to make each conversation harder to have.” Drake’s voice was gentle, his more mild-mannered approach to everything—as usual—spot-on.

  Quinn knew it would. But how in the hell did you tell a mortal woman that you could fling her body through the time-space continuum without freaking her out? And further, how did you explain to her that she likely had the ability to do it. Or would, within a matter of days or weeks.

  Fuck.

  “You gonna take the perimeter or sit with her?” Drake knew it was time to switch topics, even as he threw his cards on the table, disgust riding high on his face.

  “Sit with her. After what went down this afternoon, I don’t want her uncovered.”

  “I’ll just bet you don’t,” Brody added, “in more ways than one. The gal’s not going to stand a chance against the big, bad bull.”

  Brody’s grin maintained its usual cocky demeanor and Quinn couldn’t quite say why the urge to punch it off his face hit him square in the gut. But all Quinn could see in his mind’s eye was Montana, taking her pleasure at his hands, and the idea of spoiling that—hell, of even comparing it to any woman he’d known before.

  She was different.

  And he was different when he was with her.

  Quinn nearly pushed himself off the wall before he got himself under control and held his place.

  The smile fell from Brody’s face and the easy, comfortable friendship that filled the room quieted immediately. With raised eyebrows and a voice that had gone hard as hammered steel, Brody added, “You okay, Quinn?”

  “She’s not like the others, Talbot.”

  Brody held up his hands. “Got it.”

  On a last nod, Quinn turned and left the room. He might have moved firmly into the camp of House Asshole, but he knew his friends had his back.

  If the easy friendship and camaraderie between them was gone, well, he had no one to blame but himself.

  Montana kept her cashmere wrap firmly around her shoulders like a protective shield as she stepped out of the limousine in front of the Waldorf. Quinn had gotten out before her and was now standing guard near the car door, his body between her and the open crowd.

  It was silly, really, she argued with herself as she walked next to Quinn toward the red carpet entrance. The cashmere would do nothing to protect her from a crazy killer with an agenda, but there was something about the fabric cocoon that reassured, even as it kept her warm.

  “You okay?” Quinn whispered as they stepped up to a small marked spot on the edge of the carpet and posed for pictures.

  “Ms. Grant! It’s a big week next week!”

  “You’re taking your father’s legacy public. Do you think he’d be pleased or angered?”

  “Who is your date?”

  She forced a smile as they posed and ignored the questions, Quinn’s hand tightening around hers on that last question.

  Date?

  Even in the midst of all that was happening—the danger, the threats and the overwhelming sense of menace—the thought of being on a date with the large man standing next to her thrilled her to the depths of her toes.

  Her thoughts slammed her back into the bedroom before she finished getting ready for the gala. Warmth filled her and her mind grew slightly fuzzy as her body tingled with remembered pleasure, the result of his expert touch.

  Was he still thinking about it, too?

  Was he as sorry as she was they didn’t finish what they’d started?

  Although she appreciated his gentlemanly restraint, a part of her wished they’d not only been late, but had never even left the house. Whatever imagined protection a cashmere wrap and the man by her side semi-promised, being wrapped in his arms for an evening of pleasure was a hell of a lot safer.

  For your body, maybe, her conscience whispered. But not your heart.

  Before Montana even realized it, her grip on his fingers tightened as the memories of the pleasure they had drawn from her body left her desperately wanting more.

  Quinn looked down at her from his impressive height as he led her to the entrance, a knowing smile curving his strong lips and boldly chiseled chin.

  Oh shit, am I in deep.

  The ballroom was set up in a similar fashion to the evening before, but there was an additional round of security each person was required to pass through. “The governor’s attending”—Quinn leaned over and whispered—“which works in our favor.”

  Montana expected this would make her feel better, but she was surprised as she discarded her wrap and purse and laid them in a plastic bin that the nerves buzzing in her stomach weren’t diminishing.

  Moving through the metal detector, her gaze scanned the room and the crowd of blue bloods who were shedding their garments in a similar fashion. She watched a doddering old couple she’d known for years link hands after the man retrieved his wife’s purse, the actions so natural and easy, she could tell they’d spent their lives together.

  The comfort of that thought quickly gave way to a far more startling one.

  “If he’s supernatural, he could get in here anyway.”

  Quinn’s hand settled itself on her lower back. “It’s okay, Montana. I’m here with you, and the guys are scattered around the ballroom.”

  “How’d they get tickets? This has been sold out for months.”

  “There’s not an event in this city Grey can’t get a ticket to.”

  “But how’d they get here so quickly? They weren’t even ready to leave the house when we did.”

  “It’s a long story I owe you an explanation on later.”

  Forcing her most stern executive face, Montana narrowed her eyes. “Quinn Tanner. You can’t leave me in the dark on this stuff.”

  Quinn navigated them through the ballroom. “Fine. They ported here.”

  “Is that what I think it is?”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “Teleportation? As in flashing yourself from point a to point b? Star Trek shit?”

  “Exactly.”

  Every time she thought she had a handle on what was happening to her, the sands shifted yet again. Whatever comfort she’d managed to glean back at the house evaporated in the news that Quinn and his Warrior brothers could imagine themselves in different places and travel there instantly.

  Travel that wasn’t some fantasy created for a generation of TV viewers.

  “Oh my God.”

  Quinn pulled out a chair for Montana as they reached their table. “Gods actually, sweetheart. You can blame it all on them.”

  Quinn had timed their arrival to minimize cocktail hour chitchat, but even he couldn’t keep Montana protected from the well-wishers who came up to their table.

  He watched as she greeted each individual by name, again impressed to see yet another facet of her personality. Although he’d observed her from a distance the previous evening, to actually watch her body language and hear her conversation up close and personal offered another layer of clarity to the question that had captivated him like no other.

  Who was Montana Grant?

  Fascination warred with the baser needs of his body as he thought of the stolen moments they’d shared back at the house.

  She was strong and vulnerable, sensitive and tough. She could manage a global business and yet still yell at him for his BlackBerry social skills.

  In short, she was amazing.

  “She’s a special lady.” A shaky voice interrupted Quinn’s thoughts. Turning, he saw the older couple he and Montana had walked in behind when they entered the ballroom.

  “Yes, she is.”

  “You her new beau?”

  Quinn let out a slightly uneasy chuckle, especially when he spied Brody wiggling his eyebrows from where he’d positioned himself at the next table. Clearly, whatever tension had risen between them back at the house was gone under the Leo’s good-natured need to tease him whenever the opportunity arose. “I have an interest in Ms. Grant, yes.”

  “You stu
pid?”

  Brody let out a loud cough and covered his mouth with his palm. Quinn simply stared. “Excuse me?”

  “Montana Grant’s not a woman you have an interest in, boy-o. She’s a woman you hang on to and don’t let go. Like my Marcy there.”

  Quinn nodded politely at Marcy and, despite the lines of age, saw the beauty in the curve of her cheek and the elegant lines of her neck. “Your wife is a beautiful woman.”

  “Damn straight.” The older man shifted and took the empty seat next to Quinn. “I knew her father for a long time.”

  “Oh? Marcy’s?”

  The old man shot him a look that clearly screamed keep up, before he said, “Montana’s.”

  “Got it.” Quinn wasn’t sure where this was going, but didn’t want to be entirely rude. The old gentleman seemed harmless enough and Montana appeared to be deep in conversation with his wife.

  “Miserable bastard, Black Jack Grant.” The guy leaned toward Quinn as if attempting to whisper, but his voice still echoed loud enough to be heard by everyone in a radius of three tables.

  “You seem to like his daughter well enough.”

  “Montana’s an angel. Her father, on the other hand. He took whatever he could without a care for anyone else. It’s a miracle she turned out as perfect as she did.”

  The older man leaned in one more time, and this time, he did lower his voice to a modulated whisper. “Her father was into any number of things, but I can tell you that little girl isn’t. I may have retired going on ten years now, but I keep my ear to the ground. Watch my investments. She’s taking that company public and a whole lot of people are going to lose all the special interests they’ve cultivated over the years. Watch out for her.”

  “I will, sir.”

  The man stood and nodded. “Protect her. She needs it.”

  Quinn watched the man collect his wife and move them on toward their seats. He didn’t miss the small smile that ghosted the edges of Montana’s mouth.

  “You like them, don’t you?”

  “I do.” Montana took her seat and he did the same. Their table was still empty, although he presumed it would be filled at the last minute by the governor and his security detail. “They’ve clearly got a special love. A lifetime of stories, just between the two of them.”