Warrior Betrayed: The Sons of the Zodiac 3

by Addison Fox

  He might be more comfortable with his computer programs and his constantly buzzing BlackBerry, but even Quinn saw the wistful longing in her face. “It’s a rare thing.”

  “That it is.”

  “But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

  “Oh yeah? That sounds surprisingly romantic, Quinn.” The thoughtful smile morphed into something much bigger. “The women shared quite a few details about the men of the house with me earlier. But they were suspiciously silent about you. What’s your story? Have you ever been in love?”

  “No.”

  The word seemed to hover between them. He saw Montana’s thoughtful gaze and the extra few beats of silence before she continued. “Ava said you’re the strong, decisive, silent type.”

  “She also calls me an ass hat on a regular basis. Or so I hear.”

  Montana giggled as she reached for her water glass. “You heard correct.”

  “I knew it!”

  “She actually says it with a high degree of affection.”

  “I’ll just bet she does.”

  “No. Really.” Quinn couldn’t help but be captivated by the subtle blush that covered her features as her blue eyes shined with suppressed merriment. “Come on. Out with it. What do the other ones call me? I’m sure Ilsa has a few choice names.”

  “Callie called you a stubborn ass hat. And I think she might have used raging fuckwit once, too.”

  “Ah.” Quinn wanted to be angry, but for some reason, it just wouldn’t come. He loved each of those women—would lay down his life for any of them—and he knew he was an object of ridicule for his endless list of rules and overt management of every situation that came up.

  “But Ilsa didn’t call you anything.”

  “She probably didn’t want to use such shocking profanity in your presence.”

  Montana cocked her head and stared at him and Quinn felt a sudden sense of unease skitter under his skin. He rarely felt vulnerable or exposed, the combination of his willful attitude and sheer physical strength ensuring vulnerability didn’t ride high on his list of emotions.

  “No, she just calls you Quinn. With a great deal of respect, I might add.”

  In that moment, under the watchful gaze of Montana Grant, Quinn felt as naked and vulnerable as the day he was born.

  Arturo ported himself into Montana Grant’s penthouse, his gaze scanning the long hallway that ran through the inner portion of the apartment. He sensed the low-level hum of humanity as he oriented himself inside her home. The penthouse took up the entire floor of the building and had to be at least eight thousand square feet.

  Arturo felt the pride rumble through his chest as he thought of his own homes, scattered throughout the world. Penthouses in Rio, Rome and Hong Kong. A villa in the South of France. A beachfront mansion in Malibu.

  Moving down the hallway, he focused on the various rooms, glancing into each as he passed. A small study. A formal living room. An entry into the large kitchen that ran along one side of the apartment, windows all along the length of the far wall. One of the people he’d sensed upon his arrival—a housekeeper—stood with her back to him as she stirred something over the stove, humming to herself.

  As he continued to walk, Arturo focused on the only door in the hallway with a closed door.

  That had to be it.

  Montana’s home office.

  He tried the handle and wasn’t surprised to find it locked. The thumb pad next to the door added a further clue that some serious security barred whatever was inside. Although he didn’t have a visual of the office to complete the port, he didn’t worry about getting in. The little trick he’d figured out centuries before had served him well over the years.

  Standing before the door, he started into the port. The heavy drag of gravity that took hold just prior to weightlessness was the moment he waited for.

  The moment of transition where the real power was to be found.

  With a focus that had become as second nature as breathing, Arturo held himself at that exact moment, rendering his physical form invisible, but holding himself in this time, in this place. Once he had his body in a sort of stasis midway through the teleportation, he moved forward, stepping through the closed door.

  Instantaneously, his body reassembled, the door at his back. As Arturo looked around, he confirmed his instincts were correct.

  Montana’s office was behind the locked door.

  “I can’t believe nothing happened.” Even as the words left her lips, Montana knew how stupid they sounded. It wasn’t as if she wanted to be attacked in public.

  “He’s toying with us,” Quinn muttered, his lips a harsh slash across his face.

  “Do you think so? I was sort of hoping he just went away.”

  Quinn stopped in the lobby of the Waldorf and pulled her aside, her back to the wall and his back to the crowd. In her heels, she could see over his shoulder. Brody, Kane and Drake were fanned out in the lobby and she knew Grey had gone on ahead of them all and waited outside the hotel.

  “Montana. I don’t want to scare you, but you need to understand this problem isn’t just going to go away. We have to take care of it for that to happen.”

  She knew it. Deep inside, in the places where she allowed only raw truth, she knew.

  It was the place she kept the thoughts of her parents. It was the place she worried about never being loved for who she was. It was also the place she now kept the acknowledgment that things were happening outside her control…like the idea that she had the healing powers of an immortal.

  “So you think tonight was only a game?”

  “Yes, I do. Which means we need to figure out his next move.”

  “You’re sure it’s a man?”

  The ice-cold set of Quinn’s gaze grew even frostier, if that were possible. “No.”

  “You think a woman’s doing this?”

  “Enyo, the goddess of war, is my sworn enemy. It’s highly possible—and very probable—she’s involved.”

  “But this isn’t about you. It’s about me. Someone’s targeted me. Why would this woman target me?”

  “She’s a goddess. Remember that.”

  “Fine. Goddess.” The hard-won sense of calm that had descended as the interminable dinner stretched on and on evaporated as if it had never been. “What the hell does she want with me?”

  “It’s a theory I’m working on. It may be her—it may not. Either way, she’s a wild card I can’t afford to ignore.”

  Again, the sense of unreality dragged at her. “This just gets worse by the hour.”

  “Come on. Let’s get you home so you can get settled in for the night.”

  Quinn’s words painted an immediate picture in her mind of snuggling down in her bed in her warmest, softest pair of pajamas. “The comforts of home and my own bed.”

  His eyes flashed from cold and hard to a warm, molten chocolate at the mention of her bed and suddenly, the thought of warm cotton pajamas held no interest.

  None at all.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Arturo settled himself on the soft, overstuffed couch on the side of the room. He’d toyed with settling into the large leather chair behind Montana’s desk, but this would be more intimate.

  More suitable for what he had in mind.

  He flicked a glance at his watch and noted the time. It would only be a few more minutes. Montana’s little toady was nothing, if not punctual.

  To pass the time, his gaze continued cataloging the contents of the office.

  Neat rows of papers sat atop the desk.

  Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves ran along the wall opposite him, full of everything from college textbooks to paperbacks to any number of photos and knickknacks.

  The evidence of a life.

  All so fucking pointless.

  A noise from outside the hallway registered, like a reward for his ability to control his behavior. A light beep sounded and the door unlocked with a soft snick.

  Light expanded in the r
oom as the door opened. Arturo stretched his arms out so they spread across the back of the couch cushions.

  Master of all he surveyed.

  King of the castle.

  A fucking god among men.

  “Oh. Hello.”

  “Jackson.” Arturo allowed a slow, seductive grin to spread across his face as he unfolded his long, lithe body from the couch. He didn’t miss the flick of confusion that rode high on Jackson’s face, nor did he miss the appreciative glance that assessed the width of his chest.

  Moving forward, Arturo allowed his own gaze to travel the length of Jackson’s body in a seductive greeting. “It’s so lovely to see you again.”

  Quinn pulled himself back from Montana’s body by sheer force of will. Gods, what was wrong with him? He was standing in the lobby of the hotel, for fuck’s sake.

  In plain sight.

  With her protected by the width of his body and nothing more.

  He’d been attracted to women in the past—hell, a lot of women, if you added up the millennia of his life—and none of them did this to him.

  Made him forget who he was, where he was or what he was.

  This one slender woman managed to do all three while also wiping out any lick of sense he possessed at the same time.

  He was a Warrior of Themis and he had a job to do. And it involved protecting this woman who made him bat-shit crazy with need, lust and want.

  Pure, simple want.

  He wanted her. And it was supremely humbling for a man who had always known how to control his baser natures in favor of doing his job.

  “Come on. Let’s go. Drake just signaled me the limo is here.”

  In minutes, they were all piled in the car, Montana’s elegantly clad frame surrounded by five Warriors.

  So why weren’t the snapping jaws of awareness and unease quieting?

  Or stopping altogether.

  He glanced around at his Warrior brothers. Although none of them ever fully relaxed, he could see they’d gone off of high alert once everyone was settled in the moving automobile.

  They were highly trained in combat and had survived thousands of battles, both large and small, as a team.

  If his brothers weren’t concerned, why was he?

  “You do these often?” Brody was the first to speak, shooting his question toward Montana.

  “Events like this?” At Brody’s nod, she continued. “Sadly, yes, I do.”

  “Kane and Grey here”—Brody pointed to the men on either side of him—“live to wear tuxedos. I, on the other hand, prefer—”

  Kane cut him off before he could continue. “—to look like shit on day-old toast. He thinks he’s sexy, with his Indiana Jones wardrobe and two-day growth of beard. I say he just smells.”

  A series of “amen’s” went up around the car.

  Montana giggled and Quinn relaxed ever so slightly at the calming sound. If his brothers were good at anything, it was their ability to play off one another and lighten the mood.

  Spirits clearly lightened, Montana dived in with questions. “So tell me. I thought there were more than five of you. You’re tied to the zodiac, right? Twelve signs? Where is everyone else?”

  “Missions, mostly,” Grey filled her in. “And there are thirteen of us, not twelve. Gemini’s always a pair.”

  “Twins,” Montana added, in comprehension.

  “Exactly. Part of the strength of our signs is that they make us a diverse group. But as you’d imagine, that diversity doesn’t always make us the easiest bunch to get along with. Some of the guys prefer life outside the brownstone. Heck, life outside of New York, if you can imagine that.”

  “But you all help one another. Look out for one another.”

  Quinn felt the impact of Montana’s statement like an atomic bomb and he couldn’t stop his gaze from narrowing in on Kane. What he didn’t expect was the Scorp’s ready confirmation. “Yes, we do.”

  “Speaking of those missing in action lately,” Drake added, “I know Max has been obsessed with playing Mr. Corporate Executive, but he checked in earlier to see what’s on everyone’s radar. I told him about Montana’s situation and he said there’s huge interest in her taking the company public.”

  “With all the growth happening at Capricorn, I’m surprised he still has time for us.” Grey’s words held the sharp edge of disapproval and Quinn shot him a questioning stare.

  Were Grey and Max on the outs?

  Or was it something more? Something Grey heard in all the knowledge, gossip and overall information that traveled through his nightclub on a regular basis.

  Montana’s words interrupted his train of thought. “Max St. Claire? The head of Capricorn Communications?”

  “Yep.”

  “He’s an immortal Warrior?”

  “On his good days.” Brody’s eyes flashed again. “Personally, I think he really likes playing Mr. Corporate Executive.”

  “What he really likes is the Harvard degreed pus—” Quinn almost laughed out loud at Grey’s pained expression as he caught himself just in time. On a rough cough, the ram added, “He, um, really likes his job.”

  Quinn felt Montana’s shaking body next to him as she laughed in reaction to Grey’s testosterone-laden honesty. He smiled along with her, but it only expanded the puzzle, to Quinn’s mind.

  He’d just have to grill Grey on it later.

  Montana’s voice held a note of teasing as she aimed that glorious smile at Grey. “I’ll just bet he does. As a fellow corporate executive, I can confirm there is a lot of Harvard-degreed ass to be found if educated sex is what you’re after.”

  “Damn it, I am in the wrong business,” Grey muttered with a wicked smile of his own.

  Before Quinn could say anything, the rest of his brothers did it for him with an echoing series of “yeah, right’s.”

  Montana leaned over and placed her hand on his forearm, the light touch matching the amusement in her gaze. “You’re in tune with one another. It’s lovely.”

  “Lovely?”

  “In a very manly sort of way.”

  The crystal blue of her eyes, the long sweep of eyelashes and the subtle curve to her jaw captivated him and in that moment, without anything other than the basest of instincts to go on, Quinn knew he’d never be the same.

  Montana felt the answering tug of Quinn’s gaze and wondered how a human body could live through such roiling highs and lows. From the advancing disaster that seemed to be tied to her professional life to the dizzying changes in her personal life, none of it held a candle to Quinn Tanner.

  Large and overbearing. Forceful, yet gentle. And so freaking sexy the thought of simply ripping off her clothes and allowing him to have his way with her continued to build under her skin with the increasingly powerful beat of jungle drums.

  “Manly, you say?”

  “Yes. Lovely and man—”

  Whatever else she was about to say faded to nothingness as she flew forward through the air to sprawl across Brody, Kane and part of Grey.

  Drake and Quinn nearly followed her, but both managed to brace themselves far quicker than she could, her heels not allowing her feet to find purchase on the floor of the car to hold herself still.

  Before she could understand what was happening, Brody held her outright and muttered, “Neither of you are touching her. Go.”

  And then Kane and Grey simply disappeared.

  Evaporated.

  “Oh my—” Quinn pulled her back to the seat next to him, his body quivering with tense anticipation.

  What in the hell was going on here?

  And then Kane reappeared in the exact spot he’d been before and Montana couldn’t stop the startled scream from erupting in her throat.

  Abstractly, she heard Brody’s muttered, “I told you you should have said something.”

  “Driver’s gone,” Kane said, his face an unreadable mask as he gave his fellow Warriors the details. “Grey’s already headed into the park, but it’s Destroyers. The frame of the
car had a shitload of electricity stamped all over it. I defused it, but it was one helluva clear calling card.”

  “Tony? They got Tony?” She calmed the urge to scream again and forced herself to focus on the problem at hand. “And the park? Again?”

  “We’re on Fifth heading toward your apartment, so the park was the ready place for them to take him. We’ll find him, Montana,” Kane promised. Although his words were meant to be reassuring, she knew what he didn’t say. Whether they’d find Tony dead or alive, that was the real question.

  And then she felt Quinn’s arm wrap around her shoulders. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “Are you going to evaporate, too?”

  “Yes. I’m going to port.” His voice was solemn and she could see him searching for the right words. “It’s part of us, Montana. Like I told you before.”

  Montana fought to catch her breath. “But it’s real. Really real.” Absurdly real.

  “Yeah.” Quinn’s eyes remained steady on hers, almost as if he were willing her to believe in him with the sheer force of his gaze. “It’s real. And it’s part of you, too.”

  And then he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. Although quick, the kiss held passion and…reverence?

  Need.

  And promise.

  “I can’t leave you here, so I’m going to port you home and then come right back.”

  “Take me with you. Please.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “I can’t be in that house by myself. I can’t know that you’re here, fighting for me. Fighting for someone in my employment, and left me behind. Besides, you said it yourself. This is a part of me. I’ll heal. If anything happens, I’ll heal.”

  “I can’t take you along.”

  “You will take me along.”

  “Montana. You’re not trained. You can’t get in the middle of this. It’s your house or the brownstone, but you’d better decide quick, or I’ll decide for you.”

  “Fine. The brownstone. I’ll go knit by the fucking fireside with the other women.”