by Addison Fox
“Okay. I get it, but play it out for me. What if this is the work of an immortal? I realize no one’s seen that shit in millennia, but…”
“One of us would have known. Ajax has been gone for a year now. Who else is there?” Kane’s eyes briefly jerked toward Brody as he mentioned the Leo’s brother, executed by Enyo the year prior when he’d apparently grown greedy and outlived his usefulness to the goddess of war.
If Quinn wasn’t mistaken, Brody’s blue gaze dulled and his usually smiling mouth formed a straight line, but that was all the reaction he gave to the mention of his brother by birth.
“There’ve been other defections over the years. Ajax wasn’t the only one.” Quinn thought of all the Warriors over the years who were no longer under Themis’s command. Several had been lured away by the power their physical strength and immortal bodies offered. A few had simply decided their life in service to selfish humans just wasn’t worth it. And still others had been killed in the course of battle.
They were immortal in a basic sense, but all of them knew decapitation would be the end of their existence.
Even Themis couldn’t fix that immutable law.
“You keep up with them, don’t you?” Drake probed.
“In a sense.” Quinn thought about what he did know. “I have files on all of them, but for the ones who don’t want to be found my files are woefully thin.”
“Okay. Let’s look at this from a different angle.” Grey settled himself on the couch after pacing the room several times over. “What exactly happened to Montana in the park?”
Quinn took them through the events up until they were all together again.
“These are the spikes?” Grey pointed to the small metal bowl still sitting next to the couch.
“Yep.” Quinn nodded, the image of those spikes being pulled from Montana’s skin sending a renewed wave of anger rushing through him. Pulse pounding, he pointed toward the bowl Grey had picked up. “Thirteen fucking spikes. If there was any single thing that made me think it was one of us, it’s the number.”
“Too coincidental?” Brody asked.
“Fucking-A.” Quinn nodded. “It’s just too neat for my taste.”
“It’s also a clue,” Drake added. “And where there’s one, there’ll be more.”
“Fuck.” Grey let out an exhale of breath in clear agreement with the assessment as he lifted a piece of metal from the bowl.
They all turned to look at their Aries, but not before Quinn realized what he was doing. “Are you out of your mind? Those were embedded in her skin. What the hell are you touching them for?”
There was no easy retort, no smart-ass remark, not even a cocky grin. Grey held up one of the larger pieces, holding it gingerly between the tips of his fingers. “Did you and Callie look at these when she was removing them?”
“No.” Quinn shook his head. “The only goal was to get them out.”
“Well, take a look at this.” Grey held his hand out.
Quinn took the piece—one of the longest fragments Callie had removed. As he flipped it over, he immediately saw what Grey saw.
“Holy shit.”
Mind whirling, Quinn didn’t know what to make of the proof he held in his hands. Even though the slice of metal had broken clean from its counterparts, it still clearly held a good portion of the symbol it was imprinted with.
“Here. Give me the rest of them.” Quinn laid them on top of the table, grateful Callie had inadvertently left behind a package of gauze. As he put the pieces together like a puzzle, awareness pricked his nerve endings with increasing intensity.
Then once he placed the last piece on top of the gauze, those fingers of awareness gripped him at the base of his neck and wouldn’t let go.
In bold script, carved into the reassembled pieces of hard steel, was the ancient symbol of the bull. A round circle with two horns that speared off of it, the symbolism unmistakable.
Quinn had seen it for thousands of years.
He wore a matched symbol on his forearm.
“Does this hurt?”
“No. Honest.” Montana felt Callie probing around her back and inwardly marveled at the fact that the immense pain she’d felt not long ago had vanished as if it had never been.
“And you’re not an immortal?” Ava asked her for what felt like the twenty-fifth time.
Despite the repeated badgering, Montana couldn’t help but like the small woman who fluttered around like a mother hen. “To the best of my knowledge, no. How could I be something I’m having a hard time believing in?”
“But all the evidence points to you being one, if the way you just healed is any indication,” Ilsa interjected. Turning toward Ava, she quickly explained the last hour and what had unfolded down in the library.
Montana listened but didn’t say anything. She was torn between continued shock at the marvels of her own body, puzzled confusion as to why this had suddenly happened and a surprisingly easy sense of comfort with these women.
Truth be told, she genuinely liked Ava, Ilsa and Callie and she’d only been in their company for an hour.
Of course, she’d spent that hour practically naked and suffering from some magically disappearing wound, so Montana figured that had to do something on the bonding-o-meter.
But what the hell did she know?
Her best friend was her gay male secretary, her mother had abandoned her, her father had abandoned her emotionally and she’d spent her life surrounded by people paid to do her bidding. She wasn’t exactly an expert in the friend department.
“I want to look in some of the scrolls downstairs,” Callie announced, her abrupt change in direction jarring Montana from her thoughts. “Ilsa, I need your help. You’re better versed in any loopholes.”
Ilsa gave a wry grin. “I am a loophole, sister.”
“My point exactly.”
The two women bustled out of the room and Montana was surprised to realize their discussion of scrolls and mystical loopholes hadn’t actually fazed her.
“It’s sort of like falling down the rabbit hole, isn’t it?” Ava took a seat next to her in the spare bedroom Callie and Ilsa had originally fashioned as a makeshift triage ward. A pile of bandages sat on one of the end tables and the nasty-smelling poultice Callie had made sat next to it in the Tupperware bowl.
It was the Tupperware that did it.
A crazy giggle bubbled up from the depths of her throat and Montana pointed at the end table. “I had no idea…immortals went to…to…to Tupp…Tupperware parties.”
The laughter kept coming and she had no way of holding it back. “How do you get people to keep coming to them?”
“What?” Montana didn’t miss the bemused expression in Ava’s kind, brown gaze.
“The whole pay it forward thing. I have a house party and invite six of my friends.” The giggles kept coming, but they were slowly subsiding into half laughs mixed with hiccups. “And then those friends have a party and invite six friends. If you’re immortal, how do you get new blood?”
The word blood sent her into another fit of hysterics. “Or do the vampires keep making new women to hostess for you?”
Ava patted her arm and Montana felt her settle herself on the bed. “Despite the weirdness happening all around us, I’ve yet to see or meet—or even hear of, come to think of it—any vampires. And it’s At-Home-Chef, not Tupperware. And finally, I’m afraid to say, it’s my contribution to the household and the result of being roped into several of those parties you just referred to. Although,” Ava added thoughtfully, “the witches who live next door are lovely and I suspect they’d hostess a party if we asked them to.”
Montana heard the kindness underneath the nonsense and felt her throat tighten on a wave of tears. “Wi-witches?”
“Yes.” Ava hesitated a beat, allowing that little tidbit to sink in.
“Wow.”
“It’s okay, Montana. I know it’s overwhelming.” Ava reached forward and pulled her close, and Montana was surpri
sed by the strength in her small form. “It’s a lot to take in. Not all that long ago, I was in the same boat. There’s just no preparing for it.”
“Two days ago I was just me.”
“You’re still you. Just enhanced.”
Montana pulled back on a real laugh—not a shred of the hysterical anywhere in sight. “Enhanced. I like that.”
“We’re going to get to the bottom of this, too. Quinn’s an amazing Warrior and he’s stubborn and persistent. He’ll find out what’s going on and we’ll all help you.”
A few more tears seeped out the edges of her eyes as Ava’s innate kindness penetrated the haze of panic and disbelief that she’d worn along with the blanket. With a small sigh, Montana remembered an earlier question. “They’re sisters? Callie and Ilsa?”
Ava nodded and smiled. “A recent discovery.”
“They haven’t known each other that long?”
“That’s putting it mildly. Oh goodness, where do I begin?” Her eyes alighting with a sudden twinkle, Ava added, “Since you’re one of the world’s most powerful businesswomen, I’ll give you the executive summary.”
Montana couldn’t help another laugh from bubbling up. “A dubious distinction at best.”
“Hardly,” Ava snorted. “But I’ll keep it brief anyway. Ilsa is the nymph who was selected to raise Zeus on Mount Ida.”
“Excuse me?” Whatever fantastical things her mother might have told her, nothing could have prepared Montana for this. “She’s what?”
Ava waved a hand. “I know, I know. It’s too wild to believe. But it gets even better.”
“Better?” Montana wanted to panic. It was the most logical thing to do and her conscience kept questioning why she wasn’t running for the door as fast as her feet would carry her.
But even as the urge to flee flitted around the edges of her thoughts, she couldn’t shake that immutable sense of reality that threaded through everything happening to her.
Her mother’s mysterious arrival and disappearances, despite the time and money she’d invested over the years to find her, disappointed time and again when nothing produced leads.
Quinn’s appearance and almost preternatural ability to sense danger, especially danger directed at her.
And then there was that one other fact. The one she couldn’t deny, no matter how many times she thought it wasn’t even remotely believable. One hour ago she had thirteen spikes sticking out of her back and now she was fully healed.
And talking about Greek gods and goddesses.
And discovering an odd sort of resonance in the information these newfound friends were trying to explain to her.
“It gets better than that?”
“After Zeus put a curse on her, she was rescued by Hades and became his errand girl—in a good way—and delivered souls to the Underworld. Then one of those souls punched a hole in hers and escaped.”
“Her soul?”
“I think.” Ava paused. “We’ll have to ask Ilsa the specifics.”
“Wow.”
Ava nodded. “Wow doesn’t even begin to describe it. Has Quinn showed you his tattoo yet?”
“No.” Montana felt the blush creep up her neck and knew her pale skin gave her away. “Um. No.”
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He will.”
Shock replaced the embarrassment that was insistently moving toward her cheeks. “Ava!”
All she got in return was an angelic smile before Ava leaned in closer. “So tell me a bit about yourself. I’ve read about you in the society columns. Is it true you dated Orlando Bloom?”
Montana rolled her eyes, the change of topic so ludicrous it was comforting.
Oddly so.
“No, I’ve never dated Orlando Bloom. I haven’t even met him, truth be told. Apparently we were both at some resort one weekend, which in tabloid land means we snuck there under separate reservations to rendezvous for a seventy-two-hour fuck fest.”
“Fuck fest?” Ilsa screamed from the doorway. “Where, and can I get in?”
“This is what happens when you expose a Scorpio to a virgin,” Callie muttered, following her sister into the room.
“Hey,” Ilsa complained as she crawled onto the bed. “I’m a fast learner and I’m making up for lost time. And have you looked at the man’s abs? Can you blame me?”
“Which one is yours?” Montana asked, then realized what she’d inadvertently implied. “Was that nearly as objectifying as it sounded?”
“Oh, honey, it’s a favorite pastime around here.” Ava patted her knee. “And I mean that in the most nonchauvinistic way possible.”
Ilsa’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head. “The incredibly yummy, tall, rangy, broody one with short dark hair is mine.” She giggled on the last word, then flopped her slender form along the edge of the bed. “Mine, mine, mine! I just never get tired of saying that. And if it’s rude and objectifying, well…I’ve yet to feel all that bad about it.”
Montana mentally whirled through images of the men she’d semi-met and couldn’t quite come up with which Ilsa referred to. “There are two that fit that description. Is your…husband?”—Ilsa nodded, her smile growing even broader, if that were possible—“Bond Street or the other one dressed like a male model?”
All three women chimed in unison, “Bond Street.”
“That explains the British accent.” Montana thought about what else she knew. “He’s the Scorpio?”
“Yes.”
Montana turned toward Ava. “What about your husband?”
“The long mane of blond hair and enough pride to take down a small village.” Ava smiled. “I’ll give you one guess.”
Montana couldn’t help but smile. “The Leo?”
“Oh yes.”
Then she turned toward Callie, getting into the spirit of things. “What about your husband? Which one is yours?”
Callie’s smile never wavered, but Montana saw it immediately. Her brown eyes went hard as stone and the curve of her lips took on a patently false arc. “Let’s just say the player to be named later is taking his sweet time.”
Quinn ported across the room to stand in the light of the late-day sun, he was so impatient to read the markings on the largest shard of silver in his hand. He turned it over again, but his first instinct was one hundred percent accurate.
The silver pieces held the mark of the Taurus.
“It’s definitely one of us.” His gut clenched as the words escaped his lips.
“Do you know all the other bulls, Quinn?” Grey moved up beside him, the metal bowl still in his hands. With gentle fingers, he continued to poke at the various pieces, searching for any other markings. “Do you have any sense of who it is?”
Quinn’s mind whirled with the possibilities. A fallen Taurus? Another fallen Warrior trying to set him up? Enyo trying to set him up? The scenarios were endless.
“That’s one possibility but not all of them. Whoever’s following Montana knows I’m following her, too. Protecting her. This could as easily be a setup as a calling card.”
“How’d you get involved with her again?” Kane had moved into the arc of Warriors surrounding Quinn at the window and for the briefest of moments, Quinn felt the easy camaraderie they’d once had.
Before.
Before he’d fucked it up with his lack of loyalty and stubborn insistence on being right.
He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve the support. Didn’t deserve the ready willingness of his Warrior brothers to help him.
The urge to turn away was strong, until an image of Montana lying on the couch, her skin mottled and broken with the effects of the attack, reared up to choke him. He couldn’t do this without the help of his brothers. Couldn’t protect her if he did it alone.
So he tamped down on the urge to move away and shared his thoughts. “She popped up on a routine screen. I narrowed in on her quadrant and slowly put together it was her.”
Grey smacked him on the head. “In plain Engli
sh, Your Geekiness.”
Quinn sighed, thinking of how best to explain it and finally settled on the same basic explanation he gave Montana. “I’ve written several programs that monitor for abnormalities on all the feeds I pull all over the globe.”
At the matched blank stares from his brothers, Quinn added, “Too much electricity, abnormal power surges where there shouldn’t be any reason for them, concentration of immortal activity.”
“You can track that?” Drake’s question was a sharp reminder his brothers really had no fucking idea what he did most days.
“Yeah. Everything gives off a life force and immortals’ are stronger than humans. It’s easy enough to track with recording devices. Sort of like a Geiger counter for immortals.”
Drake nodded. “Cool.”
“Grey’s club is full of them so I usually calibrate my tools in Equinox when I need to get a reading.”
At the Ram’s head shake, Quinn finished up. “Look. All you need to know is that I have my computers rigged to tell me when some heavy shit’s going to go down. Or where it looks like some heavy shit’s going to go down.”
Kane added, “And what you’re saying is some serious electronic noise broke over Montana.”
Quinn smiled, pleased to see he might be getting through. “On several fronts. Security activity has gotten weird around her apartment building and around her office building. A ton of news stories all hit on her, taking her company public and also ending this weird pirate attack off the coast of Africa.”
Kane whistled long and low, his MI6 training kicking into high gear. “She’s the one who did that? She’s the Grant Shipping heiress who’s now running the place?”
“Yep.”
“Oh, man, some serious shit is absolutely going down there,” Kane continued. “Grant Shipping’s been on MI6’s radar for years. No definitive proof, but they’re into all sorts of stuff. Her old man died about six months ago.”
Quinn held up a hand. “Your turn to streamline it. I know you love the James Bond routine, but give me the high points.”
“Grant Shipping runs weapons, smuggles diamonds and has even been known to deal in the slave trade. Despite all this oh-so-upstanding activity, their books are so squeaky clean they make a convent of nuns look dirty.”