The man didn't stir as she settled, her back to him. She curled one arm to support her head, shivers wracking her body as she willed herself to relax. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her other arm around her waist in an attempt to keep warm. Exhaustion crept in and her last thought was she hoped she didn't bleed on his sleeping bag.
The sunlight woke him.
Quinn blinked. For a moment, he couldn't figure out why he was sleeping in the back of his Rover. Then the events of the night before slammed into his skull. He closed his eyes again.
He'd betrayed his mother.
She betrayed you long before.
He opened his eyes. Allowing her to kill an innocent went against everything he believed in. The Wiccan Rede, "An it harm none, do what thou wilt," was more than an ancient belief. He strove to live the rule every day of his life. After one costly slip in his teenage years, it was the one lesson he'd never forgotten. If that included stopping his mother by subverting her plans, so mote it be.
He tried to sit up, but a peculiar weight on his right side halted him. A warm, very female body was snuggled against him. He turned his head and caught sight of brilliant red hair. Her long braid lay across his chest, thick and heavy. The morning sun made the color almost blinding, even through the tinted windows. He imagined what it must look like loosened.
Most of her face was obscured by the sleeping bag, but he could see the firm line of her jaw, discolored by a small purple bruise.
He clenched his teeth as annoyance lanced through him. No one should've hit her, certainly not one of the minions.
His guest stirred, drawing his attention to the firm body molded against his. The bulky sleeping bag hid the rest of her from his view, but he certainly felt every delectable inch. Lust stirred as her leg shifted higher, nudging him, bringing the heat of her feminine warmth directly in contact with his thigh.
A soft groan escaped her and a rush of awareness raced to his groin. She stirred again, her palm flattening over his heart, her limbs heavy against him. He wrapped his fingers around her errant braid in disbelief. He thought he'd evolved past the point in his life when baser instincts ruled his nature.
The minions had kidnapped her from Sinjin's home. Was she his lover? What was the nature of her relationship to the vampire?
She shifted, her small, firm breasts pressing into his side as the scent of summer heather and warm female swirled around him, making him dizzy with its potency. He closed his eyes as his cock lunged for freedom and the warm flesh of the woman beside him.
It appeared he was wrong about his true nature.
Gently, he untangled himself and sat up. Wrenching the hatch open, he climbed out into the crisp, morning air. He loved the morning, it was his favorite time of day. The air was fresh, the day was young and it was a new beginning all over again.
He turned in time to see his passenger roll into the spot of warmth he'd just vacated. She wiggled her hips before settling down once more. He stifled a groan as he shut the door. They had a long road ahead of them, and by sunset, they would be at Sinjin's.
He glanced at the morning erection tenting his trousers. It was going to be the longest drive of his life.
Maeve shivered as she exited the Rover. Dressed once more in her black pants, still damp from yesterday's adventure, and an athletic bra, she leaned against the tailgate to pull on her knee-high boots. She couldn't remember the last time she'd camped in the wilderness-not that there'd be smoky eggs and burnt bacon for breakfast today or a twin sister to chase around the campfire.
A wistful sigh escaped her as she retrieved her knife and tattered shirt. There were times she missed her sister like a severed limb. Her twin, the one person who'd understood her without reserve, was dead. Even now, eleven years later, it was a tough pill to swallow.
Eternity had never looked so lonely.
Tossing the shirt over her shoulder, she shut the hatch. Lonely or not, she had work to do and that included finding her erstwhile traveling companion.
After taking care of her most pressing needs, the sound of running water drew her attention. Following it, she walked down a small hill, through a thicket of trees. Without warning, the trees gave way to a rocky shoreline and a broad river.
On the opposite shore, the trees grew thick and impenetrable within a few feet of the river. The water was a swift, crystal blue torrent, and the roar was loud in her ears. Delighted, she took a deep breath and exhaled with gusto. The stark beauty of this spot on the river tugged her soul. When was the last time she'd left behind the trappings of civilization in favor of roughing it?
Tilting her head back, she spied a large bird overhead. It hung on a current, wings outstretched, hovering as if suspended by wire. What did that kind of freedom feel like?
Her gaze dropped to the water. She caught a glimpse of several fish in the depths of a still pool near the shore. The flash of silver scales caught the sun as they moved about beneath the surface. She loved the water. How easy it would be to step in and just let go.
She took a step toward the pool, then a movement caught her attention. Balanced on the trunk of a massive fallen tree stood her companion.
He'd shed his shirt and stood facing the morning sun, arms straight out from his shoulders, palms up with his head tilted back. Impervious to the chill, he looked completely at ease in his surroundings. The sun bleached his hair to white fire and gilded his bronzed physique. Loose-fitting black pants rode low on his hips, molding to his long limbs as a breeze tugged at them.
Her mouth watered as a wash of desire streaked through her. He wasn't built like a weight lifter, all muscles and no neck, but he was solid-looking, strong. His shoulders were broad, his stomach flat and it rippled as he swayed with the breeze. It was obvious he took good care of himself; it showed in every inch of him. She licked her lips. He was possibly the handsomest man she'd ever seen.
That's what you'd thought about him too.
A wash of cold realization doused her, tearing her gaze from the man on the tree. One mistake was enough. Her lack of judgment had cost her sister her life. Never again would a beautiful face and handsome body fool her. He was dangerous to her sense of self-preservation. Maybe it would be better if she struck out on her own to find civilization.
A raucous cry overhead drew her attention. Several feet over the man's head flew several birds of differing sizes. They swooped and played, calling as if beckoning the man to join in their antics. A large black bird hung in the center, a raven perhaps-its beady eyes fixed on her.
Startled, she jerked backward, her boots stuttering over the rocks before catching on a gnarled root. Maeve stifled a squeak as she lost her balance.
Quinn spun as he heard the rattle of stones underfoot. He caught sight of his companion, her arms flailing in the air before landing almost silently on her backside. He leapt off the tree to a smaller rock, then jumped to shore, wincing as a sharp stone dug into his bare foot. Keeping to the larger rocks, he hop scotched to the fallen woman.
"Are you okay?"
She scrambled to her feet before he could reach her. In the bright sunlight, her braid was the color of flame and her eyes were a startling shade of green. Brilliant as the greenest meadow in Ireland and filled with distrust, they ensnared him.
Ye goddess, but she was lovely. Soft brows arched over those mesmerizing eyes. Her nose was pert with a slight tilt at the end hinting at impudence. With the pale skin of a true redhead, a few freckles were scattered across the bridge of her nose and her lips were full and damp. The only mar to her lovely face was the bruising on her jaw, which stuck out in dark hues of purple and blue.
She was a sight to behold, even if she was oddly dressed. She wore a tight black athletic bra that smashed her breasts almost flat. No wonder she'd felt so hard against him. A professional bodybuilder would have to work to attain her physique.
Tight black leggings clung to long legs, outlining slim hips and muscular thighs. Knee-high suede boots covered her feet and calves. Her stoma
ch was perfectly flat and her arms corded with muscles. From her capable-looking fingers dangled her shirt.
Normally, he preferred his women to be small, if not delicate. There was nothing delicate about this Amazon standing before him. Lust reawakened in his body and he shifted. Maybe he should try reiterating his tastes to his body. It seemed one part of him wasn't paying attention.
"Like what you see?"
Quinn jerked his gaze from her washboard stomach to her hostile eyes. "I was just thinking you must work out a lot."
Her gaze narrowed and he had the sneaking suspicion she knew he was lying. Muttering something uncomplimentary under her breath, she stalked past him, allowing him a glimpse of her back. What he saw shocked him.
From the nape of her neck to the top of her pants was a mehndi tattoo done in henna. The three phases of maiden, mother and crone were depicted in the face of the moon. Her bra straps and swaying braid obscured the design, but he could tell the skill of the artist even from here. Just above the waist of her pants were runic symbols, but he couldn't read them as she was moving too rapidly.
The deep russet of the henna tattoo, exotic against her pale skin, was also one hell of a turn on.
No doubt about it, he was in trouble.
As she turned, he caught sight of the gash on her shoulder. Dried blood had run down her shoulder blade, halting at her bra. Red and irritated, the wound looked incredibly painful.
"You're hurt."
She dropped into a crouch by the river. Cupping her hands, she flung handfuls of icy water on her face. "I'll live," she replied between splashes.
Ignoring the pain from the small rocks digging into his feet, he stalked to where his bag and discarded clothing lay. "We need to get that cleaned."
She paused in her hasty ablutions. "I said I'll live," she snapped.
Quinn pulled on his moccasins and reached into the bag for a clean T-shirt, then moved to dangle the shirt within her range of vision. She looked up at him, protest on her lips.
"Humor me," he spoke quietly.
After a moment, she accepted his offering with a slight nod of thanks. She dried her face on the shirt, then rose to her full height and met his gaze, her shoulders back, head held high. "Thank you."
She was a prickly thing.
"You're welcome." He nodded at a low, flat boulder nearby. "Why don't you sit there and I'll attend your shoulder?"
"Before you start, I want to ask you something."
Quinn retrieved his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Sure."
"What's your name?"
He couldn't help but smile. "I guess we did this backward." He held out his hand. "Quinn Montgomery, at your service."
She hesitated before taking his hand. An electric jolt of awareness raced up his arm and expanded through his body. For a split second, his skin felt as if it were on fire. There was heat in this woman; heat the likes of which he'd never experienced before. He saw the awareness in her eyes when she dropped his hand as if she'd been scalded.
"Maeve, Maeve Leigh," her voice was shaky.
She turned away, almost running in her haste to put distance between them. She climbed onto the boulder and drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them.
He followed and dropped the bag on the rock behind her. Pawing through the contents, he located his small first aid kit.
She was watching him. "Were you are a Boy Scout?"
A snort of laughter escaped him as he opened the box. "Hardly."
"Well, you certainly seem to be prepared." Her tone was dry.
"It usually pays to plan ahead."
"Isn't that the-" Her breath hissed between clenched teeth as he inspected the wound.
"Sorry. This is going to hurt." He paused. "You might need to remove your bra so that I can clean this better."
She rotated her shoulder then winced as the movement tugged her wound. "There's no way I can get this over my head. It'll have to be cut it off."
He looked through the first aid kit again. "All I have is a small pair of bandage scissors. I'll have to go back to the truck-"
"Don't bother." She reached into her right boot and withdrew a knife. With a practiced motion, she slit the straps of her bra and shoved them out of the way, then slit the stretchy fabric between her breasts. The fabric snapped away from her body as she crossed her arms over her bare chest, shielding herself from his gaze.
He turned away, but not before a tantalizing glimpse of a half-naked Maeve was burned into his mind. As she'd cut the bra in front, he'd gotten a peek at the full mounds of her breasts. She was larger than he'd suspected. Who knew she'd whip her bra off like that? The least she could've done was warn him. Mentally chastising himself, he turned his attention to her wound.
The gash wasn't deep - it extended from the top of her shoulder about three inches down her back. It should've been stitched sooner, but it was too late now. The risk of infection was too great to chance it. He reached for the alcohol.
"Are you really Mortianna's son?"
He was used to the question, but it still annoyed him every time he heard it. Mortianna had never publicly claimed her son as she had her daughter. Bliss had been the desired child, while he wasn't. Even now, it still rankled.
"You heard her say it, didn't you?"
Maeve nodded. "I'd never heard she had a son."
"Not many have," he muttered.
He tried to ignore her tempting bare skin as he applied himself to her wound. The morning sunlight caught the fire in her hair, distracting him as he used the rubbing alcohol to cleanse the damage. As he dabbed the liquid on the deeper end of the cut, she trembled beneath his hand. He couldn't tell if it was due to discomfort or the chilly air. Even though it was unseasonably warm, it couldn't have been much over fifty degrees.
"Are you a witch, then?"
"Yes." Efficiently, he tore open the wrapping on a four by four and applied it to the cut.
"How does a witch go about learning spells?"
Her tone was curious, but there was something else there. Inwardly, he groaned. She was probably like the others who flocked to him once they found out about his talents. Invariably, they were in pursuit of a spell to guarantee happiness and wealth in their lives.
"We're taught by our parents."
"What if they don't tell you everything?"
He opted to ignore the question and added the last strip of tape to hold the pad in place. "There you go, all better."
She turned to watch him, her gaze direct. "What if your parents didn't teach you a spell you needed? What would you do? Where could you get it?"
Anger bubbled. Whenever people found out who his parents were, it was the same old story. They always wanted something from him, usually a spell or his name in marriage. Some women thought that being married to him would entitle them to a life of leisure including a multitude of spells to take care of pesky details such as housework and money. Little did they know he wasn't much of a bargain. He'd make a terrible husband.
He leaned forward until their noses were mere inches apart. "Look. Witchcraft isn't about a spell to clean your house or make someone fall in love with you. It's a way of life and it's sacred. I won't give you a spell to make you rich, nor give you a spell of immortality. Both are an abomination."
She blinked, her expression turned wary. "Immortality is an abomination?" Her voice was low.
Now he knew what she wanted, the immortality spell. "Yes. Some of us are born immortal while vampires or witchcraft can make others that way. Unless it's a Goddess-given gift, it's an abomination to Her."
She straightened and scooted off the stone, forcing him to back up. Her back was rigid and her arms still crossed over her chest. "Thanks for your help and invaluable insight." Sarcasm dripped from every word as she turned and struggled awkwardly into her shirt.
"You should have told me about your injury last night. Waiting will cause it to scar even worse."
"No, it won't." She turned to face him, her expression d
efiant. "I'm an immortal, created by a vampire. Or, in your words, an abomination."
* * *
Chapter 4
Cynicism poured hot and heavy through her veins as she stomped through the woods toward the Rover. He was just like the rest of them.
After the death of Reb, her family, not knowing what had changed their remaining daughter, had turned away from her. All too well, she remembered her mother's cries for justice and her unspoken condemnation of her remaining child. Maeve should've protected her sister. Reb had been well known for getting into one scrape after another, forcing Maeve to run to her rescue.
Until the last time.
How could she have told her parents that an elder vampire had killed Rebecca, and she, the remaining twin, had been made an immortal? Even attempting to tell them would've earned her a one-way ticket to the funny farm. Not only did it sound completely insane, what average, everyday person could comprehend such a thing?
None.
Now Maeve had no contact with her family. They'd abandoned her, content to mourn both of their daughters rather than face the one who'd lived. With their silent questions unanswered, she'd decided long ago that her presence hurt her family more than helped. She was a reminder of the nightmare that their lives had become.
When it came to nightmares, she could write a book.
Reaching the clearing, she snatched open the door and grabbed Quinn's sweater off the seat. Shivering, she tugged it over her shirt, ignoring the pull of the bandage and her wound.
She liked being alone. No one to report to, pick up after or cook for. Her time was her own, her money was her own and, best of all, no one was going to impede her goal of killing her sister's murderer. Her thirst for revenge was what sustained her, not her family.
The crunch of dry underbrush announced Quinn's arrival. Fully clothed, he stopped a few feet away, his bag dangling from his fingertips.
"We need to get on the road." She refused to meet his gaze as she tugged the warm wool down around her hips.
Wilder, J. C. - Shadow Dweller 4 Page 4