Chapter Thirteen
HER MOTHER WAS already seated on the faded settee and had already lit one of the cigarettes that would probably kill her someday. She blew out a stream of smoke. “Tell me, Eve. How do you live with what you’re doing?”
Eve paused in the archway, waving her hand against the cloud of smoke, thinking maybe she should open a window in the kitchen on the other side of the parlor. “What is it I’m doing, Mam?”
“Fucking the same bloodsuckers who killed your brother, that’s what.”
Eve wanted to respond, to use the same argument Quinn had used on her. That not all vampires were the same, that, just like humans, some were killers, some weren’t. Of course, Quinn was a killer, too. He was just more selective in whom he killed, which was mostly other vampires, though Eve was sure he’d killed a human or three in his time. But it didn’t matter, because, when it came to Brigid, the argument would have fallen on deaf ears. The only thing her mother wanted to hear, the only thing she cared about, was that the vampires who’d killed Alan were dead.
“One of them is dead,” Eve told her. “I killed him.” Her mother wasn’t likely to quibble over the details of who struck the final blow.
Her mam’s lips tightened into an unhappy line. “And the other?”
“I know who he is. I’ll get him soon.”
Brigid grunted wordlessly, took another drag on her cigarette, and looked away. Eve stared at her in sudden realization. Her mother hadn’t looked her in the eye once. Not even when she’d opened the door. It was almost as if she was hiding . . .
“Mam,” Eve asked in sudden urgency. “How did you know I was dating a vampire?”
“Is that what you call it? Dating?”
“Answer the question. How’d you know?”
Her mother took her time, drawing in another lungful of smoke and blowing it out, picking a piece of tobacco off her lip from the unfiltered cigs she preferred. “Two of the local boys came around. They saw you at the pub.”
Eve was feeling a little sick. “Local boys. Who were they?”
“They said he’d probably infect you. That I should call next time you came around. For my own protection.”
“Eve.” Mac’s voice was taut. “We should go.”
She nodded, but she already knew it was too late. Some instinct had her backing out of the small parlor, and into the hall where she’d have more room to maneuver. A heavy footstep sounded from the kitchen a moment before Cillian, her brother’s second killer, emerged from his hiding place. But he couldn’t have been there all along, because Mac would have sensed him. Which meant her mother had given him an invitation to use the back door, something she’d never let her own daughter do.
“Mam,” Eve breathed. “He’s a vampire. He killed Alan.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” her mother snapped. She was saying more, but Eve had stopped listening. She stared at the monster who’d kicked her brother to death, her head filled with conflicting advice, telling her what to do, how to kill him, how to escape.
“Out of the way, Eve.” Mac’s voice broke through the noise. He gripped her shoulder to pull her out of the way, but Cillian was faster, and so much stronger.
“You get out of the way,” Cillian growled, baring his fangs at Mac. “Fucking traitor.” He grabbed Eve’s left arm, twisting it behind her back until it hurt. “It’s the pretty human I want. She’ll be a handy bargaining chip for Sorley to use against Quinn. And when that’s done, she’ll have . . . other uses,” he said, almost a caricature of a leering villain as he stared down at her.
It was Quinn’s name that got her frozen brain functioning again. They wanted to use her against Quinn. Which meant the meeting he’d been called to with Sorley wasn’t a meeting at all. Sorley was going to challenge Quinn, but first he’d hobble him with threats against Eve’s life.
No. The word resonated in her head with crystal clarity. She didn’t know if Mac had enough power to do anything against Cillian. She didn’t know if Cillian had any power or if he was just a thuggish tool. What she did know was that he wasn’t paying any attention to her. She was just a human female, after all, only good for food and rape. His attention was all on Mac, who was staring at Cillian with death in his eyes and pink sweat rolling down his temples.
Cillian suddenly tightened his grip on her left arm, maybe in reaction to whatever Mac was doing. But Eve was right-handed. Her heart was tripping with fear, adrenaline singing in her veins. She reached into her jacket pocket and wrapped a hand around her Sig pistol, now loaded with its new 9mm Hydra-Shok ammo. The ammo Joshua Bell had told her would work. Hoping he was right, she sucked in a breath, pulled the gun out of her pocket, pressed it against Cillian’s left chest, and pulled the trigger. All in one motion—five shots, point blank, in rapid succession, saving two bullets, just to be safe.
She held her breath, still not sure . . . until Cillian dusted right before her eyes.
Somewhere in the background, she heard her mother scream once, and then nothing, but there was no time to investigate as a second vampire surged forward. She raised her weapon, but he moved faster than she could follow, grabbing her right arm and knocking it aside before she could fire. This was it, she thought, until a slender knife flew over her shoulder and into the vamp’s throat. The vampire roared and blood gushed as he instinctively raised a hand to staunch the flow. Eve pulled her aim back and fired her last two bullets, stepping up until the barrel of her gun was no more than two inches away from his burly chest. The vampire—she didn’t even know his name—gave her a startled look, and then he was gone, adding to the pile of dust in her mother’s hallway.
Eve stared at the place where the vampires had been, her entire body shaking with the after-effects of an adrenaline rush like she’d never had before. Not even when she’d faced off against her very first vampire. This was her mother’s house. The only place she’d ever called home. A place that was no longer hers.
“Eve.”
Mac voice shook her out of her stupor. She stared at him over her shoulder. “Nice knife throwing,” she said vaguely, hearing the tremulous quality of her own voice.
He touched her cheek. “We have to get back to Quinn,” he said, meeting her eyes. “He needs to know about this.”
Eve blinked. “Right.” She looked down at herself. She was covered in blood from the nameless vamp’s gusher, and wearing a fine coating of dust. “I need fresh clothes.”
“Change in the car, lass. There’s no time.”
“Right,” she said again. She shook herself, then turned to find her mother leaning against the parlor wall, looking pale, but otherwise uninjured as she stared daggers at Eve.
“You brought this into my home. You and that vampire you’re fucking.”
Eve met Brigid’s eyes and turned away. “Let’s go,” she told Mac. She didn’t bother saying good-bye to her mother. Whether or not she’d known the two “local” men were vampires didn’t matter. What mattered was that she’d set Eve up to be . . . what? Kidnapped for her own good? Her mother had trusted strangers instead of her own daughter.
She walked out, closing the door behind her in more ways than one. The two vampires who’d murdered her brother were dead. She’d fulfilled her promise to Alan, and to herself. She was done with the past. Now, she had to save her future.
SORLEY BARKED A laugh, staring in disbelief at Quinn’s challenge. “You think to challenge me? You? Raphael and his friends aren’t going to bail you out this time, boy. You’re on your own.”
Quinn tilted his head curiously. “I’m not aware of Lord Raphael ever bailing me out, as you say.”
Sorley’s eyes went cold with hatred. “You think you’re so clever,” he growled. “Well, so am I. I know all about Raphael and his scheme to steal what’s mine. Do you know how old I am? How many years I’ve had to hone my power? You’re a puppy compared to me.”
Quinn smirked. “I’ve been a vampire for 57 years, which is 399 in dog years, so . . . hardly a puppy. But then”—he lifted a taunting gaze at Sorley—“some of us are born to rule. While others require more tutoring.”
Sorley seemed to swell with his anger, the hatred in his eyes swinging from cold to searing hot in an instant. Throwing aside the ridiculous fur cape, he strode to the edge of the dais, knocking aside his own guards, moving incredibly fast, his speed taking even Quinn by surprise as he launched an attack. Every vampire lord had a talent, and it seemed Sorley’s involved speed.
Quinn staggered as Sorley’s first strike slammed into him with little warning. The Irish lord didn’t have only speed on his side, he had power. The blow hit him like a crack of lightning, driven by a magic that bit into every inch of exposed skin and sent him skidding back several feet. Quinn snarled and dug in his heels, furious at himself for being caught off guard. But before he could recover, he was bombarded by a series of smaller, but still powerful, blows that pummeled his head and body like a crazed fighter determined to intimidate a weaker opponent with speed before he could so much as raise a fist.
Quinn was aware of Garrick and the others stepping up to surround him, but he waved them back. This was between him and Sorley. He could draw on his people for power, just as the vampire lord could, but in the end, it came down to the two of them. Sorley had struck the first blow, but Quinn wasn’t weak, and he sure as hell wasn’t intimidated. Drawing on his own power, he raised shields, which should have been in place the moment he’d walked into this damn relic of a house, and began lobbing powerful bombs of his own—small, fire-driven attacks that struck with a deceptive ease that had Sorley laughing in derision. Until the small bombs split open, releasing a lava-like fire that clung to everything it touched, burning skin, hair, clothes. It was hungry and it ate. Sorley’s laugh turned to an outraged bellow as the fire dug into his flesh and refused to let go.
Furious, fangs bared and jaw clenched against the pain, he spread his legs like tree trunks and threw everything he had at Quinn, trying to break through his shields, to douse the flames along with Quinn’s life.
Quinn endured, standing strong against Sorley’s attack as his flesh bruised, bones cracked, and tendons tore. Internal organs ruptured under the massive blows, and his chest cavity filled with blood, until he could hardly breathe and his sight began to gray from a lack of oxygen. In a moment, one of his lungs would collapse and he’d be done for. He could no longer endure, he needed to do more, or he would die and his people would die with him—his friends. Garrick. Eve.
Taking a single step backward, ignoring the look of triumph in Sorley’s eyes, he reached over and grabbed Garrick’s belt knife, rammed the blade deep between his own ribs, and twisted. It hurt like hell, but blood poured out, and the pain disappeared beneath a wave of relief as his lung expanded and his vampire blood began to heal the injuries that had caused the collapse in the first place. With his first full breath, Quinn reached for the deadly magic that was his alone. Letting his power swell, he fed the fire that lived in his soul from an ember to a searing flame, letting it grow until it was eating him alive, hungry for fuel, and demanding to be set free.
Sorley had switched out his attack, withholding his magic, which used far more power, and substituting a physical assault instead. Furniture, wall hangings, and elaborate works of art flew through the air in a whirlwind of debris as Quinn strode closer, Sorley’s eyes widening in surprise at the speed of his recovery.
The debris stopped as Sorley changed his tactics yet again, pausing as if to regroup and gather his strength, before Quinn could renew his attack. But it was too late. Stopping two deliberate steps away, Quinn reached deep, and freed the ravenous flames building inside him. Fire spilled from every pore, surrounding him, caressing him like a lover, before stretching out its fingers to feed. Whatever, whomever, it touched, burned. Sorley’s guards, caught up in the maelstrom, screamed, batting at flames that wouldn’t go out, while the fire leapt from chair to cloth to curtain, threatening to take the entire house along with it.
Quinn was lost in the beauty of his power, the elegance of the flames as they swirled around him in a deadly dance. He was aware of Sorley stumbling backward, staring in horror as the deadly flames swayed closer. Until a new troop of vampire guards arrived with a raw shout of defiance. Rushing in to protect their master, they formed a barrier of flesh and power between Quinn and Sorley, as the vampire lord ran.
Quinn hated killing vampires like this, fighters who were merely doing their duty. But he had to get to Sorley before the old lord could escape and regroup. If that meant going through these guards, he’d do it. He made an effort to pull back his power, to dampen the flame so it would injure but not destroy, until, one by one, he and his fighters took out or immobilized every vampire who stood in their way.
Finally racing down a long hall and out through a side door, he threw back his head and howled when he found Sorley gone, along with at least some of his strongest warriors, Lorcan probably among them.
Quinn’s furious howl sent a whirlwind of power roaring through the neighborhood. Trees bent, branches cracked, and car alarms went off up and down the street as he stormed back into the house, searching for someone who could tell him where the vampire lord had gone. This was Sorley’s territory, his land. He could have a bolt hole anywhere on the damn island, where he could draw power to help him heal and strengthen himself for the next battle.
Aware of the flames still licking at his soul, Quinn forced himself to take it down a notch, before he burned one of his own people in a fit of frustration. He was still focusing on dousing the fire, when Garrick approached, dragging a burley vampire by one arm. The vamp was badly burned, half his jaw nearly gone, but his eyes gleamed red with the power of a low level vamp, and they were filled with rage as he glared at Quinn.
“Who’s this?” Quinn asked.
“Guard Captain,” his cousin provided. “I caught him and these others trying to sneak a car out of the garage.” He jerked his head sideways, indicating two other low-level vamps, both of whom had their hands bound behind their backs with heavy-duty cuffs that only worked because the vampires were injured.
“Captain,” Quinn said slowly. “It seems you’ve been abandoned by your master. Where’d he slither off to, do you think?”
“Fuck you,” the vamp captain snarled.
“Wrong answer.” Quinn slammed a fist into the vampire’s chest and ripped out his heart, squeezing it between his fingers with a sizzle of power, before dropping it to the floor and turning to the next vampire. “You’re next. Where’d Sorley go?”
The vamp was visibly trembling, bloody sweat rolling down the sides of his face from his forehead. “I don’t know, my lord, I swear.”
Quinn narrowed his eyes in frustration. The vampire was telling the truth, as was the next one, when the question was put to him. A different sort of fire burned in Quinn’s gut as he fought to keep his temper under control. Sorley was not going to walk away from this. If he escaped tonight, he’d hide somewhere in the countryside, rebuilding his base, harboring his strength until he was ready to attack again. He had an advantage over Quinn. He knew Ireland better, knew the small towns, the secret backroads and hideouts. Places he could rest and recuperate, gathering his supporters until he was ready to reclaim his throne. It could be days, weeks, even months. And it was intolerable.
As long as Sorley lived, even in hiding, Quinn couldn’t seize the territory. It would tear Ireland’s vampires apart if he tried to rip them from Sorley’s living hand. That wasn’t the way he wanted to begin his reign as Lord of Ireland.
“Fuck!” He kicked a delicate table, shattering its spindly legs and splitting the rest into so much kindling for the flames.
A sudden squeal of tires, along with shouts among his fighters, had him spinning for the front door, ready for a fight. But it wasn’t an enemy who stormed up the stairs. It was the redheaded hunter who’d stolen his heart.
“Eve? What are you doing here?”
“QUINN!” EVE WAS so happy to see him standing there, all strong and healthy, that she wanted to throw her arms around him in relief. But mindful of the situation and their audience, she pulled back, her arms stiff and her hands fisted with the effort to restrain herself. Walking right up to him, she nearly missed a step at the sight of his blood-soaked shirt. Her eyes met his. “Are you okay?” she whispered.
He nodded grimly. “I handled it. What are you doing here?”
She winced, suddenly unsure. “I came to warn you.”
He scowled. “About what?”
“About all of this.” She gestured helplessly at the vampires running around in controlled chaos of the big house behind them. “Cillian was waiting for me at my mother’s house.”
Quinn frowned. “Who’s Cillian?”
Eve grimaced. She probably should have mentioned this before. “He’s the other vampire who killed my brother. Him and Barrie Meaney.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed, as he closed his hand over her nape and pulled her close. “We’ll talk later about your tendency to keep secrets. Are you all right? And your mother?”
Eve let her head fall forward to hit his shoulder. She’d be strong again in just a minute, but for now. . . . She let herself lean on him for that instant of time, soaking up the heat and strength of him, feeling his other arm come around her, feeling safe for the first time in longer than she could remember. A single tear rolled down her cheek, soaking into his bloodied shirt.
“Eve?”
There was concern in his voice, but also a gentle reminder of where they were and who was watching. She nodded her head and pushed away from him, ending the moment. “Cillian’s dead. So’s the vamp he had with him.” She shrugged. “I don’t know his name. Mac—”
“Dead . . . what the fuck happened?”
“They knew I was going to be there, and—”
“Who’s they? And how the hell—”
“My mother,” she said simply, trying to keep the emotion from her voice and knowing she failed when Quinn grabbed her hand and dragged her into the house, turning into the first open room and slamming the door behind him, leaving the two of them alone. Quinn didn’t hesitate, didn’t ask permission or give her a chance to resist. He simply wrapped her in his arms, and held her so tightly, she couldn’t have broken free if she’d wanted to. Which she didn’t.
“Talk to me, sweetheart.”
“I don’t know where to start. I just—”
“Tell me what happened. Start at the beginning.”
He was still holding her, his words a warm rumble against her ear, her own muffled by the hard muscles of his chest. The blood-stiffened fabric scraped against her cheek, and she frowned, shoving him away, running her hands over his chest, pulling his shirt up over what should have been an expanse of ridged muscle and smooth skin, and finding a mass of bruises instead. “What the hell? What is this?”
He grabbed her wrists to stop her, then ran his hands up to hold her arms. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “Sorley and I did each other a lot of damage, but when he realized he was about to lose, he threw a bunch of vampire guards at me and ran. We’re trying to find him, so I can finish this. Now, tell me what happened, Eve. Is your mother safe?”
“Safe.” She bit off the word with a bitter laugh. “You know . . . I’m barely welcome in her house, her own daughter. But she invited that murdering bastard in, the same vampire who killed the son she claims to have loved so much.”
Quinn shook his head, as if to clear it. “I don’t. . . . Eve, you’re not—”
“They claimed they were local lads—Cillian and some other vampire. They pretended to be worried for her safety since, as they said, I was fucking a vampire and you’d probably turned me by now. They told her that whenever I came for a visit, my mam should call them, for her own protection,” she ended bitterly.
“Did your mother know Cillian personally? Why would she—”
“No. I think that must have been the other vamp, the one Cillian brought with him. He looked familiar, but I didn’t get a good look at him before. . . . Well, it doesn’t matter now. They’re both dead.”
“And your mother?”
“Oh, she’s alive and well. But dead to me.”
“I’m sorry, Eve. I swear I didn’t know they’d try—”
“Of course, you didn’t,” she interrupted. “That was the whole point. They were there to kidnap me to use against you. Not great planning on their part, since all of this”—she gestured around them—“was apparently going down at the same time. But all I could think was that we had to get back here to—”
He grinned. “To warn me. You were worried.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So, fine,” she snapped. “I was worried. For nothing, as it turns out.” She twisted out of his arms. Or at least she tried to.
Quinn held on tight, forcing her to look up at him or be suffocated against his stupidly gorgeous chest. “It wasn’t for nothing,” he said, meeting her gaze. “Thank you. And, Eve,—” He waited until she was looking up at him again, meeting his eyes. “I love you, too.”
Tears flooded her eyes turning everything into a blur of crystalline images. Furious with herself, she thumped a fist against his chest and wished she could tell him he was full of shit. That she didn’t love him any more than he really did her. But damn if she could say it.
“I’m an idiot,” she whispered. “Falling for a damn vampire. What kind of life can we—”
Quinn was smiling, completely missing her point. Didn’t he understand? He was going to live forever, while she’d grow old and wrinkled. How much would he love her then? And how long could they possibly have before that happened? Ten years, maybe less, before he wanted a younger woman, someone fresh and new. Not one whose skin was beginning to sag, who had to work twice as hard to keep her muscles firm, had to dye her hair against the encroaching gray . . .
“Eve, darling, you’re thinking way too hard. We’ll talk vampire lovers later. Right now, I have to find Sorley. Like yesterday. My people are spreading out over the city—”
“Doolin,” she said in sudden realization. “Doolin,” she repeated, seeing Quinn’s puzzled look. “I followed him there several times when I was looking for Barrie and Cillian. I didn’t know their names, yet, but I knew they worked for him, and . . . and don’t give me that look. I’m still alive and in better shape than you, I might add.”
Quinn scowled, but made a rolling gesture with his hand, telling her to continue. “What about Doolin? Where is that, anyway?”
“Southwest of Dublin, near the Cliffs of Moher on the west coast. You’ve heard of those?”
“Right. Okay. Why the hell would Sorley go there so often?”
“Well, shit, Quinn. I don’t know. I couldn’t exactly ask around about him, could I?”
He gave her dark look. So much for the lovey-dovey stuff.
“I think he has family there,” she admitted. “You should ask Mac. He might—” But Quinn was already gone, yanking the door open and shouting for someone to find Mac.
“YES, MY LORD,” Mac told Quinn. “Lord Sorley, that is, er—”
“I don’t give a fuck about titles,” Quinn snapped. “Just tell me what you know.”
“He has family in Doolin. His mother’s people, I think. And a house. He sends money once a month to cover expenses, and they make sure it’s ready whenever he wants to visit.”
“Why go there at all?”
“I can’t say for sure. I was only his bookkeeper. But . . . I think he keeps a woman in Cardiff.”
“Cardiff?” Quinn repeated in surprise. “Well, fuck, that makes no sense. Doolin’s hardly the best jumping off point for Wales.”
“No,” Mac agreed, “but if he wanted to keep his absence from Ireland a secret . . .”
Quinn pondered the idea. “Maybe. He goes to visit family and sneaks away for a quickie in Cardiff. Shit.” He scowled, thinking. “Is there an airport near—”
“He has a helicopter, my lord.”
Quinn regarded Mac silently. “Way to bury the lead. Where’s he keep the chopper? Dublin? Fuck. He might already be—”
“No, my lord, in Doolin. He’ll have to drive that far, but once—”
“Once he’s in Doolin, he can hop on his helicopter and be off to who knows where,” Quinn finished grimly. “How far to Doolin from here? How long?”
“At this time of night, two and half hours? Maybe three if they want to avoid getting nicked for speeding.”
“Garrick!” Quinn shouted, “Get Lucas’s man Ronan on the line. It’s time for him to choose.”
Five minutes later, Garrick handed him a phone. “Ronan, my lord.”
Quinn nodded grimly and took the phone. “Ronan. I need a helicopter. Now.”
“My lord, I don’t—”
“Bullshit. You have one hidden in that big barn on the edge of your property, and you have three different vampires on staff who can fly it. I need it in Dublin.”
“When?” Ronan asked, with a resigned sigh.
“If you want this takeover to succeed, you’ll have it here five minutes ago.”
“I’ll need to call—”
“Don’t bother. I’ll call Lucas myself. You get that thing in the air.” He disconnected and handed the phone back to Garrick. “Find Lucas for me. As a courtesy,” he added.
Garrick laughed, then turned away and started punching in numbers.
“You’re going to Doolin?”
Eve’s voice had Quinn spinning around, taking her hand, and pulling her with him as he strode out to one of his two Range Rovers. He opened the back cargo door, yanked a small, black duffle closer, and began rummaging inside it. “That’s where Sorley is,” he said.
“I’m going with you.”
Quinn lifted his head and drew breath to argue with her, but then, seeing her determined glare, he crooked his lips into a half-smile. “Okay,” he agreed and had to swallow a laugh at her look of surprise. “You’re the one who figured out where Sorley would go, and you’re decent with a crossbow, even if—”
“I don’t need a crossbow anymore. This works much better.” She pulled a 9mm Sig from a pocket in her jacket, checked the safety, and then expertly flipped the weapon around to hand it to him butt first.
Quinn examine the gun quickly. Bell had told him about the weapon. It was small, probably considered a micro-compact, but a good fit for Eve’s smaller hand. He popped the magazine. “You re-loaded,” he murmured. “Good girl.” He laughed at her look of outrage over his comment and handed the gun back. “Have you been holding out on me, Eve?”
“No,” she said defensively. “I’ve had the gun awhile, but I never used it except on the range, because I couldn’t get the right ammo until—”
He raised one eyebrow. “When?”
“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”
“No one’s in trouble,” he said patiently. “Just tell me.”
“Well, the other day, after we . . . um, anyway. You went off to do your vampire sleep thing, and I was talking to Joshua Bell, and he . . .” She scowled at him. “Well, what did you think? That I was going to hang around eating bonbons all day? Maybe read poetry in the garden?”
Quinn fought back a grin at the image. “Hardly,” he said dryly, enjoying her description too much to admit that Bell had cleared it with him before he’d supplied Eve with the ammunition. “Can you shoot that thing?”
“Absolutely. How do you think I killed Cillian and his buddy?”
That image drained away every ounce of humor he’d found in the situation. “All right. Do you need more ammo?”
She shook her head. “I have my own supply.”
Quinn grabbed the back of his bloody and torn T-shirt, yanked it off over his head, and tossed it into the cargo compartment. Next, he grabbed a bottle of water from his duffel and poured it over his chest, using a towel to wipe away the worst of the blood and dry himself off. His side ached a little, but that wouldn’t last much longer. Digging out a clean T-shirt, he pulled it over his head and turned to find Eve watching with an appreciative gleam in her eye.
Pulling her in for a quick kiss, he said, “Hold that thought,” then nodded over her shoulder at Garrick who was walking toward him with cell phone in hand.
Lucas, Garrick mouthed.
Quinn took the proffered cell phone. “Lucas,” he said brusquely. “This is a courtesy head’s up, from one lord to another. I’ve requested the use of your helicopter on an urgent matter. It’s already in the air.”
“Good evening to you, too,” Lucas growled. “Ronan already called. My people are loyal.”
“Funny,” Quinn snapped. “So are mine.”
Lucas laughed. “Can’t we all just get along?”
“I will if you will. Thanks for the chopper. I’ll let you know how it turns out.” Quinn handed the phone back to Garrick. “I could hate that fucker really easily.”
“You’re not alone. He gets on people’s nerves. But he runs his territory well, and the other North American lords seem to like him. Especially Raphael.”
“Yeah, I saw that. There’s something more than mutual respect between those two. I’d put money on Raphael being Lucas’s Sire.”
Garrick nodded. “That’s the rumor, but the official line is that it’s neither confirmed nor denied.”
“Which we both know means it’s true. What’s the status on the chopper? And where’s it landing anyway?”
“Dublin Castle,” Garrick said, sharing Quinn’s look of surprise. “Apparently, it has a helipad that’s used by visiting dignitaries.”
“And departing vampires, at least for tonight. Let’s go.” He grabbed Eve’s hand. “You’re with me, sweetheart. I have to make sure you’re only shooting the bad guys.”