Chapter Five
QUINN WOKE THAT night with one thought. He and Garrick needed a bigger house, if for no other reason than that he needed a fucking bigger bed. Not because he moved around a lot during the day—he didn’t, no vampire did—but because he practically fell out of the narrow bed when he rolled over after waking up at sunset.
He caught himself before falling—vampire reflexes were good for many things—and sat up, shivering slightly. The rental house was damn cold. It had been completely renovated, including a new HVAC system, but the best heater in the world couldn’t make up for thick stone walls and floors which seemed to hold on to the cold and damp no matter how much energy went into warming them. They were probably great on hot summer days, but he and his cousin would be long gone by then, moved into the new house in Dublin and ruling the territory.
Assuming they weren’t dead.
On that cheery note, he headed for the shower. Garrick was still out, but he’d be waking soon. They’d been turned within only a few weeks of each other, but Quinn’s greater power gave him the ability to endure more of the sun’s presence at both ends of the night. It was a strength that would only grow as he aged.
He turned on the shower, letting it run to warm the bathroom before stepping inside. The hot water pummeled his sore muscles. He liked to think he was in good shape—hell, he was in great shape—but he hadn’t exactly trained for hefting crates filled with weapons in and out of cars. Not to mention, hours of vigorous sex in a too-small bed. He was beginning to sense a theme to his life, having to do with small beds. He grinned to himself, feeling good despite the sore muscles and small beds. The sex had been great. Eve was beautiful, but he’d learned a long time ago that beauty didn’t equal sensuality. He’d suspected since meeting her, however, that underneath that angry exterior was a lushly sensuous woman, and he’d been right.
He frowned, reminded of the anger that had her risking her life to kill vampires. That doused his good humor faster than a cold shower. Quinn didn’t make a habit of lying to his sexual partners. Most of the women he’d met since he’d become a vampire had known what he was from the moment they’d met. Hell, he’d met most of them in one blood house or another. People—women and men both—came to those places for one reason only. They wanted to fuck a vampire, which meant they eagerly offered a vein. It was an easy dinner for the vamp, with a side of hot, casual sex. No explanations or apologies necessary. But the women Quinn had sucked and fucked in the past always knew exactly what they were getting. Eve didn’t. In fact, if she’d known, she’d have stabbed him with that wicked knife of hers instead of taking him to her bed.
He stepped out of the shower, grimacing at the thought of Eve’s reaction when she discovered the truth. He didn’t even consider not telling her. He wasn’t that big of an asshole. The only way that would work was if he never saw her again, and he found himself surprisingly reluctant to accept that outcome. He told himself it was only because he still needed to uncover the truth behind her killing spree, but just as he’d always been honest with his sexual partners, he was honest with himself, too. If all he’d wanted from Eve was to uncover her secrets, he could have had that already. He possessed a vampire lord’s skill when it came to telepathy. Of course, the deeper he probed, the harder he had to push, and the greater the potential for irreparable damage. He had a feeling Eve would require a lot of pushing, but it would take him no more than a few minutes to have her telling him everything he wanted to know. Even if he managed to avoiding harming her, though, he couldn’t do it. If she ever realized what he’d done, she’d hate his guts and never trust him.
And he didn’t want that with Eve, damn it.
He walked into his bedroom, which was separate from the smaller one where he and Garrick slept, and began to dress. He heard the shower come on as his cousin rose for the night. Stomping his feet into heavy duty boots, he tied them off and headed for the kitchen.
The coffee was on a timer, already brewed. Most renters might have been turned off by the small kitchen, especially if they had a family, but it was perfect for a pair of repatriated vampires. He drew in the delicious coffee scent, but went to the refrigerator first and pulled out a bag of cold blood, running it briefly under a stream of hot water, to take the worst of the chill off. The microwave would be faster, but it also destroyed the nutritional value for vampires. Normally, he’d let the blood sit in the hot water for at least twenty minutes, but he had no patience for that tonight. Drying the bag with a towel, he popped the valve and drank it down, tossing the empty bag into the trash. He then poured a cup of coffee and drank half of it to remove the taste of cold blood from his mouth, thinking about how sweet Eve’s blood would taste instead. Cursing himself for obsessing over the one woman he couldn’t feed from, he pulled over his laptop and began his nightly scan of the financial news. His legal work had all been in corporate litigation, which meant he’d had to be as knowledgeable in finance as he was in corporate law. That experience was serving him well now that he was on the verge of ruling a territory. Vampires were involved in all kinds of businesses, most of which were legal, despite Sorley’s preference for criminal pursuits. Most vampire lords collected tithes from the various businesses under their rule, in return for their protection and, frequently, their financial backing. It was relatively common for a vampire lord to sit on the board of the larger businesses in his territory. That being the case, Quinn had made a study of the Irish economy and financial laws before undertaking to seize the territory, not to mention staying up to date on trends in the European financial markets.
He was checking one of his several portfolios when he heard Garrick’s heavy footsteps coming down the hall. He grimaced, knowing what his cousin would have to say about the whole Eve situation, especially with Quinn cutting his return so close this morning.
Garrick went directly to the coffee pot. Another victim of habit.
“Sleep well?” Quinn asked. It was a joke between them, a meaningless question. There was no good sleep or bad. There was simply sleep. Although he’d heard of master vampires who’d reacted to the death of their vampire children during sleep, or, more rarely, vampires powerful enough to follow their mates during daylight, which could certainly lead to less than restful sleep. Especially if the mate was unfaithful or in physical danger. Quinn didn’t have a mate and didn’t particularly want one. He had his hands full right now, when it came to vampire entanglements. Not to mention petite vampire hunters.
Garrick’s only response to his question was a wordless grunt. Not a good sign. He stood with his back to the room, sipping coffee, before finally walking over to sit opposite Quinn at the kitchen’s center island. “Did you eat?” Garrick asked, giving him a dark look.
“Yes, Mom.”
Garrick was not amused. “What the fuck was that this morning, Q? Anything could have happened—an accident, a flat tire, a fucking traffic jam—and you’d have been stuck out there all day. And that’s assuming you found a bush to crawl under for protection before sunrise.”
“Thanks for the visual.”
“This isn’t a joke,” Garrick snapped.
“No, it’s not,” he sighed. His cousin was the only vampire who could have spoken to him like this without being on the receiving end of a violent reaction. Garrick was genuinely concerned, and, besides, he was right. It had been unforgivably stupid on Quinn’s part. “I’m sorry, Gar. I lost track of the time.”
“I hope her pussy was worth it.”
Quinn felt a surge of heat at the crude comment. He didn’t want anyone talking about Eve like that. Not even Garrick. But he forced back his anger, knowing it would only make Garrick push harder. Besides, he wasn’t sure why the remark made him angry. The two of them had talked about the women they fucked in far cruder terms before. But this was Eve. And, for some reason, that mattered.
“Can I assume she doesn’t know you’re a vampire?” Garrick continued. “You know, given as how she didn’t stake you mid-fuck, what with her being a vampire killer and all. And I’m guessing you didn’t get so much as a taste of her blood despite fucking her all night long.”
“What the hell, Gar?” Quinn said, his understanding finally reaching its limit. “What’s your problem?”
His cousin met his gaze across the counter top. “We’re about to kill a God damned vampire lord and seize his territory, which might just involve a serious battle or two. And you’re off fucking some woman you should have already eliminated, before she kills you or—”
“Enough.” Quinn came to his feet with a roar of sound, his power suddenly filling the small room, echoing off the stone floor and walls.
Garrick stood at the same time, watching Quinn warily, but without fear and still defiant.
Quinn gripped the island’s marble counter top so hard, he felt it straining beneath his fingers, until he let go and shook his hands out. “Look,” he said softly. “I’m sorry about this morning. It won’t happen again. But I don’t need a lecture from you or anyone else about the dangers of what we’re trying to do here. I appreciate your support and wouldn’t want to do it without you, but in the final analysis I’m the one who’s going to be going toe-to-toe with Orrin Sorley. Taking down a vampire lord isn’t a team sport. It’s me against him. So, don’t think for one minute that I haven’t examined every aspect of my fucking strategy, or obsessed over every detail.” He drew in a deep breath, then added, “And don’t talk about Eve like that. I don’t know what’s going on with her and the vampire killing, but . . . she’s not just a piece of ass, all right?”
Garrick regarded him somberly. “Be careful, Quinn.”
“I’m always careful. You know that.”
“I do. Just . . . make sure your eyes are open. This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve been fucked over by a woman, but the stakes are a hell of a lot higher now.”
Quinn stared back at him. His cousin was right. But he really didn’t need a reminder of the worst time in his life, or the woman who’d changed everything.
Boston, MA, USA, 57 years ago
QUINN WOKE THE morning after his phone conversation with the strange woman, Marcelina, feeling groggy from too much sleep. Apparently, his body couldn’t decide if it wanted more rest or more work. No surprise there. He wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore, either. He went for a run, and when he came back, he discovered that a message from Garrick had come in overnight. He hit play.
“Hey, Q, long time and all that. Don’t worry, Marcelina’s cool. I’ll pick you up at 7:00 tonight; we’ll go to her house. You still live at the same place, I’m guessing. You didn’t move without telling me, or anything, right?” His cousin laughed. “See you then.”
“Well, fuck,” Quinn swore, staring at the phone. “Thanks for the advance warning, asshole.” He looked around his townhouse and decided he’d work at home for a few hours, then meet his cousin and get this over with. Whatever the mysterious Marcelina needed, he could probably handle it with a letter or two, maybe a phone call. And then he could get back to his career, and the work he was paid for.
AT 6:52 PM (DAMN digital clocks, so fucking precise) Quinn’s phone rang. He accepted the call, but Garrick spoke before he could answer, saying, “I’ll be there in five. Wait for me out front, so I don’t have to park.” He hung up before Quinn could say a word.
“Nice talking to you, too,” Quinn muttered, but pulled on his jacket, flicked off the lights, and locked the door behind him. He was just zipping his jacket against the cold, when Garrick’s BMW whipped around the corner. They’d both done well in life, but Quinn had the feeling Garrick was enjoying it more.
It had rained earlier and the night was cold, making Garrick’s BMW skid a little on a slick patch of ice before stopping. Quinn opened the door and dropped onto the leather seat. He didn’t even own a car. Traffic was a nightmare, and you didn’t need one to get around in Boston. When necessary, he hired a car service.
“What’s this about?” They sped away too fast on the icy road, but if he said anything, he’d have to endure his cousin’s taunts about being an old man.
“It’s like Marcelina told you,” Garrick said. “The property’s been in her family for generations, but some big developer wants it, and he’s bought off the right politician. The county’s trying to seize it.”
“What’s the deal with the title?”
“Hell, I don’t know, Quinn. That’s why we called you.”
“What is she to you?” he asked curiously, mainly because he’d never known his cousin to get seriously involved with a woman, any more than he did. They both favored short, intense affairs. Good sex, no commitment.
“She’s . . . special. You’ll see.”
He frowned. What the hell did that mean? The woman had, frankly, sounded too old to be a girlfriend. “Special, as in, you’re serious about her?”
Garrick grimaced, seeming uncomfortable. “Just wait and see, all right? It’s not that far.”
Quinn shrugged. Whatever. He stared out the window. This whole situation was seeming odder and odder. Even Garrick was being weird. He was equal parts relieved and surprised when they turned down the long driveway of a Chestnut Hill estate that had seen better days. This was where she lived? Hell, if this was the property in question, he wasn’t surprised some developer was trying to steal it. Depending on the acreage, it was worth millions. Sub-divided, it would be millions multiplied by however many homes they built. He could also understand why the city was willing to help get it into the developer’s greedy little hands. The driveway was in disrepair and the house, which he could now see more clearly, had definitely not been kept up. He wouldn’t be surprised if complaints from the neighbors had been the driving force behind the political push for the property’s sale.
He frowned. The Chestnut Hill location would make things much trickier. Chestnut Hill wasn’t a city in itself, but actually included parts of three separate municipalities. It could be a real nightmare figuring out who had jurisdiction, especially if the property crossed municipal lines.
“You sure she owns this place?” he asked, staring up at a big colonial-style mansion that appeared, at first glance, to be unoccupied.
“Yeah. But she’s been living in Europe. She only came back to deal with all this crap.”
Well, that explained the weird accent, Quinn considered. “Does she have a caretaker, a groundskeeper? Anyone charged with keeping the place up?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her?” They had stopped at the foot of some stairs leading to a broad, uncovered porch.
“I will.” Quinn eyed the mansion as they climbed out of the car. “Anyone live here with her?”
“Not yet,” Garrick said, and there was something just . . . odd about the way he said it. Something that made Quinn turn and stare.
“You okay, buddy?” he asked.
Garrick grinned. “Never better. Come on. Marcelina’s waiting.”
“Well, we can’t have that,” Quinn said dryly and followed his cousin into the house. He coughed the minute the door closed behind him. It was dark and dusty. If he’d had to guess, he’d have said no one had lived here in a long, long time, which had just added fuel to the municipality’s determination to seize the property. He made a mental note to check the tax records the next day to find out exactly which municipality that was, and if there was any record of . . . His thoughts trailed off when she appeared.
“Quinn,” the woman said in a voice that was like a thousand angels singing.
He blinked. Where the fuck had that thought come from? He stared at the small woman standing in an arched opening off the foyer. The room behind her was dimly lit, but a fire burned on the far wall silhouetting what he had to admit was a killer body. Her petite form was all curves, with pale breasts mounded over a corset-style top, and a tiny waist that flared to a generous swell of hips and thighs. Black pants that resembled riding breeches clung to her legs and were tucked into similarly styled boots. He found it unlikely that she’d just come in from a ride around the paddock, and so assumed the skin-tight outfit was purely for effect. He was male enough to admit it was a nice effect, but it made him wonder who this woman was, and why Garrick was so taken with her.
She stepped closer. Long dark hair curled over her shoulders and down her back. Her eyes were dark and luminous, her lips full and red. Those lips curled into a smile, and he had to fight the urge to back up. He was more than a foot taller and 100 pounds heavier than she was, and she appeared to be unarmed. So, why did he feel as though he should grab his cousin and get the hell out of there?
“Quinn,” Garrick said, dropping a heavy arm over his shoulders. “This is Marcelina. My lady, this is the cousin I told you about.”
Yeah, Quinn was beginning to wish Garrick had forgotten he had a cousin.
Marcelina was staring at Quinn expectantly, as if waiting for him to say something. He remained silent, still fighting the urge to get the hell out of Dodge, and he figured anything he said to her would only make things worse. Like when he was a kid and he’d ignored the monsters in his closet, because if he acknowledged them, they’d become real.
“Quinn,” she said again, and he heard the disapproval in her voice, as if he’d disappointed her. “Why don’t you both come sit down? We can discuss things.”
He looked into the dim room beyond. “I’m going to need more light if you want me to review any documents.”
She walked away, her laugh a delicate chiming sound that drifted over her shoulder.
Again with the flowery descriptors, Quinn thought. What the fuck was going on with his head? “Garrick,” he muttered, pulling his cousin close. “What the hell—”
“It’s rude to whisper, Quinn,” Marcelina called. “Garrick, bring your cousin inside please.”
Quinn frowned at the clear command underlying that delicate voice, and his frown deepened to a scowl when Garrick grabbed his arm and propelled him forward with unexpected strength. The two cousins had always been roughly the same size. When had Garrick gained the new muscle? And why?
“Come on,” Garrick said harshly. “Be polite and listen.”
Quinn’s eyebrows shot upward, but he went along. If it meant this much to Garrick, he’d give it a shot.
“Quinn, you sit here,” Marcelina said, patting the seat next to her with a delicate hand that bore sharp-looking fingernails polished a rich red.
Quinn would have preferred not to sit so close, but Garrick body-blocked him onto the short couch where she sat, while taking a satin-covered chair for himself, sitting at a right angle.
“This is nice,” she purred.
Quinn noticed her perfume for the first time—something flowery and too heavy. He hated women who drowned themselves in perfume. But then she leaned closer and touched her fingers to the bare skin of his hand. His skin crawled, and he suddenly found himself struggling against a strange fogginess that was trying to take over his thoughts . . . Too late.
It was the last thought he had.
QUINN WOKE TO a pounding headache and the awareness that it wasn’t only his head that was hurting. His whole body felt like he’d been beaten with rubber mallets. He sat up with a groan. It was still dark, and he thanked God for small favors. There was nothing worse than having the sun drilling into his brain when he was hungover. He braced his feet on the floor and ran a hand through his hair, stopping when he realized he was still wearing his clothes. All of his clothes, including his boots. He looked around. This wasn’t his townhouse. In fact, this wasn’t anyplace that he recognized. And he couldn’t remember drinking, either. He hadn’t gotten drunk in more years than he could count.
A thrill of fear shot along his nerves, and his first thought was for Garrick. Ignoring the agony, he stood and felt along the walls until he found a light switch. He flicked it up and down, but nothing happened. Continuing along the wall, he found a door. He pulled it open and stepped out onto a second floor landing. Moonlight shone through the cut-glass panels of a front door and two side windows, and lit a wide foyer down below. Firelight flickered through a broad archway, and Quinn abruptly remembered where he was. What he didn’t know was why he was still there. And why he felt so fucking awful. Where was Garrick?
Sensing the weight of his cell phone in his pocket, he pulled it out to call his cousin. If nothing else, he’d hear the phone ringing and follow the sound. But when he touched the screen and brought it to life, he could only stare. He’d lost an entire day. An entire fucking day. He’d come to this dusty wreck of a house on a Sunday, and somehow, it was now Monday night. He’d lost a whole day of work. His office would have been looking for him . . . He brought up the call log on his cell and found the expected list of unanswered calls. How was that possible? He never turned off his phone, never missed a call.
His pounding head suddenly secondary, he strode onto the landing and down the stairs, determined to get some answers. Marcelina was waiting in the firelit room, with Garrick standing watch over her like a guard. He gave Quinn a searching look, his gaze cautious, hesitant.
“All is well, Garrick,” Marcelina said, squeezing his hand. “Quinn is with us now.”
Quinn opened his mouth to demand an explanation, but before he could say a word, Marcelina pinned him with a stare and said, “Kneel.”
Laughter tried to force its way out of his throat, but before he’d taken a breath, his knees hit the floor. He raised stunned eyes, first to Garrick, who wouldn’t meet his gaze, and then to Marcelina, who was smiling with utmost satisfaction.
“Come here, Quinn,” she said, sitting down and patting the sofa as she’d done before.
He tried to get up, but found he couldn’t. It was as if his knees were stuck to the floor. He gave her a confused look.
“Crawl,” she said, with a cruel edge to her soft voice.
Humiliation and rage flushed his chest and face with heat, but he found he had no choice. If he wanted to move, it would be on his hands and knees. And something was compelling him to move. Marcelina. He could sense the pressure she was exerting on him, as if a rope was strung between them and she was the only one pulling. He tried to resist, tried to lean back and get away from her. He should have been far stronger than she was. But that no longer seemed to be true.
She gave a yank hard enough that he nearly fell on his face. “I said, come here,” she growled.
Quinn counted off every inch of the short distance between them, promising himself he’d pay her back, and storing every second of his humiliation against the day he’d make her do the crawling.
“So much anger.” She gave a trilling laugh. “It’s pointless, but you’re a stubborn one. You’ll have to learn for yourself. But in the meantime, you’ll do what I brought you here for. This house is mine, and I intend to keep it. You need to fix it.”
“What?” She wanted him to fix the place up? He didn’t have any handyman skills to speak of.
“You will address me as, “Mistress!” Her voice carried a crack of power that hit him like a cane across his chest. He might have fallen if it had been possible. But she had his knees rooted to the ground, so that all he could do was sway.
Quinn stared at her. Did she want him to repeat his question?
She made a disgusted noise and looked at him doubtfully. “Maybe the turning damaged you. It happens sometimes, although it would be very inconvenient. What am I supposed to do with you?” She stared at him expectantly.
“Probably best if you release me . . . Mistress,” he added with an intentional delay. “And Garrick, too.”
Marcelina screeched furiously and slapped him across the face with her open hand. The blow knocked him hard enough that he fell to one side, blinking in surprise. For such a tiny thing, she sure packed a wallop.
And his much-vaunted brain finally caught up to current events.
“You’re not human,” he muttered, pulling himself to his knees from where he’d slumped back and sat on his heels.
“You are a fool.”
“Maybe. But I’m right. What are you? And what have you done to me?”
Marcelina smiled then. It was a shark’s grin, full of far too many teeth. Quinn squinted. Some of those teeth didn’t look . . . Oh, shit.
“You’re a vampire,” he said flatly.
She laughed. “And so are you! I made you, and that makes you mine.”
“The hell it does.” Another blow struck him hard on the jaw, though she hadn’t bothered using her hand this time. It was the same as when she’d hit his chest earlier, a strike by an invisible weapon.
“I am your Sire, boy. Your mistress. And you will respect me, or pay the price.”
Quinn thought the price would be worth it. There was no way in hell he was ever going to respect this crazy bitch. But Garrick was standing there, silently pleading with Quinn to do . . . what? Go along? Just shut the fuck up? Somehow get them out of this mess? His mouth twisted with emotion. Anger. Rage. He wanted to lash out at someone. At Garrick for putting them in this situation, at the bitch Marcelina for thinking she could hold them here for as long as her batshit crazy mind could fathom.
But it wasn’t Garrick’s fault. If Marcelina could capture Quinn—and for all her deranged mind, she had captured him—then she’d have been able to capture Garrick, too. He didn’t know the specifics, but he knew his cousin wouldn’t have gone down easily. So what to do next? How did they get out of this mess?
The answer was clear, although he hated it. He’d have to play along, bide his time. There was too much he didn’t know, didn’t understand. Marcelina thought she was clever, thought she had them well and truly trapped. But Quinn was more than clever. He had one of the best legal minds in the city. The question was, could he play along convincingly enough to make Marcelina believe? To get her to relax and let slip what he needed to know?
He clenched his jaw. “Forgive me, Mistress,” he said, every word like glass in his throat. “This is all so confusing, and I’m so hungry,” he added, realizing with a lurch of his stomach that it was true. He was hungry, but not for food. Damn it. “I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t,” she crooned, now stroking his sore jaw. “But I’ll teach you. Here,” she said, offering him her delicate wrist. “Drink. My blood is stronger, and it will bind us closer together.”
The last thing Quinn wanted was to strengthen his bond to Marcelina. But the scent of her blood, so close to the surface, hit him like a brick to the head. And he was suddenly ravenous. His mouth closed over her wrist, and he drank.
Howth, Ireland, present day
NEITHER QUINN NOR Garrick ever mentioned Garrick’s role in recruiting Quinn for Marcelina’s use. But Quinn had never held it against his cousin. Oh, maybe he had, at the very beginning. But once he’d understood, once he’d seen what she could make him do, he’d known his cousin hadn’t been able to resist her demands. Garrick hadn’t been more than a few weeks made when she’d sent him after Quinn.
The bitch had regretted her choice of playthings well enough later, when both Quinn and Garrick had grown into their power. But that was another story.
“Look,” Garrick said, pulling him back from memory lane. “I usually don’t give a damn who you fuck. But this girl . . . she’s killing vampires. And if that’s not a serious complication, I don’t know what is.”
“Don’t worry about Eve,” Quinn told his cousin. “She might prove useful. She probably knows more about the local vamps here and in Dublin than we do.”
“And how useful is she going to be once she discovers you’re a vampire?”
Quinn didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to think about that, but his cousin was right. Not if, but when Eve discovered what he was . . . “Let’s forget about my sex life,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. “That’s not why we’re here.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Garrick said under his breath, then looked up with a bland expression, as if to deny he’d said anything at all. “You think it’s time to call in the troops?”
Quinn cocked his head, thinking about his answer. The only question left was timing. Quinn hadn’t brought his fighters with him right away, because he’d been reluctant to risk their lives before he’d had a chance to judge the battlefield. He wanted to know that he could defeat Orrin Sorley and take Ireland as his own.
He wasn’t worried about that anymore. And he needed his people here. Every vampire lord had an inner circle of vampires he trusted absolutely. Not only to carry out his orders, but to cover his back. Once Quinn made serious moves into Sorley’s business operations, whether it was smuggling or something else, the Irish lord would start paying attention. And that attention would be hostile. Quinn was working for Sorley, but he wasn’t sworn to him. He owed the vampire lord nothing, and Sorley wouldn’t like that. And what he didn’t like, he’d try to destroy. It was the vampire way, and Quinn was going to need more than Garrick by his side.
He was also going to need serious daytime guards. The move to Dublin, combined with the arrival of Quinn’s own fighters, was going to infuriate Sorley, but it would also make him nervous. And that was a bad combination in a powerful vampire. Quinn and his people were going to need better security than a few locks and an alarm system. But being the control freak that he was, Quinn had planned for that, too.
When he’d been back in Maine, running the state’s vampires for Rajmund, he’d employed the same daytime security company that Raj used. It had been run by a man named Adorjan, who worked exclusively with vampires. When Quinn had begun recruiting his own fighters, the first thing he’d done was to contract with Adorjan for a daytime security force that would protect his people while they were training in the U.S., and then transfer overseas when the time came. Adorjan had taken on the assignment enthusiastically, and even planned on leading the security force himself. Quinn hadn’t been surprised, since Adorjan was Hungarian and obviously a transplant to the U.S. He’d figured the man was homesick.
The surprise had come when Adorjan had approached Quinn and asked to be turned. He didn’t want to lead Quinn’s daylight force, he wanted something more. He wanted to be a vampire. He wanted to live forever.
Quinn had cautioned him, told him there were no guarantees. Adorjan was a powerful human, not only a big man, but one with an innate authority, a desire to lead. There was no telling what the vampire symbiote would give him, no assurance that he’d retain his natural strengths. He could wake as the weakest sort of vampire, one who essentially lived as a human.
Adorjan had been willing to roll those dice. Either way, he’d told Quinn, he’d be going to Ireland with him. Either way, he’d fight by his side. So Adorjan had become Quinn’s first child. All the other vampires in his group were sworn to him, but Adorjan was his. He was hardwired to protect Quinn at all costs. And fortunately, he’d been reborn as a master vampire. He was Quinn’s security chief and bodyguard, and he’d be the one arranging the transfer of Quinn’s people—both vampires and humans—to Ireland.
“Yeah,” Quinn told Garrick now. “It’ll take a few days for everyone to get here. We’ll be more than ready for them by then. Why don’t you give Adorjan a call, and . . . hell, what’s the time difference here? Do we even share darkness with Maine this time of year?” He saw Garrick flipping numbers in his head. The guy was a math whiz. A little time zone calculation should be nothing.
“Yeah,” he decided. “We can catch them just after sunset if we call in the middle of the night here.”
“Good. I want everyone moving within two days. The daylight guards can fly commercial and go right to the new house. They shouldn’t have any problems getting through customs. But I want the vampires on a private flight to Paris or London. Actually, make it Paris. After Raphael’s visit, I doubt the French vampires are paying much attention to the airports. They’re too busy staying alive. From Paris, our people can travel in pairs to Dublin—airplane or ferry, I don’t care, as long as it’s discreet.”
“Right. I’ll handle it. What about the rest of tonight? What’s the plan?”
Quinn grinned. “Tonight, we’re going to meet my new team of smugglers.”
“Great. What do they smuggle again?”
He laughed. “Let’s go find out.”
“MAM? YOU HERE?” Eve called out as she let herself into the small house her mother had lived in for as long as Eve had been alive. She’d been born in this house. Her father had died in this house. Her brother had died while the family still lived there. Sometimes, she wondered if the house was cursed, and blamed her mother for not having moved long ago. She looked around and found no memories of her life here. There were pictures of her father and mother, pictures of Alan, and of the three of them before she’d been born. But there were none of her. Brigid hadn’t wanted another child and made no secret of it. She’d had Alan, her beautiful boy. She didn’t need a girl child slipping in and stealing a share of the love—from husband and son both—that should have been hers alone. Eve’s entire life had been colored by her mother’s resentment, and now her brother’s death. But if her dreams meant anything, then maybe Alan didn’t want her to stay that way. Maybe he wanted her to live, to walk in sunshine.
“Mam?” she called again, although, she didn’t know why. There was nowhere else for the woman to be at this time of night. She never left the house after dark, and, as far as Eve could tell, the only place she ever went during the day was her bi-weekly supermarket trip, and the occasional visit to church.
“Stop yelling. You sound like a fishwife.” Brigid Connelly’s voice was raspy from a lifetime of smoking, accompanied by the slap of her slippers on the thin carpet.
“Good evening to you, too, Mam.” She even tried to make the words cheerful. Her mother wouldn’t have cared either way. “I was in Dublin earlier, and I brought some of those pasties you like.” She set the grease-stained bag on the small kitchen table.
Her mother picked it up and tossed it aside. “They’re cold.”
“Well, of course, they’re cold. It’s an hour’s drive.” Eve had ridden the train into Dublin that morning and picked up her car, grumbling all the way on the drive back. Except when she’d been re-living her night with Quinn. A shiver of pure lust had her nipples hardening in anticipation, and she had to fight off the sensation. A visit with her mother was no time to be fantasizing about sex. Spectacular sex. Stop it!
Brigid fumbled in her housecoat pocket and came up with a crumpled pack of cigarettes. “Did you get my Marlboros?”
Eve sighed. “Yes.” She dropped a plain white plastic bag onto the table, which her mother grabbed much more eagerly than she had the sweet pasties. The cigarettes didn’t come from Dublin. Those she bought from a local smuggler to avoid the stiff taxes designed to cut down on consumption of tobacco in Ireland. All the taxes ever did was increase profits for smugglers, but since it mostly affected the poor, no one seemed to care. And the truth was that her mother would give up breathing before her Marlboro Golds. Eve couldn’t bring herself to worry about it, and maybe that made her a bad daughter. But her mother had never made any secret of the fact that Eve’s birth had been a mistake. “A surprise,” as Brigid had politely put it, back when she’d still bothered with such niceties. Back before her father and brother had died, and Brigid had been left with no one but the daughter she’d never wanted.
“You look like a whore.”
Eve blinked, still capable of being shocked by her mother’s disdain. “Thanks, Mam.”
Her mother made a dismissive noise, lit a cigarette, and drew deeply. She blew out the smoke and said, “You find your brother’s killers yet?” It was the only thing she cared about. Eve had mentioned once that she’d seen the men who killed Alan. That had been early on, when she’d been overwhelmed by loss and had stupidly expected her mother to share her grief, even though they’d never shared anything else. Brigid’s only response had been that Eve—who’d been barely 23 and a university student at the time—should “probably get on that.” Eve still wondered sometimes if the only reason she hunted vampires was to somehow win the love of her mother by stalking her brother’s murderers. Could she really be that pathetic?
“Not yet,” she answered with false cheer. “But you’ll be first to know.”
She got another one of those dismissive noises from Brigid, this one laced with the scent of tobacco smoke.
Eve watched as her mother shuffled to the worn chair in front of the television and sat down, staring at some game show or other as if there was no one else in the room. “You want some dinner?” Eve asked, knowing the answer and not sure why she bothered to ask.
Brigid waved away the question with the hand holding her cigarette, never taking her eyes from the TV screen. “Like you can cook.”
Eve sighed again, more deeply this time. “Okay, then. I’ll be off on my whorish way. I’ll let you know if I find the killers. Assuming they don’t kill me first.”
Another wave of the cigarette.
She stood there a moment longer, waiting for . . . she didn’t know what she was waiting for. She only knew it was never going to come. Without another word, she let herself out. She’d need to take a shower and wash her hair before going hunting. Vampires’ senses were much more sensitive than a human’s, and it was difficult to play the seductress when she stank of cigarettes.
QUINN DIDN’T HAVE much trouble finding the gathering spot for Sorley’s local vampire gang. For one thing, the boat captain had been a treasure chest of information. In fact, Quinn was sure the human had known far more about the local operation than his vampire clients had suspected. Dangerously more. It was one thing to employ humans for certain necessary tasks—like piloting a boat through daylight waters—but it was something else entirely to trust them with the inner workings of vampire business. That sort of thing would stop once he was Lord of Ireland. Sorley ran a sloppy ship—no pun intended. Quinn would not.
Apart from the captain’s intel, however, was the simple fact of Quinn’s power. Howth wasn’t a huge city. It had fewer than 10,000 residents, with a good number of those being clustered in dense residential districts of commuters from Dublin. Vampires generally weren’t found in family-oriented suburbs. At least, not the kind of vampires who ran smuggling operations. That left the small fishing village of historic Howth, which was more densely populated, and had a much smaller geographic reach. Quinn’s power let him search for and identify both vampire and human life signs, and the cluster of local vampires stood out like a beacon to his senses.
“Too predictable,” Quinn muttered, as he and Garrick stepped out of the Range Rover and headed for what looked like a large, weathered boathouse with light leaking around the warped doors. Admittedly, the lights were dim. These were vampires, after all. But anyone with a brain would look at that building and wonder what was going on. And now that they’d drawn closer, he could hear music—in a place where there shouldn’t have been any activity at all after dark.
“Not many cars,” Garrick observed.
“Maybe no one needs a car around here.”
“Where do they live? You think there’s a nest nearby?”
“That’s what we’re about to find out.”
No one challenged them as they walked right up to the warehouse and opened the door. A wash of light and sound immediately greeted them, making Quinn shake his head. Had no one ever heard of a double entry system around here, with the inner door not opening until the outer door closed? It wasn’t only light leakage, it was security. You couldn’t force an entire troop through the entrance if they had to crowd into a tiny vestibule. Not that anyone here would notice. What if Quinn had been an enemy? One guy with an Uzi could do a lot of damage.
The warehouse they stepped into had boxes and crates stacked on both sides, some standing on the floor, some shoved onto metal shelves that lined the walls in perpendicular rows. Quinn looked around, waiting for someone to notice. He wasn’t expecting obeisance, didn’t even expect recognition of his power since he was shielding it from detection. But he was a stranger who’d just walked in on their blatantly illegal operation, and no one seemed to care. He was no longer amazed at Eve’s success in killing the two vamps the other night. A sexy woman, a dark alley . . . hell, it was like taking candy from a baby. Did they have that saying in Ireland? Maybe he’d teach it to this lot. He nodded to Garrick.
Putting two fingers to his lips, Garrick let forth a piercing whistle. Quinn smiled. He’d always envied his cousin’s ability to do that. No matter how hard he’d tried, he’d never managed it.
The chatter cut off like a switch had been thrown, the music dying with an unpleasant electronic squawk soon after.
Seventeen vampires turned to stare at Quinn, with varying expressions of surprise and hostility. He waited. After a few minutes—the idea of one guy with an Uzi sprang to his head again, but with himself as the target this time—an average looking vamp emerged from the crowd, stepping around several much larger guys. Quinn sent out a smoke-thin wisp of a probe, testing the vampire’s power, unconcerned about the local’s ability to shield himself from detection. Quinn could penetrate any deception with ease, unless this guy had real power. In which case, Quinn would still be able to break through. It would simply take a bit longer. That wasn’t the case, however. The local had a master vampire’s strength, which he wasn’t trying to conceal.
The vamp took two steps away from the crowd and studied Quinn. “Who’re you?”
Quinn’s lips curved in a bare smile. If this vampire was in charge, Sorley should have called to warn him that Quinn was coming, should have done him the courtesy of telling him that Quinn was now in charge here in Howth. But, of course, Sorley hadn’t done that. Quinn wasn’t surprised. Sorley had probably hoped the local vampires would manage to kill Quinn, thus eliminating the danger that Quinn represented to his rule over Ireland. It was a vain hope, given the disparity in power between Quinn and the local. And it was a stupid move on Sorley’s part. He risked alienating some of these vampires with his willingness to let them die, and it also pissed off Quinn. Of course, he was going to kill Sorley anyway, but it was the principle of the thing.
“My name’s Quinn Kavanagh.”
“American,” someone sneered.
“Irish,” Quinn countered, without bothering to track down the speaker. “Raised in the U.S. since I was a child, but I’m home now.”
“Are you?” the apparent leader asked mildly. “And what do you want now that you’re home, Quinn Kavanagh?”
Quinn tilted his head curiously, letting just a touch of his parents’ Irish lilt flavor his words. “Are there no manners in Ireland anymore then? I give you my name, but you don’t give me yours?” Whatever name the vampire gave him was likely to be a pseudonym, a nom de guerre, but Quinn needed to call him something before he killed him.
“Christie,” the vampire said.
“Well, Christie, you have a choice here.” Quinn let a measure of his true power leak through. Not all of it, not even close. It wasn’t necessary to show his cards yet, not for Christie or anyone else he’d met so far. In fact, he wouldn’t let even Sorley know the true depths of his power until the final battle, when he challenged the Irish lord for the territory. “I’m taking over the Howth smuggling operation,” he informed Christie plainly.
“Says who?” someone called from the back of the pack.
“Says Sorley.”
Christie’s face gave away his surprise, before he managed to conceal it. “I heard rumors of your . . . surprise visit to Lord Sorley. So, you’ve got the guns.”
“Sorley has the guns,” Quinn clarified.
Christie’s eyes flared briefly. “What about Jacobs and Clarke?”
Quinn considered his response. He assumed Jacobs and Clarke were the two vamps who’d been sent to receive the gun shipment before they’d had the misfortune of running into Eve. Maybe they’d even been friends with Christie. Still, Quinn had no reason to stand here and be interrogated. They were vampires, and he’d already demonstrated the only thing that mattered in their world. Power. On the other hand, treating Christie with the respect Sorley had so obviously denied him might make this transition go more smoothly.
“I never caught their names,” he said smoothly, and let Christie conclude the rest.
The Howth vampire sighed, then gave the tiniest bow from the waist. “You probably want a briefing.”
Quinn tipped his head. “That would be useful.” He started forward, with Garrick at his back. The locals may have accepted him, but they certainly hadn’t embraced him. As Quinn approached the open door of a small, glassed-in office, the music started up again. He stopped and turned around. “The music stays off permanently,” he ordered. “We’re smugglers, not a bunch of drunk teenagers.”
He ignored the grumbling as the three of them filed into the office. He nodded for Garrick to close the door and kicked one of two chairs against a side wall, giving him a solid surface at his back and a clear view of the warehouse filled with unhappy vampires. Garrick stood across from him, one foot braced on the other wall, while Christie shuffled behind the desk and sat rather delicately, as if unsure he still belonged there.
Quinn didn’t waste any time. “I’ll want any records you’ve maintained, as well as a list of contacts and deliveries. Can you email it?”
“I can, but I’ll need to scan some of—”
“The last six months will be enough. Do it now, so I have time to review it before tomorrow night. Are you the only one supervising this operation?”
“Jacobs was the one in charge. I handled the books. But now . . .” He gestured in Quinn’s direction. “If you’re telling me the truth . . .”
Quinn studied the other vampire as he decided whether to take offense at the sly insult. He could kill Christie with a thought, although the vamp didn’t seem to realize it yet. Quinn wasn’t going to reveal his power over a minor insult, but on the other hand. . . .
Christie never saw him coming. Quinn grabbed him by the throat and threw him across the room, his body shattering the window and knocking over several other vampires before he came to rest on the warehouse floor.
Brushing bits of glass from his leather jacket, Quinn stepped out of the office and into the warehouse to confront the silent group of vampires. He looked down at Christie. “I’ll expect that email. Don’t disappoint me.” He nodded a farewell at the gathered vampires. “Gentlemen.” Then he and Garrick walked out.
They continued down the street until they were well away from the warehouse, not far from the café where Quinn had spent his first nights in Howth. It was darker tonight, with no moon to add its light to the dim pole lamps. The café was closed, but down the pier a ways, the pub was still going strong, with young people spilling from its crowded bar to stand around outside, despite the dark night. Or maybe because of it, Quinn thought, seeing the furtive coupling going on in the shadows.
“That went well,” he commented, pulling his attention back to the night’s business. Garrick gave him a sideways look as if trying to judge whether he meant it or not. Quinn wasn’t sure, either, so he added, “Better than I expected.”
“Will he send the records, you think?”
“Absolutely. He’ll want me to think he’s cooperating.”
“But you don’t think he will.”
“No, the quiet ones are always violent in the end.”
“Do we need to worry about the house?”
“No. An attack in that part of Howth would draw too much attention. The kind that can’t be bought off. They’ll go for someplace familiar. An ambush at the warehouse, most likely. Tomorrow night. This is their turf, and they’ll defend it.”
“What about Christie?”
Quinn shrugged. “What about him? He’ll have to go.”
“Does he have any significant power?”
“You think he was shielding?”
“Of course, he was. Enough of the cryptic shit, Q. This is me you’re talking to.”
“Okay, yeah. He has enough power to control the rest of them, but nothing I can’t handle. You could take him, too. But I can’t afford to look weak, so it has to be me.”
“Why not get rid of him later tonight? Wait ‘til he leaves his boys, then take him on the street. Sweet and simple. No witnesses to know for sure.”
“Because vampires don’t respect sweet and simple. It has to be violent and public. Or at least, as public as a gathering of vampire smugglers can get.”
“Right. We should top off our energy then. Something fresh this time.” His gaze drifted to the crowded pub.
Quinn was about to respond when a familiar redhead appeared out of the darkness, her hips swaying in those spike-heeled boots, her gaze a combination of sultry and suspicious as she eyed first him, then Garrick.
“Small world,” she said, stopping three feet away from them.
“Howth isn’t exactly Las Vegas,” he said. “And this seems to be the social center. Where else would we be on a Sunday night?”
“I don’t know. Church maybe? Confessing your sins?”
“I don’t believe in sins, sweetheart.”
“Convenient. Good evening, Garrick,” she said, giving his cousin a pleasant smile.
Garrick had been eyeing her warily, like some dangerous beast that could pounce at any moment, but he grinned at her greeting, probably enjoying the fact that she was giving Quinn a hard time. “You’re looking lovely tonight, Eve.” He managed to say it as if he meant it, as if he hadn’t been urging Quinn to get rid of her only a few hours ago. He nodded at Eve, then turned to Quinn and said, “I’m taking off.”
“Where to?” Quinn asked, lacing the question with just enough caution that Garrick was reminded of their precarious situation in Howth. Neither one of them could afford to get too comfortable.
Garrick nodded in the direction of the pub. “Over there. I’m going to do what I do best.”
“What’s that?” Eve asked, before Quinn could say anything.
Garrick’s jaw tightened slightly, but he played his part. “Pretend to drink hard while I sweet talk the locals into embracing our client’s business. And, of course, find my own sweet lady for the night. Even sinners deserve a break.”
“Especially sinners,” Quinn commented quietly. “Don’t be late.”
“Yeah, you either,” he said, with a dismissive laugh. He slapped Quinn’s shoulder and took off.
Quinn watched until Garrick had disappeared into the pub, slipping his way through the crowd with remarkable ease. When he turned back, he found Eve staring at him.
“Who says I’m your lady?” she demanded.
Quinn snorted. “Who says you’re sweet?”
Eve’s blush was visible on her pale skin, despite the poor lighting. “What were you doing over there in that warehouse?”
“Spying on me, darling?”
“No,” she insisted defensively. “I just happened to see you. And I wondered.”
“Business,” Quinn said simply.
“Business, my ass,” she snarled. “How come every time I see you, you’re hanging around with vampires?”
Quinn grinned. The snarl was cute coming from that full, pouty mouth of hers. Without warning, he closed the space between them, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her in for a kiss. She pretended to resist at first, pushing half-heartedly at his chest. But the pushes soon turned to caresses as she gave in, her mouth warm beneath his, her tongue a silken sweep of sensation as the kiss deepened into something more, something hungry.
When the kiss ended and they both came up for air, she slapped his chest. “Answer my question,” she demanded breathlessly, while doing nothing to move away from his embrace.
He studied her a moment. “Why?” he asked.
“Why?” she repeated, her voice growing louder with outrage. “Because they’re . . . vampires,” she finished with a whisper.
He smiled. “And don’t I know that,” he said, adding a touch of Irish to the words.
She squinted at him, as if trying to figure out if he was mocking her. Or maybe he was a puzzle to solve. “Fine,” she said finally, shoving away from him. “Fuck you. Do what you want, but don’t get in my way. You do your business deals, but I’m going to hunt them down.” She started to turn, but he stopped her.
“You’re going to get yourself killed, Eve. Do it my way.”
She glared at him. “Your way? What the fuck is your way? Who are you?”
Quinn fought to remain calm. The bagged blood had done no more than taken the edge off earlier. He needed to feed, and he could feel his fangs pushing for release as they responded to his hunger for this woman. If he permitted that, if he showed Eve his true face, she’d scream and run away at best, or try to kill at him at worst. Most likely the latter. He’d have to stop her either way, and he didn’t want to hurt her. “Let’s just say that I want Sorley dead just as much as you do,” he said quietly.
Eve stared. He didn’t need his telepathic gift to read the emotions warring inside her. She knew he wasn’t being completely honest, knew she was somehow being played, but she wanted to trust him. Hell, she just wanted him.
He yanked her close again. “You never did give me a proper hello,” he murmured.
“I kissed you,” she insisted, her fingers caressing his jaw almost reluctantly.
“No, I kissed you.”
She was Eve, so she resisted for a heartbeat or two, but then she surrendered, going up on tiptoes to meet his mouth, her arms tight around his neck as she held him against her soft breasts. “Let’s go,” she murmured against his mouth, sliding her hand down to take his and pull him away from the crowd and noise of the pub.
“Where are you taking me?”
She looked back at him over her shoulder. “Guess.”
EVE STRUGGLED TO get the door key out of her small purse, but apparently she wasn’t moving fast enough for Quinn. He was all over her, lifting her off her feet, pressing her against the wall of Mrs. Bradley’s house while his mouth ravaged her, nibbling on her ear lobe, sucking her neck, his hands molding the cheeks of her ass. She wrapped her legs around his narrow hips, her body acting on its own, as if it knew what it wanted and to hell with what her brain was telling her. To hell, indeed. She struggled to think clearly, drowning in need for this man she barely knew. “Wait,” she gasped, feeling the press of his erection and knowing he’d fuck her right there on the street if she didn’t stop him. “Wait,” she said again, tugging on his hair, swallowing a moan as his tongue swept the delicate curve of her ear.
He followed the warm sweep of his tongue with a gentle bite, but he pulled back, studying her with eyes that gleamed despite the nearly moonless night. “Wait?” he growled.
“Not here,” she whispered, swallowing hard. “My flat—”
She didn’t get out any more words as he swung her away from Mrs. Bradley’s wall and carried her the short distance to her front door. She managed to find the right key, to scrape the key into the lock, but it wouldn’t—
Quinn’s hand covered hers on the door knob. He squeezed and turned the stubborn key, then shoved the door open. Once inside, he slammed her back against the closed door while his mouth devoured her with a hunger that matched her own. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of her mouth, her neck. He tugged her sweater down, his fingers coasting over the soft mounds of her breasts above the lacey confines of her bra, pinching her nipples into erectness through the lace until every scrape of the fabric was like a lightning bolt straight between her legs.
Skin. She wanted skin. Reaching for his shoulders, she shoved his leather jacket back, ignoring his growl when her efforts threatened to trap his arms. With a frustrated curse, he freed first one arm, then the next, letting the jacket fall to the floor as he bent his head and took her nipple in his mouth. Eve threw her head back with a groan of pleasure, feeling the cold wood of the door on her back, and this incredibly hot man all over her front.
“Quinn,” she said, tugging on his hair again to get his attention. One of his big hands slid up her thigh and under the elastic edge of her panties, and she forgot what she wanted to say. “Oh, God,” she breathed when his fingers found the slick arousal between her thighs.
He slid two fingers between the swollen lips of her pussy, and she nearly came right then and there. She would have if Quinn hadn’t chosen that moment to swing her around and carry her to the bed. She pounded his shoulder in frustration, and he laughed.
“Don’t worry, darling Eve,” he murmured against her ear. “There are plenty of climaxes in your future.”
Eve blushed at the blatant carnality of his words, and then blushed more deeply at her own embarrassment. She was half naked with a gorgeous man between her thighs, his mouth on her tit, and she was worrying about him talking dirty.
He dropped her on the bed, eyeing her hungrily as he stripped off his shirt and kicked off his shoes. His pants came next, and it was Eve’s turn to eat him up with her eyes, the beautiful definition of muscle beneath his smooth skin, the narrow trail of golden hair that guided her eye to the flat plane of his belly, his groin, and then his cock. Her eyes closed as desire overwhelmed her. This was more need, more straightforward lust than she’d ever felt for a man. There was so much that it frightened her, making her heart pound, her lungs tighten . . . until Quinn’s hard body covered her own, his strong hands smoothing along her arms and thighs, his mouth murmuring wordless reassurances in between nibbling kisses along her jaw, over her closed eyelids.
“Eve,” he whispered her name with wonder, as if it held magic.
Eve speared her fingers through his hair, urging his mouth back to her breasts. She wanted the wet heat of him on her nipples, wanted . . . everything. Every part of him.
He growled, and she heard the sound of ripping lace as he pulled her bra down to bare one breast. She nearly screamed when his teeth closed over her nipple, the erotic jolt to her pussy doubled as pain fed her desire. She did scream then, biting her hand to muffle the sound, when his fingers found her pussy again and shoved inside her, when his thumb scraped over her clit in a rough caress that threatened to drown her in sensation.
She didn’t remember losing them, but her panties were gone, her sex completely bare as he reached down and wrapped his fingers around her calf, bending her knee and spreading her wide for the cock she could feel lying heavy and hot against her thigh. Quinn lifted slightly, just enough to transfer his hand from her leg to his cock, then gripping his hard length, he guided the tip into her pussy. He held himself still for a moment, teasing her, meeting her eyes, watching her as he dipped the first inch or two of his penis into her body, moving slightly in and out.
Eve’s eyes narrowed. “Do it,” she ordered.
He smiled slowly. “Ask nicely.”
“I don’t have to—” She gasped as he slid in another two inches, then pulled out, holding himself tantalizingly close, the head of his cock dipping in and out, tormenting her. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh. “Quinn,” she cried softly.
“What do you need?” he whispered, his mouth covering hers in a hungry kiss before she could answer.
“Come on,” she said, hating the pleading note in her voice.
“What do you say, darling Eve?”
“Please.”
He slammed into her before the word even left her mouth, his cock filling her so completely that she could feel her inner muscles stretching around him, those delicate tissues aching with strain. He began to move, fucking her, shoving in and pulling out so fast that her pussy grew hot with the friction of his movement. Her legs crossed over his hips, and she held on, her arms around his neck, her mouth crushed against his, teeth and lips smashed together until she could taste blood on her tongue and didn’t know whose it was.
She closed her teeth over his shoulder, felt his skin give and the warm flow of his blood. She moaned as a fresh bout of desire hit her like a blow to the head, slamming into her from nowhere, sending shivers of sensual need skimming along her nerves, tightening her nipples until every scrape of his chest was like a caress over her clit, teasing the sensitive nub until it pulsed along with her heart. Quinn grunted as her pussy clamped down on his cock, and her womb contracted. Eve’s body was out of her control, muscles flexing, spine bowed. She swallowed a scream as Quinn cursed, his body going tight as she felt the heat of his release flooding her sex, his arms holding her tightly as they rode the wave of climax together.
“Fuck,” Eve swore, when she gained enough breath to speak. “What was that?”
Quinn laughed softly. “A climax, darling. I’m sure we’ve done this before.”
“Not like that. That was . . .” She didn’t have words for it.
He kissed her—soft, sweet, and lingering. She could feel his cock, impossibly still hard inside her.
“Quinn,” she breathed, not sure she could take any more pleasure. Was there a limit to the amount of sensation a woman’s nerves could handle before they simply fizzled out and died? Or at least slept for a while. He started to move.
QUINN BIT BACK a groan of hunger. Eve’s pussy was drenched with arousal, trembling in the aftermath of her climax, hot and slick around his cock. But as good as that felt, and God knew it felt terrific, it wasn’t her wet pussy that was driving him, making his cock hard, and his body ache with need. He wanted her blood. The delicious scent of it, the warm rush in her veins, the hard pulse of it against the delicate skin of her neck. His fangs pushed against his gums in relentless demand. When she’d bit him, when his blood had zinged through her system rocketing her into orgasm, he’d nearly surrendered and given his body what it needed. What it demanded. But he’d managed to hold back, to channel that desire into an almost painful orgasm of his own. He hadn’t come that hard since before he’d become a vampire. Hell, he hadn’t come that hard since he’d been a raw teenager, jerking off to the slightest provocation.
But, for all that, his body wasn’t satisfied. It wanted blood. If he wasn’t going to feed from Eve, then he’d need to feed from someone else before the night was over. It felt like a betrayal, but that was foolish. He and Eve weren’t a couple. They couldn’t be, as long as her hatred forced him to conceal what he was.
He pumped slowly in and out of her sweet body, feeling her arousal grow again, her nipples hard pebbles against his chest, her pussy shivering around him.
“Quinn,” she cried his name softly, as if pleading for him to help her, to relieve the terrible need that had taken over her body.
He pushed her knees to her chest and thrust deeper, harder. Her pussy was swollen with need, satiny with the cream of her orgasm. Her nails scraped down his back and he hissed, drinking in the sensuous pain in an attempt to drown the hunger.
Her climax started deep, her womb flexing so hard that he felt it against his cock, rippling down his length as she screamed helplessly, her mouth shoved against a pillow to hide her cries from the neighbors. He’d fuck her somewhere private before this was over, somewhere he could hear the magic of her screams as she thrashed beneath him. The image brought his own climax roaring down his cock, joining their bodies in a moment of sheer ecstasy as his release filled her body one more time.
QUINN HELD EVE until she was soundly asleep, with the duvet pulled up to cover their sweat-cooled bodies. It was a kind of torture, lying there with a warm, willing woman in his arms. Her scent was everywhere. The tiny taste of her blood he’d gotten from her torn lip was like a drug, and he was an addict, demanding more. Cursing himself for a fool, he slid a quiet suggestion into her dreaming mind. He wanted to be sure she’d sleep the rest of the night. Not only to cover his departure, but . . . if she went hunting, he might have to stop her. Or even worse, someone else might do it for him. And he didn’t want her hurt. Hell, he just wanted her. And how fucked up was that?
He slipped out of bed and dressed quickly. There was no denying the simple fact that he needed to feed. He could take blood from anyone. It didn’t have to be a beautiful woman. He could suck a man’s neck just as well. But hell if he was going to.
It was a quick walk to the pub where he’d left Garrick. The place was still going strong, though there were fewer people outside. Most of the action was now inside where a live band was playing a mix of traditional Irish and American rock covers, with the crowd cheering and clapping, and just generally having a great time. Quinn waded into the crush of people, using bare wisps of his power to clear a path, scanning for Garrick and not really expecting to find him. By now, he was probably in some willing honey’s bed, fucking and sucking, which is what Quinn would be doing if he had half a brain.
Hunger gnawed at him as he pushed his way through all those warm, blood-filled bodies, his gaze automatically searching out and finding the perfect donors—young women, flush with health, their faces glowing with heat and alcohol. He liked the ones who were with friends, but not with them. The ones who stood and listened, but rarely talked. They were the easiest to seduce, surprised by his attention.
“Quinn!” Garrick’s call had him heading for the back half of the pub, where the lights didn’t quite reach, leaving plenty of dark corners. It made Quinn wonder if the pub owner was himself a vampire, or if he was simply a human who was aware of Howth’s bloodsucking residents and offered the perfect environment as an enticement for their business. Plenty of women—and men, too—sought out places where vampires hunted their prey, lusting after the sexual high of a vampire’s bite.
“Where’s the redhead?” Garrick asked when Quinn joined him.
“Sleeping,” he said shortly.
His cousin gave him a searching look, but didn’t comment. “There’s plenty of willing flesh here. It’s not a blood house, but it’s the closest thing to it. The ladies all know the rules, especially back here.”
Quinn nodded, his attention on a curvy brunette leaning against a wide pillar that straddled the line between the front and back of the club. If she leaned left, the lights glinted off the gold highlights in her hair. But if she tilted right, she was a dark temptation, her full lips playing with the glass of amber liquid in her hand.
“You going back to the house soon?” he asked Garrick, not looking at him.
“I can wait.”
Quinn nodded. “This won’t take long.”
Sliding through the crowd as if they weren’t there, he walked up to the brunette and stood in front of her, not saying a word. She gazed up at him, her eyes wide with excitement and just enough fear to make her heart pound a little faster, which made her blood pump a little harder. Delicious.
Quinn took her hand and tugged her deeper into the darkness of the pub, not stopping until they had a private corner to themselves. Using enough of his power to make sure it stayed that way, he bent his head to her neck and inhaled the scent of her.
“What’s your name, sweetheart,” he murmured against her skin.
“Brenda, my lord,” she breathed so softly that he wouldn’t have been able to hear her without his vampire-enhanced senses.
“Brenda,” he repeated, then sank his fangs into her velvety skin, reveling in the soft pop as he penetrated her vein, nearly groaning with pleasure at the taste of her blood. She was young and fresh, with a distinct bouquet of the whiskey she’d been sipping. He had one arm wrapped around her waist, the other around her shoulders, with his hand cupping the back of her head, holding her in place. Brenda moaned softly, and the scent of her arousal filled the air, until she was trembling in his arms. Quinn drank. He was so damn hungry. He’d gone too long without feeding, worrying too much about Eve. The thought of Eve made his throat clench, until he nearly choked in a way he hadn’t since the first weeks of his turning.
With a silent curse, he drew hard on Brenda’s vein. She jerked in his arms as she suddenly climaxed, and he ignored the flashback of Eve that threatened to invade his thoughts. Fuck Eve. He was a vampire. He had to feed.
Withdrawing his fangs, he gave sweet Brenda a final lick to sweep up a few lingering drops and seal the wound. She’d have a mild hickey in the morning, if that. But mostly, she’d have a memory of the best orgasm of her life. And, Quinn suspected, she’d now become a regular patron of the local vampires’ favorite pub.
Quinn kissed the side of her forehead and eased her into a booth, where she wasn’t alone. Two other women, and one man, were similarly sleeping off a vampire’s bite, their bodies completely relaxed, their faces wreathed in dreamy smiles.
When he exited the pub, Garrick was waiting for him. Sunrise wasn’t far off, and this was still an unfamiliar town. They had to leave enough time to secure their house before they took to their beds.
They walked the short distance back to the warehouse, where the Range Rover was still parked. Quinn had half-expected some of Christie’s vampires to vandalize it somehow. Spray some graffiti, or at least key the paint job. The absence made him suspect something worse. “We need a bomb detector.”
“I don’t think they carry those at the local hardware,” Garrick said dryly. Dropping to the ground, he scooted under the big vehicle and searched the rear half, while Quinn did the same on the front.
“Are vampire lords supposed to do this kind of shit?” he grumbled. “Shouldn’t I have a flunky or two?”
“Probably. You should make a note.”
Quinn grunted and rolled out from under the SUV, then jumped to his feet and brushed off his clothes. “Anything?” he asked as Garrick did the same.
“Not that I could see, but I’m no expert.”
Quinn shrugged. “If we blow, we blow. But we’ve got to get going.”
Garrick opened the driver’s door and slid inside. “Let me start it, before—”
“Fuck that,” Quinn snarled, climbing into the passenger side. “You’re not my canary.”
Garrick pressed the ignition, shaking his head when the engine started smoothly, and nothing exploded. “You’ve got to start acting the part,” he said with surprising seriousness.
Quinn sighed and looked away. “When will Adorjan and the others get here?”
“The daylight crew is already at the Dublin house, getting things set up. The vamp half will arrive tomorrow night.”
“Good.”
The rest of the short drive was silent. Garrick parked the Range Rover, while Quinn closed and locked the gates. The two of them then went through their well-established routine of securing the house against intruders, before closing themselves up in the inner bedroom with even more security precautions.
Not much longer, Quinn thought to himself, as he settled on the bed. So far, he’d managed to avoid taking on the full mantle of authority that being the Lord of Ireland would require. Sure, he’d bullied Christie and the local vamps into a pretense of cooperation. But he’d done worse than that in a courtroom while wearing a three-piece suit. Besides, it was a short-lived victory. He fully expected to receive an unpleasant welcome when he arrived at the warehouse the next night. The very fact that he was looking forward to it was oddly satisfying. Maybe he was meant to rule, after all.
On that cheery note, the rising sun’s light filled the horizon, and he was out.