Quinn (Vampires in America: The Vampire Wars Book 12) by D. B. Reynolds (7)

Chapter Six

QUINN ROSE AT sunset, ready to fight for control of Howth before the night was over. Christie had probably been on the phone with Sorley before Quinn had been gone five minutes the previous night. And Sorley, no doubt, had encouraged Christie to assassinate the usurper American who thought to waltz in and take over their business. Nationalism was always a useful tool when urging people to die for a cause, even when the people in question were vampires. But Quinn doubted Sorley’s support for Christie would extend to providing any fighters. First, Sorley had seemed like the sort who’d prioritize his own safety above all others, and, second, it would be an embarrassment if he supplied fighters and Quinn won anyway. It all came down to Sorley’s interests in the end, and fuck Christie if he couldn’t hang on to his own town.

Garrick was already in the kitchen when Quinn joined him. “More coffee?” he asked, pouring a cup for himself.

Garrick shook his head. He had earphones on, but a glance at the cellphone sitting on the counter told Quinn he was listening to messages, not music. He hit the home button and pulled the earphones out. “Adorjan and the others will be here within the hour. They arrived in Dublin separately late last night and rendezvoused by phone. They’ll meet up tonight and head this way. Traffic will be heavy, but it shouldn’t take long. The last message came in about five minutes ago, and they were just leaving Dublin.”

“And the daylight guards?”

“Everything’s set up. They’ll be ready whenever we get there.”

“I’ll want to talk to Joshua Bell.” Bell had worked for Adorjan for years, and was now Quinn’s daylight security chief. He was also mated to a female vamp who worked on Raj’s estate.

“Bell’s at the house and expecting your call. By the way, his wife wants to join him here, but you need to formally agree. Raj has given the okay.”

“What does she do for Raj again?”

“Cooking.”

Quinn looked up in surprise. “That’s not usual for a vampire.”

Garrick raised one shoulder in a shrug. “She was a chef before she got turned. She cooks for the daylight guards and the other humans on the estate, including Raj’s mate, Sarah. She works at night, obviously, and leaves it for them to do the final prep.”

“Interesting. I’ll call Bell. In the meantime, we’ll wait for Adorjan and the others. It could get bloody tonight.”

Garrick looked a little surprised. “You think so? Christie seemed . . . resigned to the new lineup.”

“Maybe. But I’m not convinced he was nothing but a bookkeeper. The two dead vamps were obviously the muscle, but there’s a better than good chance that it was all an act last night, and that he’s been the brains behind the operation all along. I’m not taking those odds if I don’t have to. And with my own fighters on hand, I don’t have to.”

Garrick sprawled at the rough wooden table. “As long as we have time to kill, tell me about Eve. And why you left with her, but ended up tapping another woman’s vein . . . again.”

“Let it go, Garrick.” Quinn understood his cousin’s concerns. Hell, he had the same concerns himself. But he didn’t know what he was going to do about any of them. The smart thing would be to walk away, but he didn’t think that was an option anymore, although he didn’t want to delve too deeply into why that might be the case.

“I can’t let it go,” Garrick said stubbornly. “Even if you were the only one at risk, I’d keep pushing, but you’re not. We’ve put our faith in you, Q. Put our lives on the line. And it’s not only because we know you can take the territory, it’s because we believe you’ll be a good ruler. And your little girlfriend puts all of that at risk. All of us. I know you. And I know if she gets hurt or killed while she’s out hunting for her vengeance, you’ll track down the vampire responsible and destroy him. And what will that say about—”

“I said let it the fuck go.” Quinn’s growl was soft, but he didn’t need volume when his words rumbled with power.

Garrick stood and kicked back his chair. “And you’ve just made my point for me. Deal with it, Quinn. Before she costs all of us more than you’re willing to pay.”

Quinn could have called him back. Could have ordered him back. But he wouldn’t do that to Garrick, and, besides, he was right. He did have to do something about Eve. He just didn’t know what. Actually, that was a lie. He knew exactly what needed to be done. He had to tell her the truth about what he was. And, if she took it badly, then he’d have to go into her memories, her thoughts—everything that made her the Eve he knew and lusted after—and erase her knowledge of vampires altogether. Or at least the events that had set her on this destructive path of vengeance.

He wasn’t naïve. He knew there were vampires who needed to be killed. But that wasn’t true of all of them, and it sure as hell wasn’t Eve’s job to decide which ones should die. He wondered how many innocents she’d killed. Hell, he wondered how many vampires altogether. If he asked her, would she tell him? Nothing was ever simple with her. She’d want to know why he was asking.

“Fuck,” he swore, tossing his coffee mug into the sink hard enough that it broke. “Double fuck.” Wiping up the shards with a wad of paper towels, he tossed the whole mess into the trash, then went into the dining room, with its table full of computers. Only one of those was Quinn’s, which sat on its own at one end of the big table, and he dropped down in front of it now. Checking his email first, he found a lengthy message from Christie, along with a multitude of attachments. He suspected the vamp was trying to drown him in details, but he didn’t know Quinn. Quinn lived for this kind of shit. He loved details, loved lists and ledgers and financial disclosures. Especially the ones trying to hide something from him. He printed out every attachment, then rubbed his hands together almost gleefully and went to work.

He was still working two hours later, when the sound of more than one engine from the front yard had him coming to his feet, all of his senses on high alert. He first scanned for Garrick, finding him a moment before he heard his footsteps heading for the door.

“Garrick,” he called softly, knowing his cousin would hear. When Quinn stepped into the long hallway, Garrick was already there, one hand palm down against the door, concentrating. He was strong enough, and he’d been around Adorjan and the other fighters long enough, to recognize their power signatures. A grin crossed his face as he lifted his hand and pulled the door open, then strode out into the night with a howl of greeting.

Quinn watched as Garrick and Adorjan met halfway between the cars and the house, pounding each other on the back so hard, the concussion must have been heard by the neighbors, even if the howling hadn’t been. He was going to miss that when he became Lord of Ireland. That easy camaraderie, the back slapping and joking. Even Garrick would treat him differently. They’d still be friends, still joke on occasion, but there would be a new distance between them. Unbridgeable. Vampires were hardwired that way. It was necessary. He sighed and walked out into the yard, accepting greetings that were already more reserved than what Garrick had received—the back slaps not quite as hard, the occasional “my lord” slipped in.

“Sire.”

Everything in Quinn responded to that simple word, and to the one vampire who had the right to call him by that title. “Adorjan,” he said, turning to greet the big vampire who was his only child. They hugged briefly in the way of big men, gripping hands and slamming shoulders. “It’s good to have you here, and just in time. Come inside, we’ll brief you on what to expect later tonight.”

“Tonight?” he said eagerly. The Hungarian accent that was his birthright was still strong after several years in the U.S., probably because he had no desire to lose it. He was a big guy, an inch over Quinn’s own six foot three, with shoulder length brown hair and brown eyes. Quinn supposed he was considered handsome. Adorjan certainly never had any trouble attracting women, despite the jagged scar that bisected his right cheek, from his eye to the corner of his mouth. That scar marked him as different among vampires. The vampire symbiote could heal almost any injury, even those acquired decades before a vampire’s turning. It was almost unheard of for a vampire to bear a disfiguring scar. Quinn had offered to heal him outright, rather than waiting for the symbiote to get around to it. The big Hungarian had not only refused, he’d had one of the vampire tattoo artists infuse the scar with the same combination of blood and ink that prevented the symbiote from healing tattoos. The scar was a mark of defiance against the brutal regime who’d imprisoned and tortured him. A symbol of his hatred and his triumph, too. Because he’d killed the man who’d given it to him.

And yet, this angry man who’d trusted no one had seen something in Quinn to admire. After years of working for him as a human, he’d gone down on one knee and pledged his loyalty, and only then had asked to be made vampire. Quinn liked to think he was a good man, a good leader. He’d rejected the capricious cruelty of Marcelina and patterned himself after lords like Rajmund and Raphael. They were unyielding in their power, but they treated their people fairly, demanding only loyalty in return. It mattered to Quinn that Adorjan had asked to be turned, that he’d wanted Quinn to be his Sire. It was a trust that he wouldn’t betray, and it was why Adorjan was one of those vampires who would form Quinn’s inner circle in the centuries to come.

“We’re moving in on the local vampire smuggling operation,” he explained to Adorjan. “And I expect bloodshed before the night is over.”

“The others will be happy to hear it,” the big vampire said eagerly. “All this flying and driving can send a vampire over the edge of crazy. Too much sitting in one place.”

Quinn laughed. “Come on in, then,” he said, leading the way back into the house. “Let’s not entertain the neighbors. We have blood, if you need it,” he added softly.

“I’m good, but one or two of the others will be glad of it. Thank you, Sire.”

Quinn signaled Garrick, who got everyone moving in the right direction, and before long, they were all settled around the dining room table, with its multiple computers and, now, Quinn’s neat stacks of printouts, most of which already bore his handwritten notes.

“This all came over from the master vampire who ran the local smugglers until last night.”

“What happened last night?” Adorjan asked the question, even though he and Quinn had already discussed it somewhat. As Quinn’s security chief, it was his responsibility to make sure everyone was briefed.

Quinn explained about Christie and the other vampires at the warehouse, while Garrick offered bagged blood in a warm water bath. Quinn moved around the table as he talked, gathering the tidy stacks of paper and moving them over to a sturdy sideboard, where they wouldn’t get shuffled out of order, or, worse, dribbled with blood. He caught Garrick’s bemused look, but ignored it. If being neat was his worst sin . . . but it wasn’t. Never would be. He’d been one of Rajmund’s warriors for decades, before Raj had become Lord of the Northeast, and he’d governed Maine’s vampire community for him after that. Vampires were violent by nature, and sometimes that violence drove them too far. Quinn had killed to defend Rajmund and his rule of law, and there was no doubt that he’d have to kill again. But this time, it would be to seize and defend his own territory. And he’d do whatever he had to, kill whomever he had to, to protect the vampires who depended on him for their lives.

He thought about Eve, and the threat she posed to those same vampires. And he knew he had to confront that situation, to confront her, very soon.

But not tonight. Tonight was for vampires only.

They were all caught up on the plan, such as it was—basically, walk into the warehouse, trigger Christie’s trap, and then kill everyone who didn’t fall into line—when Garrick said, “Just one more thing.” He walked over to Quinn, dropped down to one knee, and said, “I would swear to you, my lord, before we leave.”

The others followed, pushing their chairs back, and dropping to their knees.

Quinn stood and stared in silence. He’d expected this at some point, but not yet. “The blood oath—”

“We all swore the blood oath months ago, and it stands,” Garrick interrupted. “But the battle is upon us now, and before we go in there, I want it perfectly clear where my loyalties lie. With you. Always with you.” The others signaled their agreement, some repeating the words, “with you,” others simply making wordless sounds of accord.

“Thank you,” Quinn said sincerely. “All of you. You honor me with your trust.” He held the moment for a heartbeat, two. And then he grinned. “Now, let’s go win us a territory.”

The vampires rose to their feet with a roar of agreement that probably had the neighbors thinking a jet had stormed over too low, but Quinn didn’t have time for the neighbors. He had a battle to win.

Dublin, Ireland

EVE LINGERED ACROSS the street from the Donnybrook mansion that was the main residence of Orrin Sorley, the Vampire Lord of Ireland. This was his “lair.” That’s what the monsters called it. It was the same house that Quinn had come out of a few nights ago, when he’d stopped her from questioning the accountant. Quinn still thought she’d meant to kill the vamp, and she let him think that, let him believe she was a cold-blooded killer just like the vampires she hunted.

She scowled at the thought of Quinn’s attitude when it came to her late night activities. He claimed to be worried about her, but she couldn’t help thinking he was more concerned about his business deal and the vampires he needed to make it happen. Asshole.

She’d considered telling him about this trip to Dublin, just so he’d know she’d be gone and wouldn’t worry if he came looking for her. Yeah, she thought dismissively, in case he needed to fuck. Because that was all they ever did. It wasn’t like they’d made some deep connection with each other. There’d been no flowers, no candlelit dinners. Just fucking. And, sure, she had to admit it was the best fucking of her life. The man had amazing skills and incredible recuperative powers. But her mission was more important than a good fuck. She dreamed of her brother almost every night, saw him beaten to the ground by the two vampires, heard him begging for his life while they kicked him, until he lay still and silent and dead.

She wouldn’t stop until she found the vampires who’d murdered him, until they were nothing but dust in the dirt, their lives meaningless, forgotten. She knew their faces—hell, those faces haunted her dreams. And she’d learned enough about how Sorley deployed his henchmen to know that those two were probably part of his Dublin organization, just like the two she’d killed in Howth had been local only. Sorley kept his toughest warriors, his most ruthless killers, close at hand, for both his own protection and to make sure he knew what they were doing. Which was why she was moving her focus to Dublin. She was never going to find those two anywhere else.

And while she searched for Alan’s killers, she’d do the world a favor and get rid of a few more of the monsters. So that some other sister didn’t have to watch her brother die like a dog.

She shivered suddenly, as if the dark thoughts had brought a chill to the night. Zipping her jacket closed, she hugged herself, glad she’d thought to wear a scarf and gloves this time around. When she’d first started hunting, she’d been so focused on dressing for seduction that she’d forgotten about the hours she’d have to spend lying in wait. She’d learned since then. And not only how to dress, either. She’d fine-tuned her weapons and her technique until she’d been able to take down both of those big vampires the night she’d met Quinn. That had been the best kill of her life, but there’d been no celebration. Because of Quinn. He’d distracted her from her goal, and then, even worse, he’d made her aware, in a way she’d never been before, of the dangers of what she was doing. She hadn’t killed a vampire since she’d met him. But that was about to change. She’d come to Dublin to prove something to herself, to prove that she hadn’t lost her edge, hadn’t lost sight of her mission.

She stilled when she detected fresh movement in the courtyard of the house. She’d established the guards’ routine long ago, but this was something else. A small group of men—vampires always seemed to be men—were leaving the house, though she’d been there since before sundown and hadn’t seen anyone go in. That meant this group had to have spent the day inside Sorley’s headquarters, something only his inner circle ever did. At least as far as she could tell from her one time inside the house, and her many nights spent watching from afar.

She raised a pair of binoculars to her eyes, wanting details. She needed to see their faces, so she’d recognize them on the street. The binoculars were a new piece of equipment. Small and easy to conceal, but remarkably powerful.

She moved several feet down the sidewalk, careful to remain in the shadows of the tree-lined street. Between the wall and the various cars parked in the yard, it was difficult to get a good line-of-sight before they disappeared into one of the vehicles. This new group appeared to consist of three vampires, all talking amongst themselves, ignoring the guards stationed right outside the door. One of them turned to walk back inside, and she recognized him as Lorcan, Sorley’s lieutenant. She’d seen him many times before, but it was the accountant who’d gotten away who’d finally given her his name and confirmed his high position within Sorley’s inner circle.

Her gut tightened. If Lorcan was sending these two on a mission, then it was important. And they had to be . . . Her breath froze in her lungs. She stared into the binoculars until her eyes burned, afraid to blink, terrified she was wrong, that she was seeing what she wanted to see, not what was really there. But then one of the vamps laughed as he walked around to the driver’s side of the car, and she knew.

It was them. The two who’d killed her brother. The hard reality of it finally unlocked her lungs and her legs as she raced for her car. She might have trouble keeping up with them in their fancy, high-performance sedan. But there were a lot of cars on the crowded streets of Dublin. They’d make her invisible, no matter how close she got.

Luck was with her a moment later, when the two vamps sped right past her parking space just as she began to pull out, not even slowing when they swerved around her with only an inch to spare. “Fucking vampires,” she muttered. She’d noticed that about them. They were so secure in their own immortality, so confident with their enhanced senses, that they didn’t give a damn about the rest of humanity who filled the city.

But they were going to learn just what an ordinary human could do. She would show them. And it would be their turn to die.

Howth, Ireland

THE WAREHOUSE WAS silent. There was no more music blasting, and only the thinnest line of dim light around the closed door of the main entrance indicated anyone might be inside. Quinn wanted to believe they’d learned their lesson from the night before, that they’d taken his admonishment about secrecy to heart. But somehow, he doubted this new security was the result of his interference. He sighed inwardly. He’d rather hoped Christie and the others would see the benefits of having a powerful vampire like himself in charge of the smuggling operation. Or, if not that, then at least recognize the opportunity to do Orrin Sorley a favor, since Sorley had given Howth to Quinn.

On the other hand, maybe that’s exactly what they thought they were doing. Getting into Sorley’s good graces by killing off a thorn in his side. A very sharp, prickly thorn named Quinn Kavanagh.

Quinn waited until all of his team were out of their cars and gathered around him, then let his senses stretch out to the building in front of him, searching for life signs, listening to heartbeats, eavesdropping on the leaking thoughts of the people inside. Most humans didn’t realize just how different vampires were from the humanity they’d left behind. Vampire hearts beat stronger and faster, and their lungs drew more deeply, but fewer breaths per minute. It was their minds that set them apart, however. They sparked with a much higher level of activity than humans, their brains a constant buzz of neurons going off like fireworks in the night sky.

Not every vampire was capable of what Quinn was about to do, to scan a building and determine how many life forms were inside, how many vampires, how many humans. But for a vampire of Quinn’s strength? It was as natural as breathing. “No humans in there,” he said. “Fifteen vampires, including Christie.” Quinn shook his head. Christie was shining like a fucking beacon, compared to the others in the warehouse. He was a master vamp, but he didn’t need to paint himself like a giant target. Either he was too stupid to conceal his presence, or he wanted Quinn to sense him and ignore everyone else. Like that was going to happen.

“Rules of engagement,” he said quietly. “You kill anyone who tries to kill you. No mercy. But remember, I’m here to establish my right to rule, not only in Howth, but all of Ireland. I can’t start by killing every vampire I meet. So, don’t kill anyone who’s not a threat. I’ll handle Christie. He has to die. The others—” He shrugged one shoulder. “—will be given a choice. We’re vampires, not mindless thugs. You understand?”

A chorus of muffled agreement responded.

Quinn grinned. “Great, then, let’s have some fun.” He strode the short distance to the door and reached to pull it open.

Adorjan got there first. “Don’t want to get your head blown off before you even get started,” he murmured, then stepped in front of Quinn and yanked the door open.

The warehouse was empty. Or, at least, that’s what they wanted Quinn to think. Did Christie really believe Quinn wouldn’t have checked first? Or maybe it was much simpler than that. Maybe Christie didn’t realize just how powerful Quinn was. Sure, Quinn had concealed his true strength when he’d confronted Christie last night, but Sorley had a better sense of him. He could have clued Christie in, but it would appear that he hadn’t. The Irish lord seemed to enjoy playing games with other vampires’ lives, pitting his vampires one against the other. Or at least against Quinn.

Christie suddenly appeared from the hallway in back, near the office where he’d met with Quinn the night before.

“Quinn,” he said, smiling with feigned surprise. “And you’ve brought friends.”

“Not friends. Advisers. Vampires with experience running a smuggling organization, or its equivalent. Where are the others?”

“Out and about. Doing whatever it is they do with their free time, I suppose. I didn’t see the need to have them here for this meeting. Everything is ready for inventory,” he said, sweeping his arm to indicate the warehouse full of presumably smuggled goods. “Did you have a chance to go over the records I sent you?”

Quinn wanted to laugh. Christie was so fucking smug, so certain he’d outwitted the stupid American. He didn’t bother to answer the vampire’s question. Without turning away from him, he addressed his own people, saying, “Make yourselves comfortable, lads,” and then made as if to follow the Howth vampire into the back.

It was the tiniest noise that made him stop, the most miniscule flicker of awareness in his brain. Warning his team with a quick mental blast, he released the bonds that held his power in check. It flowed around him in a glorious nebula, invisible to most others, but a swirl of gold fire to his eyes, ethereal and fragile in appearance. But it was as hard as diamond, an impenetrable shield that he raised between his team and the vampires who suddenly materialized all around them, some coming in through a side door, others popping up from their useless concealment amid the crowded shelves.

Quinn’s eyes never left Christie. He caught the look of shock on the vamp’s face a moment before Christie screamed for the Howth vampires to, “Kill these fuckers!”

But it wasn’t vampiric power that lashed into Quinn and his team. These were smugglers, after all. They opened up with automatic weapons, spraying round after round that crashed into Quinn’s shield and fell away, until finally his patience snapped. Yes, these vampires were potentially his people, but enough was enough.

Reaching deep within, to the most primitive depths of his soul, he found the unique power gifted to him by his vampire blood. He found . . . fire.

Vampires screamed as blue flames reached out to engulf them, burning endlessly, but leaving their bodies untouched, so that the agony never ended. They writhed in pain, begging for an end, for mercy.

Don’t they know? Quinn thought distantly. There was no mercy in the world of Vampire. He slowly returned his gaze to Christie, whom he’d left trapped in place, but untouched by the blue flames.

“My lord,” Christie said, going down on one knee. “I didn’t know.”

“What didn’t you know?” Quinn crooned, gliding a step closer.

“Th-that you had such power, that—”

“That I could kill you with a thought? Or let you suffer the way they are?” He gestured casually at the vampires still writhing within their prisons of the blue flame.

“My lord, please.”

Quinn tilted his head curiously. “Please? Please what?”

“Don’t . . .” He shot a terrified look at the screaming vampires. “Spare me.”

“Ah. You believe they deserve to suffer, but you don’t?”

Christie’s eyes rolled in terror, until all Quinn could see were bloodshot white orbs. “Mercy, my lord.”

“Very well,” Quinn said idly, his gaze wandering over the trapped vampires. “Not everyone needs to die. They were just doing their jobs.” His gaze swung back to Christie. “Doing what you told them to.”

“Nooooo!” Christie’s scream of denial lasted far longer than his life, as Quinn surrounded him with flames that went from blue to fiery orange in the blink of an eye, leaving nothing but a pile of dust that danced merrily as the fire consumed even that.

With a thought, the blue flames dropped from around the screaming vampires, and they fell to the warehouse floor, unconscious. When they woke, they’d remember being trapped and a vague sense of horror. But there’d be no specific recollection of fire, unless Quinn decided to make them remember. He didn’t think of himself as cruel, but it was a cruel weapon. It was also very effective.

Quinn swung his gaze around to scan his people, afraid of what he’d see. They all knew what he could do. He’d made sure of it before he recruited them. But, other than Garrick, they’d never seen him burn another vampire, or any living thing, into dust.

Quinn had known early on that his power was unusual. After killing Marcelina, he and Garrick had found Rajmund, and Quinn had learned even more about his extraordinary ability. Every vampire born with the power to be a lord had a unique gift. Quinn had seen what Rajmund could do, had heard stories of Lucas’s power on the battlefield. And he’d recently witnessed firsthand the unbelievable power wielded by Raphael, a power so great that he didn’t know how a single vampire could contain it.

But he’d never heard of a power as willfully destructive as his own. Was there any pain greater than that inflicted by fire? He’d worked with it over the years, until he could control its effect. Blue flames to cause pain without damage to the flesh, orange to kill. There was also a paler flame, nearly white, that trapped a victim, but inflicted only terror, a wordless threat. It was all horrific. But it was his to wield, and so he’d studied it, practicing over the years, until he could not only control its destructiveness, but wield it effectively. Because he’d known even then that he had the power of a vampire lord, that the day would come when he’d want a territory of his own. That he’d have to fight to make that happen, and then fight some more to defend the people that were his. And he had to be ready.

“My lord.”

His gut clenched at the formal phrase coming from Garrick. This was it. No one had forced this fate on him. Sure, Marcelina had turned him unwilling, and the vampire symbiote had given him this power whether he wanted it or not. But he’d decided what happened after that. He didn’t have to be a lord, didn’t have to rule so much as a nest, much less an entire territory. He could have continued his law practice, with his life only slightly altered. But he’d chosen to embrace the power he’d been given. He’d chosen to rule. And now it was time for him to step up and meet his fate, just as he’d done his entire life.

“Garrick,” he said.

“What do we do with . . .” His cousin glanced at the collapsed vampires.

“They’ll come around soon enough. When they do, send them home to recover and sleep out the day. But I want them back here tomorrow night. Christie had one thing right. We need an inventory, and that’s going to take people and time. Anyone who doesn’t show will be fair game. Make sure they understand that.

“In the meantime, I need to finish going through those records Christie sent me. He packed them with useless information to obscure the rest. He wasn’t as clever as he thought, but I’ll still need time to get through it all. Can I leave all of this to you?”

“Of course. Adorjan will drive you—”

“I don’t need anyone—”

“You revealed your power tonight, my lord. Sorley may suspect what you are, but this will give him confirmation. Someone in this lot will talk, no matter how much we threaten. That makes you a target. Adorjan is your new security chief. Let him do his job.”

Quinn stared at his cousin. “Son of a bitch,” he swore softly. “All right. Adorjan,” he called, “let’s go.”

QUINN WOKE THE next night knowing there were many more vampires in the house than there had been previously. It was more than a simple awareness of the crowd. He could sense every one of his team individually, could feel their sleeping minds. He woke earlier than any of them. He was accustomed to waking before Garrick, of course. And he’d woken before Marcelina at the end, too. But he’d never had this crystal clarity of every mind around him. He found it . . . refreshing. He’d always preferred order to chaos, precision to sloppiness. He’d driven more than one legal assistant to the verge of resigning, and had tipped two of them right over that edge. But that diligence, plus an iron will and unrelenting drive, had made him the youngest partner in the history of his very prestigious Boston law firm.

Of course, it was no longer his firm, and he was no longer a lawyer. A shame, really. He’d enjoyed the law. But now he was a fucking vampire lord, and it was time he began to act like it.

Throwing the blankets off, he got up from the bed. A single glance at Garrick told him his cousin would be waking before too much longer, just as his newfound awareness told him the others would, too. Adorjan would be the first of the new arrivals to wake. He was young, but as strong as Garrick. And utterly loyal.

Quinn took a quick shower, knowing the hot water wouldn’t last long with so many people in the house. He started the coffee, but didn’t wait for it to finish. He filled a single mug and, ignoring the sizzle and smell of burning coffee on the warmer, made his way to the dining room to make a few final notes on his computer. He wasn’t naive enough to think he’d be able to continue doing research at this level once he became Lord of Ireland. He’d have to hire a few vampires to do it for him. New assistants to torment. He smiled at the thought. It had been too long. But still, he gazed around the room, with its neat stacks of newly organized files. He was going to miss this.

“My lord?”

He’d expected Garrick to show up first, but it was Adorjan who walked into the room behind him. “Good evening, Adorjan. How are the others?”

“Well, enough,” he said, entering the room. “Happy to finally get started, after all our preparations.”

Quinn smiled. “Good. Tonight we’ll go back to the warehouse and establish a routine going forward. I’ve gone through all of this.” He indicated the files with a sweep of his arm. “Christie was an idiot, but he kept good records, even if he did his best to make it look otherwise. This is an opportunity-based smuggling enterprise. Whatever they can get their hands on, whatever will make money, is what they bring in. Guns and drugs are high on the list, of course. No surprise there. This is Ireland. Guns are theoretically legal, but permits are hard to come by, with crisscrossed jurisdictions. That doesn’t mean there aren’t any. Lots of sport and hobby guns, especially in the countryside. The heavy hitters, the AK47s and 9mm with their 100 round mags, those are harder to find, but there’s definitely a market for them. Some of the Howth operation’s biggest clients are the gangs running drugs through the main port in Dublin. They need the firepower to deal with their Central American distributors. Oddly enough, the locals are bringing in their own supply of coke and marijuana on occasion, circumventing the Dublin gangs altogether. Lucky for them, and now for us, their few drug shipments are too small to concern the big boys in Dublin.

“We’ll have to continue the operation as it is for now. Too many vampires depend on it for their livelihood. Not to mention, more than one human business, legal or otherwise. Even though my goal is to bring Ireland’s vampires into the light, with nothing but legal ventures, that will take time, and I can’t simply cut without replacing.”

He looked up when Garrick joined them, coming in to stand next to Adorjan. “Garrick,” Quinn greeted him.

“My lord,” his cousin said.

The formality caused the same pain in Quinn’s heart, but it was already fading. He’d never been a man to mourn the impossible. No? Then what about Eve? The thought rose unbidden, making his gut clench. He shoved it aside. “I’m glad you’re both here. Why don’t we sit?”

They took seats around the elegant table, now clear since the files had been moved to the sideboard. Three young, fit men, each with a cup of coffee before him, casually dressed and sprawled back in their chairs—this didn’t look much like the beginning of a coup, Quinn thought. But that’s what it was.

“We’re moving to Dublin tomorrow night.” Their eyes widened only slightly, more in anticipation than surprise, Quinn thought. “I’ll need one of the men to remain here to oversee the smuggling operation. It needs to be someone strong enough to control the local vampires, most of whom are strictly lower level in terms of their power. One or two have some strength, but nothing approaching the level of a master. They’ll go along with the new management as long as it continues to make money. Which it will. One or two will think to take over in Christie’s place, but they’ll be gone after tonight. I’d rather leave more than one of our own to supervise, but I don’t know what I’m going to face in Dublin. So, for now, at least, I want everyone else with me there. Any suggestions on who should stay behind?”

“Casey Austin,” Garrick said immediately, exchanging a glance with Adorjan, who nodded his agreement. “He’s strong enough, and he ran his family’s farm before he was turned. His family still runs the place, and they consult frequently. He has a head for business, that’s for sure.”

Quinn nodded. “He was also raised by his Irish mother and grandmother after his father died, so he’s fluent in Irish Gaelic. That’s one of the reasons I chose him for this task force.” He turned to Garrick. “Do you think he’ll mind being left alone here?”

Garrick shook his head. “He has a knack for getting along with people. I’ve always thought there’s some extra vampire magic in his blood. You watch, he’ll have them believing he’s always been one of them by the end of the night.”

“Good to know.” Quinn was thinking of the future, and the many ways he could use a vampire with a talent like that. “We’ll head over to the warehouse as soon as everyone’s up and ready, unless you have questions?”

Adorjan shook his head. “I spoke to Bell as soon as I woke tonight. They’re ready for us in Dublin. Bell says it’s a nice place. Good acreage, but too many neighbors, which is expected in the city like that. For now, we’ll be keeping a close perimeter until we can build up our security forces, both day and night.”

“Agreed. I’m trying to do something about the neighbors, though, and hope to have some extra acreage by the time this is all settled. We don’t need any nosey humans snooping around and getting hurt, or worse.” Quinn lowered his head, running through a mental to-do list. “I think that’s it for now. Tell Casey I’d like to talk to him when he’s ready.”

THE LOCAL VAMPIRES were all waiting inside when Quinn and the others arrived, hanging around the edges of the warehouse, sitting on crates or lounging on chairs that looked as if they’d been stolen from the local pub. They probably had been. Adorjan had insisted on checking the perimeter before letting Quinn enter, looking for explosives or any other kind of trap set for the American vampire who’d so easily taken over their lives. Finding nothing, Adorjan still walked in ahead of Quinn, stepping aside when he determined it was safe, something Quinn had known all along. But the day would inevitably come when a location wasn’t safe, when Quinn was too preoccupied with other matters to spare the kind of attention needed to anticipate that kind of betrayal. He’d be glad, then, that Adorjan was there to search out the danger for him. And that was why they both needed to begin now to establish routines for that future day.

Touching the big vampire’s shoulder lightly, Quinn walked around him and into the warehouse, his gaze skimming over the assembled vamps. Everyone was here. Even if he hadn’t memorized the faces—which he had—he’d counted them last night. But there was someone new in the warehouse, too. Someone hiding. Quinn sent a wisp of power around the area, searching, and found the newcomer lurking against the far wall, in the shadows between shelving units. Interesting. This night might prove entertaining, after all.

“Some of you might be worried about the new management,” he said, setting aside thoughts of the lurker. “You might even mourn Christie’s death.” Quinn shrugged. “He had a choice. He made the wrong one. For those of you who didn’t catch it, my name is Quinn Kavanagh. Orrin Sorley sent me here to take over this operation.”

The lurker made his move then, striding into the light with heavy footfalls, as if trying to intimidate Quinn with his presence. The idea was laughable, but Quinn let the scene play out. The vampire was big and rough looking, with an unkempt beard and mean eyes. He marched forward until he stood in front of several others who were sitting to one side of the warehouse. And then he stared at Quinn, who gave him a glance of mild interest and kept talking.

“You can believe Sorley sent me or not. Your belief matters nothing to me. What does matter is that you do your jobs,” he ended with a growl.

“So, you’re the new management,” the mean-eyed vamp sneered. “Let me break it down for you, boss.”

Quinn gave him a flat look. He had no time to waste on this asshole. Reaching out with his power—not his fire, he didn’t need that for this piece of meat—he stopped the vamp’s heart. Those mean eyes widened, going from arrogance to terror in a heartbeat. Quinn didn’t give him time to beg. The asshole collapsed to the warehouse floor and, fortunately, was old enough to dust upon death. Half-deteriorated vampire bodies were a fucking mess.

“Anyone else have a problem with the new management?” Quinn asked, raking the crowd with cold eyes. “Good. Now, my read of Christie’s notes says there’s a shipment of guns coming in soon. How do we know when, exactly, they’re coming?” He waited and eventually a vampire stepped forward.

“We don’t.” The vampire was older than the others. Older in age, that is, not appearance. He looked to be in his late thirties, but Quinn could feel the vamp’s age in his bones. He was well over one hundred, maybe twice as old as that. But he had no power. Quinn tried to imagine living forever as an ordinary citizen. Getting up, going to work, snagging a tasty human for the night, going to sleep, and doing it all over again. Forever. He didn’t think he could do it. He’d go insane and walk into the sun first.

He shook away such thoughts and focused on the vampire’s words. “How’s that work then?”

“They give us a call when they’re a mile or two out, and we make arrangements to meet them.”

“That’s going to change. I don’t leave things to chance. I want to know the lead time between their call and the actual delivery for every transaction over the last year. Sort it by boat captain, as well. We may have to cut loose some of our suppliers if they’re not reliable. If I give you the list of deliveries, can you provide that info?”

The vampire nodded, seeming happy to be of service. “Yes, my lord. And what I don’t remember, the other guys will.”

“Any humans on the payroll? Other than boat captains, of course. That’s unfortunate, but necessary.”

“There’s a handful of local humans who help out.”

“Christie didn’t list any on the payroll.”

“He hired them as he needed them. Paid them in cash,” another vampire said, standing up from where he’d been sitting on a stack of wooden crates.

“That’s going to change, too. From now on, the only humans we hire are the ones we know we can trust. Mates, of course. Lovers if you plan on hanging around awhile. I don’t want any vengeful ex-girlfriends leading the Harbor Police our way. Blood relatives are good, if you have them.”

Quinn kept talking, ferreting out information, giving assignments as he went along. Casey had joined him at some point and was taking notes on everything. And all the while Quinn was strategizing, coming up with ways to make the Howth operation more profitable, part of his mind was mulling over this turn of events and trying to figure out how he felt about becoming a smuggler. Shit. Why had he wanted this job again?

QUINN SETTLED down early for his daylight sleep for a change. After the move to Dublin tomorrow night, there would be no more quiet nights for a while. He’d brought some financial reports to bed with him, thinking to catch up on the rest of the world, but the bed wasn’t comfortable enough for reading. Or maybe it was that he couldn’t relax enough to get comfortable. His mind wandered to Eve, wondering what she was doing. He probably wouldn’t see as much of her once he moved to Dublin, either. Unless she lost her mind and decided to start hunting in the city again. He thought he’d succeeded in scaring her off, but he’d no sooner had the thought than he knew he was fooling himself. Nothing he’d said, nothing he could say, would make a difference. Eve was an intelligent woman with a will of iron. And she was stubborn as hell. She’d go after Sorley simply to prove that she could. And she’d get herself killed.

He was startled at the stab of pain that caused him. She was too vital, too wild, to die so young. And even knowing what he should do, what he’d told Garrick he would do, he wasn’t finished with her yet.

The door opened, and his cousin walked in. He didn’t say anything, just nodded his head in Quinn’s direction, then began preparing for sleep.

“How’d it go at the warehouse?” Quinn asked.

“Better than expected. You were right about the local vamps. They just want to work. And Casey being Irish clinched the deal. They’re going to make more money than ever.”

“Smuggling,” Quinn noted dryly.

Garrick turned to him. “For now.” He grimaced, as if holding something back, then looked away and busied himself with his pillows.

Quinn watched him. “After your pillows are fluffed to perfection, maybe you’ll tell me what’s on your mind.”

“It’s not my place,” Garrick growled.

“Oh, fuck that,” he said impatiently. “Come on, Garrick. I get it. In front of the others, you have to play the dutiful lieutenant, but we shared a crib, for Christ’s sake. I’m going to need someone who can be honest and tell me when I’ve gone off the rails, or when I’m just being a self-righteous prick. You’ve called me that often enough, and we both know I’ve deserved it. Occasionally.”

That got him a bare grin from his cousin.

“Talk to me, Gar.”

Garrick’s mouth tightened as he sat on the other bed and faced Quinn. “All right, look. I get it. You have a different perspective on all this. It’s in your blood, and your brain, too. We’ve always seen things differently, even before we were turned.”

“Which is why I need your opinion.”

He shifted restlessly. “I know you’re stressed about the drug angle, and maybe the guns, too. You’re not built to be a crook.”

“I am a lawyer. Some people would say we’re all crooks.” He recalled Eve’s opinion on the subject. She’d considered lawyers to be a step below most criminals.

“A corporate lawyer,” Garrick clarified.

Quinn scoffed. “You think corporations aren’t filled with crooks?”

“Point made. But I’m talking about you, not them.”

He nodded. “And my sterling honesty is relevant how?” he murmured.

“It’s not your honesty that matters, it’s your inner control freak. Don’t get hung up on fixing the vampire economy here in Howth. Casey’s a good man. He’ll do a great job, if you let him. But here’s the thing. So could any other member of your team. But there’s only one of you. And only you can take on the job that we’ve all come here for. You’re a vampire lord, Quinn. That’s your destiny. Not becoming the financial wizard of Howth.”

Quinn smiled slightly, liking the title, even though it would never be his. “The plan all along,” he said, “was to start slowly. To show Sorley what I can do, and work my way up from the inside.”

“A plan you shelved a day after we got here.”

Quinn sat silently for a moment, then said, “I hate it when you’re right.”

Garrick barked a laugh. “You always did,” he said, then added slyly, “You could just walk in there tomorrow night and kill Sorley. Get it over with.”

Quinn snorted. “And spend the next two years putting out fires in the lower ranks. No, thank you. It might come to that eventually, but I’ll need a reason that’s obvious to everyone. Even if I have to create it myself.”

“Sorley will come after you now,” Garrick said soberly.

Quinn grinned viciously. “Let him come. Ireland is already mine. Sorley just doesn’t know it yet.”

IT DIDN’T TAKE long for Quinn and the others to pack up the next night. They’d all traveled lightly, not knowing where they’d find themselves at the end of the journey. The biggest bags were filled with weapons, not personal gear. Some vampire leaders spurned modern weapons, claiming vampires didn’t need them to survive and triumph over regular humans. But Quinn believed in using any assets available to him. Besides, in his world, other vampires were the enemy, not humans. An AK15 or MP5 submachine gun wouldn’t kill a vampire most of the time, but it would at least put him down long enough to ensure his death by other means.

They were in the yard of the Howth house, loading the cars, when Garrick got a call. He switched it to speaker almost immediately, but Quinn didn’t need the speakerphone to tell him who was calling or what he was saying.

“I’ve got three vamps down,” came Casey’s angry voice. “The shooter’s stopped for now, but my guys are furious. They’re on the hunt, and I didn’t try to stop them.”

“Any dead?” Quinn asked, stepping to Garrick’s side.

“My lord,” Casey said quickly. “No dead, though if the shooter had had better aim, or a better weapon—”

“We’re on our way,” he interrupted, then signaled to Garrick. “You and the others get over to the warehouse, make sure it’s secure. This could have been a ruse to pull most of us away, and I don’t want Casey left there alone.”

“And you?” Garrick said quietly, for Quinn’s ears only.

“I know where she lives,” he said, because this had Eve written all over it. And his cousin clearly agreed. “This ends now. Go with the others. I’ll take Adorjan,” he added, before his cousin could object.

Garrick’s expression said he still wasn’t happy, but he nodded and headed for one of the other cars, leaving the big Range Rover for Quinn. He tossed the keys to Adorjan, who strode over to the vehicle and slid behind the wheel.

Quinn let him drive, but he refused to sit in the backseat like some sort of pasha who couldn’t drive his own car. Rajmund had always told him it was his American upbringing—everyone equal and all that. Quinn thought it probably had more to do with endless hours spent watching TV shows about American cowboys facing down bad guys. But whatever it was, if there was going to be danger, he wanted to be in the thick of it, not rolled in bubble wrap and hidden in the trunk.

Adorjan glanced at him with a slight smile, as if following the trend of his thoughts. “Where to, my lord?”

He wasn’t surprised that the vampire had figured out they weren’t going to the warehouse. Adorjan was smart. Quinn wouldn’t have made him security chief, otherwise.

“I don’t know the address,” Quinn told him. “But I can direct you there.”

They rode in silence until they were almost upon Eve’s tiny flat.

“Is there anything I need to know, my lord? Anything about whoever lives here?”

“It’s a woman,” Quinn said with no expression at all. “Human. And I suspect she’s our shooter from the warehouse tonight.”

Adorjan turned his head sharply and studied Quinn. “I can’t let you—”

“She won’t hurt me,” he interrupted. He wanted to tell the vamp that he didn’t need permission from anyone to do whatever the fuck he wanted. If he wanted to walk into Eve’s flat and confront her with the damn rifle still hot in her hand, then that’s what he’d do. And fuck the consequences. But he didn’t say any of that. Adorjan was doing his job. Probably better than Quinn was doing his right now. “We’ll approach together,” he said as Adorjan parked. “Once you see she’s harmless, you’ll wait in the car until I signal otherwise.”

“Yes, my lord.” He wasn’t happy. Quinn could feel his displeasure radiating in waves from where he sat behind the wheel.

Quinn opened the door to relieve the pressure. “Let’s go.”

They approached Eve’s door cautiously, but with no real expectation of danger. At least on Quinn’s part. She seemed to have been put on this earth to drive him mad, but he understood her. She’d gotten her shots off, taken down a few vamps, and had everyone running around. And now she’d hurried back to her hole-in-the-wall flat, thinking that made her safe. All these years of hunting vampires, and she still didn’t seem to understand them very well. Vampires were predators, hunters on a scale that made her efforts seem puny in comparison. They’d track her down like dogs on a trail. Her fucking perfume alone would lead them to her front door. If Quinn hadn’t sent in his people to call back the other vampires and secure the warehouse, they’d be here already.

By the time they reached Eve’s front door, Quinn knew she was home. He could hear her moving around, could hear her heart pounding and the rasp of her breathing . . . as if she’d recently run a distance.

He’d been half hoping he was wrong about her, that she’d spent the night home alone, working on her computer. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, and raised his hand to knock. But Adorjan got there before him. He’d have heard the evidence of her recent escape just as clearly as Quinn. There was no way in hell he was going to let his new lord take the lead when they confronted the crazy woman who’d been shooting up vampires only minutes earlier.

“Gently,” Quinn admonished. “And no fangs. We don’t want to wake the entire neighborhood.”

Adorjan pulled back his fist, replacing it with a two-knuckle tap that was still enough to have Eve stop whatever she’d been doing inside. But she didn’t answer the door.

Quinn sighed and shook his head. Humans. They paid so little attention to the vampires among them. Eve was a hunter. She, at least, should know better. He jerked his chin toward the door, telling Adorjan to knock again. Which he did, slightly harder, but still muted, compared to what he could have done.

“Eve,” Quinn said, too impatient to play her game. “I know you’re in there. Open the door.” He heard an audible curse, rapid footsteps, and then metallic sounds as several locks were disengaged.

Eve pulled open the door. “Come on in. Hurry,” she said, her expression a combination of pleasure and concern that morphed to shock when, instead of Quinn, she found a very pissed off Adorjan glaring down at her.

She gave a little squeak of surprise and took a step back, her eyes wide with fear until she saw Quinn. Anger replaced the fear. “What the hell, Quinn? Who’s this guy?” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder as she walked away from him and back into the room, leaving the door open.

Quinn slipped past Adorjan and caught Eve easily, getting an arm around her waist and swinging her around before she could grab the rifle lying on her rumpled bed. She obviously had a poor opinion of his deductive skills. He shifted his hold to trap her arms and stop her flailing fists. For all her struggles, however, she never screamed, confining her protests to hissed, profanity-laced imprecations. He grinned. She didn’t want the neighbors hearing the ruckus any more than he did.

Adorjan reached past them to grab the rifle. “Remington, my lord.” He worked the bolt repeatedly, ejecting three unused rounds. “Winchester 270s, maybe 300-yard range if a shooter knows what she’s doing.” He glowered at Eve. “No one else was firing a rifle in Howth tonight.” He sniffed the barrel. “And this one’s been recently fired.”

“Take the gun and wait for me outside, please,” Quinn said.

Adorjan met his gaze briefly, full of rebellion. But then his eyes dropped, and he nodded. “As you say, my lord.” Taking the rifle, he strode for the front door.

“Hey,” Eve protested. “That’s my rifle.”

“Be quiet, Eve,” Quinn murmured as his new security chief walked outside and closed the door. “Count your blessings.”

“Fuck my blessings,” she snarled, writhing furiously against his hold. “What gives you the right—”

“I’m stronger than you are,” he said coolly. “In human history, power has always equaled right.”

“What? You’re a philosopher now? Let go of me.” She jabbed a sharp elbow into his gut. He barely felt it. Those training sessions with Garrick were really paying off.

“Not until you calm down.”

“Fuck calming down, too. You want history? Here’s some for you. Men have been telling women to calm down for centuries . . . every time we disagree with them. And we hate it.”

Quinn chuckled. “You and I haven’t disagreed on anything yet. We haven’t even managed to talk.”

Seeming to relent, Eve relaxed in his hold, letting her head fall back against his shoulder as she caught her breath. Quinn wasn’t fooled. Eyeing the tiny kitchen, with its butcher block full of knives, he positioned himself between it and her and loosened his arms. She glared at him, then made a break for it, taking two steps toward the front door before Quinn said, “Adorjan will be waiting out there. You’re better off talking to me than him.”

She spun on him, her dark eyes flashing. “Who the fuck is that guy? For that matter, who are you really? And no bullshit this time.”

“I told you. I’m a businessman, come to find my fortune in the land of my birth. As for Adorjan. . . .” He shrugged. “He’s my bodyguard. Dublin’s a dangerous place.”

She snorted dismissively, rubbing her arms up and down, as if they hurt. “It’s only dangerous for people who persist in doing business with vampires,” she said sulkily.

Quinn saw bruises on her pale skin, and his gut roiled at this evidence that he’d hurt her. “Maybe.” He took her arm with care. “Sit down, Eve. We need to talk.”

“I don’t want to sit,” she snapped, slapping at his hands.

“Fine, then we’ll stand.” He took a step closer, forcing her to tilt her head back to look up at him, and finally let his anger show. The calm, reasonable Quinn was gone. He needed her to understand the consequences of what she’d done. “What the hell, Eve?” he growled. “Do you have a fucking death wish or something? You’re lucky your aim is so lousy. Those are vampires down there. Do you know what they’ll do if they catch you?”

“They haven’t caught me yet,” she said smugly.

“I did.”

“Only because you know where I—”

Quinn let his fangs glide out, sharp points pressing against his lower lip. He didn’t need to see the shocked look on her face to know what he looked like. He’d stared at himself in front of the mirror for hours when he’d first been turned, and he looked far more threatening now than he had then.

Eve tried to run again. Of course, she did. But she didn’t manage a single full step this time before he stopped her, his arms wrapping her in a powerful hug, his hand over her mouth in case she tried to yell. He really didn’t want to hurt her, but she fought him. Kicking, nails digging into his arms, her teeth biting his hand . . .

He pried her mouth away before she could draw blood, cupping her jaw tenderly. If she took his blood, she’d be thrown into orgasm. She’d hate that. She’d hate him. And he didn’t want her to hate him. “You don’t want to do that, sweetheart,” he said quietly.

She tried to shove his arm away, taking advantage of his careful handling. But he was done pretending to be something he wasn’t. He held her gently, but he didn’t let go.

“You lied,” she snarled, twisting around to glare at him, her eyes filled with hatred. It was nothing more than he’d expected, but it still hurt, as if she’d stabbed him deep in the chest with one of those kitchen knives.

“When?” he demanded. “When did I lie? I told you I was working with Sorley—”

“You said you wanted him dead!”

“I do. But I want Sorley dead, not every vampire on the fucking island. Look, I’m sorry about your brother, but not every vampire is a killer.”

“What do you know about it?”

He laughed in disbelief. “Are you kidding? Look at me! I know a thousand times more about this than you do. Most vampires are ordinary citizens. They’re shopkeepers and accountants. Lawyers, even.”

“Like you? Or was that a lie, too?”

“Harvard Law, darling. Class of fifty-six.”

“Eighteen fifty-six?” she asked with saccharine sweetness.

He gave her an exaggerated look of offense. “You wound me.”

She scoffed and abruptly renewed her attempts at escape, with the same result. “Let go of me, you unholy bastard.”

“Now that’s just offensive. I’m neither a bastard, nor unholy. Stop that, damn it,” he snarled, when she tried to dig her nails into his arm. “I don’t want to put you out, but I will if I have to.”

She twisted around to stare up at him again, wide-eyed, her chest heaving. “You wouldn’t,” she whispered, terror written on every inch of her face.

“Jesus Christ, Eve, what do you think I’m going to do? I just want to talk.”

She went soft in his arms. He wasn’t fooled this time either, but he welcomed the reprieve. “Think,” he said, patiently. “If a human had murdered your brother, you wouldn’t be wandering around killing random humans, would you?”

“It’s not the same.”

“It’s exactly the same. The truth is that your brother was into something dangerous enough that it got him killed. Something illegal.”

“Alan was a good man.”

“And good men do bad things all the time. For money, for love, for all sorts of things. I didn’t know your brother, but I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“I hate you,” she snarled with such vehemence that Quinn suspected he’d hit a nerve. Had the brother needed money to support their family? Was that why Eve was so driven to track down his killers? Was it guilt?

“Hate me if you want, sweetheart,” he murmured. “But if you come after my people, I’ll have to stop you.”

“You’d kill me?” The look she turned on him this time was devastated, as if he’d wounded her deeply. It infuriated him. She was the one killing vampires, calling him a monster and fighting him tooth and nail. What right did she have to be wounded?

“Right back at you, Eve. Could you kill me?”

EVE STARED. SHE’D had sex with this man, had felt herself sliding into something more than just liking him. She’d even missed him when they’d been apart, wondering where he was and what he was doing. Worrying that he’d done something stupid and gotten in too deeply with his vampire business partners. Or that he’d been killed, just like her brother.

And now? She felt betrayed. Humiliated. But despite her angry words, she wasn’t feeling hatred. The hell of it was, he was right. She couldn’t kill him, despite what he was. Because she didn’t want him dead. She was even still worried about him. How fucked up was that? But he just didn’t seem to understand how dangerous Sorley was, or how easily he could end up dead at the Irish vampire’s hands.

Tears filled her eyes. “Let me go.”

His arms fell away, but he remained close to her, his size and strength reminding her of what it had felt like to make love to him, to have that beautifully male body of his between her thighs, hot and heavy, his arms bracketing her shoulders, his hips driving . . .

She closed her eyes before he could see what she was thinking. And then she remembered what he was. Vampire. He’d probably read every thought as it occurred to her, every filthy memory . . .

“No,” he said. “I’m not reading your thoughts. I wouldn’t. But you have a very expressive face.”

“So, what now?” she asked sullenly.

“That depends on you. Can I trust you?”

“That’s rich, coming from a vampire.”

He sighed. “I don’t have time to try and convince you of the truth. I have things to do and people who depend on me, whether you believe it or not.” He ran a hand back through his hair, as if she’d worn him out. “Stop this, Eve,” he said finally. “Or I’ll stop it for you.”

He left then. Without trying to touch her, without kissing her good-bye. And she felt stupid for the disappointment that tightened her throat.

She followed him outside, hurrying behind him as he strode for his car. “What about my gun?” she demanded.

He shot her a look over his shoulder, his handsome face creased with a half-smile. “We’ll be keeping that for now.”

The bodyguard stepped up onto the curb and lifted his dark gaze to her, as if he’d heard every word she’d said to Quinn inside her flat. And maybe he had. Vampires had incredible hearing, everyone knew that. He opened the Range Rover’s door and positioned himself between her and Quinn, as his head dipped in a respectful nod. “My lord,” he said, waiting until Quinn was out of her line of sight before turning to shoot her a deadly glare. Quinn might not be ready to kill her, but that one would do it with a smile on his face and never think twice.

Eve jammed her hands into her pockets, furious and frustrated in equal measure. The damn vampire had shoved his way into her house uninvited, stolen her rifle, threatened her, and then waltzed out like he was the fucking king of Ireland. Her hands fisted, the fingers of one closing around something hard and small. She fidgeted with it idly, staring daggers at Quinn while he gazed serenely back at her. The smug bastard. And with good reason. There was nothing she could do about . . . Wait. Her finger traced the outlines of the object in her pocket. Not nothing, after all. Storming up to the closed door, she smacked Quinn’s window with her right hand to cover the sound of her left slapping something else entirely on the roof of the SUV. Behind the glass, Quinn smiled and winked, while Eve mouthed, “Fuck you,” and shot him a one-fingered salute as they pulled away.

She watched until the vehicle’s red taillights disappeared around the corner, then raced into her flat and dug around her tiny desk until she found what she was looking for—directions for the tracker she’d slapped on the smug asshole’s roof. She’d bought it for her cell phone a while back and then forgotten all about it, when she couldn’t find the damn thing. Apparently, it had been sitting in the pocket of the sweater she wore around the flat the whole time. There was a bit of serendipity that she wasn’t going to complain about. But now, she needed to make sure it worked, and see how far she could track it.

“You think you’re so smart,” she muttered, clutching the flimsy page of directions. Walking over to her bed, she propped herself against the headboard and started to read, but. . . . Her bed smelled like him. Her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed. Hugging her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her bent legs and tried to think. She couldn’t believe she’d fucked a vampire. Not just fucked, but . . . hell, admit it. He’d been charming and smart, even funny sometimes, when he wasn’t trying to run her life. And so handsome that it made her teeth ache. She’d liked him—one of the monsters who’d killed her brother. Except . . . he hadn’t been a monster. Not with her.

Tears filled her eyes again and she didn’t try to stop them. Frustration, sadness, and confusion all tumbled together. She hadn’t cried this much since her brother had died. Hadn’t been this confused in much longer than that. She’d been so focused on finishing university, so excited about going on to graduate school. And then her brother had been killed and vengeance had substituted itself for books and studying. A new focus, a new obsession. Her life for the last five years had revolved around nothing but revenge, working just enough to pay the rent, to buy food, and give her mam what she could. And there’d been equipment to buy, too. Things she’d needed in her hunt. Like the damn rifle Quinn had just stolen from her. She’d scrimped and saved for two years to afford it, had spent even more money going to the range, learning how it worked, practicing until her arms trembled with effort.

So stupid. Tonight was the first time she’d used it in real life. She hadn’t even been trying to kill the local vamps, though she’d never admit that to Quinn. She’d been trying to wound, not kill, and she’d hit what she’d been aiming for. It had been a sort of live fire exercise. Everything she’d read about long distance shooting had discussed the careful compensation needed for wind and elevation, and even temperature and humidity. She hadn’t been able to practice under the right kind of long-range conditions, hence tonight’s shooting gallery.

She’d counted it as test before she headed back to Dublin and her pursuit of the vampires who’d killed her brother. She’d followed them for two nights before coming back to Howth, and she’d only come back because she had to get some side work done, to earn enough damn money to keeping going. But in the two nights she’d watched them, she’d figured out where the pair of murdering vamps lived and, most importantly, where they fed. She’d even snapped a couple pictures with her cell phone. She’d been ready for the kill, and now the gun was gone. All that money and work for nothing.

She sighed and rubbed the bruises on her arm where Quinn had grabbed her, but that only reminded her of the stricken look on his face when he’d noticed those same bruises. It humanized him and made her want to like him, even more than she already did. Or had, before she’d known what he was. A vampire. And not just any vampire, but one with a bodyguard. She started thinking about how he’d always seemed to be the one in charge, even with his so-called cousin. Was Garrick even really his cousin? Or was that just another farce on his part? He hadn’t been faking his anger tonight, that was for sure. He seemed to consider those vampires his, for some reason. And he claimed to want Sorley dead. Was it possible? Had he come over from America and taken over a chunk of Sorley’s business as the first step toward his real goal?

She knocked her head against the wall. She didn’t know what to do now. Should she continue her crusade? But what if that meant confronting Quinn? Could she kill him? Could she kill someone he cared about? Like his supposed cousin, or even that stupid bodyguard who treated him like he was royalty. Someone deserving respect. Did vampires have feelings like regular people? Did they love?

She pounded her head against the wall harder this time. Damn Quinn for doing this to her. Her fist crumpled the tracker directions, and she stilled. That was a place to start. She’d follow him and find out what he was up to. And then, maybe she’d get her damn rifle back.

QUINN WAS FURIOUS at himself and at Eve, too. That wasn’t how he’d wanted to tell her what he was. But then, he admitted, he hadn’t given the big reveal much thought at all. He’d been stupid to think he could hide it from her in the first place, stupid to think that scene could have gone any differently than it had, no matter how he’d done it. Unless it had been over his bloody body. Or hers. He growled. No way in hell. He didn’t know how he was going to swing it, but somehow he had to extricate Eve from this clusterfuck, without her getting hurt. Even if it meant bundling her up and shipping her somewhere where there were no vampires for her to kill. Except he couldn’t think where that would be. Alaska, maybe. Those long summer days wouldn’t be very friendly to his kind.

He glanced at Adorjan as they left Howth and headed for Dublin. The big vampire hadn’t even tried to put Quinn in the backseat this time. Smart vampire. Quinn wasn’t in the mood to be managed. He was usually the one who did the managing. Like now. He thought of all the people depending on him to get this right. The human security team who’d picked up and moved to Ireland on a promise. The vampires who’d risked their lives to join him in this fight. They deserved better of him. Right.

With a metaphorical slap of his hands, he put Eve out of his thoughts, shelving the problem she represented with the ease of long practice. It was all about prioritizing. He couldn’t change who he was. Wouldn’t change it, even if he could. He’d hated Marcelina for what she’d done to him. But now? He loved the fucking power of it, the new challenge that every night brought. He was going to rule a territory. Lord fucking Quinn. That’s why he was in Ireland. It wasn’t to fall in love. He was there to fulfil the potential of his vampire blood, to serve the unrelenting drive that had hounded him from the moment he’d awoken to discover his entire life had been turned upside down.

Boston, MA, USA, 57 years ago

MARCELINA’S FACE twisted in anger, stealing her beauty, making her look like the monster she really was. That’s what ordinary humans called vampires. Monster. Devil. Spawn of Satan.

Ridiculous. Vampires were no more intrinsically monstrous that humans. History was filled with cases of serial killers, men and women who’d inflicted horrific suffering on their fellow humans to satisfy their own sick desires.

Marcelina was one of those, Quinn thought to himself. She’d probably been torturing the neighbor’s cat long before she’d been made a vampire. He didn’t know who her Sire had been, or why he’d chosen to turn her. He supposed the vamp had been motivated by her beauty, maybe even desire. But he could have saved the world a lot of suffering if he’d simply fucked her to death as a human and been done with it. Quinn would happily rip out the bastard’s heart if he ever met him.

“Are you listening to me?” Marcelina snarled.

Quinn lifted his gaze, focusing on the beautiful psychopath who was his Sire. “I’m listening, Marcelina. I simply don’t agree with you.”

Her mouth opened in disbelief. “Agree? It’s not your place to agree or disagree. I am your Sire. You will do what I say.”

Quinn fought not to sigh with the sheer tedium of her demands. She was never going to win with this line of argument. Ex injuria jus non oritur. Basically, she had no inherent right to benefit from her crime against him, and, he, therefore, owed her no service. But he wasn’t going to waste time debating entitlements with her. He was much more concerned about derailing her plans for tonight.

“If we follow your plan, we’ll kill too many civilians, Marcie.” He used the nickname intentionally, knowing how much she hated it. “We can’t afford to go around willy-nilly killing humans.”

There was so much hatred in the look she turned on him, Quinn had to smile in private satisfaction. He loved that look. It was his goal to make her regret every day of her life from the moment she’d decided to turn him and Garrick without even the pretense of consent.

“You will do what I tell you,” she snapped.

“No, actually, I won’t. You’d have me kill humans and put vampires at risk, for what? Because some asshole threw you over more than a hundred years ago? Get real.”

She hissed like a snake. An apt comparison. “It was sixty years ago, and his betrayal forced me to abandon my home.” She gestured around her at the rundown mansion. “I had to leave everything I knew, everyone who loved me. I was forced to run for my life in the middle of the night. I. Want. Him. Dead.”

“Yeah, I get that. But here’s the problem. That pimply-faced college student who dumped you is now a United States congressman. You go after him, you risk bringing a world of hurt on every vampire in the U.S. Besides which, the only way to get to him at night is either at a public event or in his home. Both of those venues will risk human casualties, and he has five small grandchildren who live with him. That’s beyond the pale, even for you.”

His risk assessment wasn’t quite honest. He could think of several ways to kill the congressman and make it appear to be a natural death or an accident. But Quinn wasn’t going to kill anyone who’d been lucky enough to escape Marcelina’s clutches. He met her gaze evenly. “I won’t do it.”

He waited, every sense he owned attuned to Marcelina’s tiniest twitch. There was no way in hell she’d let this pass. But he’d known that going in. He understood his bitch of a Sire. He’d been studying her for 12 months and 23 nights. That’s how long it had been since she’d enthralled and then turned him. Oh, sure, she’d loved him at first. He was fit and strong, and, in the early throes of his vampirism, he’d been so eager to please his beautiful Sire. His eagerness hadn’t survived the first month he’d spent with her, but she’d kept him in her bed longer than that. Marcelina wasn’t a particularly powerful vampire, but her skill at seduction was remarkable. He’d always assumed those skills were rooted in her vampiric blood, but maybe that had only been a way to excuse his own weakness in succumbing as long as he had.

It had been more than six months since he’d shared her bed and, looking at her now, he couldn’t imagine what he’d been thinking. He saw the manipulation beneath the charm, the cold calculation behind the seduction. But more than that, he saw the blackness of her soul.

Obviously, Marcelina didn’t take rejection well. Witness her persistence in demanding revenge against a lover whose only crime had been breaking up with her decades ago. And, equally, her decision to send Quinn to exact that revenge, knowing full well that he was likely to be killed by the congressman’s security detail, which was large and well-armed. And if he managed not to die, there was still the likelihood that he’d be identified and hunted down by the human authorities. Marcelina’s escapee lover was not just a congressman, he was a wealthy congressman. No one who wanted to keep their job would let an attack on him go unpunished.

This mission wasn’t only a potential death sentence for random vampires and innocent humans. It was intended to be a death sentence for Quinn. Unfortunately for Marcelina, he wasn’t in the mood to die.

Her mouth twisted into a sly smile. “How are your parents, Quinn? Your father’s a lawyer, isn’t he? And your mother, a pretty little housewife. Niall and Maureen from Chicago. Such very Irish names. Do they know what their bonny boy is up to lately?”

Quinn’s gaze hardened. He’d known this day was coming, though he might have wished for a few more months of preparation. He understood the unique vampiric gift his blood had bestowed upon him. That fire was a mark of his power, a presaging of his future strength. His control wasn’t yet all that it could be, but he wouldn’t accept threats against his parents. That was one step too far. He glanced at Garrick in silent apology. No matter what he did tonight, his cousin would stand by his side. Quinn just hoped he wasn’t going to get them both killed.

He took a breath. He’d been practicing in private and already knew he was stronger than Marcelina. But for all his sneering disregard of her, the bond between a vampire and his Sire was not easily broken. It would take all of his strength to strike the first blow and shatter that bond. And then he’d have to kill her. If he’d learned one thing about vampires this past year, it was that you never left your enemies alive behind you.

Bracing himself, he gathered his power in the way he’d been practicing ever since he’d figured out what lived inside him, and what he could do with it. He pictured pulling energy from every part of his body, pictured it streaming through his veins, burning along his nerves, until it was a ball of searing, bloody power just below his breastbone. He touched his hand to his chest and held it there for a moment. Then, using all of his vampiric speed, he drew that power out of his body into his clenched fist, and threw it at Marcelina as hard as he could.

She screamed as a cloud of ethereal blue fire surrounded her. Her beautiful hair shot up in brilliant orange flames, shriveling against her head like blackened threads, while the rest of her remained untouched. And still she screamed. The other vampires in the house, all of whom were Marcelina’s children, rushed into the room. They froze in shock at first, but then, driven by the Sire bond to protect her, they ran at Quinn.

He was ready for them. Ignoring Marcelina and her agony, he swept his gaze over the charging vampires. There weren’t that many. Marcelina wasn’t powerful enough to control more than a dozen children, and with Quinn’s defection, she’d lost not only him, but Garrick. That left only ten vampires, all weak, who rose to defend her.

“Don’t,” Quinn warned, his power crashing over them with that one syllable. “She’s not worth it.” He knew he struck a nerve with that. There wasn’t a single one of her children whom Marcelina had treated gently. But the Sire bond was about more than loyalty. It was security, protection against a world that saw them as monsters. What would they be without that protection? “Get on the floor and stay there,” Quinn said. “I’ll protect you when she’s gone.”

They froze, studying him, and then one by one, Marcelina’s children slid bonelessly to the floor. Some continued to watch, wide-eyed with curiosity, as their Sire twisted in agony. Others stared with eyes that burned red with hatred and satisfaction.

Quinn swung back around to face the monster who’d so irrevocably changed his life. The blue fire wasn’t touching her, but the heat was. Pain marred that lovely face, straining the skin over her perfect cheekbones, drawing lush lips back over perfect teeth. Except those lips were torn and bloody from where her fangs had sliced into them, and her teeth were dripping blood onto the swell of her creamy breasts.

“Whatever shall I do with you, Marcie?” he asked with intentional cruelty.

Her mouth writhed, her lips closing to form a single word.

“Mercy?” he asked. “Is that what you think you deserve?”

She slid off her chair and to the floor, one hand reaching out in entreaty. Her hair was gone. He’d wanted her to suffer that much from the beginning, a blow to her vanity. But he’d spared her scalp, which was only reddened. Thus far.

Quinn’s first instinct was to let her suffer, but he retained enough of himself, enough of the humanity his parents had given him, that he wondered what he’d become to even consider such cruelty. More important than any consideration of cruelty, however, was the simple fact that he couldn’t hold the flames much longer. He was still very young as a vampire, his power far from fully mature. He had to end this.

Focusing once again on the fire inside him, he drew from the very heart, where it burned the brightest. Plucking that brilliant ember from his chest, he tossed it almost negligently at Marcelina. Her face brightened with hope at his gesture . . . and then she screamed in terror as the flames surrounding her went from blue to orange, and her body lit up like a torch. Within minutes, she fell to ashes.

Quinn sank to his knees, exhausted and panting. The fire wasn’t real as most people understood it. It came from his power as a vampire, drawing on the spark of his vampire blood. When he used it, it sucked all the energy out of him, leaving him utterly drained. He hoped it would prove less grueling as he aged, and his magic grew stronger. Fuck. He still had a problem thinking of his new ability as magic, but he didn’t know what else to call it. There were other powerful vampires out there who did know, however. Vampires beyond Marcelina’s narrow little world. Maybe they had a better theory.

He was too tired to think about it now. All he wanted at that moment, all he had the energy for, was to stumble to his room and sleep for a week. But he couldn’t do it, couldn’t show any weakness at all. Marcelina’s children might have supported his decision to get rid of her, but they were still vampires. Their instinct was to attack, especially if their target was a powerful vampire who’d suddenly become weak.

Clenching his fists to his sides, he forced himself to stand and turn around to face the others. “We’ve done enough for tonight,” he said, deliberately including them in the overthrow, though their only contribution had been to lie on the floor and do nothing. “We’re all going to need our strength for tomorrow. We have some decisions to make.”

The others hesitated, but then began nodding, murmuring in agreement. “We should rest now,” one of them muttered. “Dawn isn’t far off,” said another, his words coated with fear.

Quinn waited until they’d all gone to their rooms. He would have collapsed then, if not for Garrick, who pulled Quinn’s arm over his shoulder and guided him to a nearby couch. Easing him down, Garrick said, “Do you need blood?”

Quinn swallowed, his throat dry. “Please.”

“Are you okay for me to run to the kitchen?”

He nodded.

“I’ll make it quick.”

Quinn closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch, more exhausted than he could ever remember being. He’d played sports in high school, had kept in shape all through university and law school, had always made gym time part of his routine even when he was climbing the partnership ladder at his law firm. As with everything else, he’d been competitive as hell and played to win. But those activities were nothing compared to this. A few minutes of using his power, and he was wiped out.

“Here.” Garrick’s voice woke Quinn. His nostrils flared at the scent of blood, and he growled, his fangs sliding out hungrily. Grabbing the bag from his cousin, he used his fangs to slice through the plastic, not bothering with the valve, not even caring that the blood was cold enough to hurt going down. He drained one bag, and took the second that Garrick offered, this one with the valve already open. He drained that one, too, and was halfway through a third, before he slowed down.

Pausing to catch his breath, he ran the back of his hand over his mouth. “Disgusting, aren’t I?”

Garrick laughed. “Your manners could use some work, but you got rid of that bitch, so I’ll forgive you this once.”

Quinn looked up with a bloody-toothed grin. “I did, didn’t I?”

“You’re the new master now. What’s your plan?”

“My plan? Shit.” He thought fast. The one thing he knew was that he didn’t want to be responsible for this lot. “I’m going to petition Rajmund down in Manhattan and see if he’ll take us on. He pays lip service to Krystof, but he runs his own city. He’s reasonable and smart, and I can learn a lot from him. I’m no master of others, Garrick. I don’t want it. Maybe someday, but not yet.”

“Someday, though, Q. The need to rule is in your blood now.”

Dublin, Ireland, present day

QUINN THOUGHT about that long ago night as he and Adorjan sped toward Dublin. Garrick had been right. The drive to rule was in his blood. It had been there before he’d become a vampire, disguised as simple ambition. His vampire blood had taken it and driven him to this place and time. Looking back, he applauded himself for choosing Rajmund as their new master. From Raj, he and Garrick had learned all the rules and basic truths of vampire society, things Marcelina should have taught them. He’d been so relieved, at first, to have gotten himself and Garrick out from under her crazy ass rule, that he hadn’t given a thought to climbing any higher in vampire society. But Rajmund had seen the power simmering beneath his skin, and he’d known what Quinn hadn’t—that his vampire blood wouldn’t be denied. That he either had to discipline it or it would destroy him. So, he’d risen in power and skill under Raj’s guidance, coming up through the ranks, learning what it meant to have the power of life and death over people who depended on you.

And then the wars had started, and he’d known his time had come.

“You know how to get there?” he asked Adorjan, completely unnecessarily. Even if the vamp hadn’t memorized the route—which he probably had—the Range Rover had a nav system. Quinn hated to admit it, but he was tense now that he was making the move to Dublin. It made a confrontation with Sorley all but inevitable.

Adorjan didn’t call him on the stupid question. Maybe he understood the reasons for Quinn’s tension. Or maybe his loyalty didn’t permit him to question even that much. He simply smiled and pointed at the nav screen. “Another twenty minutes or so, my lord.”

Quinn’s cell rang at that moment. Garrick. He accepted the call. “Garrick.”

“My lord. I wanted to let you know that Casey’s settling things down nicely, but I left Ryan Lopez with him for the next few nights, just in case. Dublin’s close, but not that close. If he needed help, we might be too late.”

“Good idea. You’re on your way?”

“We left twenty minutes ago.”

“Good. We’ll see you at the house, then.”

“You couldn’t keep us away,” Garrick said, his voice all but vibrating with excitement. “This is going to be fun.”

Quinn slid his phone back into the pocket of his jacket. He drew a deep, settling breath and smiled. Fun. He could go with that.