Talon led him into the main house as he kept calling it, but to Flint it looked like a castle. Something straight out of Outlander, the dang show that Suzette had been binge watching lately whenever she could, and he’d caught her so many times that she didn’t even flinch now, just shrugged and carried on. And this building he was now in seemed right out of that show, except it was all fancied up and was modernized, obviously.

“Through here.” Talon led him down a long hallway and already he’d counted at least twenty men on guard duty.

They were a mix of Supernaturals, Vampires, Shifters and he also felt a few magic wielding guys in there too. Good. That gave them a wide spectrum of abilities to use and the more they had, the better their chances of success. He also felt their eyes raking over him, taking his measure as he passed by. Flint kept his face a cool mask of nonchalance, his head held high, shoulders back and his body loose, but his eyes roamed all around. Just in case. You just never knew if an enemy had managed to infiltrate so he was on guard at all times, ready and waiting for an attack.

He was a day-walker. Ancient and powerful, and they knew it. They’d be fucking stupid to attack him and expect to live, especially in the confines of the house. The fight would be over almost before it started, and it would be suicide on their part. At no time were there more than five or six of them in view at any one time, so that meant . . . no competition whatsoever.

Talon stopped in front of a pair of massive oak doors. Flint looked up, and up, shit, the doors must be almost twenty-five feet in height, arched at the top and spanned an opening of at least a good twelve feet. The handles were large brass lion heads, the color tarnished with age but both were shining brightly when Talon’s fist knocked three times then waited.

Shit, human ears would hear nothing from behind the heavy doors but they both clearly heard the low rumble from within. “Come in.”

Those two words communicated volumes to Flint. Confidence exuded from the voice, together with authority, power and dominance. In other words, he sounded just like Victor but there was a bite to the tone too which Flint hoped was down to what was going on and not the character of the man himself. He’d soon find out as Talon pushed the door open and stepped aside to allow him to enter first.

Flint strode in, finding himself entering a room that appeared to be a cross between a great hall and a library. It looked like it had once been the center of the building and indeed had been a great hall, with the ceiling reaching high above them and the new owner had transformed it into two distinct areas. One encompassed a library that spread out from a stone fireplace that was so large that a grown man could stand upright within it, and it was still being used for its original purpose. Although it was summer in Scotland, it was now the middle of the night and although not cold by any means, there was a fire blazing away with large leather chesterfield sofas and several armchairs set out around the area in front of it.

The stone walls on either side of the fireplace had shelving packed with so many books that it was impossible to determine the amount, a set of steps on wheels sat in the corner with a lone book perched on the top as if someone had sought it out and then changed their mind, discarding it carelessly. Flint zeroed in on the tome, his Vampire abilities taking in the aged binding of the volume and although he wasn’t as accomplished a reader as his boss, he was pretty damn certain that it was a first edition that cost a fortune . . . had it been left there deliberately? To send him a message as to just how rich his host was? If that were the case then Quinn was barking up the wrong tree if he thought it would impress him, or worse, intimidate him.

Flint didn’t give a fuck about money or people’s station in life. Hell, he lived with the richest man on the planet. If Quinn was trying to score points then he was going to fail and piss him off in the process.

A movement from the chair at the side of the fireplace caught his eye: Quinn. He was sitting with his legs crossed, a crystal goblet in his hand and an amused look in his eyes as he watched Flint. “Mister Flint, welcome to my home. I’d say it was nice to have you, but I’m afraid I’d be lying. I don’t like trouble at the best of times but having it brought right to my very door. Well, that’s most annoying, definitely not something I’m happy about.”

The first thought through Flint’s head was “arrogant bastard.” The second was “fuck off.”

He fought to control his anger though. He knew he needed this man and he also knew he wouldn’t be too happy about a complete stranger bringing a damn war to his door either. Walking over slowly, so he had time to relax himself and get his ire under control, Flint fought his first instinct to tell Quinn to stop posturing because he knew full well that Victor had already set terms and he was going to help him anyway. He’d give the man his place. It was his home after all. His men that were standing guard and probably some of them would be lost, at the very least they’d be injured. So the least Flint could do was get himself under control and be . . . polite.

“I understand you’ve talked to Victor? He’s filled you in on what’s happened. Is that correct?”

Flint didn’t wait for an invitation, sitting down on the chair opposite Quinn and taking a good long look at the man. He was tall, maybe as tall as he was, but not as wide, he had dark auburn hair that was tied back with a leather thong and his dark green eyes were pinned on Flint as he gave a curt nod.

“Indeed,” he said before he sipped from the goblet and Flint got a whiff of O-Negative. “You must mean a lot to Victor, he’s called in a lot of favors for you. But that’s bye the bye, everything’s in order and my men are all in place. It’ll be dawn soon but I doubt they’ll attack until evening so we have plenty of time and if they do decide to come early then Ace has scouts out to give us plenty of warning. Your Bloodmate will be kept safe, Flint.”

“Thank you.” Flint exhaled, his body sinking into the chair as he finally relaxed. Hearing it from the man himself it sank in. He did have an army between her and Kragen Smithson. She would be protected and all he had to do was kill Kragen and that fucker Stelian. Both of whom he had plans for. With that thought crossing his mind he turned, searching for Talon and finding him lurking near the door. “Talon, can you go and get the supplies I asked you for?”

Talon looked uneasy, stepping forward and shrugging. “As I said, I’m not sure the armory will have everything you asked for.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “I’m intrigued. What are you looking for?”

“The man that hurt Kenzie, my mate, I have plans for him, so I’m looking for some blades, daggers with their tips dipped in silver. Do you have anything like that?” Flint’s eyes bored into Quinn’s, determined and glittering with the anger that was simmering inside. He couldn’t hide it, couldn’t suppress it, couldn’t halt it as it burned furiously within.

“That’s not something we’d have in the armory; however, I have some in my personal collection.” Quinn raised his voice. “Thorne, can you come here for a moment.”

Flint’s eyes shot to the corner behind Quinn’s chair, a door opening, the shadow of a broad figure preceding a man entering. A dark cropped head of hair above startling ice blue eyes that landed on him, scrutinizing him closely as he stalked toward Quinn, stopping by his side.

“Yes?”

“Flint, this is Thorne, my right-hand man. Thorne, this is Flint, our guest who’s got himself into a bit of trouble with that loathsome creature, Smithson.”

Thorne tipped his head, his eyes hardening as he answered, “It’s about time that bastard was taken out. I’m not happy about him coming here though. I prefer to do my business in a more private setting.”

Flint shrugged, keeping eye contact with the man who mirrored himself: a hard, tough, bodyguard who’d lay his life down for those in his care. That’s what he saw in the man standing rigidly next to Quinn and that meant he held a great deal of respect for him. They were kindred spirits, he and Thorne, and both knew it. He’d feel exactly the same if he were in his shoes.

“I’d feel the same but unfortunately I had no choice in the matter,” Flint responded firmly, giving no ground. His voice calm but firm. “I’m afraid I’m without my usual resources here so I have to rely on you and your men for your help in this matter, and make no mistake, Thorne, I’m grateful for that. If I could’ve dealt with this on my own then I would have, but Talon here told me that wasn’t an option. So, here I am, and I’ll be right there beside you, because I won’t be sitting here on my ass doing nothing. That’s not my way, not by a long shot. I’ll be on the front line and I want Smithson and his man, Stelian, for myself. They’re mine.”

Thorne’s jaw tightened briefly, his eyes widening before his body relaxed and his head gave a brief nod of acceptance. “I see. I’ll pass that information on. Now”—he turned his eyes down to Quinn—“what can I do for you, Q?”

Q? He called his boss Q? Strange, Flint didn’t allow his surprise to show, but watched the interaction closely as Quinn looked up, his eyes shining as the flames from the fire flashed over his face. “Can you go and get something for me? It’s in my personal weapons cache. A small leather-bound box, the red one, I think you know the one I’m referring to?”

Thorne merely tipped his head and Quinn carried on, “Flint will also require something to use to transport what’s inside the box.” A hand rose, a manicured nail tipped finger tapping his chin briefly before he exhaled. “Yes, I know just the thing, Thorne! It’s hanging on the wall, near my sword collection. It’s the leather belt that I had custom made with slots on either side of the buckle that can fit various items, but it should do just fine for what’s inside the box.”

“I know the one you mean. I’ll go get them now.” Thorne spun around and left, making barely a sound as he did so. Damn. The man moved just as he did. Like a coiled spring waiting to explode with deadly intent. He was impressed and it took a hell of a lot to impress him. A whole hell of a lot and Thorne had done it within a few minutes.

“Right.” Flint rose. “I’ll go with Talon and get geared up.”

Talon shook his head, stepping forward. “There’s no need, Flint. I can get whatever you need.”

Flint knew the Wolf could but he needed to leave. Had to because he might have found Kenzie but they hadn’t sealed their bond yet and his thirst was rearing its ugly head once more. His throat was as parched as the damn Sahara, and his stomach was starting to feel as if he’d been on a starvation diet for weeks and he wasn’t going to admit that in front of Quinn Fucking Alexander. Definitely not happening. He’d leave with Talon and as soon as they were far enough away that Quinn would no longer be able to hear them, then he’d get Talon to take him to the nearest blood to feed . . . again.

“I’d rather come and see what’s available,” he pressed, striding toward the doors.

“Certainly.” Talon followed, looking bemused.

Quinn raised his glass, sipping before he threw after them, “Take care of my guest then return him here.”

“Of course, Mister Alexander,” Talon said quickly, rushing to open the door and finally they were out in the hallway and striding away.

Flint’s feet almost flying across the tiles as his thirst grew with each passing second.