Chapter One

Quinn

2008

"Am I supposed to be a cat, a maid or a witch?" I ask my roommate, Gina, as I plant myself in her bedroom doorway.

I can't tell. Not with the beaded cat mask - with whiskers to boot - covering half of my face, the black and silver dress hanging off my shoulders, and the frilly white apron tied around my waist.

"I don't know." Gina sits on her Hello Kitty comforter. "But that's what Nicky told me to give you to wear for the party tonight. You know how she likes to mix and match."

I guess I should. I've only met her once, when I brought Gina the phone she forgot, but that time she was wearing a spiked black collar with a pink kimono dress and knee-high Greek sandals. Oh, and colorful earrings that looked straight out of Africa.

"Who cares? It's Halloween."

I pout. "Easy for you to say. You look like a Greek goddess."

"That's because for tonight, I am a Greek goddess."

Gina whirls around to show off her white dress, held by a golden belt just below her breasts that are easily two sizes larger than mine. The silk drapes around her long legs. She even has a diadem of golden flowers on her head to crown her chestnut brown locks, which are lustrous as usual.

No wonder they call her the Venus of the Art History Department. Frankly, I think she should be a fashion model.

I narrow my eyes at her. "Isn't Halloween the one time you're allowed to look hideous?"

She turns to the mirror to check on her lipstick. "But why be hideous when you can be gorgeous?"

I roll my eyes. Of course she'd say that.

"Don't worry, Quinn." She turns to me with a grin. "You look great, too."

I straighten out my apron. "I look like I'm working tonight. That's what."

Unlike Gina, who's a guest at Nicky's famed party, I'm only going because she's a few waitresses short and I can always use the money.

She places a hand on her hip. "It doesn't mean you can't look fabulous. That mask brings out your amber eyes, and the dress really brings out your curves."

What curves?

I glance down. "That's because it's a bit too tight."

"And those fishnet stockings look va-va-voom. Maybe I'll borrow them next time."

"You can borrow them now."

Seriously, I don't understand what's so great about stockings full of holes. Or stockings in general. I've never worn them. Not once. My wardrobe is practically made up of T-shirts and faded jeans or denim overalls. This is only my fifth time wearing a dress, too.

If my brothers could see me now, they'd look at me in shock and then laugh at me. And I'd probably tell them to shut the hell up as always, maybe with a light kick to the shin.

"Oh, come on." Gina places her arm around me. "Don't look so serious. You're in college now, Quinn, and tonight's a party. You should have some fun."

"I don't think your idea of fun is the same as mine."

Booze and loud music? Not my thing. Hiking. Camping. Watching horror movies. Having a contest with my brothers to see who can finish a tub of ice cream first. Now, those are fun.

She pats my shoulder. "What I'm saying is that you should loosen up a little, even if it's just for tonight. College is the only time you can misbehave. When you get to be a professional, especially if you're going to be a teacher, you have to keep yourself in check. But you won't be able to do that if you don't let loose now."

I look at her with creased eyebrows. "What exactly do you want me to do?"

Gina shrugs. "Act like you're in New York City and not on a farm in California?"

Before she can say more, her phone rings. As she runs off to pick it up, I approach the mirror and study my reflection.

Come to think of it, I don't look so bad. Cats and witches and maids sort of go together, after all, don't they? I mean, witches have cats and maids have brooms. Besides, like Gina said, it's Halloween.

She's right, too, in saying I should break free. I am miles from home, and I did come here to experience new things. If I keep staying the same, what's the point?

I draw a deep breath.

Tonight is Halloween. What better time to dare to make a change?

Tonight, a new Quinn will be born.

~

College Halloween parties are going to be the death of me.

As I wander through Nicky's parents' huge mansion in search of a quiet place to spend my thirty-minute break, I feel like I'm stuck in a low-budget horror movie. Some of the corridors are flooded with cigarette smoke and I can smell the stench of too much alcohol nearly everywhere. In the past minute, two more men have tried to reach under my skirt - one dressed as a werewolf and the other as a pirate. In a bathroom, a fairy is throwing up, and nope, it's not rainbow-colored. In a bedroom, vampires are having an orgy. In the rec room, zombies are dancing with barely any clothes on, and in the attic, there's some dark ritual going on with a coven of witches and warlocks.

Am I the only one still sane at this party? Though I doubt my sanity will last much longer if I can't find a shred of peace and quiet.

Thankfully, I manage to find an unlocked door that leads to a quiet room - the library. I strain my ears to hear a moan or any sound, weird or otherwise, and when I hear none, I breathe a sigh of relief and lock the door behind me.

Finally, a place to breathe.

And to rest my aching feet.

I take off my high-heeled boots before walking across the room. The soft carpet feels wonderful beneath the soles of my feet. As I pass by the bookshelves, the lights behind the glass turn on one by one. Swank! I recognize some of the tenants - To Kill a Mockingbird, War and Peace, Animal Farm, books I started but never finished. Then there are titles and authors I've never heard of before. Has Nicky read all of them? I doubt it.

I make my way to the window at the end of the room and pull back the curtains. Moonlight spills in. I drop my boots and sink into the armchair facing the window. With my legs folded beneath me and a tasseled pillow pressed to my chest, I stare out at the cloudy sky lit by a pale full moon.

I wonder how my family is doing.

Can Steven see the same sky from back home? Did he and Daniel make jack-o'-lanterns? Did my Mom still make pumpkin pie even though I'm not around to finish it? Do soldiers like Charlie celebrate Halloween? What is Chase up to in Los Angeles?

I suddenly miss them all. That's the thing with family - sometimes you get tired of being around them, but never for too long.

I'm about to take off my mask and close my eyes for a few minutes, but then I hear the click of a door opening.

No way.

I turn my head. The door across from me remains shut. After all, I locked it, didn't I?

I must be hearing things.

But then I hear a creak, followed by footsteps. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

"Anyone here?" a male voice pierces the silence.

I let out a sigh of relief. At least it's not a ghost. Still, there are worse things than ghosts.

My eyes search the room for a weapon in case the man who's just entered proves to be a threat. The books on the table? They're out of reach. The vase in the corner? Too big and probably too expensive.

Come on, Quinn. Think. There must be something.

Then my eyes rest on him.

Dark eyes peer out from the holes of the black mask covering most of his head. The tattoo of a raven sits in the middle of his bare chest - sculpted muscles splattered in crimson. More of the red drops can be seen on the gray pants that are fastened to his waist with a thick leather belt, which matches the leather cuffs around his wrists and his boots. Something sharp and gleaming sticks out from his back - the blade of an axe stained in the same red streaks as his body.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

Blood? Probably not. Still, only a man with guts would dress up as an executioner at a Halloween party. A dangerous man.

And a man with a great body, of course. Damn, those abs are as deadly as his axe.

He smiles. Creepy, given his outfit.

"Hi there, Miss... What are you supposed to be?"

I still can't find a weapon, so I go with my bare hands. I jump in front of the chair and assume a judo stance.

"Someone you shouldn't mess with."

He whistles. "Don't worry. I don't execute women, or cats, or people who do judo, for that matter. Black belt?"

"No," I tell him. "But my brother had one and he taught me well. I even beat him once."

"Did you?" He sits on the chair closest to him.

I narrow my gaze. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"I'm just saying - "

"Are you saying a girl can't beat a guy?"

He sighs. "Girls and guys don't even fight each other in judo."

"It doesn't mean girls can't, though. We can fight and we can win."

He just glances at me and smirks.

My fists clench. I want to wipe that smirk off his face.

"You talk like you know a lot about judo," I tell him.

"Black belt," he says.

I snort. "Why don't we have a match right now, then?"

"Right now?"

"First one to score an ippon wins."

I toss my apron aside. He doesn't budge.

"Or are you scared that a girl might actually throw you off your sorry ass?"

He laughs.

"Weren't you the one who was scared, thinking I'd jump on you the moment you saw me?" He gets up from the chair. "You're a virgin, aren't you?"

What the hell?

"No," I lie on impulse.

He takes the axe off his back. "Then you won't mind if I get a kiss off you after I beat you."

A kiss? I open my mouth to protest but hold it back.

"If you beat me."

He answers with another smirk.

I stretch my arm behind my head. "If I beat you, you'll have to tell everyone."

"Sure." He takes off his boots and jumps a few times. "Aren't you going to take your clothes off?"

"What?"

"It will put you at a disadvantage, won't it?"

"It won't," I assure him.

Granted, it's far from the right outfit for the sport, but it's all I have.

"And the mask?" he asks.

"You have one, too, so we're even."

Besides, I don't feel like showing him my face.

"Fine." He stands with his feet together. "Shall we begin?"

He bows and so do I. Then I assume a fighting stance.

This is absurd - a witch and an executioner having a judo match. But at the same time, this is serious.

I can't let him wound my pride. Or steal my first kiss.

I make the first move. He's right, though. I'm at a disadvantage because of my outfit. He can move more freely, and he has no shirt so there's nothing for me to grab. Still, I make my move. I slip my arm beneath his and try to throw him over my shoulder for the quick point, but he's too heavy. He tries to use his weight to push me down on the carpet, but I'm quicker than he is and slip out from under him.

Fine. If I can't throw him over, I'll just have to sweep his feet from under him. The moment I do that, he falls, but only to his side. I quickly pounce and try to pin him down but fail. I hate to admit it, but he's strong. Those muscles aren't just for show.

But I'm not going to give up.

The grappling continues. Our legs become entangled, untangled and entangled again. I try to slip my arms around his. He tries to grab mine. By accident, his hand ends up on my breast. Instead of screaming, I take advantage of his moment of remorse and indecision to finally get behind him and wrap my arm around his neck.

Victory.

Or so I think until I hear the sound of ripping fabric and feel cold air against my back.

Shit.

I reach behind me. As soon as I feel my bare skin beneath my palm, I know what's happened.

A gaping hole in the back of my dress. I knew it was too tight.

Well, at least it's not in the front.

My relief vanishes, though, as my opponent attacks. In the blink of an eye, he has me on my back on the carpet.

I tried to take advantage of his weakness. He took advantage of mine.

I've lost.

He climbs on top of me. "It looks like I won."

"I had you first," I tell him. "I would have won if my dress didn't rip."

"Told you you should have taken it off."

I narrow my eyes at him. "What? Do girls always undress when you tell them to? Sorry to disappoint you."

He gives me a grin. Not a smirk this time. This time, he's amused. By what?

"What?" I ask him.

"I thought you'd cry after you lost, but I see you've still got a lot of fight in you."

I frown. "Like I said, I - "

His mouth steals the rest of my sentence and my breath along with it.

Right. He's claiming his prize. A kiss. No big deal.

Then his tongue brushes against mine and heat erupts in my chest.

What... was that?

Curious, I press my lips against his and move my tongue slightly forward. It rubs against his and catches fire, and the fire spreads down to my chest. My breasts swell against the tight bodice of my dress and I can hardly breathe. A jolt of electricity travels all the way down to my toes.

All this from just a kiss? Incredible.

The more our tongues dance, the more heat builds up within me. Excitement buzzes in my veins. My heart races. My breasts tingle, peaks poking the cups of my bra. My stomach flurries. The folds of skin beneath my underwear begin to melt.

Is this... my body? It doesn't feel mine anymore. My mind is in a haze. I'm slipping away, burning and drowning at the same time. I ache all over, but it feels good, intoxicating, addictive.

I want more.

"Mmm..." A moan escapes my lips on its own.

I didn't even know I could make such a sound.

He lifts his head and I can finally breathe. His eyes, dark brown and not black now that they're this close, gaze down into mine as he gasps for air.

They warn me of danger but at the same time promise me something... magical. A lump forms in my throat.

"Fuck." The curse escapes his thin lips in a hiss. "I didn't know kissing you would feel so good."

My eyes grow wide. He feels... good?

A blush coats my cheeks beneath my mask.

"If you're going to hit me or get away, do it now," he warns. "Or I won't be able to stop. Not tonight."

I can see his lips moving, and yet his voice seems so far away.

What is he saying? He wants me to hit him?

Even the voice that comes out of my own mouth doesn't feel like my own.

"Then don't."

In the recesses of my brain, a voice screams that I'm taking a wrong turn, but it goes ignored. Didn't Gina tell me to have fun? Didn't I say I'd try something new tonight?

At any rate, it's too late. His mouth descends on mine again and my body responds immediately. His hand caresses my neck and the fever starts all over again.

My hands move on their own. My fingers travel over his back, tracing each dip and curve of sweat-glossed muscle.

Damn. Even his back is ripped.

He cups my breast and I let out another moan. Even through the layers of fabric, I can feel the heat from his palm, the friction. His fingers find my nipple and I shudder. My underwear grows damp.

His hand slides down to my hip. And lower. My skirt rustles beneath his fingers. Then he slips his hand beneath the layers and I feel his fingertips strumming the nylon of my fishnet stocking, igniting sparks against my skin.

Now I know why Gina's eyes gleamed with mischief at the sight of the stockings.

His fingers reach the front of my underwear and I gasp. They slip beneath the stocking and one of them presses against the wet cotton.

It gets wetter.

Then his fingers crawl past the garter barrier. I tense for a moment as fear erupts in my gut. The place he's touching is sacred ground, private, forbidden. Should I really let his hand go there?

Before I can think of an answer, one of his fingers presses there, that bud of flesh hidden in my curls. A gasp escapes my lips as I pull my mouth away. My nails dig into his skin.

He kisses my neck as he plucks that bud. I feel it swell and grow firm. My skin melts even more and I feel more warmth oozing out of me like the juices of a squished ripe fruit.

Then he moves his hand lower. It strokes. It prods. And a finger slips in.

I shudder as heat explodes throughout my body. My knee lifts and my toes curl into the carpet.

When he lifts his head again, his eyes are narrowed, darker than before. They gleam with excitement. They burn with lust. It feels like they're sucking my soul out of my body.

He holds my gaze as he slips another finger inside me. Then he claims my mouth again. My lips feel numb, my tongue is growing tired. But elsewhere, every inch of my body stirs to life.

I'm still aching. I'm getting restless. I'm falling apart.

Does he feel the same?

My knee brushes against something hot and hard and he grunts. I reach for it and my palm presses against a quivering bulge in his crotch. A fresh wave of excitement washes over me at my discovery.

I try to wrap my fingers around him, around the rod of flesh straining against his pants. When I can't, I remove his belt and slip my hand past two layers of clothing. Something wet streaks against my palm. He gasps. My thumb brushes against a soft knob and he shudders.

Now, it seems, we're even.

I stroke him as he strokes me, our fingers furiously competing as our lungs gasp for air. The friction builds. I leak even more, and so does he.

Then he stops. So do I.

He rolls my stockings down.

"I swear you've bewitched me," he says hoarsely.

"And you're killing me," I tell him. "Hurry up."

"Yes, ma'am."

I don't even know what I want him to do next exactly. I just know it's about to get better and I can't wait. Patience has never been one of my strong suits.

He pulls my underwear down next. Then he pushes my skirt up.

"Hold this."

I obey.

He kneels between my legs as he takes his cock out of his pants. I only glimpse its glistening head and its thick rod for a moment before it disappears from view. His hands go to the back of my knees.

"Here I go," is all the warning I get before he pushes in.

I throw my head back and gasp at the feeling of being entered. It's not a pleasant feeling at first. It aches and my body tenses, fighting back. My fingers clutch at layers of cotton and chiffon.

He looks at me with wide eyes. "I thought you said - "

"Just get on with it," I urge him before taking a deep breath.

He pushes in further and I close my eyes. It's a tight fit. My skin is getting stretched. But I can feel him slipping deeper and deeper inside me with a squelching sound.

Finally, he stops. I open my eyes to gaze into his. Beads of sweat seep into his mask.

For a moment, I feel like tearing it off, but then he starts to move. My eyes fall shut again. With each thrust, the unpleasantness, the strange sensations vanish and all I'm left with is pleasure, excitement.

Desire.

I let go of my skirt to grab his shoulders. He moves faster and my body rocks above the carpet. Moans and cries spill past my lips.

I can feel my whole body melting from the inside. Something feels about to shatter. I'm lost. I'm floating. I'm falling.

Then the ultimate wave of pleasure comes from somewhere inside me, sweeping away everything in its path. I let out a cry as I ride it, my body shaking all over. My nails dig into his skin as I try not to break into pieces.

When it's done, I'm breathless, numb, weak. My arms fall to my sides as I force air back into my lungs.

Still, he moves above me, in and out of me a few more times before pushing in deep. Something warm explodes inside me as he trembles. Grunts escape his lips. Then he, too, gasps for air.

For what seems like an eternity, he stays on top of me. His eyes stare blankly into mine, now partly obscured by the mask that has gone askew. He touches it and I hold my breath.

Is he going to take off my mask?

I can almost see the temptation crossing his mind, but he resists it. Instead, he simply straightens my mask and takes a few strands of my hair in his fingers. Then he gets off me.

I sit up as well. I turn my back to him as I put my panties and stockings back on.

"Your scar," he mutters.

I touch my back. I've nearly forgotten about the hole there.

"It's from a long time ago," I tell him.

He pauses. "Are you alright?"

The concern in his voice makes my heart stop for a second.

"I'm fine."

I don't need him to carry me home, if that's what he's asking.

Just then, I hear footsteps out in the hall. I get on my feet.

"I should go," he says.

I say nothing. What do I say? Thank you?

He picks up his shoes and his axe and walks to the door. Before he opens it, though, he stops and glances over his shoulder.

"Happy Halloween."

"Happy Halloween," I answer faintly.

"And thanks for the treat!" He gives me another smirk.

I grab the book from the table nearby and hurl it at him. I miss. He laughs as he leaves. He locks the door behind him.

Alone, I go back to the chair facing the window. I know my break is probably over, but I'm in no hurry to go back out. I don't care anymore.

My body is still warm, buzzing. My panties are still wet and that place where I'm leaking still aches.

I take off my mask and wipe the sweat off my forehead. My lips curve into a frown.

What was that? An impromptu judo match in a library? Then sex on the carpet with a man dressed as an executioner whose face I didn't see and whose name I didn't even bother to ask? What was I thinking?

I don't regret it, though. I've always been a little reckless, and so I've learned it's a waste to regret anything I've done. If it's good, relish it. If it's bad, deal with the consequences.

Consequences, huh? I stare at the moon, which hasn't budged from where I last saw it.

What's the worst that can happen?