Quinn's Lady (6 page)

Chapter 10

It was near midnight when Seleena closed the grimoire. “I’m going to bed.” Rising, she stretched her arms over her head. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

Quinn nodded. “Do you really think you’ll find the answer we’re looking for in that book?” She had gone through half of it in the last couple of hours with no real results.

“I hope so. Good night.”

He watched her glide out of the room. And then, unable to resist, he called, “Sweet dreams.”

Her answer was the slamming of her bedroom door.

Grinning, he left the house.

The village lay quiet under a cloudy sky, the silence broken only by the serenade of crickets, tree frogs, and night birds. All the houses were dark, curtains drawn against the night.

A large gray owl swooped down out of a nearby tree, talons extended as it descended on some luckless rodent.

His mother had once told him a story about a boy who turned into an owl. He remembered little of the tale, except that when the boy’s journey as an owl was over, he discovered he would rather be a little boy.

His mother…she had been young and beautiful with silky black hair and bright blue eyes before life on the streets took its toll.

She had died too young, Quinn thought. As a child, he had vowed to avenge her death, but time and Jagg and Serepta had got in the way. But there was nothing to stop him now.

Power surged within him as thoughts of vengeance filled his mind. He ran his tongue over his fangs.

It was time for Jagg to pay the piper.

#

Bosquetown was a Hel-hole without equal. The smelly armpit of Brynn Tor, Quinn mused as he stalked the back alleys toward Jagg’s place. Nothing had changed since he’d last been here. The brothels were ablaze with light, the streets crowded with drunken men, and women willing to do anything for a few credits. Fat brown rats scurried from building to building. Feral cats scavenged the trash cans, eyes shining in the dark. The air reeked with the stink of sweat and stale perfume, of lust and blood and death.

Jagg’s place was at the end of a narrow lane. The doors stood open. Two men -- each one built like an ox -- guarded the entrance. Quinn didn’t recognize either one of them, but then, Jagg had a hair-trigger temper and his henchmen rarely lasted long.

They eyed him suspiciously as he stepped inside. Something in his demeanor must have warned them to tread carefully because they nodded and looked quickly away as he passed by.

The interior was dark, thick with the stink of whiskey and drugs and stale sweat. A heavy layer of smoke hung in the air. There were perhaps two dozen people inside - most of them men. None of them sober.

He found Jagg in his usual place -- slouched at a back table with a pretty girl at his side, another one massaging his bull-like neck, while a third knelt at his feet. Jagg looked the same as always -- sallow skin, close-set eyes, a nose that had been broken several times. He was easily the ugliest man Quinn had ever seen.

Jagg’s attention stayed on the girl at his side until Quinn said, “Some things never change.”

The big man looked up, eyes narrowing and then widening with surprised recognition. “Quinn! Glad I am to see ya again!”

“Uh-huh. We need to talk.”

Jagg grinned, exposing a set of badly-stained teeth. “I can’t be leaving these three beauties now, can I? Have a drink. We’ll talk later.”

Quinn glanced from one girl to the other. The youngest -- the one at his feet -- was no more than fourteen. The oldest might have been sixteen. They all looked scared to death. “I don’t think they’ll miss you.”

Jagg’s eyes narrowed again. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”

“You got that right.”

“What happened to that witch? She get tired of you already?”

Quinn tensed as he heard movement behind him. He felt his eyes go red, felt his fangs descend as he whirled around to find the thugs who had been guarding the front door lumbering toward him.

With preternatural speed, Quinn lunged forward and broke the neck of the first one and tossed him aside. He landed on a nearby table. Men scattered. The table splintered.

The second man hesitated.

“What are you waiting for?” Jagg screamed. “Kill him!”

Quinn grinned as he beckoned the man toward him. Either the guy had found his courage or he was just plain stupid, but he lunged forward, his ham-like hands reaching for Quinn. Quinn danced out of his way, then clipped him a good one on the jaw. The thug went down like a felled tree.

The snick of a gun being cocked echoed loudly in the suddenly-silent room.

Fangs bared, Quinn turned to face Jagg. “You gonna shoot me? Really?”

For a moment, Jagg stared at him. And then he fired the gun. Six quick shots.

His face paled when Quinn remained standing.

“Get out of here,” Quinn told the girls. “And don’t look back.”

The three of them bolted out of the place as if their feet were on fire.

“You’re through trafficking in human flesh,” Quinn said.

Jagg grunted. “Selling you to the witch was nothing personal, my boy. It was just good business.” Before the last word was out of his mouth, he pulled a knife and scrambled over the table.

He was remarkably quick for such a big man. But not quick enough, Quinn thought as he jerked the knife out of Jagg’s hand and buried it to the hilt in his heart. “As of tonight,” he said, giving the blade a savage twist, “you’re out of business.”

He backed away as the body sprawled face down on the floor. Turning, Quinn confronted the crowd.

A few of the men from nearby tables lumbered to their feet. They glanced at Jagg’s body, then at Quinn, weighing their chances.

“Anybody else?” he challenged.

Nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

And nobody tried to stop him when he walked out the door.

Outside, Quinn took several deep breaths.
It’s done, Ma
, he thought.
I hope he burns in Hel.

A thought took him back to the small white house with the blue door.

#

Seleena paced the living room floor, Freyja at her heels. It had been hours since she had gone to bed, and it was still hours until dawn.

Where had Quinn gone? And why hadn’t he told her he was leaving, or at least left a note? Was he coming back? Did she want him to?

She stopped so abruptly, Freyja bumped into her, then let out a yowl of protest.

Murmuring, “Sorry,” Seleena cradled Freyja in her arms, then sat in the rocker, and gently stroked the cat’s head. “I just don’t know what to do. Maybe, if I just take him to my bed, it would solve everything. What do you think?”

Freyja’s hiss left no doubt as to what she thought.

“Yes, I know you still don’t like him. But…” Seleena shook her head. “I can’t help thinking that once he adjusts to being a vampire and puts his anger at that horrible man, Jagg, behind him, you’ll discover he’s really a very nice man.”

With a twitch of her tail, Freyja jumped out of her arms and ran from the room.

A moment later, the bell announced a visitor.

Seleena’s heart skipped a beat when she opened the door and saw Quinn standing there.

“Okay if I come in?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said. And then frowned. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I killed a couple of men tonight.”

“But…if you had broken your promise, I would have known.”

“I didn’t kill them like that….by draining their blood. Hel, I would rather die than take a sip of Jagg’s blood.”

“Jagg,” she murmured. “You killed Jagg.”

Quinn nodded. “And one of his men.”

“Come in.” She closed the door behind him, then followed him into the living room. “I rarely say this about anyone, but I think that, after what Jagg did, he had it coming.”

“It didn’t bring my mother back.”

“Then you have learned an important lesson.”

“Yeah? What might that be?”
“Just what you said. Revenge doesn’t restore what you’ve lost. And rarely eases the pain.”

“You’re a wise and beautiful woman.” And she was beautiful, he thought as he stared at her in the flickering firelight. She wore a long white nightgown under a dark blue robe. White slippers peeked beneath the hem. Her hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders.

She smiled, pleased by the compliment. “Would you care for a glass of wine?”

“Sure.” He followed her into the kitchen, stood with his back to the counter while she filled two goblets with dark-red liquid.

“What shall we drink to?” she asked, handing him one of the glasses.

His gaze met hers. “How about new beginnings, Red?”

#

Standing in the shadows, Serepta’s heart swelled with anger as she listened to the byplay between her mother and Quinn. When had the two of them become such intimate friends? And how dare they?

She called upon her power, but it was weak, so weak. She missed her magic, missed the spell that had allowed her to walk in the daylight, to eat mortal food. Vampires were supposed to love the taste of blood, but she loathed it. It was thick and warm and always the same. She wanted bread and meat and cake.

And Quinn’s head, on a platter.

Dissolving into mist, she drifted up to the kitchen window, her anger turning to rage when Quinn drew her mother into his arms. He would pay for his disloyalty, she vowed. In blood!

#

Quinn gazed into Seleena’s eyes. He had never known anyone with such beautiful eyes -- deep and gray and peaceful. Lowering his head, he whispered, “Are you going to tell me no again?” while he rained kisses along the side of her neck.

Seleena clung to him as he covered her mouth with his. Why was she fighting this? Why not surrender to the desire thrumming through her? Who would know? Who would care? “Quinn…”

He released her abruptly. Eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, he glanced around the room, then stared at the window.

“What is it?” Seleena asked, her gaze following his. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s out there.”

Chapter 11

Seleena stared at Quinn, her expression stricken. “She’s here? Now? Are you sure?”

“I can smell her.” The scent was faint but one he would never forget. It sparked memories best forgotten.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Seleena said, her voice trembling. “She can’t come in. I revoked her invitation after the last time I saw her.”

He nodded. And yet he couldn’t help wondering which of them would prevail in a fight. Serepta no longer had magic on her side. Physically, he was sure to be the more powerful of the two. But a vampire’s preternatural abilities grew stronger with age. Nardik had mentioned that Serepta had been a vampire for “several decades.” How many decades was that, exactly? Five? Ten? More?

“What are you thinking about?” Seleena asked.

“It’s said that vampires grow stronger as they age.”

“Yes. So?”

“So, she’s been a vampire longer than I have. But what if I inherited her strength when she turned me? What if we’re equally matched?”

“What if you’re not?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Seleena placed a staying hand on his arm. “You’re not thinking of going out to confront her, are you?”

“It’s tempting.”

“Are you out of your mind? That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Maybe,” Quinn allowed. “But how else are we ever going to defeat her?”

Seleena pulled a chair from the table and sat down. “I don’t know. I can’t help thinking there might still be a chance to save her.”

“I think that ship sailed long ago.”

Seleena slumped in the chair. “Is she still out there?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s she doing?”

“Watching us.”

She looked up, her gaze fixed on the window. “I don’t see her.”

“Do you see that faint, shadowy mist hovering near the top corner?”

Seleena nodded.

“That’s her.”

“Can you do that?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of creepy, though. The first time I did it…Wait. She’s gone.”

“I don’t know whether to be sorry or relieved.”

“I don’t know how you can be sorry. She wants to kill you, remember? There’s not a doubt in my mind that she’d do it without a qualm.”

Rising, Seleena blinked away her tears. “I’m going back to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Quinn muttered an oath as he watched her go. Why the devil had he said anything? She was already hurting. All he’d done was make it worse.

Minutes passed.

And then he followed her.

#

Serepta floated away from the window, eased down to the ground, and resumed her mortal form. So, Quinn had murdered Jagg. That was an interesting piece of news. And she knew just what to do with it.

#

Seleena had barely settled into bed when there was a soft tap on her bedroom door.

“Seleena?”

Sitting up, she used the edge of the sheet to wipe the tears from her eyes before inviting him in. “Is something wrong?” She felt her heart skip a beat as he walked toward her, a tall, dark shape gliding silently across the floor.

From the foot of the bed, Freyja hissed at him.

Ignoring the cat, he sat on the edge of the mattress. “You tell me.”

“I’m fine. Just…” She wiped her eyes again. “You know.”

Nodding, he cradled her in his arms. “I’m here for you,” he said quietly.

She looked into his eyes, thinking she had never felt so safe. For the first time in her life, she had someone to turn to, someone she could trust. She closed her eyes as his hand lightly stroked her hair, let herself relax in his embrace.

The slow, steady sound of her breathing told Quinn she’d fallen asleep. Holding her close, knowing she trusted him enough to fall asleep in his arms, filled him with a surge of protectiveness he had never known before. She was a strong woman, a powerful witch, but still vulnerable to pain and heartache.

He had never worried about anyone else in his entire life. Never gave a damn about what people thought of him. He had lived his life with only one thought in mind -- survival. But now, for the first time, he cared more for someone else’s welfare than his own. And he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

He eased Seleena under the covers, removed his boots and shirt, and slid into bed beside her, his arm around her shoulders, the silk of her hair soft against his cheek.

Surprisingly, it turned out to be the best night’s sleep he had ever known.

#

Seleena woke slowly, her eyes widening when she realized she wasn’t alone in bed. Quinn lay to her right, sleeping soundly. Freyja lay on the other side, staring at her with disapproving yellow eyes.

Turning onto her side, Seleena studied Quinn. His expression was less harsh in repose. For a moment, she simply admired the sheer, masculine beauty of the man. The sheet was pooled at his waist, revealing the broad expanse of his chest. She was intrigued by the fact that the dragon on his shoulder seemed to be asleep, as well.

After dislodging Freyja, Seleena eased out of bed, drew on her robe, stepped into her slippers, and went into the kitchen. While waiting for a pot of tea to steep, something compelled her to turn on the news channel, something she rarely did.

There were the usual reports of thefts in outlying areas, a photo of Queen Marri welcoming a dignitary from a nearby star system. Seleena spied Gryff and Nardik in the background.

She was about to shut down the receiver when the onscreen reporter mentioned a killing in Bosquetown. Seleena pressed a hand to her heart as the murdered man was identified as Jagg Corwinn, a local businessman. The killing had taken place in Corwinn’s tavern in front of two dozen witnesses, who had provided the culprit’s description to local law enforcement. Seleena gasped as a police sketch of the killer appeared onscreen. The resemblance to Quinn was unmistakable. A large reward was being offered for any information regarding his identity or whereabouts.

Behind her, a familiar male voice muttered, “Well, damn.”

Seleena glanced over her shoulder at his soft-spoken expletive. “At least they don’t know your name or where you live.”

“Yeah.” He dropped into the chair across from hers.

Her gaze slid away from his.

He didn’t have to read her mind to know she was embarrassed about letting him spend the night in her bed, even though nothing had happened between them. She had an old-fashioned sense of morality which he found faintly amusing and endearing at the same time.

“I was just about to fix breakfast,” she said, pushing away from the table. “Eggs and sausage. Would you like some?”
“Sure. Thanks.” Sitting back, he watched her move around the kitchen, gathering the things she needed. She didn’t drink coffee, and he couldn’t help smiling when she made a pot, knowing it was just for him.

His mother was the only other woman who had ever prepared a meal especially for him. Since his mother’s passing, he had eaten in taverns or café’s when he could afford it. When he’d been with Serepta, the maids had done the work.

Serepta. He would gladly give a year of his life to know where she holed up during the day.

Minutes later, Seleena put breakfast on the table. Still not meeting his eyes, she took her seat.

He stabbed a forkful of egg, then put it down. “You gonna look at me any time today, Red?”

“Quinn…”

“Hey, I get it. It makes you uncomfortable, having a man in your house. Having a vampire in your house. If you want me gone, just say the word.”

“No!” She looked up. “This is just all so new to me.”

“New?”

“I have never felt this way about anyone.”

“Never? What about Serepta’s father?”

“He taught me much of what I know. We shared a very brief relationship. It burned hot and quick and then it was over.”

“But you kept in touch.”

“How could we not?” she asked. “We had a child together.” She had been fond of Nardik. Untouched and curious. Flattered by his attention. But he had never touched her heart. Never made her feel the excitement, the anticipation, that Quinn stirred within her. Was it love? Or merely a stronger, deeper passion than what she had felt for Nardik? And how was she to know?

“So,” Quinn said, leaning across the table. “What now?”

“I guess that’s up to you. The village is my home, my life. It’s enough for me. Is it enough for you?”

Quinn leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest.
Was
it enough for him? He had never had a home of his own. Never stayed in one place long enough to put down roots of any kind. Working for Jagg didn’t count. The year he had spent with Serepta was the longest he had lived in one place, but he hadn’t been there willingly.

“Quinn?”

“I don’t know, Red,” he admitted. “But I’m ready to try.”

#

Seleena thought about his words off and on the rest of the day, whether picking herbs to prepare a poultice for Nannie Bednar, or shopping for a roast for dinner. That night, sitting across from him at the table, she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to have Quinn stay with her indefinitely. To go to bed at night, knowing he was in the next room? How long before she surrendered to the desire in his eyes? To the yearning of her own heart?

How long would it take before he grew bored with her quiet life, before he grew restless and moved on? Did she want to enjoy his company for however long he stayed, knowing it would break her heart when he left?

“There are no guarantees in life,” she told the cat as she got ready for bed that night. “Better to snatch what happiness I can instead of worrying about what might never happen, don’t you think?”

Pleased with her decision, she crawled into bed and closed her eyes with Freyja’s disapproving hiss rumbling in her ears.