Atonement

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Atonement ISBN # 1-4199-0596-1 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Atonement Copyright© 2006 J.C. Wilder Edited by Sue-Ellen Gower. Cover art by Syneca. Electronic book Publication: May 2006

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 443103502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Warning: The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated S-ensuous by a minimum of three independent reviewers. Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (Erotic), and X (X-treme). S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination. E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature. X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

SHADOW DWELLERS:

ATONEMENT

J.C. Wilder

Dedication For Mom

Acknowledgements Carol—My favorite Grammar Goddess and dearest friend—I adore you. Bonnee—For proving that dreams are unlimited and making a few of mine come true. Thanks Kia—we miss you

Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Armani: GA Modefine S.A. Corporation Boy Scout: The National Boy Scouts of America Foundation Lycra: E. I. du Pont de Nemours and Company Perry Ellis: Perry Ellis International, Inc.

Atonement

Prologue He both frightened and fascinated her. Gabrielle DesNoir paused, her pen hovered above her journal to watch the vampire through lowered lashes. Mikhail sat on his makeshift throne, his face hidden in the shadows, his long legs sprawled before him. Once a daunting figure of a man, he now resembled, at best, an untidy pile of dirty clothing. Dried blood splattered his tattered cream linen trousers. His white silk shirt had turned a mottled gray from stains left unattended. His feet were shod in battered leather wingtips, the laces undone. Draped across his lap lay an overfed black cat with emerald eyes. The creature purred loudly as the vampire’s narrow, bony hands stroked its gleaming fur. He was but a shadow of his former self. Until Conor MacNaughten had interfered at the ancient druid circle during the last winter solstice, Mikhail had been one of the most powerful vampires in the preternatural world. Handsome, intelligent and completely ruthless, he’d been a leader to be admired by some and feared by others. As his consort, Gabrielle had held a coveted position in the hierarchy of the damned. Their parties were legendary, their friends plentiful. Life had been good. Now they were on the run like common criminals. After Mikhail’s ill-fated grab for the leadership of the Council of Elders, the ruling body of the preternaturals, prices had been placed on their heads and their army scattered, leaving only the weakest behind. Inwardly, she sighed. The days of decadent parties, mountains of jewels and people at her beck and call were gone. For now, at least. A smile threatened to form and she squelched the urge. Now wasn’t the time for levity. 5

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Edward was dead and Cassiopeia had vanished, leaving the two of them to pick up the pieces. She stifled a snort of disgust. If she ever wanted to regain her former position in preternatural society, she’d have to see to the matter herself. “Gabrielle.” Mikhail’s voice, raspy and hollow, trickled over her nerves like icy fingers. She masked her unease at the sound of his ruined voice and fixed a serene expression on her face. “Yes, my love?” “It’s time to contact Mortianna.” She jerked, her forgotten pen dug into the journal and tore a small hole in the creamy parchment. Mortianna was the most powerful witch on earth, rumored to be terrifying to behold. As the de facto High Priestess of the witches, she was possibly the only person left who could help them redeem themselves and reassemble their dispersed army. Her powers were renowned and, with the death of her only daughter Bliss, she’d most likely join with them to destroy Alexandre Saint-Juste and the last remaining council member, Fayne. Gabrielle’s lip curled. A vampire and a were-cat were the only ones left on the Council of Elders, the few creatures standing between her and her former life. A tremor of anticipation ran down her spine. Success was close. She could almost taste the sweetness. “I understand, darling.” She dropped the pen and rose. “I’ll leave at once.” She moved toward the door, happy to leave the underground bunker where they’d existed for the past few months. Her breath quickened at the thought of fresh air and even fresher blood. Mikhail’s eerie voice stopped her as her hand closed around the knob. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” His tone was wry. She forced a silky laugh. “How silly of me.” She turned and sauntered to him, her movements deliberately sensual. It didn’t matter what she did or wore. Since the

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accident, he’d avoided coming to her bed, which suited her just fine. The thought of Mikhail touching her made her skin crawl. The scent of old blood and stale air reached her nose when she drew close. Her knee brushed his as she leaned forward, her lips brushed the icy skin of his cheek before retreating. Without warning his fingers dug into her wrist and she gasped when he leaned into the weak light. His once-beautiful face was now hideously scarred. Pale flesh glistened with newly healed pink skin, shiny from the powerful burns he’d received at the Druid circle. Half of his face was obliterated as if he’d been dunked in a vat of acid, the skin smooth as wax and rippled along his jaw. His ice-blue eyes were vacant with the stare of the sightless. “Don’t fail me, Gabrielle,” he hissed. Menace laced his words and unease snaked down her spine. Even blind and in the proverbial gutter, Mikhail could crush most vampires with his powerful mind alone. Not even she was safe from his wrath should he decide to turn on her. She’d seen what Mikhail could do to someone who’d disappointed him and it wasn’t a pretty fate. She forced a soft chuckle. “Darling, I’ll not fail you.” She pressed her lips once more to his undamaged cheek and he released his grip on her wrist. “I’ll bring us victory,” she whispered. Mikhail’s smile was grim. “See that you do.” He leaned back, his hideous face hidden in the shadows once more. She turned away, desperate to hide her shaking hands. He scared her, even after their years together he still terrified her as she’d seen what he could do, would do, should she ever betray him. But that wasn’t going to stop her plans. Her heels made sharp clicking sounds on the concrete floor as she hurried toward the door, her mind whirling with delicious possibilities. Mortianna would be joining them and she’d help bring down the Council, and thanks to Bliss’ timely demise, the witch’s need for revenge was great. 7

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A smile formed. Unbeknownst to Mikhail or Mortianna, victory would be Gabrielle’s and hers alone.

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Chapter One She looked good, for a corpse. From the doorway, Quinn stared at his half sister through the coffin’s glass lid. Bliss lay on a bed of ivory silk surrounded by dozens of fresh pink rosebuds, which lined her eternal bed. Her golden hair framed her face in delicate ringlets while her skin retained the fragile blush of life. Her lips were pink and full, her thick lashes shadowed her cheeks. She looked as if she were sleeping. Witchcraft had accomplished this feat. He’d been at his home in the mountains of Washington when the news of her death had arrived two months before. According to the missive, the minions had carried her body to their mother’s home in England. Bruised and broken, her head had been neatly severed from her shoulders, her life ended by a vampire. Looking at her now, Quinn knew only witchcraft could’ve put her back together again. Humpty Dumpty should’ve been so lucky. He shifted his attention to the rigid figure standing by the coffin. Mortianna. Their mother wore black from head to toe, as was her custom. Her pale brown hair, lightly threaded with silver, was pulled into a tight roll on the back of her head. Her full-length cape hung from her shoulders to the floor, shrouding her figure in its velvet folds. Dust and a few blades of damp grass clung to the hem. Her rapt gaze was fixed on her daughter’s face. What sort of dark thoughts raced around her diabolical brain? He moved into the room, his leather-soled shoes making little sound on the solarium’s polished marble floor. The stone was inlaid with a massive brass pentagram

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upon which the casket sat on a catafalque draped in yards of pale pink silk. Fat white candles in towering wrought iron floor holders and overflowing urns of roses and lilies encircled the macabre display. Their cloying scent hung thick in the chilly air. Surrounding the scene in a widely spaced circle were some of Mortianna’s minions. Quinn stifled a grimace of distaste when his coat brushed the robe of one of the little beasts. Mortianna’s personal army of demons only stood as high as his waist, but they were lethal. It was rumored they could rip a human apart in seconds. No one knew exactly what they were or where they came from. There were persistent rumors that they were, in fact, demons called from the depths of the earth to serve their mistress. He doubted that particular tale but he did know they were completely loyal to their keeper and obeyed her every command even if it meant their demise. They were midget kamikazes willing to die at a crook of her finger. They stood silent and still, their beady eyes glowing from the dark recesses of their hoods when he breached their circle. Ignoring the needle prick of malevolence that danced across his skin, he concentrated on his mother. The scent of Mortianna’s perfume, dark and heavy, assaulted his nose as he reached her side. She was a beautiful woman, though it appeared she’d aged several years since yesterday. Her skin looked papery and dry white fine lines bracketed her mouth and more radiated from the corners of her pale blue eyes. He had her eyes. Something shifted inside him. A longing he’d denied most of his life reared its head as he stared at her. Never had he dreamed this moment would come. Growing up, he’d known this powerful witch had given birth to him, but they’d never been face-to-face until yesterday. According to his father, Keirgen, Mortianna had declared within days of Quinn’s arrival that she had no use for a male child. After several more attempts at pregnancy, each one ending in failure, she’d expelled Keirgen from her life with baby Quinn tucked in his arms. 10

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Now, years later, they were reunited. Mother and son. Only this time, he was preparing to leave on his terms and he had no plans to ever return. “You should rest.” He kept his voice low. She stirred, turning her head sluggishly as if she’d been awakened from a deep sleep. Her gaze was flat. “How can I rest when my child lies in her coffin?” “Standing here won’t change what’s happened. You cannot alter history and you do Bliss no good. Already your magic fades.” He raised a hand to indicate the increasing threads of silver in her hair. She turned away, her gaze fastening on her daughter’s face as if it were a lodestone. “I care naught for magic. I want only revenge.” He knew well the price of revenge and the cost was too dear, even for the death of his sister. He shook his head. “Edward killed Bliss and he’s but a pile of ashes now. What more do you want?” “I want the life of the man who brought her to this.” She turned toward him, her hand raised in a fist. “I want the life of Damien St. James in exchange for that of my daughter. He’s the one who took her from me years ago when he made her an immortal.” Sinjin. Quinn stilled. The vampire was well known in the preternatural world and something of an enigma. Rarely, if ever, appearing in public, he lived in a massive castle in the northernmost reaches of Scotland. Among the preternaturals, he was rumored to be insane. It wasn’t unusual for a vampire to go mad as their longevity inherently led to their demise one way or another. “Mortianna, you cannot go after an elder vampire.” She whirled away from him, stalking around to the other side of the coffin. “Bah! I can and I have.” Her gaze met his and he saw the anger boiling within her. “That creature destroyed my perfect child and she defended him. She defended his appalling

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actions and made me promise to spare him. For years I kept my promise to my daughter and I spared his life. Now she lies dead before me and nothing will stop me from having my revenge.” Awareness formed a hollow pit in his stomach. “That’s why you invited me here, isn’t it? You want me to help you bring Sinjin down.” A soft smile curved her mouth. “I did indeed. My son, the writer and noted authority on ancient weaponry, would have the perfect excuse to contact him. Everyone knows St. James has one of the most extensive and complete collections of weapons in Britain. The best part is no one would ever link the two of us together.” Betrayal burned hot and thick in his throat as anger arose. He struggled to quell the words that battled to burst forth. Never would he let her see the direct hit she’d just scored. “I won’t help you.” Her expression turned pitying and she shook her head. “You disappoint me. I think I knew, within moments of our meeting, you’d be unable to aid me.” “Not unable, unwilling. There’s a difference.” She waved her hand as if to dismiss his words. “Not to me. I’ll have my revenge with or without your help.” “Your anger will destroy you.” She laughed and it was a bitter, ugly sound. “You’re mistaken, my son. My anger will be the death of Damien St. James. I’ve already sent the minions to bring him to me. It’s only a matter of time now.” “No good will come of this.” “Tell that to your sister.” She turned away, effectively dismissing him. Her gaze locked once more on the face of her slain daughter.

***** Finally, he was gone.

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Maeve stepped into the library, taking care to close the door behind her. Her leather-soled boots made only the faintest scuffling on the thick carpet as she walked toward the desk. She’d been living in Sinjin’s remote home for almost a year, though the length of her stay wasn’t her decision. She was being held against her will and she longed to return home to the United States. She’d originally come to the Highlands to concentrate on her training and she’d stayed because Val and her host had decided it was too dangerous to let her return home. They seemed to think Mikhail would come after her in retaliation of the debacle last winter solstice. While Sinjin might call her a “guest”, she snorted under her breath, a prisoner was more apropos. Even though it was luxurious, this place was still a cage. His castle in the wilds of Northern Scotland was as isolated as could be. But it had served its purpose. He was a thoughtful host when he was around. A recluse almost to the point of obsession, he rarely left the library and, when he did, it was only to visit the catacombs beneath the castle. It was rarer still when he left the confines of the house. Lucky for her she’d been in the upper gallery when he’d announced to the butler he’d be absent for several hours. This might be her only chance to find the answers she sought. A low fire was the only light in the room as she wove her way around the furniture toward the desk. Unless Sinjin was present, the library had been declared off limits from the moment she’d stepped foot in the house. While he worked he’d allowed her to spend many hours secure within its hallowed walls, enjoying the library’s many treasures. The only books she was forbidden to read were the ones located behind his desk. Only once had she managed to breach his personal domain, but that one time was enough to enable her to recognize what she was looking for. When she reached the desk she turned on the small lamp. Papers were scattered over the polished top, but she paid them no mind. Off to one side sat a massive leather 13

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book. Well-used, the leather was discolored from centuries of eager hands wishing to divine the secrets contained inside. In the dim light, the gold script on the cover gleamed. LEEGEN. Her heartbeat accelerated as she beheld the first step in her quest. She held her breath when she brushed her fingers over the oiled leather. She didn’t have to turn around to know the floor-to-ceiling shelves behind her were stuffed to overflowing with leather tomes, each matching the one in front of her. Within this volume was the key to the Chronicles of the Shadow Dwellers and the answers she desperately needed. Sinjin was the chronicler of the preternaturals, the one chosen to watch and record every aspect of history in the lives of the unnatural. In this room were the fruits of a lifetime of research. Centuries of words and knowledge tucked into a mountain of oversized ledgers. Hidden in one of these massive volumes was the enlightenment she sought. How to kill an elder vampire. She exhaled as she traced her finger over the gold letters, curiosity burning bright within her. What she’d give for the time to read all the tomes. A mirthless smile curved her lips. She was probably the only revenant on the planet cursing her lack of time. While being an immortal had its uses, unfortunately, she couldn’t reap the rewards in her current situation. Maybe afterwards, if Sinjin didn’t hate her, he’d allow her to read some of the books. If you survive your quest. Maeve scowled and pushed the errant thought away. Survival wasn’t important in her situation, success was. She forced her attention back to the index. Pulling it closer, she opened the book and scanned the alphabetical entries. There appeared to be writing in several different hands, some spidery and old-fashioned, while another was loopy and more modern. One hand she recognized as Maggie’s, Sinjin’s assistant. The others were unknown to her. She flipped to the next page and continued scanning the entries. 14

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Too bad he hadn’t progressed to a computer, it would certainly make things a lot easier for her— Her heart stuttered as an entry snared her attention. Killing a Vampire, Volume 132. Gotcha! She shut the book and replaced it on the corner of the desk before turning to the shelves. Craning her neck, she scanned the bindings until she located Volume 132 on a bottom shelf. Dropping into a crouch, she pulled it out and laid it on the floor. Opening the leather cover, she scanned the table of contents and near the bottom, she found what she wanted. Killing an Elder, page 359. Her breath caught as excitement welled up in her throat. Finally, after years of planning, she was closer to realizing her goal. Maeve flipped to the correct page and eagerly scanned the neat, narrow script. The method of killing an elder will depend greatly upon the powers the vampire possesses. Should the vampire possess telepathy, abandon the methods listed below and proceed to page 370. Maeve frowned. Was Mikhail telepathic? She had no clue. She bit her lip and continued reading. The first step is to incapacitate the vampire. Beware—this is the most dangerous and deadliest step. This can be done using several methods: 1. Stake through the heart—this is not guaranteed to kill an elder but it can be used to incapacitate and render them immobile. When dealing with an elder, this is not the best method. A stake through the heart can be used to kill a younger, less experienced vampire. Be careful, it is very messy. 2. A silver cross—a silver cross pressed between the eyes of a vampire will incapacitate until a more permanent method can be used. However, the danger in this method is in having to be physically close to the vampire to be effective. This method should never be used on an elder.

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3. Magic—a spell known as a binding spell can immobilize a vampire. Be warned, while there are several types of binding spells, only the A’ bhais Cadail spell will work on an elder. The A’ bhais Cadail spell is handed down generation by generation through only a few lines of witches and the knowledge is held sacred. The lineage is of the utmost importance and only a witch of— Clink. Maeve tensed, her head snapped upward. Warily, she scanned the room. Had Sinjin returned already? Her eyes narrowed as she assessed the bank of French doors and tall, narrow windows that comprised the far wall. As usual, all were shut tight against the fathomless darkness outside. She returned her attention to the book. The A’ bhais Cadail spell is handed down generation by generation through only a few lines of witches and the knowledge is held sacred. The lineage is of the utmost importance and only a witch of pure intention should train the student. This spell has never been documented and only a few traditions even possess the ability to cast— Plink. Maeve abandoned the book and this time rose to her feet. An icy calm descended as she sharpened her preternatural senses. Keeping the shelves at her back, she began searching the room. The library was a long, narrow room filled with bookshelves on three walls. The fourth wall contained numerous glass doors leading out onto a broad stone terrace. As she moved swiftly, the darkened panes of glass reflected her image and the darkness outside. Looking behind each piece of furniture, she found nothing amiss. She exhaled as a movement caught her eye through one of the French doors. A thick fog was rolling in, rapidly enshrouding the grounds and obliterating anything recognizable. A peculiar prickle moved down her back. Was someone watching her?

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Maeve brushed her fingertips down the inside of her left forearm. Under her turtleneck, she wore a custom-made leather sheath that held a thin silver blade strapped to her arm. A simple ebony handle gave it good balance and made it an excellent throwing knife. Reassured, she reached for the top of her left boot and slipped her fingers inside. Warmed by the heat of her skin, she welcomed the solid feel of an ivory-handled dagger. In her right boot was its mate. Calmer, Maeve straightened. She was armed and in top physical condition. She’d spent much of the last ten years, in particular the last year, working on her hand-tohand combat skills. No opponent, dead or alive, would take her unawares ever again. Images of Mikhail and her slain sister Rebecca flashed through her mind. Ignoring the familiar jolt of pain, she ruthlessly pushed the imagery away. Now wasn’t the time for reminiscing—she had work to do. After giving the room a final once-over, she headed for the desk. When she reached the middle window, a shadow caught the corner of her eye. Before she could turn, the window exploded inward with a terrific crash, raining shards of glass and chunks of wooden molding across the floor. With a cry, Maeve’s fingers curled around the hilt of her forearm knife as something small and solid slammed into her right shoulder, knocking her off balance. Tilting wildly, she wrenched the blade free just as a heavy cloth was flung over her head, blinding her. Strong fingers dug into her shoulders and the cloth tightened around her throat. Maeve’s knee hit the edge of a coffee table, the pain stole her breath even as she slashed at the hands tormenting her. Her attacker emitted a squeal when the blade hit flesh and abruptly, she was released. She clawed at the blinding cloth even as she fell to her knees. Before she could remove it, something slammed into her left side causing her to lose her balance

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completely. She hit the floor with a solid thud and something landed hard on her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. Fingers wrapped around her throat even as she tore the cloth from her face. A shriek of fury broke from her lips and she bucked and rolled to her right side, her attacker still clinging to her. Wrapping her hands around her tormenter’s wrists, Maeve stared up at the creature that held her in place. Small, the size of a six-year-old, but much heavier, the brown-robed figure’s head was hidden beneath a concealing hood. Shiny red eyes glittered in the depths of the hood while scaly, sticklike fingers dug into her throat, threatening to shut off her airway. Gasping, her energy fading fast, she released its hands and grabbed the chain of a black pendant that hung around its neck. She yanked, trying to draw the creature down and away. A snarl came from the recesses of the hood and, with a mighty heave, it grabbed her by the hair, raised her head and slammed it into the floor. Starlight burst before her eyes and she knew no more.

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Chapter Two Quinn tossed his overnight bag into the backseat of the rented SUV then slammed the door. Pausing, he closed his eyes and let the night surround him. The darkness was all-encompassing. He loved the quiet afforded by the English countryside late at night. Broken only by an occasional bark or rustle in the underbrush, the silence was complete, an oasis of peace. Until one stumbled across this little piece of land. He opened his eyes to survey the rambling structure Mortianna called home. An oversized English-style Tudor, the gardens were rigid in their layout and the house boasted at least twenty bedrooms. Dozens of empty windows stared down at him and all were dark except for the light glowing from the bank of windows where Bliss lay in the solarium. The minions were back. Through the glass, he watched the circle of robed figures part to allow their companions to enter. Bearing a wrapped bundle on their shoulders, the late arrivals dumped their burden on the floor a few feet from the coffin. It looked as if they’d succeeded in finding Sinjin and were now delivering him to Mortianna. Quinn felt his body tense. Did he go in to rescue the vampire? In general, he had nothing for or against the undead. He left them alone and they, in turn, returned the favor. While he didn’t know the full story behind his sister’s transformation into a revenant, he’d tried to keep an open mind about the situation. Some immortals were taken by force while others chose their eternal life. Judging from his sister’s protective streak where Sinjin was concerned, she’d chosen willingly. He firmly believed in the laws of karma and letting the universe take care of problems in its own time. He doubted the Goddess would think too highly of Mortianna for this stunt. Sinjin will die if you don’t go back and get him. 19

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Quinn snorted. Sinjin was already dead, long dead as a matter of fact. Your sister loved him at one time. Bliss. Over the hoods of the minions, he glimpsed his sister’s body in her gilded bed. From the stories he’d heard from mutual friends, Bliss had loved Sinjin very deeply in the not too distant past. Maybe she had until the moment she’d died. He didn’t know for sure as they’d never been close, more like passing acquaintances than half brother and sister. He closed his eyes as a shaft of regret pierced his heart. He regretted his haphazard relationship with his sister most of all as he would’ve liked to know her. Quinn opened his eyes to see the minions prodding at the bundle on the floor. Now her lover’s life hung in the balance. For his sister, should he go in and rescue the vampire? Who are you to decide who lives or dies? “Damn, damn, damn.” With a growl, he turned and stalked toward the house.

“You fools!” Consciousness slammed into Maeve’s skull as the woman’s voice rang over her abused head. The distinct sound of human flesh making contact resounded, followed by the ominous sound of something sliding across a slick surface. She blinked several times and slowly her vision began to clear. A few feet away, she caught sight of a brown cloth similar to what had been thrown over her head when she’d been abducted. A length of nylon rope lay several feet away. “Imbeciles!” the woman shrieked. Where the devil was she? “I should send you back whence you came.” Guess we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

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“Does this look like a male vampire to you?” The woman’s shrill voice echoed around the room. “This is a woman and Sinjin is definitely not female.” They want Sinjin, not me! “Maybe they aren’t intelligent enough to realize what a ‘Sinjin’ is?” a male’s voice sounded. Maeve tensed. His tone was low, resonant, conjuring images of tangled sheets and damp flesh sliding together. Just that husky tone was enough to send an illicit shiver of pleasure down her spine. “Rubbish!” The woman sounded annoyed. “Who would’ve known the vampire would have a woman in the house?” A foot slammed into her back, rocking her forward. Maeve sucked in her breath as pain shot across her rib cage. “What am I going to do with her?” “Let her go.” The man’s voice was closer. Black boots moved into her misty line of vision, stopping mere inches from her face. Her breath caught when he crouched and warm fingers brushed aside her turtleneck and sought out the vulnerable flesh of her neck. She flinched as chills of awareness raced through her and she prayed the newcomer hadn’t felt her reaction. “I think I shall kill her.” The woman’s softly spoken words brought tension to the man. He rose. “No.” Maeve dared a glance up at him through the fringe of her lashes. >From her disadvantaged perspective, he towered over her and she could only see as high as his waist. To see any higher, she’d have to move her head and she couldn’t risk that just yet. At this point, her only advantage, if it could be called that, was subterfuge. She had to take them unawares. “What did you say?” the woman ground out.

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“I said no.” His voice was steady. “You will not kill this woman because your hounds of hell made a mistake.” The woman laughed and it was an ugly sound that caused the hair to stand at attention on her arms. Maeve could swear the temperature in the room dropped at least ten degrees. “Just who do you think you’re talking to?” “My mother.” His mother? He was one of them? Whatever they were? Enough of this, it was time to make her escape. Did she still have her knives or did they take them away? She couldn’t tell for sure. Maeve took a quick mental accounting of her physical state. Her jaw ached and her head throbbed, but for the most part, she seemed to be okay. Her vision still danced a bit around the edges and that could be tricky. She blinked, trying to will the blurring away and force the pain into the background as she schooled her muscles to move. She shifted her head and caught a glimpse of the woman’s face as she spoke to the man who’d proclaimed himself her son. “You have no mother,” she spat, “only a weak, spineless bastard for a father.” Hmm, definitely not up for “Mother of the Year”. Maeve rolled to her back, away from her tormentors, then onto her side before pulling her legs up toward her chest. In one swift movement, she rolled to her knees then sprang to her feet, abused muscles screaming in protest. Head swimming, she fought to keep her balance as she scanned the room, searching for the nearest exit. The room was an octagon with glass walls with the exception of one with an archway. Hopefully it led to a way out as it was the only way to go from here. She blinked when she caught sight of the coffin and its midget attendants. “It appears our sleeping beauty is awake after all.” Amusement laced the woman’s words.

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Maeve turned to face her kidnapper. Soft brown hair generously threaded with silver was pulled back into a bun while pale blue eyes assessed her. Judging from the fine lines bracketing her mouth and eyes, she appeared to be somewhere in her late forties. Slender and clad in a black floor-to-shoulder cloak, she looked strangely fragile in the heavy garment. “Why have you brought me here?” Maeve demanded. “You, my dear, were a mistake.” The woman shrugged. “One I’ll soon rectify.” “By killing me?” Maeve started to shake her head then stopped, deciding it would only aggravate her headache. “I’m afraid I’ll have to raise an objection to your plan.” The woman’s brow rose, her expression superior. “Indeed, this should be interesting.” She raised her hand and beckoned one of the little brown beasts to her side. Maeve’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t know what these midgets were, but they were vicious little buggers. Certainly tough enough to take her down. Granted, it had taken several of them to finally immobilize her. They were so damned short and difficult to fight. What sort of sorcery were they? “No.” The man spoke again and Maeve glanced in his direction when he stepped toward his mother. He was half hidden by a towering arrangement of flowers but she caught a glimpse of golden hair as her vision fractured. She blinked several times, relieved when her sight cleared. “And who are you to stop me?” the woman demanded. Maeve glanced toward the door and noted at least fifteen of the little demons standing between her and freedom. No help there. The windows were the only way out. She eyed one of the massive bronze urns positioned at the head of the casket. Filled with spiky flowers and a profusion of roses and lilies, the pot had to weigh at least forty pounds. Surely it was big enough to break the glass.

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She inched toward the pot, careful to keep one eye on her captor who stood glaring at the man. Rage fairly emanated from her small frame. Whoops, guess Mom isn’t too happy with him. Maybe she’ll send him to bed without his dinner. Her fingertips brushed the cool bronze urn. Now I need to pick it up— Her thoughts halted when she caught sight of the occupant of the casket. Bliss. Her breath caught in her throat as shock curled her toes. What the devil was Bliss doing here? Maeve hadn’t known the woman well, but she’d seen her on numerous occasions at Sinjin’s house. She’d always been friendly and quick to smile and Maeve had been truly sorry to hear Sinjin’s one-time love had been killed. Her friend Erihn had been present when Bliss had died and she’d said the minions had carried her home to her mother’s house in England. That was well over two months ago. Why didn’t someone bury her? She frowned. If Bliss were here, that would make this woman… She looked at her captor as realization dawned, all thoughts of escape fled. “Mortianna.” Her captor’s head snapped toward her, a frown etched on her face. “What?” she snapped. Maeve gestured toward the casket. “You’re her mother?” The woman moved to lay a possessive hand on the lid of the casket. Her gaze was direct, cold. “Yes, Bliss was my daughter.” “I knew her,” Maeve blurted. “Not well, mind you, but she was very well-liked.” Mortianna’s expression softened. She raised a hand and curled her fingers around a pendant that hung from a chain around her neck. “From where did you know my daughter?”

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“Through Sinjin. I was staying at his home and your daughter would come to visit—” “Bliss visited St. James in Scotland?” Her fingers tightened around the pendant, her knuckles turning white. Maeve backed up a step. Maybe that hadn’t been the best thing to say? “On several occasions in the past year, Bliss visited the house. They were good friends—” “Friends?” Her expression turned malevolent. “My daughter remained friends with that creature?” “Yes ma’am.” The bronze was chilly beneath her fingertips when she skimmed her hand up the side to curl over the lip. “I will destroy him.” She raged. “I’ll tear him limb from limb and he’ll rue the day he ever laid a hand upon my child.” Turning, she headed for the doorway, anger spurring her steps. As she exited, she called over her shoulder. “Kill her and make it quick. We have work to do.” Four of the little beasts broke the formation and advanced on Maeve as the man made a noise of dissent. It was now or never. She heaved the urn from the pillar, stunned when the weight almost knocked her to the floor. Filled with water and flowers, it was too much for her to lift. Straining, she dropped it to the floor, tipping it in the process, sending a river of brilliant blooms and gallons of icy water across the floor. The militant formation broke as the creatures stepped back to avoid the water, an odd hissing sound escaping from where their mouths would have been. She grappled with the now-empty urn, her arms trembled with exertion. Even empty the damned thing weighed a ton. The sheer weight precluded her from lifting it

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over her head, so she settled for an awkward, two-handed bowling-style toss at the nearest window. Then all hell broke loose. The urn hit the window as one of the beasts tackled her behind the knees. She staggered, almost regaining her balance when another struck her in the middle of her back, tangling its fingers in her hair. She fell to the floor, her breath forced from her lungs with a whoosh. Cold water soaked her clothes and the mingled scents of crushed roses and lilies invaded her nose. The solid weight of the creatures repulsed her and she kicked out, ridding herself of the one clinging to her legs. Bracing her hands against the slick floor, she flipped to her back, pinning the other beneath her. The creature gave a shriek and released its death-grip on her hair as two more levitated into the air and rushed her. She rolled to the side then to her feet, stumbling when one crashed into her shoulder, causing her to slide on the slick floor. Strong hands grabbed her waist and pulled her upright. Her breath caught when she glimpsed another creature heading in her direction. This one held a lethal-looking knife in its clawlike hand. Damn, that’s one of my toys! The man holding her upright whispered something in a language she didn’t recognize. The creature came to a sudden halt as if it had hit a force field, stopping in midair. It dropped harmlessly to the floor. “What the—” “Move.” He shoved her toward the broken window. Mortianna reappeared in the doorway, her expression becoming enraged when her gaze fixed somewhere over Maeve’s shoulder. “What the devil are you doing?” “Stopping you.” “Halt.”

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The room fell silent as an icy wind was born. It whipped around the room, stirring the remaining flowers and teasing the pink silk draping the catafalque. Maeve shivered when the witch fixed her gaze on her. “Out of the way, mortal.” With a flick of her finger, the icy air shoved at Maeve, effectively separating her from her savior. “What the—” She stumbled as the wind abruptly ceased pushing her. Raising one hand, the witch pointed to her son. “You either stand with me or against me, Quinn. Choose now.” “I’ll not let you kill an innocent.” Mortianna’s head jerked back as if his words had struck her physically. “Then you will die.” “So be it.” Maeve edged away from him and toward the window as mother and son became locked in a silent duel. The witch’s eyes remained pinned on him and, for a split second, her expression broke. Maeve could’ve sworn she saw regret pass over Mortianna’s face. All too soon, though, it was masked and in a small voice, she whispered, “Kill them both.” Maeve spun toward the window and freedom when it suddenly registered that the window was intact. “What the fuck—” Outside in the crisp autumn leaves lay the urn. She cocked her head. Just how could that be when the glass was still intact? “Go out the window,” the stranger hissed at her. “I can’t—it isn’t broken,” she protested. “How can this be?” “It’s magic. The window is no longer there.” “Magic?” She swung toward him then gasped when one of the creatures grabbed the tail of her hair and gave it a vicious yank, almost taking her down. With a snarl, she 27

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reached back and grabbed the braid, tearing it from the clawlike fingers. Twisting, she aimed a backspin kick at its midsection. Her foot connected with his gut and the creature emitted a sound like air escaping from a balloon as it flew across the room to hit the wall with a thud. Scalp aching, she shoved her braid down the back of her shirt so her hair couldn’t be used against her again. She risked a glance at the man to see him backing toward her. He held his hands in front of him and the remaining creatures hung frozen in midair. What was he doing? Was he a sorcerer? “Go out the window now. I can’t hold them forever.” “I can’t…” “You have to trust me.” She looked at the window once again and her image stared back at her. Trust was easier said than done. Just how could she trust this man, the son of the most powerful witch in the world? Then again, it wasn’t like she had a lot of choices. She took a deep breath and stepped closer. Besides, if it wasn’t broken then she’d bounce off like a fly— An arm wrapped around her waist, and she jerked in surprise. “We’re out of time,” his low voice spoke into her ear. A scream caught in her throat as he ran for the window, pulling her with him. The moment she heard the crisp crunch of glass shards under her feet, she knew he was right. The image of the glass wavered then altered to reveal the massive hole in the center. She leapt through the opening and into the chilly October air. Peripherally, she was aware of a sharp sting on her shoulder and her feet skidded in the damp leaves. The iron muscles of the arm around her waist kept her upright when she landed. Breaking into a run, he pulled her toward an SUV parked in the drive. Her boots slid on the gravel and her vision wavered, her head pounding with each jarring step. When they reached the car, she wrenched open the door and dove in as the

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stranger ran to the driver’s side. Slamming her door, she locked it as he leapt in on the driver’s side. The engine started with a roar, and the tires spewed stones when he pointed the car toward the gates and floored it. Maeve looked back at the house. Mortianna stood in the remains of the shattered window, her beasts milled around her like worker bees attending their queen. Even at a distance Maeve could see the odd blend of anger and pain on her face as she watched their escape.

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Chapter Three Mortianna smiled as the young vampire entered her workroom, every movement cautious. Dressed simply in black cotton leggings and a white mohair sweater, Gabrielle DesNoir looked fragile, almost wholesome in a macabre way. Her hair was a somber pale brown, cut short in a pageboy style and with her understated clothing and pale lipstick—she was the image of the all-American girl next door. Only her unnatural pale skin gave her away. The witch wasn’t fooled. Only the very brave or a total imbecile would dare approach the head of the witches in her own territory. Desperation had made fools out of many people before. As to which category this vampire fell into, Mortianna was very curious to find out. “Why do you wish to speak with me, Gabrielle?” The vampire jumped and spun toward the voice. Her expression showed her apprehension before she quickly masked it. Mortianna quelled her satisfaction at the further evidence of unease. The vampire cleared her throat before she spoke. “I have a business proposition for you and your people.” Mortianna stepped from the shadows and picked up a small tray containing several items she’d collected earlier. “Indeed? And what would you know of my business? You presume a great deal in assuming I want anything to do with the vampires.” In the center of the room was an open fireplace. A massive bubbling pot hung over a low fire and Mortianna set the tray on a small, marble-topped table before picking up a glass container. She made a great show of holding it up to the light so the vampire could see it contained human teeth.

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“I have something you need.” Gabrielle’s voice was shaky, though she tried to control it. With a pair of tweezers, Mortianna selected a tooth and dropped it into the cauldron. A hiss of dark blue steam escaped as the tooth broke the surface of the murky liquid. She returned the glass jar to the tray and selected a variety of dried herbs. “I’m listening.” “I’m sure you’re aware of the events of the last winter solstice. The vampire Mikhail made a bid for the leadership of the Council of Elders and was tricked by Conor MacNaughten. We were almost killed.” Mortianna failed to quell the laughter that bubbled up. “That isn’t quite how I heard it happened but, yes, I know the story.” She dropped the herbs into the liquid, and varying shades of green steam escaped when they sank below the surface. The scent was dark, earthy. “Since then, our lives have become a nightmare of persecution. Our followers have scattered, fearing retribution from the remaining council members. Mikhail and I would like your help in regrouping our followers and gaining control of the council.” Interesting. “Why didn’t Mikhail come and ask me himself? Why did he send you to represent him?” The vampire paused. “There was an accident at the circle and Mikhail was injured by MacNaughten.” “Injured? Why in the world should I support someone who’s in dubious health? If he cannot be bothered to pay me a visit, how can he hope to command the Council? It takes an iron will and an even stronger hand to keep those creatures in line.” Her visitor straightened her slim shoulders. “Should Mikhail be unable to carry his duties, I’m more than capable of taking over.” Ah, but the plot thickens…

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Mortianna selected a large dipper and stirred the pot, the ancient handle familiar against her palm. “You want me to aid your cause in gaining control of the Council? How do you propose I accomplish this?” “Align your army with ours.” Startled, Mortianna’s gaze met the vampire’s. Never would she have expected the creature to make such an audacious request. Contrary to what some believed, the witches weren’t a cohesive group as were the vampires and were-cats. The only cause the witches held fast was the knowledge that they neither wanted nor needed interference from the council and they refused to participate or follow their dictates. “You ask for a great deal, Gabrielle. Since the dawn of witchcraft, the witches have chosen to remain outside the politics of the preternaturals. Now you ask that we aid the cause of the vampires. What will we gain from this?” “I’ll deliver Damien St. James to you.” Startled, she released the handle of the spoon and it slipped beneath the bubbling surface. “Bother,” she muttered, annoyed she’d let the little vampire rattle her concentration. She grabbed another spoon to fish out the first. “What do you know of St. James?” “I know he took your daughter many years ago and ultimately played a role in her death. It’s well known you placed a curse on him and would’ve killed him if it weren’t for Bliss’ interference.” Mortianna dropped both spoons on the tray with a clatter. Presumptuous wench! Yes, she wanted Sinjin dead, but how dare this little brat— She halted, stunned by the realization that Gabrielle reminded her of her daughter. Bliss wouldn’t have flinched at bearding the devil herself in hell if needed. Intelligent, forthright and foolish to her very core, this vampire was very much like her beloved daughter all right. “Edward killed my daughter, not St. James,” she muttered, still stunned by the revelation. 32

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“Very true and for that he paid with his immortal life. But it was Sinjin who set Bliss on the path to her own destruction, and his death is what stands between you and avenging the loss of your daughter.” The vampire moved to a straight-backed chair and perched herself on the edge, a soft smile playing around her mouth. “I can deliver him within forty-eight hours.” Mortianna’s mind whirled with possibilities. What the little vampire said was intriguing. Could she deliver Sinjin with a minimum of fuss? Was there something to be gained for the witches by throwing their support behind Mikhail and his followers? With a flick of her hand, a pair of comfortable chairs appeared on the other side of the fire. “Come, let us warm ourselves while we chat a bit more.” Smiling to herself, she watched the vampire rise from her seat, her movements far more relaxed than when she’d entered the room just a few minutes before. Gabrielle and her dark cohorts might be able to deliver St. James, but that wouldn’t stop Mortianna from her current plans. Digging into the voluminous folds of her cape, she located an emerald-colored pouch. Opening it, she withdrew a pinch of gray dust. Dropping it into the bubbling pot, she smiled as the steam turned black. Her potion was almost ready and the perfect revenge at hand.

***** Mortianna. Maeve rubbed the throbbing spot just between her eyes as the witch’s name tumbled about her brain like clothing in a dryer. She’d actually stood in the presence of the most powerful witch in the world. Surely Mortianna would know the spell that could bring down an elder vampire. She slid a sideways glance at her silent companion. Mortianna’s son should also know the spell. Raised at her knee, wouldn’t the witch have taught her child everything she knew? The only question was how to get it from him.

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She transferred her gaze to the dark countryside speeding by her window. Funny, she’d never heard the witch had a son. Then again, most preternaturals didn’t talk about Mortianna, at least, not out loud. They lived longer that way. In the past few months, the mortality rate among the witches had risen and it was rumored she might be at the center of it. Maeve didn’t believe it. Surely a witch would look out for her subordinates rather than destroy them out of turn, wouldn’t she? She shifted in the seat, twinges of discomfort in her jaw and shoulder making themselves known along with a more pressing need. She cleared her throat. “Can we pull over?” “Why?” His voice was deep and pleasantly rumbling. “I need to use the bathroom.” He made a sound suspiciously like a snort, and Maeve frowned. Obviously, he was inhuman and didn’t have such needs, but she did and soon, she needed a bathroom. She glanced back at the darkness. There wasn’t a light to be seen for miles. It looked like she might have to improvise. What seemed like an eternity later, he pulled off the paved road and onto a littleused path, slowing considerably. As they traveled the ill-maintained track, she grabbed the door handle to keep from bouncing out of her seat. “Where are we going?” She gritted her teeth as they jolted over a large rocky patch, slamming her sore shoulder against the door. “Someplace private.” Ahh, she’d wrenched two words from her companion. Now, she was getting somewhere. Next time he might actually manage a full sentence or something. She stifled a groan when they continued bumping along the road, her discomfort increasing as they climbed ever higher. Finally, they reached a small clearing and he came to a stop. Before he could put the car in park, she moaned in relief and flung open the door.

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Scrambling out, she didn’t bother to shut the door behind her before darting into the woods. She clambered over fallen trees and underbrush for a few yards in the stygian darkness before she found a small clear spot that would suit her purposes. After she took care of her most immediate need, she rose, grimacing as she tugged her clothing, still damp from her tumble with Mortianna’s beasts, back into place. Nothing was worse than wet cotton against chilled skin. She shivered as she began her trek back, careful to take better note of her surroundings. For the past hour, she hadn’t seen a single light heralding civilization. How far out in the countryside were they? For that matter, what country were they in? Scotland? England? Wales? Night creatures rustled in the undergrowth but she ignored them. She didn’t fear anything living, only the dead could hurt her. Through the treetops she caught glimpses of night sky visible through bare tree limbs. Clouds danced overhead, playing hide and seek with the unfamiliar stars. A wave of homesickness washed over her and she shoved the intrusive sentiment away. She no longer had a home, or a family. What was there to miss? Tentatively, she stretched to relieve the aches in her abused body. Now that her immediate concern was taken care of, she needed to find out where she was and how to get to the nearest town, village or house. What she would give for a cell phone! Striding out of the trees, she headed for the SUV and the man who waited for her. In the cool, blue glow of the waxing moon, he stood at the edge of the clearing near a rocky drop-off, hands on his hips as he surveyed the darkness in the valley below. For the first time, she got a good look at her reluctant companion. He was tall, well over her own five feet eight inches, topping out around six feet. Moonlight burnished his short, golden hair to silver and etched his features in shadow. Dressed entirely in black, he blended with his surroundings. When she moved closer, her foot snapped a dry twig, causing him to turn. Her breath caught in her throat when his pale blue eyes scraped over her before dismissing her. He walked to the 4WD, moving with an athletic fluidity, the by-product of 35

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excellent muscle tone. His shoulders and chest were broad and his waist and hips were lean. He was at ease with his body, unconscious of its beauty and power. He opened the tailgate. She stopped a few feet away and crossed her arms over her chest. “So what’s the plan?” “I’ll take you back to where you came from.” His voice was low, cultured with a definite accent. Fascinating. Now that her head wasn’t ringing quite so much, she could discern Mortianna’s son was an American. She shook her head. “No thanks. I don’t want to return to Sinjin’s.” “Regardless of what you want, I’m returning you to where you came from.” He pulled out a black leather duffel bag and dropped it on the ground at his feet. “What you do once you’re there is up to you.” She placed her hands on her hips. “I said, no thanks. I can take care of myself.” “I can see how well you do that,” he muttered. He busied himself unfurling a blanket and spreading it out in the back of the truck. Stung, she straightened. “There were six of the little buggers.” “And you didn’t win, so you can’t take care of yourself.” He paused, a dark nylon sleeping bag in his arms. “Get in.” She scowled and stepped back. “Why?” “I need to rest.” She glanced inside the dim compartment and saw he’d put the backseat down to make a larger space. Even so, there was no way she was willing to get in there with him. She shook her head. “I can drive—” “No, thanks. I need to rest in a stationary car, not bouncing around while you drive.” A shaft of fear ignited in her chest. “No.” 36

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“I don’t think you understand. You either get in by yourself or I’ll stuff you in. It’s your choice.” Images of those strong hands in the air, holding Mortianna’s beasts at bay came to mind. Did he have the power to physically move her? She glanced at his face and saw that he did, indeed, look weary and in no mood for a fight. The watery moonlight etched lines around his eyes and mouth. She sighed, reluctant to admit she was also exhausted. It wasn’t every day a girl was kidnapped by demonic beings and battled an angry witch. Even on her scale of events it ranked as one of the strangest days in her life. Giving him a wide berth, she climbed into the back of the truck, scrambling into the far corner to avoid touching him. He tossed the sleeping bag in her direction before picking up the duffel. Setting it at the rear on her side, he climbed in and pulled the hatch shut, enclosing them in a small, dark area. A wave of claustrophobia hit her and she squelched the urge to fling herself at the door when he lay down on his side of the blanket, his back to her. “You should change out of those damp clothes. I don’t want you getting sick on me. There are some dry things in the bag.” His words were slurred, and, within moments, his breathing deepened. Is he asleep already? Maeve watched, making sure he wasn’t faking it before reaching for the bag. With frozen fingers, she grabbed the handle and pulled it toward her. Opening it, she pawed around inside and found a small penlight. Flicking it on, she located a clean pair of sweatpants and a thick, ivory woolen sweater. She glanced uneasily at the man’s back, the dry clothes clutched in her hands. Will he turn around? She scowled at the thought. To hell with him. If he wanted to watch, let him. Dropping the clothes into her lap, she stuck the penlight in the fold of her knee. She wiggled out of her shirt, wincing as her shoulder pulled painfully. 37

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What the devil was wrong with her? Inspecting her shirt, she was dismayed to find a large rent on the top of the shoulder, reaching down the back for several inches. The cloth was damp with blood. Looking regretfully at the dry plush sweater, she wiped her damp fingers on her pants before pitching the sweater over the back of the driver’s seat. There was no way she could put it on if she was going to bleed all over it. The pants were another story. She wrestled off her boots then placed her last remaining knife within easy reach. Flicking the penlight off, she dropped it back into the bag and tossed it into the front seat. Wiggling out of her damp pants, she stifled a groan of delight as she pulled on the dry sweats. The cotton was thick, wonderfully warm, just what she needed. She spread her clothing over the back of the passenger seat to air dry then slid beneath the sleeping bag. The man didn’t stir as Maeve settled, her back to him. She curled one arm to support her head, shivers racking her body as she willed herself to relax. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her other arm around her waist in an attempt to get warm. Exhaustion crept in and her last thought was she hoped she didn’t bleed on his sleeping bag.

***** The morning sun woke him. Quinn blinked, and for a moment he couldn’t figure out why he was sleeping in the back of his SUV. Then the events of the night before slammed into his skull. He closed his eyes again. He’d betrayed his mother. She betrayed you long before. He opened his eyes. Allowing her to kill an innocent went against everything he believed in. The Wiccan Rede, “An it harm none, do what thou wilt”, was more than an ancient belief. He strove to live the rule every day of his life. After one costly slip in his

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teenage years, it was the one lesson he’d never forgotten. If that included stopping his mother by subverting her plans, so mote it be. He tried to sit up, but a peculiar weight on his right side halted him. A warm, very female body was snuggled against him. He turned his head and caught sight of brilliant red hair. Her long braid lay across his chest, thick and heavy. The morning sun made the color almost blinding, even through the tinted windows. He imagined what it must look like loosened. Most of her face was obscured by the sleeping bag, but he could see the firm line of her jaw, discolored by a small purple bruise. He clenched his teeth as annoyance lanced through him. No one should’ve hit her, certainly not one of the minions. His guest stirred, drawing his attention to the firm body molded against his. The bulky sleeping bag hid the rest of her from his view, but he certainly felt every delectable inch. Lust stirred when her leg shifted higher, nudging him, bringing the heat of her feminine warmth directly in contact with his thigh. A soft groan escaped her and a rush of awareness raced to his groin. She stirred again, her palm flattening over his heart, her limbs heavy against him. He wrapped his fingers around her errant braid in disbelief. He thought he’d evolved past the point in his life when baser instincts ruled his nature. The minions had kidnapped her from Sinjin’s home. Was she his lover? She shifted, her small, firm breasts pressed into his side as the scent of summer heather and warm female swirled around him, making him dizzy with its potency. He closed his eyes as his cock lunged for freedom and the warm flesh of the woman beside him. It appeared he was wrong about his true nature. Gently, he untangled himself from the woman and sat up. Wrenching the hatch open, he climbed out into the crisp, morning air. He loved the morning, it was his

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favorite time of day. The air was fresh, the day was young and each day was a new beginning. He turned in time to see his passenger roll into the spot of warmth he’d just vacated. She wiggled her hips then settled down once more. He stifled a groan as he eased the door shut. They had a long road ahead of them, and by sunset they would be at Sinjin’s. Quinn glanced down at the morning erection tenting his trousers. It was going to be the longest drive of his life.

Maeve shivered when she exited the car. Dressed once more in her black pants, still damp from yesterday’s adventure, and an athletic bra, she leaned against the tailgate to pull on her knee-high boots. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d camped in the wilderness—not that there’d be smoky eggs and burnt bacon for breakfast or a twin sister to chase around the campfire. A wistful sigh escaped her as she retrieved her knife and tattered shirt. There were times she missed her sister like a severed limb. Her twin, the one person who’d understood and loved her unconditionally, was dead. Even now, years later, it was a tough pill to swallow. Eternity had never looked so lonely. Tossing the shirt over her shoulder, she shut the hatch. Lonely or not, she had work to do and that included finding her erstwhile traveling companion. After taking care of her most pressing needs, the sound of running water drew her attention. Following it, she walked down a small hill, through a thicket of trees. Without warning, the trees gave way to a rocky shoreline and a broad river. On the opposite shore, the trees grew thick and impenetrable within a few feet of the river. The water was a swift, crystal blue torrent, and the sound was soothing. Delighted, she took a deep breath and exhaled with gusto. The stark beauty of this spot

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tugged her soul. When was the last time she’d left behind the trappings of civilization in favor of roughing it? Tilting her head back, she spied a large bird overhead. It hung on a current, wings outstretched, hovering as if suspended by wire. What did that kind of freedom feel like? Her gaze dropped to the water. She caught a glimpse of several fish just a few feet from where she stood. The flash of their scales caught the sun as they moved about beneath the surface. She’d always loved the water. How easy it would be to step in and just let go. She took a step toward the river when a movement caught her attention. Balanced on the trunk of a massive fallen tree stood her companion. He’d shed his shirt and stood facing the morning sun, arms straight out from his shoulders, palms up with his head tilted back. Impervious to the chill, he looked completely at ease in his surroundings. The sun bleached his hair to white fire and gilded his bronzed physique. Loose-fitting black pants rode low on his hips, molding to his long limbs as a breeze tugged at them. Her mouth watered as a wash of desire streaked through her. He wasn’t built like a weightlifter, all muscles and no neck, but he was solid-looking, strong. His shoulders were broad, his stomach flat and it rippled as he swayed with the breeze. It was obvious he took good care of himself—it showed in every toned inch of him. She licked her lips. He was possibly the handsomest man she’d ever seen. That’s what you’d thought about him too. A dash of cold realization doused her, tearing her gaze from the man on the tree. One mistake was enough. Her lack of judgment had cost her sister her life. Never again would a beautiful face and handsome body lull her into a false sense of security. Judging from her body’s reaction, this man was dangerous to her sense of selfpreservation. Maybe it would be advisable if she struck out on her own to find civilization.

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A raucous cry overhead drew her attention. Several feet over the man’s head flew several birds of differing sizes. They swooped and played, calling as if beckoning the man to join in their antics. A large raven floated directly above his head—its beady eyes fixed on her. Startled, she jerked backward, her boots stuttering over the rocks before catching on a gnarled root. Maeve stifled a squeak as she lost her balance.

Quinn spun when he heard the rattle of stones. He caught sight of his companion, her arms flailing before she landed almost silently on her backside. He leapt off the tree onto a smaller rock then jumped to shore, wincing as a sharp stone dug into his bare foot. Keeping to the larger rocks, he hopscotched to the fallen woman. “Are you okay?” She scrambled to her feet before he could reach her side. In the bright sunlight, her hair was the color of flame and her eyes were the most startling shade of green. Brilliant as the greenest meadow in Ireland and filled with distrust, they ensnared him. Ye Goddess, but she was lovely. Soft brows arched over those mesmerizing eyes and her nose was pert with a slight tilt at the end hinting at impudence. With the pale skin of a true redhead, a few freckles were scattered across the bridge of her nose and her lips were full and damp. The only imperfection was the bruising on her jaw, which stuck out in dark hues of purple and blue. She was a sight to behold, even if she was oddly dressed. She wore a tight black athletic bra that smashed her breasts almost flat. No wonder she’d felt so hard against him. A professional bodybuilder would have to work to attain her physique. Tight black leggings clung to long legs, outlining slim hips and muscular thighs. Knee-high suede boots covered her feet and calves. Her stomach was perfectly flat and her arms corded with muscle. Even though she wasn’t overly tall, she reminded him of an Amazon warrior, beautiful, courageous and lethal.

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Normally, he preferred his women to be small, if not delicate. Cultured, intelligent, his women were more interested in intellectual pursuits than honing their muscles to perfection. A slow heat built in his groin and he shifted, trying to keep his libido in line. Maybe he should try reiterating his tastes in the opposite sex to his body as it seemed a crucial part of him wasn’t interested in his preferences. “Like what you see?” Quinn jerked his gaze from her washboard stomach to her hostile gaze. “I was just thinking you must work out a lot.” Her gaze narrowed and he had the sneaking suspicion she knew he was lying. Muttering something uncomplimentary under her breath, she stalked past him, allowing him a glimpse of her back. What he saw shocked him. From the nape of her neck to the top of her pants was a mehndi tattoo done in henna. The three phases of maiden, mother and crone were depicted in the face of the moon. Her bra straps and swaying braid obscured the design, but he could tell the skill of the artist even from here. Just above the waist of her pants were runic symbols, but he couldn’t read them as she was moving too rapidly. The deep russet of the henna tattoo, exotic against her pale skin, was also one hell of a turn-on. No doubt about it, he was in trouble. When she turned, he caught sight of the gash on her shoulder. Dried blood had run down her shoulder blade, halting at her bra. Red and irritated, the wound looked incredibly painful. “You’re hurt.” She dropped into a crouch by the river. Cupping her hands, she flung handfuls of icy water on her face. “I’ll live,” she replied between splashes.

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Ignoring the pain from the small rocks digging into his feet, he stalked to where his bag and discarded clothing lay. “We need to get that cleaned or you’ll end up with an infection.” She paused in her hasty ablutions. “I said I’ll live,” she snapped. Quinn pulled on his moccasins and reached into the bag for a clean T-shirt, then moved to dangle the shirt within her range of vision. She looked up at him, protest on her lips. “Humor me,” he spoke quietly. After a moment, she accepted his offering with a slight nod of thanks. She dried her face on the shirt, then rose to her full height and met his gaze, her shoulders back, head held high. “Thank you.” She was a prickly thing. “You’re welcome.” He nodded at a low, flat boulder nearby. “Why don’t you sit there and I’ll attend your shoulder?” “Before you start, I want to ask you something.” Quinn retrieved his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Sure.” “What’s your name?” He couldn’t help but smile. “I guess we did this backward, didn’t we?” He held out his hand. “Quinn Montgomery, at your service.” She hesitated before taking his hand. An electric jolt of awareness raced up his arm and expanded through his body. For a split second, his skin felt as if it were on fire. There was heat in this woman, heat the likes of which he’d never experienced before. He saw the awareness in her eyes when she dropped his hand as if she’d been scalded. “Maeve, Maeve Leigh.” Her voice was shaky. She turned away, almost running in her haste to put some distance between them. Climbing onto the boulder, she drew her knees toward her chest before wrapping her arms around them. 44

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He followed and dropped the bag on the rock behind her. Pawing through the contents, he located his small first-aid kit. She was watching him. “Were you are a Boy Scout?” A snort of laughter escaped him as he opened the box. “Hardly.” “Well, you certainly seem to be prepared.” Her tone was dry. “It usually pays to plan ahead.” “Isn’t that the—” Her breath hissed between clenched teeth as he inspected the wound. “Sorry. This is going to hurt.” He paused. “You might need to remove your bra so that I can clean this better.” She rotated her shoulder then winced as the movement tugged her wound. “There’s no way I can get this over my head. It’ll have to be cut off.” He looked through the first-aid kit again. “All I have is a small pair of bandage scissors. I’ll have to go back to the truck—” “Don’t bother.” She reached into her right boot and withdrew a knife. With a practiced motion, she slit the straps of her bra and shoved them out of the way, then slit the stretchy fabric between her breasts. The fabric snapped away from her body as she crossed her arms over her bare chest, shielding herself from his gaze. He turned away, but not before a tantalizing glimpse of a half-naked Maeve was burned into his mind. As she’d cut the bra in front, he’d gotten a peek at the full mounds of her breasts. She was larger than he’d suspected. Damn! Who knew she’d whip her bra off like that? The least she could’ve done was warn him. Mentally chastising himself, he turned his attention to her wound. The gash wasn’t deep—it extended from the top of her shoulder about three inches down her back. It should’ve been stitched sooner, but it was too late now. The risk of infection was too great to chance it. He reached for the alcohol. “Are you really Mortianna’s son?”

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He was used to the question, but it still annoyed him every time he heard it. Mortianna had never publicly claimed her son as she had her daughter. Bliss had been the desired child, while he wasn’t. Even now, it still rankled. “You heard her say it, didn’t you?” Maeve nodded. “I’d never heard she had a son.” “Not many have,” he muttered. He tried to ignore her tempting bare skin as he applied himself to her wound. The morning sunlight caught the fire in her hair, distracting him as he used the rubbing alcohol to cleanse the damaged flesh. When he dabbed the liquid on the deeper end of the cut, she trembled beneath his hand. He couldn’t tell if it was due to discomfort or the chilly air. Even though it was unseasonably warm, it couldn’t have been much over fifty degrees. “Are you a witch, then?” “Yes.” Efficiently, he tore open the wrapping on a four by four bandage then applied it to the cut. “How does a witch go about learning spells?” Her tone was curious, but there was something else behind her words. Inwardly, he groaned. She was probably like the others who’d flocked to him once they found out about his talents. Invariably, they were in pursuit of a spell to guarantee happiness and wealth in their lives. “We’re taught by our parents,” he said. “What if they don’t tell you everything?” He opted to ignore the question and added the last strip of tape to hold the pad in place. “There you go, all better.” She turned to watch him, her gaze was direct. “What if your parents didn’t teach you a spell you needed? Where could you get it?”

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Anger bubbled. Whenever people found out who his parents were, it was the same old story. They always wanted something from him, usually a spell or his name in marriage. Some women thought that being married to him would entitle them to a life of leisure including a multitude of spells to take care of pesky details such as housework and money. Little did they know he wasn’t much of a bargain as he’d make a terrible husband. Quinn leaned forward until their noses were mere inches apart. “Look. Witchcraft isn’t about a spell to clean your house or make someone fall in love with you. It’s a way of life and it’s sacred. I won’t give you a spell to make you rich, nor give you a spell of immortality. Both are an abomination.” She blinked, her expression turned wary. “Immortality is an abomination?” Ah ha! Now he knew what she wanted, the immortality spell. “Yes. Some of us are born immortal while vampires or witchcraft can make others that way. Unless it’s a Goddess-given gift, it’s an abomination to Her.” She straightened and scooted off the stone, forcing him to back away. Her back was rigid and her arms were still crossed over her chest. “Thanks for your help and invaluable insight.” Sarcasm dripped from every word and she turned away to struggle into her tattered shirt. “You should’ve told me about your injury last night. Waiting will cause it to scar even worse.” “No, it won’t.” She turned to face him, her expression defiant. “I’m an immortal, created by a vampire. Or, in your words, an abomination.”

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Chapter Four Cynicism poured hot and heavy through her veins as she stomped through the woods toward the SUV. He was just like the rest of them. After the death of Reb, her family, not knowing what had changed their remaining daughter, had turned away from her. All too well, she remembered her mother’s cries for justice and her unspoken condemnation of her remaining child. Maeve should’ve protected her sister. Reb had been well known for getting into one scrape after another, forcing Maeve to run to her rescue. Until the last time. How could she have told her parents that an elder vampire had killed Rebecca, and she, the remaining twin, had been made an immortal? Even attempting to tell them would’ve earned her a one-way ticket to the funny farm. Not only did it sound completely insane, what average, everyday person could comprehend such things? None. Now Maeve had no contact with her family. They’d abandoned her, content to mourn both of their daughters rather than face the unusual changes in the one who’d lived. With their silent questions unanswered, she’d decided long ago that her presence hurt her family more than helped. She was a reminder of the nightmare that their lives had become. Reaching the clearing, she snatched open the door and grabbed Quinn’s sweater off the seat. Shivering, she tugged it over her shirt, ignoring the pull of the bandage and her wound. When it came to nightmares, she could write a book. Maeve had always enjoyed being alone. No one to report to, pick up after or cook for. Her time was her own, her money was her own and, best of all, no one was going to 48

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impede her goal of killing her sister’s murderer. Her thirst for revenge was what sustained her soul, not her family. The crunch of dry underbrush announced Quinn’s arrival. Fully clothed, he stopped a few feet away, his bag dangling from his fingertips. “We need to get on the road.” She refused to meet his gaze, instead concentrating on pulling the warm wool down around her hips. “Were you willing?” His voice was hoarse. “Does it matter? What’s done is done.” She climbed in the passenger side and slammed the door, unwilling to watch the condemnation on his face. Let him think what he wanted. Most people did anyway. Several minutes passed before he got in and started the engine. Staring straight ahead, she willed him to put the truck into gear and not say another word to her. “Look at me.” His voice was low, commanding. Unable to resist his summons, yet steeling herself for his censure, she turned to him. “It does matter,” he said. She turned to stare out the window as he put the vehicle in drive. Yeah, right.

Maeve breathed a sigh of relief as they rounded the last mountainous curve and Sinjin’s home came into view. Set on a cliff overlooking the sea, Aisling Crioch, Dream’s End, was a massive stone structure built over four hundred years before on the remains of a medieval stronghold. Pale cream-colored stone walls and empty glass windows stared as they approached. A plethora of gargoyles and dragons perched on the ramparts as if awaiting their turn to leap upon unsuspecting visitors.

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Not that Dream’s End had very many visitors. The locals in the nearest town believed the house was a gateway to the netherworld and Sinjin was in league with the devil. Few dared set foot on damned ground. As Quinn guided the SUV through the wrought iron gates, Maeve tensed, expecting the power of the vampire to speak to her. She frowned as they progressed along the twisting drive. She felt nothing. Vampires had a variety of methods to keep the unwanted at bay. One way was to retain a Gatekeeper, a human or revenant to keep the living away from their sleeping place. Another was to use a guard—a form of magical lock that needed a key or password in order to pass through. In order to protect his privacy, Sinjin used the latter. In the past, as she’d approached the house, she’d always been aware of his power. Reminiscent of a lowvoltage current, she didn’t realize until now how she’d grown used to the mystical energy. Now, she felt nothing but the cool air of the approaching Highland winter. Something was wrong. She flung open the door and leapt from the truck when it came to a halt at the foot of the front walk. Her heart pounding wildly, she ran for the front door, only dimly aware of Quinn shouting for her to stop. The aged oak door was open a few inches and it swung wide when she put her hand on it and pushed. The entry was dark and she really, really hated the dark. A sense of unease skittered down her spine. No matter the time of day, there were always lights on in the main hall. She reached for her boot-knife. The house was as silent as a tomb. Hilton, Sinjin’s ever-present butler, was nowhere to be seen. Something was very definitely wrong. Hilton would have never left the front door open, nor would he have willingly abandoned his post. Palming the handle of the blade, she advanced, heading for the music room to her right. As she approached, she noted an unfamiliar scent in the air, like that of wet pennies and cotton candy. 50

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The gloomy dregs of fading daylight filtered through the tall windows when she stepped into the room. A grand piano sat squarely in the center of the polished floor, its bench tipped on its side. Just a few feet from the bench lay a shattered vase and what looked like a large puddle of water with a sodden blanket in the center. Dying stalks of hothouse roses, heather and thistle were scattered on the floor. Cautiously, she moved to poke at the anomaly with the tip of her boot-knife. Catching the blade on a fold, she lifted. The sickening sweet scent of cotton candy, with an underlying hint of something metallic, assaulted her nose. She dropped the cloth to the floor with a slap, jerking back as something small and white rolled out of the cloth. It looked like a human bone. Repulsed, she backed away. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a movement. Bracing herself, she spun around, startled to see Quinn, who stood less than three feet away. He held before him, in a practiced stance, a samurai sword from the display in the main hall. He’d tucked another short sword into his belt. His gaze swung from the damp cloth to meet Maeve’s. “It’s one of hers.” She didn’t need any other explanation. Mortianna’s foot soldiers had been here, and this one, for whatever reason, would never return. “So it would seem.” She moved around him to the door. Where was Sinjin? Walking into the hall, she was careful to keep to the edges of the foyer, out of sight from the open galleries above. Quinn fell into step behind her and without a word, they investigated the rooms on the main floor. Moving from one to the next with stealth and caution as they looked for anyone living. All they found was death. In the main parlor lay another one of the minions, or its clothing at least, its body missing. Another one like it lay in the corner of the main hall, a sodden heap of brown wool and a few bleached bones.

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What sort of sorcery was this? Maeve shot a glance at her silent companion as he inspected their latest find, his expression impassive. A gentle breeze touched her skin, bringing with it the scent of fresh air. The library door moved a few inches in the draft. She tapped Quinn on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow. The breeze grew stronger as they approached the library. Halting by the door, she pushed it open. The aftermath of her kidnapping was evident. Broken glass from the window littered the once-priceless Persian carpeting, now ruined with rainwater. Two of the elegant Chippendale chairs were overturned, a porcelain vase shattered on the hearth— its previous inhabitants shriveled on the stones. On the floor lay the book she’d sought earlier and she was relieved to see it remained untouched. There would be time for that later. Right now, she had to find Sinjin. “This is where it happened.” Quinn’s quiet words startled her. She’d almost forgotten about him. That alone was unusual as she was guarded around most people. “Yes.” His handsome mouth firmed as if something had displeased him. His gaze missed nothing as he scanned the shambles of the room, his expression closed. Tension radiated from his body. She looked away, her gaze fixing on a broken decanter. Its contents had soaked into the cream wool of the carpeting, leaving an ugly caramel-colored blotch. What a waste of good brandy. Maeve waved her hand to indicate the disarray. “Whatever happened occurred shortly after I was taken. Hilton wouldn’t have left such a mess—” Maeve.

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Sinjin’s voice sounded in her mind. Jerking to face the door, she held her knife at the ready. “What is it?” Quinn moved beside her, his sword held firmly before him. “He’s here,” she whispered. Quinn looked around the room for any new threat to their safety. “Who’s here?” Down… Sinjin’s voice sounded again, spurring her into action. Slowly, she walked out of the library and into the main hall, her internal senses straining to hear him again. Where the devil— Down… The word was faint, weak, and it didn’t sound like Sinjin at all. If it wasn’t for the distinctive lilt of his accent, she’d think it was her imagination. He sounded weak or ill—was he hurt? Down… Her heart skipped. In this house, there was very little below the main floor. The original cellars were intact and used only to store vintage wine and old furniture. Sinjin wouldn’t go down there. What about— She turned, in that instant knowing exactly where he was. The marble was slick beneath her feet as she darted across the hall, not even bothering to glance at the galleries above. She ran down the hallway to the solarium, Quinn’s footfalls in time with hers. She ducked around the corner then turned right toward the kitchens. She jumped down the two steps before skidding to a halt on the uneven stone floor. There were several entrances to the catacombs beneath the house, but the most direct was down the old garderobe shaft behind the pantry. Built with the original manor, the catacombs had served as escape routes to the north cliffs during a siege. Now, Sinjin only used the passages in an emergency. Other entrances from the floors

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above involved walking through a maze of narrow, musty passages. It was too easy to get lost in the recesses of Aisling Crioch and she had no doubt others had tried to use the passages never to be seen again. “This way.” She led Quinn into the pantry. At the far end was a small wooden door that opened into the unused shaft of a medieval loo. The door was askew, confirming her suspicions. Jerking it open, she looked into the slim opening, wincing at the blackness below. “We’ll need light.” She pointed to the flashlights contained on a shelf near the door. “Where are we going?” Quinn grabbed a flashlight and handed it to her. She pointed into the consuming darkness. “Down.”

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Chapter Five “Wait for me.” Quinn grabbed a second flashlight, half buried beneath a large bag of salt. He turned in time to see Maeve vanish down the ancient privy shaft. Muttering an oath, he pulled the short blade from his belt, set it aside then inserted the longer samurai sword, lashing it to his side. He stuck his head into the shaft to see her light bouncing off the stone walls as she descended into the darkness. Turning on his flashlight, he tucked it handle first into his pocket, sending the beam overhead. “Gracious Goddess, protect us from what we are about to do,” he muttered under his breath as he swung a leg through the opening. His foot hit a metal rung embedded in the wall of the shaft. Gaining a foothold, he grasped the edge of the opening and lowered himself into the dark, careful not to scrape the sword against the stones. He lost sight of the fading daylight within seconds. “Just a few more and you’re down.” Her voice echoed from below and he glanced down to see her pale face illuminated by her flashlight as she watched his descent. When he reached the last few rungs, he skipped them, opting instead to jump. He landed beside her and pulled the flashlight from his pocket. The beam of light revealed a damp stone tunnel. The scent of earth, mildew and stale air invaded his senses. “What is this place?” “The catacombs below the original manor. They were used for storage and escape routes during raids.” He frowned as she slipped around him, little more than a shadow, leading the way into the tunnel. He fell in behind her. “Where are we going?” “To Sinjin’s hiding place.”

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“How do you know he’s down here?” “He told me.” “How could he have told you?” She didn’t answer, instead opting to take off down the tunnel. Left without a choice, he followed in silence. Under her breath, she’d mutter something when they reached various branches of the tunnels, and before long he was completely confused as to where they were and what direction they were heading. Luckily for them, Maeve seemed to know where to go. He hoped. She led him through an archway and down treacherous, crumbling stone steps, which ended in a narrow, curved chamber lined with several doors. Most of the doors stood open, the ancient oak planks rotting on their hinges. The hallway was strewn with broken cases and rotting cloth. Rusting metal cuffs of various sizes dangled from hooks on the walls, the tools of medieval torturers no doubt. The scent of mold and decay was overpowering. In one of the chambers, he heard the monotonous sound of dripping water. Quinn could easily imagine the dank air within the slimy walls was the same breathed by hapless prisoners many centuries before. A feeling of despair and evil intent oozed from every crack and crevice. Here was not a place the Goddess dwelt. Maeve vanished through a narrow doorway and he followed. One step into the chamber and he knew they’d arrived. The sense of despair was absent in this room. He arced his flashlight about the antechamber. The walls were still damp, but no debris littered the floor. His light caught a flash of color and he stepped closer to investigate. A sturdy oak table stood in the center of the room, topped with some sort of embroidered cloth. The light flashed over gold and silver threads and he caught the ornate design of stars and moons along the hem before he noticed what sat on top. A medieval broadsword lay on 56

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the table and, next to it, an elaborate coffin carved from mahogany. The old-fashioned lid stood upright, leaving the inhabitants uncovered. Curious, he moved for a closer look. A man lay on his back, eyes closed, skin bluish pale. Dark, wavy hair was swept back from his high forehead. A cut marred his dark brow, and blood stained the left side of his face. Even with the damage, he was a handsome creature with high cheekbones and a firm jaw. He was dressed very simply in dark jeans and a tattered white shirt, torn at the shoulder and stained with blood. This had to be Sinjin. Curled beside him lay a woman, her head propped on his shoulder. She couldn’t have looked more out of place in this damp spot of hell if she tried. Her short-cropped hair was the color of spun gold. Her features were delicate, waiflike, and she looked fragile next to the massive vampire as she probably wasn’t much over five feet. Though dressed in some sort of gauzy material, he doubted she felt the chill of the ancient air while in her dark slumber. He glanced at Maeve. “Sinjin?” She nodded, her gaze not straying from the duo. “And Sunni.” “Sunni? Is she a vampire also?” He stifled the urge to laugh when she nodded. Sunni the vampire. Who would’ve known? “I think he’s dead.” Her voice came out as an anguished whisper. “All vampires are dead, Maeve.” But he skimmed his hand back and forth, an inch or so over the abdomen of the man, taking great care not to touch him. A faint tingling ran up his arm as his palm drifted near the vampire’s throat. Quinn pulled away. The vampire was still in there, but something was holding him in place. It felt to him like St. James was in some sort of a trance, unlike the sleep vampires entered willingly. He didn’t know much about the physiology of a vampire,

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but he knew magic and evil was afoot. He skimmed his hand above the diminutive blonde and noted only the tranquil sleep of a young vampire. “They’re alive.” Maeve exhaled loudly. “Thank goodness. I’ve never seen Sinjin sleep, not like this. He’s an elder with complete control of his surroundings. He rarely sleeps and can shut himself off from the world, but he’s not using that power now.” “What do you mean?” “Many vampires use something like a magical lock. Sinjin can control who enters his home and his property by placing a kind of spell over the entrances. You have to have permission or know the key to the lock. When we pulled up to the house, the first thing I noticed was the locks were gone.” “Do you think he’s in danger?” “I don’t know. Your mother sent those little demons, and now he and Sunni are down here. Sunni would never come down here willingly, and Sinjin has never brought anyone else here that I know of.” Her expression turned haunted. “I don’t know much about vampires, Maeve, but if my mother’s involved, we’ll need to do something fast.” She nodded. “I think they’ll be safe enough down here for now. Vampires are much safer below the earth than above it. We can leave them and see if they wake on their own.” Her gaze met his. “This isn’t your fight, you know. You can walk away from this mess and no one would be the wiser.” Quinn frowned in annoyance. Did she realize how ill-prepared she was to deal with his mother? “Is that what you want me to do? Walk away?” “It doesn’t matter what I want. The bottom line is this isn’t your problem. You’ve fulfilled your so-called obligation and returned me from whence I came. You’re free to leave.” She moved around him and headed for the door. “I need to get moving as I have a lot of things to do.”

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He followed her out and settled for scowling at her back as they made the return trip though the maze. This time, he took great care to note their direction and each turn. He breathed a sigh of relief when they arrived back at the entrance, the fresh air enticing him to move faster. It seemed a lifetime since they’d entered the tunnels. Maeve scrambled up the shaft with Quinn close behind. As he climbed, he decided the clean air was the sweetest perfume he’d ever smelled. He followed her into the kitchen, blinking at the glare of the fading daylight. He leaned against the counter as she picked up the phone and dialed. In the past, he would’ve walked away. His misguided sense of chivalry had landed him in hot water a time or two, and he wasn’t about to be suckered again. This woman and her problems could be disastrous. Did he really need the hassle? Wouldn’t it be easier just to walk away? She glanced at him then looked away, but not before he’d caught a flash of those amazing green eyes. She expected him to leave. He dropped his gaze to the floor. He’d always been a sucker for green eyes. His head came up as the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He stepped away from the counter. Turning, he scanned the kitchen. Other than Maeve, now speaking on the phone, no one else was evident. But something was there and he felt it. Either watching him or coming for him. Which was it? Closing his eyes, he shut off his mortal senses and focused his power to scan the house for anything unusual. Nothing. He ventured outside the confines of the house. He scanned only a few yards when an electric blue flash laced with red sparked in his vision before turning into a wash of black. His eyes snapped open. Something was definitely coming and it wasn’t the power of the slumbering vampires that needled him. It was his mother.

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Realization had him diving into the pantry, looking for the bag of salt he’d moved earlier. Jars of canned goods hit the stone floor with a crash as he wrestled the fiftypound bag of sea salt from the shelf. Lucky for them, the bag was full and, if he hurried, they might survive what was coming. Maeve stood frozen, the phone clutched in her hand, as he dumped the bag on the butcher-block island. He pulled a knife from a magnetic strip filled with various sizes of sharp implements and slit open the neck of the bag. Reaching overhead, he pulled down a large cooking pot and began pouring until only half remained in the bag. “What are you doing?” She’d replaced the phone on the hook and now watched him with big eyes. “I don’t have time to explain.” He thrust the bag into her arms before hefting the pot from the table. “We need to surround the house in a circle of salt.” She frowned. “What—” “Just do it.” He grabbed her arm and shoved her out the back door into the twilight. Already they approached and their time was running out. “Go that way.” He pointed her west. “Circle the house, pouring a line of salt until you reach the front.” She hesitated. “Move!” With a jerky nod, she set off, walking away from him, holding the bag close to her body while allowing a small but steady stream of white crystals to escape the opening. Satisfied she was doing as instructed, he turned and began laying his line in the opposite direction. Salt wasn’t much, but it would do for now. When he neared the front of the house and the level of salt grew dangerously low, he prayed the scant remains would suffice. He rounded the corner in time to see Maeve do the same. Her sack was almost empty, too. He continued pouring until he made it to the front walk and his supply ran out. He looked up to see how far she’d make it and swore under his breath when her salt ended at the opposite edge of the walk.

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“All gone.” She waved the empty bag. “Mine, too.” Damn! He had to find a way to protect the walk and seal the circle around the house. He let the pot fall and it clanged against the samurai sword still strapped to his hip. The sword! He grabbed Maeve’s hand and pulled her into the salt circle as shadows formed in the woods facing the house. Beady eyes glowed reddish gold in the darkness. The minions had arrived. He wrenched the sword from his belt. Pointing it to the North, he chanted, “I consecrate this sword in the name of the Goddess. May it protect those who serve in her name.” Laying the sword in the center of the walk, pointing outward from the circle of salt, he sealed the circle and began casting the spell. “Guardians of the watchtower of the Four Corners of the earth, hear my words and attend me now. Upon this magical place, I ask for protection from those who would subvert the name of the Goddess. Only those who walk in light shall enter here.” When he completed the spell, a glint of steel caught his eye. Maeve stood several feet to his left, her boot-knife clasped in both hands, held before her at waist height. Her feet braced for better balance, her dark eyes scanned the area surrounding them, ever watchful against any threat. “We’re safe enough for now.” A crack of thunder sounded overhead and the ground beneath them leaped with the percussion. She glanced at him then returned to her vigil, clearly unconvinced. “Come.” He held out his hand, silently entreating her to take it. “The circle will hold. We need to rest and eat.” For a minute, he thought she’d refuse. Then her arms sagged, her blade lowered, and she slid it back into her boot. She straightened and slipped her hand into his, allowing him to lead her into the house. Her palm was warm and fit into his neatly. Had holding someone’s hand ever felt so right? 61

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Maeve found some candles while he made peanut butter and jam sandwiches. After eating while standing in kitchen, they stumbled upstairs, almost numb with exhaustion. “You can sleep in here.” She opened the door to reveal a large guestroom. The carpet underfoot was blood-red with gold accents and heavy oak furnishings. “The bathroom is through that door and my room is across the hall. Leave your door open and call if you need anything.” “Thanks… You were a huge help out there.” Her solemn eyes met his. “You saved my life and those of my friends. I owe you big-time.” With that, she turned and presented him with a pert backside as she walked to the room across from his. Too tired to discern the puzzle of her words, he walked into the bathroom. A hot shower and a long nap would be appreciated right about now. After a quick search, he noted there were no towels hanging either on the racks or in the cabinet. He walked into the hall and approached her door. “Maeve?” Silence. He poked his head into her room and found her lying facedown in the center of her bed, still fully dressed, one boot on while its mate lay on the floor. A candle burned on the dresser, casting dancing shadows in the room. She was sound asleep. Quinn smiled. In sleep, her shields were down and the vulnerable woman was revealed. She may think she was strong enough to take on the world, but right now she resembled an exhausted child. He reached down and tugged off her boot, her knife hitting the floor with a thud. He picked it up and set it on the dresser near the candle. Grabbing the duvet from the foot of the bed, he spread it over her. She mumbled something and snuggled deeper into its warmth. Maeve looked so sweet and tempting, all soft and rumpled in her sleep. He felt the familiar tingle of arousal and tried sternly reminding himself that she was forbidden fruit. 62

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Even knowing this, he was reluctant to leave her. Shoving the duvet out of the way, he climbed onto the bed. Stretching out beside her, Quinn pulled her into his arms. She mumbled something then curled into his chest, her limbs heavy against his. He pulled the cover over both their bodies, cushioning them in down-filled warmth. As he drifted off to sleep, a soft snore erupted from the warm bundle in his arms. He smiled as the windstorm raged outside, further testament to Mortianna’s fury.

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Chapter Six Maeve nailed the punching bag with a brutal right hook, reveling in the jolt of resistance that sang up her arm. There were times when being immortal had its compensations. Her jaw was bruise-free and her shoulder was almost completely healed, only the faintest ache remained. Hmm…maybe the council could use that as an advertising slogan. Come one, come all—become an immortal and live forever. The fringe benefits include longevity, some enhanced psychic abilities and fast healing. Break your leg and you’ll be walking again in a week. All it takes is one little bite… Her sister’s face floated before her eyes and she scowled. Then again, maybe not. She jabbed the bag with a left, then another right. She was so close to achieving her goal now, and Quinn was the key to her plan. He was a witch from one of the longest lines of witches ever chronicled. Surely he’d know the binding spell that could bring down Mikhail. The question was, would he share it with her? She attacked the bag with a backspin kick that could’ve felled a grown man, then spun and delivered a stunning carotid blow designed to kill a mortal in the blink of an eye. But it wasn’t enough for a vampire, especially not an elder. Her movements slowed. She could try the stake, garlic and holy water, but the book had indicated these methods were far more dangerous than the binding spell. While she didn’t fear death, she didn’t want to make a mistake and get herself killed before her plan was carried out. Mikhail must die, and if she needed the spell to do it, so be it. She’d get the spell, no matter the cost.

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The vampire had destroyed her family. Most of all, he’d taken her twin, her other half. Without Reb by her side, Maeve felt lost, useless as if someone had torn away half of her soul. As with all twins, they’d had a connection both comforting and frightening. Now, when she reached for that nether place where her sister had dwelt, she met only silence. Reb was gone and their family had turned their backs on her other half, leaving Maeve to fend for herself. Damn him. Tears spilled over as she pummeled the punching bag, anger and frustration spurring each movement. Sweat poured down her face, mingling with her tears as she envisioned the vampire’s face in place of the bag. A primal cry caught in her throat and she lashed out, battering the image of the man who’d destroyed her life. Punch. Jab, jab. Kick. Thwack. A tearing sound shook her concentration and, with a thud, the punching bag fell to the floor. Her breath raged in her lungs and she bent over and propped her hands on her knees, struggling for control. A seam had burst on top of the bag and stuffing spilled through the hole. She’d dispatched her first victim. If only killing a vampire were that easy.

Quinn entered the room as the bag fell to the floor. Maeve stood over the decimated bag dressed in skintight black shorts and a matching athletic bra. Every inch of delectable woman was outlined in black Lycra. Her hair was caught in a long braid of fire down her back and her tattoo stood out against her pale skin.

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A slow tingle of awareness worked its way down his spine while he watched her. With every minute spent with her, he wanted her more and more. Images of bending her lithe body over a weight bench and taking her from behind crowded his mind. Flesh straining, hands questing. He bit back a moan before it could make itself known. “Did you come to watch or work out?” Her breathless voice shattered his heated fantasies. She walked toward him, her movements easy, graceful. She was a woman at home in her own skin, every man’s fantasy. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.” He offered her a smile. An answering smile quirked her lips. “Men fail to realize that both can be equally…exciting.” She’s flirting with me. “However…” His smile grew. “Only one has a much more satisfying ending.” Bold as brass, she looked him up and down before spearing him with her emerald gaze. Her eyes held a wealth of experience and in that moment he realized she knew what she was doing to him. “Only if it’s done right,” she drawled. His palms burned with the desire to touch her. “I haven’t had any complaints.” “As if you’d admit if you did.” She chuckled. Gesturing for him to follow, she turned and presented him with a perfectly toned backside. She led him past the weight machines to an open area covered with thick, navy-blue exercise mats. “So what do you know about self-defense?” she asked. “Enough to keep myself out of trouble.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to admit he’d earned his black belt in Tae Kwan Do a few years ago. He enjoyed watching her so much, he wouldn’t mind her showing him a thing or two. “What do you want to see?” How about you naked, under me, over me, beside me? Your choice.

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He hid his grin by rubbing his chin as if contemplating her question. “How about some of the basics? What should I do if someone comes up and grabs me from behind?” “You mean like this?” She moved behind him and slid her arms around his body. The scent of warm woman surrounded him and made his head swim. She pinned his arms to his waist, effectively disabling him. Her breasts, contained by the torturouslooking bra, were sturdy mounds against his back. He stifled a groan when he felt her erect nipples press into him. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. “Since you’re both taller and physically stronger, you can break my hold by throwing your body forward.” He was pleased to hear her voice was off pitch as if she were out of breath. “However, if I were a man, you’d want to aim for the vulnerable areas.” He winced at the thought of anything striking his most “vulnerable” area. With each second that passed, it became a larger target to hit. “You’ll want to lift your right leg and bring it down on my foot, hard. Aim for the instep. That should be enough to break my hold. Once you break my hold, bring your arms up like this.” She demonstrated how to escape. “Like this?” He mimicked her movements and freed himself. “Exactly.” “That seems easy enough.” His breath came hard when she stepped away from him. “What if they grab me from the front?” “That’s even easier. All you have to do is—” “Wait—” Before he could move, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him once more. This time, they were face-to-face, and there was no hiding his erection. Yes, I’m very happy to see you.

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Maeve lifted her head and their gazes met. Her pupils were dilated and her breathing quickened. She licked her lips, drawing his attention to her lovely mouth. He wanted to lick her, taste her, bite her, suck at her wet sweetness. Oh hell. He grabbed her, cupping her hips and bringing her closer. Her eyes widened when his erection poked her in the stomach. He shuddered when he realized they were a perfect fit. “What if I don’t want to get free?” he whispered, her breath licking his mouth. Damn, he could almost taste her. “What if I want you to grab me from behind, or from the front, whichever you would prefer.” “Then I guess you’d better be able to follow through.” Her voice was faint. He swayed from side to side, ever so slightly, the friction of his body against her heady indeed. “Mmm, I don’t think you need to worry about that.” Quinn dipped his head and nuzzled her damp collarbone, enjoying the scent of aroused woman and healthy sweat. His tongue snaked out to tickle a path from the base of her neck to just below her earlobe. She quivered when he nipped the tender flesh. She was a delight to the senses and he couldn’t wait to— Without warning, she shoved him back, escaping his grasp then hooking a leg behind his. He went down on his back, the mat cushioning his fall. With a soft cry, she landed on top of him, her fingers tearing at his clothing. Buttons popped from his shirt as she shredded the placket. Arousal ran hot and thick in his blood by the time he rolled her beneath him. If he didn’t taste her soon, he’d explode before he could get his pants off. He swooped and captured her mouth. Hot and sweet, she took him deep, her tongue wrestling with his as her busy hands ripped the shirt from his back. Their kiss was noisy, more about greed than finesse, and she ate at his mouth like a starving woman. Soft moans sounded from her throat when she sucked his tongue, driving sensation directly to his throbbing groin. She nipped his lower lip before 68

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breaking the kiss. With eager hands, she tugged the buttons of his jeans, opening them with great relish. Quinn braced his hands on the mat and raised his hips to give her better access. Enthralled, he watched the frantic movements of the woman who was about to become his lover. Eyes wild, breathing erratic, lips swollen from his kisses, she was exquisite and he wanted more. “God, you’re beautiful.” To his surprise, she scowled at him. “Shut up.” Releasing his jeans, she tangled her fingers in his hair and dragged his mouth back to hers. Together, they rolled across the mats, each battling to touch and taste more of the other. Their bodies entangled and soon they ran out of mat. She ended on top, her thighs parting to embrace his hips. The cold floor tiles beneath his back were a sharp contrast to the heat of the woman above him. “Wait.” “You’re talking again,” she growled. She nipped his lower lip. “I have to know,” he panted. “What are you to St. James?” “Friends.” She licked his chin. “Just friends?” “Yes.” She nibbled a fiery path along his jaw. “Not lovers?” “Nope.” She bit his earlobe. A sigh of relief escaped him. “Good. I was—” “Why are you still talking?” All thoughts of the vampire flew from his mind when her hand plunged into the front of his jeans and her nimble fingers encircled his cock. She squeezed the shaft gently, causing sparks to arc before his eyes. Damn, she had great hands but if she

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didn’t stop, he wouldn’t last long enough to enjoy her at all and he wanted that very badly. Panting, he reached for her wrists. “You have too many clothes on,” he said. A wicked smile curved her swollen mouth. “I can take care of that.” Grasping the bottom of her bra, she whipped it over her head and tossed it aside. Her full breasts bounded free and he reached for her again. Shaking her head, she rose to her feet, stripping her shorts as she moved. Kicking them to the side, she stood over him, nude. Damn, she was beautiful. His cock gave a twitch as if in invitation to her. She slipped to her knees over him, this time wrapping her hand around the base of his cock. Adjusting herself, she positioned him at her entrance and, with a heady sigh, took him deep. She surrounded him like living silk, hot velvet and tight. He captured her hips and adjusted her angle to catch her sweet spot dead-on. A moan broke from her lips and she drew her thighs tight to his hips, rubbing her lower body against him. With each tiny movement an answering noise sounded from her throat. She caught his hands and placed them on her breasts, showing him exactly how she liked to be touched. Then she began to move. Head tipped back, she lifted her body from his only to return, barely giving him time to draw breath. She moved easily, her athlete’s body rocking in harmony with his as her pace increased. The tip of her braid tickled his legs as soft cries erupted from her. Suddenly, she tightened around him, straining, coming apart over him. He gritted his teeth as her vagina milked his cock. It was too fast, much too fast. He wanted to savor her, touch every inch of her flesh. He wanted it to last for hours, not minutes. Damn.

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He closed his eyes. Maybe if he tried reciting the Gettysburg address… Four score and— Soft, questing fingers threw his good intentions out the window. He opened his eyes to see her watching him. Her slim hands landed on his chest and her fingers began stroking, teasing his nipples. Lips swollen and damp, eyes luminous with sexual satisfaction, a wicked smile blossomed when she swooped to capture a hardened nub between her teeth. Rocking her hips, she suckled him with abandon and he was lost. With a cry, he grabbed her hips and hammered into her. Sensation raged through his body to center in his groin as she suckled his flesh. Sounds of delight escaped her throat and she met him thrust for thrust, her pussy surrounding him in wet heat. Maeve released his nipple and sat up, taking his cock deeper. Head tipped back, she rode him hard and all too soon, he came. Hands tight on her hips, Quinn held her in place as he emptied his seed into her pussy. Within seconds, she tensed over him, her body contorting into a graceful arch. Her voice mingled with his as her pussy convulsed around him once more. Spent, he tugged her down to his chest and cradled her. He stroked the long line of her back even as his eyes drifted shut, more content than he could ever remember being in his life.

***** Maeve shifted, chasing the weak sunlight that illuminated the worn, handwritten pages she was reading. Items needed: Cauldron Writing Parchment White Candle Quill and Ink Wild Sage 71

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Maeve picked up a ballpoint pen. She didn’t have a quill and ink and she hoped this would do. For that matter, she glanced at the battered cooking pot on the desk, she didn’t have a proper cauldron either. In using these makeshift items she could only hope her spell worked, either that or she might just end up with a pizza delivery man on her doorstep instead. On the paper, write your heart’s desire. She set the book aside, located the parchment and wrote in bold strokes. Send me the means by which to learn the binding spell. With trembling hands, she folded the paper in half. All will be well, it had to be. She laid the parchment on the paper on the blotter and picked up the book once more, setting it in her lap. Sprinkle the sage into the cauldron and light the candle before you repeat this incantation. As you speak, set fire to the paper and place it in the caldron. Picking up the bottle of sage she’d located in the kitchen, she added a few dashes of the pungent herb to the pot. After lighting the candle, tension crept along the back of her neck when she picked up the parchment. Her hand trembled when she began the incantation. “Charge this place with candlelight.” She lit the paper. “For I must do what is right. What I need is knowledge gained, For my power must not wane— I need a keeper of the A’ bhais Cadail, In this quest, I must not fail. For all my life this knowledge will reside with me.” She dropped the paper into the pot. “This is my will, so mote it be!” 72

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The paper burned with surprisingly little smoke, the flame a pure blue tipped with gold. It licked at the paper, scorching before engulfing it. One moment, the paper was there, the next only the scent of charred paper and sage remained. Curious, she sat up straighter and looked in the small cooking pot. It was completely clean. She frowned. How could that be? Did this mean it worked? Now she could only hope the magic would work for her—time was running out. She closed the spell book and slipped it into a lower drawer where it would be safe from prying eyes. Gathering her tools, she tucked the pot into the drawer next to the book before shutting it. On the desk was the chronicle on killing a vampire. She wanted to reread the text one more time in case she’d missed something. Magic—a spell known as a binding spell can immobilize a vampire. Be warned, while there are several types of binding spells, only the A’ bhais Cadail spell will work on an elder. The A’ bhais Cadail is handed down generation by generation through only a few lines of witches and the knowledge is held sacred. The lineage is of the utmost importance and only a witch of pure lineage and intention can wield the spell. Should the intention of the witch be of a dark nature, chaos will be the result. A frown formed. Should she have included pure intention in her spell? She continued reading. The purpose of the spell is to incapacitate the vampire by putting them in a deep hypnotic state, rendering them unable to physically or mentally retaliate. At this point, it is recommended the vampire be beheaded and incinerated—the body independently from the head. The ashes should then be disposed of in separate places, many miles apart—burial or scattering of the ashes is acceptable. Should the vampire be of an extreme age, the ashes should be dumped in the sea where they will be lost for all eternity. Should they be buried, there is a chance that even a single drop of blood could rejuvenate part of the vampire’s soul. Fascinating.

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A vampire could be rejuvenated even after he’d been burned to ashes? She wrinkled her nose. It looked like a beheading was in her future. It was bound to be messy. “What are you reading?” Quinn’s voice interrupted her musing. Steeling herself, she lifted her head to watch him walk toward her. Dressed in worn jeans and a black thermal shirt, he was devastatingly handsome. Images of those hands on her body flooded her mind, causing her breathing to quicken. Never had she experienced such a heated reaction to a man. Less than two hours had passed since she’d left him napping in the gym and already she wanted him again. “These books represent Sinjin’s life’s work.” She waved her hand at the volumes shelved behind her. “They’re the chronicles of the Shadow Dwellers.” “Is that so?” Quinn towered over her chair before leaning down. Capturing her chin, he kissed her. A devastating kiss filled with possession and promise. She reached for him, wanting more of his particular brand of magic. With a murmur, he broke the kiss. Leaning back against the desk, he crossed his arms over his rock-hard chest to study her. Whatever he saw in her expression must have satisfied him as a smile curved his mouth. Hot and flustered, she licked her lips, groaning inwardly when the lingering taste of him teased her senses. This man should be illegal in at least forty-eight of the fifty states. “Wow.” She blinked, wondering if he’d read her mind. Instead, she saw he was impressed with the sheer number and size of the volumes that filled the shelves behind her. Arcane knowledge filled each book and judging from the look on his face, Quinn longed to dive into them as much as she did.

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She smiled. So they did have something in common besides an uncommon hunger for each other. “It’s a heady thought, isn’t it? All that information, ripe for the plucking.” “How many have you read?” “Barely enough to scratch the surface. Sinjin’s funny about people coming into his domain.” Their gazes met. “Has he stirred?” She shook her head. He nodded. “It’s pretty chilly in here.” He motioned to the broken window frame. “Do you want me to fix this?” “Oh, well, yeah—I guess so.” She glanced at the sheet of plywood and supplies she’d left by the jagged opening. “I meant to get to that, but I sat down to read instead.” “That’s understandable.” After dropping a quick kiss on her mouth, he walked to the window and inspected the destruction. He retrieved a small trash can before hefting a hammer and began working. Tapping at a section of the broken glass, he removed the larger pieces and dropped them into the can. He tucked the handle of the hammer into his belt with a movement that proclaimed familiarity with tools. A man who loves books and knows his way around tools. Quinn was definitely a catch. If he could cook and change the oil, all bets were off. Except you have to throw him back. Disturbed, Maeve stuck a scrap piece of paper in the book she was reading. True, she would have to throw him back. A man like him deserved a better woman than one with revenge on her mind. She set her book on the desk. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?” “Sure.” He reached for a large section of dangling glass. “I’ve heard many stories about Mortianna’s powers.”

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“Mmm. Most of them are probably true.” Crash. Another piece met its brethren in the trash can. “I think she enjoys the notoriety. However,” he gave her a hooded look. “That isn’t a question.” “You’re impatient.” “Only about certain things.” His look heated, and she struggled not to squirm in her chair. Maeve remembered all too well which one of them had been impatient in the gym earlier. Her cheeks warmed with the memory before she shoved it away. “Is she the most powerful witch in the world?” He shrugged. “Possibly. It isn’t as if powers can be measured in distance or size. I think the assumption is that, because Mortianna is the oldest witch and her lineage is documented, she must be the most powerful. That may or may not be true. I’d hazard a guess there are a few who could hold their own with her.” “Is being a witch something you’re born to or taught?” “In my case, a little of both. I was born of two very powerful witches, so it’s a given I’d have some powers.” He chuckled. “My father said he knew I’d inherited some of his powers when he found me levitating four feet above my cradle. I was seven months old.” She grinned at the mental image of baby Quinn floating over his cradle. “That must have been a shock to your parents.” “Just my father. We were alone by then.” Maeve paused. She’d never considered this. “You weren’t raised by your mother?” “No.” She bit her lip. If he wasn’t raised by Mortianna, would he still know the spell? “But you were raised as a witch?” “Yes.” He dropped another piece of glass into the bin before pinning her with his gaze. “Why all the questions?”

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She feigned a shrug. “I’ve never met a witch before. I’m curious.” His gaze turned assessing and she struggled to look unconcerned. “I was raised a witch and I’ve always known my heritage,” he said. “How does one learn spells?” “There are several ways. Most family lines have a Grimoire, which is commonly referred to as a book of shadows. It outlines spells and incantations handed down through the generations. Others learn verbally. Many spells are never written down and they can only be learned by word of mouth.” “Like the A’ bhais Cadail?” Quinn faltered, a shard of glass wavered before he dropped it into the can. “That’s one of many binding spells and one of the oldest. It’s never been recorded on paper that I know of.” She fought the urge to leap from her chair and shake him. Getting information out of the man was like pulling teeth, difficult and frustrating. “Were you taught this spell?” He dropped the last piece of glass before facing her, tension radiated from every inch of his body. “Why do you want to know?” “I was reading that the safest way to kill an elder vampire is to use this spell. I’d never heard of it and I wondered if it was common knowledge among witches.” She cringed inwardly at the out-and-out lie. Normally, she considered herself an honest person. Lying didn’t come naturally to her. “No, the A’ bhais Cadail isn’t common knowledge simply because it’s too powerful for most witches. The use of this spell on any living creature would render it unable to defend itself, even a witch. That person would be helpless.” Maeve could scarcely conceal her relief. The book was right. She needed that spell to bring down Mikhail and redeem herself for letting her sister die. “And you know it?”

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“Yes.” He picked up the sheet of plywood and held it over the hole in the window, measuring with his eyes. “What you and many others fail to realize is that witchcraft is more than bad poetry, wicked old hags and eye of newt. It’s a religion, a way of life, and it isn’t to be taken lightly.” Behind him, the sun was setting into the sea, turning his hair to golden fire while giving the illusion of a halo. He resembled an angel and her conscience gave a twinge. Could she betray this man who’d been nothing but kind in order to achieve atonement? Dare she tell him the truth about herself and Reb? Can you live with yourself if you continue to deceive him? She took a deep breath. “Quinn—” A tremendous crash came from the main hall. Quinn spun around, dropped the plywood and ran out the door with Maeve close behind. In a dim corner of the hall, Sunni stood by a shattered vase, an expression of horror etched on her elfin features. “Something’s wrong with Sinjin.”

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Chapter Seven Val climbed out of his SUV and stretched his legs, stiff from the long and tedious drive from Guildford. He’d been unable to secure air transportation due to the haste required in getting to Scotland. Maeve’s frantic summons had come out of the blue, and he’d had little time to plan, only act. He walked around the car and opened the tailgate to reveal a large leather sheet covering something bumpy. It stirred. He reached toward a hump he thought might be a knee and shook it. “Wake up, my love. The sun has set and it’s time for all the good little vampires to come out and play.” A throaty moan rose from under the covers. Val tugged on the leather, pulling it off to reveal his soul mate. Shai lay on a white silk duvet, her hair a mass of tangled red curls. Dressed in a tight, black velvet bodysuit with matching slippers, she looked like sin incarnate. Her leather jacket lay discarded beside her. “Wake up, darling—” Suddenly, unease prickled along the back of his neck and he raised his head. Something or someone was watching them. Shadows cloaked the landscape surrounding Sinjin’s remote home, but something lurked in the dark. He zeroed in on the forest lining the east edge of the property. Shadows moved within the trees and he caught a glimpse of beady red eyes staring in his direction. There were at least thirty of the little creatures. His eyes narrowed. Minions.

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“What is it?” Shai slipped from the back of the truck, her expression alert. Pulling on her jacket, she caught sight of the half-pint demons hovering in the trees. “What are they doing here?” “I have no idea. They don’t normally leave her side unless she bids them.” He pulled Shai away from the door and grabbed a black leather bag. Slamming the door shut, he took her hand. “Let’s get inside and see what’s going on.” Lacing his fingers through hers, he led the way to the front door, then stopped dead in his tracks. In the center of the walk, a sword lay pointing at them. On either side of the walk was a narrow white line in the grass that vanished on either side of the house. “It’s a salt circle. A witch is here,” he said. “A witch? Could it be Mortianna?” Val shook his head. “I doubt it. It’s not her style. She’d more than likely use firebreathing dragons. A salt circle isn’t dramatic enough for her.” Shai held up her hand, feeling the air with her palm. “We can’t enter.” “Not without permission.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the trees, her brow furrowed. Val squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I’m not without a plan.” “Yeah, but did you tell them that?” He grinned and closed his eyes. Sending out his energy, he sought Maeve within the confines of the house. Finding her, he bade her come outside and let them in. Within seconds, the front door was thrown open and Maeve stepped outside, a knife held before her in a defensive stance. Behind her lurked a man Val didn’t recognize. “Val?” Maeve peered into the darkness. “Just your friendly neighborhood vampires come to pay a call,” he said. “We’ve come to suck your blood,” Shai laughed. “Well, come in. Why are you standing here?” Her tone was bewildered. 80

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“They can’t come in until we invite them.” The stranger stepped around Maeve. Val’s gaze locked on him, his preternatural abilities kicked into high gear. Judging from the leashed energy the stranger exuded, here was the witch who’d laid the circle. Tall and blond, his gaze was direct and unfaltering as he approached. Any man who’d stare an elder vampire in the eye was someone to be reckoned with. Val made a mental note to keep a close eye on this one. “How do we invite them in?” Maeve slid her knife into her boot and followed the stranger. “Pick up the sword and say ‘All who walk in light are welcome here’.” Val resisted the urge to smile. Whoever he was, he was smart. If those who dared to breach the circle were of dark intent, harm would befall them. What that harm would consist of would be interesting to see. The chilling slide of steel over stone brought his attention back as Maeve lifted the sword. Her voice was soft and even when she repeated the witch’s words and stepped back to allow them entrance. Val squeezed Shai’s hand then stepped past the salt line, pulling her with him. Power flowed warm over his skin, and he heard her utter an inarticulate gasp before the wave subsided. They had survived the test. Maeve and Shai threw their arms around one another for a hearty hug and Val’s gaze met the stranger’s over their heads. He and Shai had passed the first test, but there would be more. An off-key whistle pierced the night, causing them to turn. Two of the minions broke from the shadows and flew at the unprotected opening. Without a sound, the stranger grabbed the sword from Maeve’s hand and pushed both women out of harm’s way. Just as the creatures reached the ring of salt, he replaced the sword on the ground pointing out. With a flash, one minion’s brown robes burst into flames. It screamed, a piercing, animallike sound, as it flailed about, the flames increasing. Within seconds it had 81

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collapsed into a burning pile just outside the ring, the scent of burnt wool and something sweet permeated the night. The other one, seeing the demise of its cohort, came to an abrupt halt in midair. A low hiss emitted from the hood and it moved away, zipping back to those waiting near the woods. Val had grabbed Shai’s arm when she moved forward to inspect the receding flames and pulled her into his arms. Now that she was secure by his side, he looked at the stranger, who watched him with a guarded, yet approving, expression. The lines were drawn. No matter what happened, both men would do whatever they could to shield their women from harm.

***** “What do you think is wrong with Sinjin, Val?” Quinn heard the apprehension in Maeve’s voice. He glanced at her stone-faced friend. Whatever the vampire was thinking, none of it showed in his expression. “Mortianna is leeching his powers,” Val spoke. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” “How does she get past Sinjin’s ‘guards’?” Shai asked. “She’s obviously very determined,” Val said. Maeve frowned. “Why? What does she want from him?” Val shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, possibly to kill him. By stealing his power she renders him vulnerable to anyone who would wish him harm. Vampires acquire various powers as they age, some more than others. Given Sinjin’s advanced age, he’s very strong indeed. Mortianna is taking those powers away, one by one, literally stealing his life force.” “She’s using the A’ bhais Cadail.” Quinn caught Maeve’s startled gaze from across Sinjin’s unconscious body. Good. Let her see firsthand what the spell she seeks could do to someone. It destroys lives. She looked away. 82

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“How can we break the spell?” Val spoke. “We can’t.” “What do you mean we can’t?” Shai stepped forward. “We can’t just stand here and watch Sinjin die.” “There’s no counterspell that I know of.” Quinn shook his head. “You have to understand what it is and what it’s used for. She’s put St. James into something like a trance. In this dream state, Mortianna can perpetrate any ill upon him she wishes. If he were awake and aware, he could fight back, but, as is, he’s a sitting duck.” “What if we move him?” Sunni laid her hand on Sinjin’s arm. “What if she couldn’t find him?” “Wouldn’t matter. Once the spell is cast, there’s nowhere on earth we can hide him where Mortianna wouldn’t harm him.” “We have to do something.” Sunni hovered near Sinjin’s feet. “We can’t just let her kill him.” “What about Mac?” asked Shai. “Can he do something?” Maeve shook her head. “Both Mac and Fayne are still in Colorado, trying to find Renault.” She looked at Quinn, her expression solemn. “I don’t think we have much time.” Quinn looked at the still face of the vampire. He had the face of a warrior, strong, commanding yet humanity lurked also. Laugh lines around his eyes and mouth proclaimed him as kind. It was easy to see how he’d beguiled Bliss. But a question nagged, one that he needed answering. “Did Bliss love him?” he asked of the room at large. “Very much so,” Shai spoke. “She was an exceptional woman, and her loss is felt very deeply right here.” Val touched his breastbone in a gesture that conveyed his sorrow. “Many years ago, they

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were head-over-heels in love and completely inseparable. She’d begged Sinjin to make her immortal as she couldn’t bear the thought of ever parting from him.” “I thought all witches were immortal,” Sunni spoke. “They can be.” Quinn said. “Some are born that way while others use magic to achieve it. No one knows exactly how old Mortianna is, nor do I know if her immortality is magic or innate.” “I think Bliss wanted more than her mother would allow. She told me witchcraft wasn’t something that came easily to her. She tried a love spell for a friend once, and the man in question ended up falling in love with her twin instead.” Val shook his head. “It was a constant source of strife between her and Mortianna.” “It takes more than being born of a witch to be a witch.” Quinn acknowledged. “After Sinjin transformed her, she lost what few powers she’d possessed.” Val continued, “Mortianna was enraged and came after both of them. Only her love for her daughter kept her from killing Sinjin. Bliss made her mother swear to leave Sinjin alone and in exchange, she broke off her relationship with him.” Quinn nodded. This part of the story he knew well. Mortianna had kept her word and Sinjin had lived in peace. But all guarantees for his safety had died with Bliss. Now Sinjin would lose his life all because he’d dared to love a daughter of the light. He shook his head. So much waste. His sister was dead, her lover dying—his mother running the show like a macabre puppet-master who pulled strings of others at will. When would Mortianna learn that one should never tryst with the fates? To damage someone else for personal gain went against everything his father had taught him to value. Lives were being destroyed, and for what? It was time to end it. “There’s one thing we can try.” He met Maeve’s shuttered gaze. “I need you to find me some light-colored paint.” He turned to Sunni and Shai. “I need you to bring the

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candelabras from the upper gallery. The ones that hold the single, tall, fat white candles—I need five. Bring them down to the dining room.” Sunni and Shai scrambled from the cramped room with Maeve following at a slower pace. Her expression was quizzical, yet she said nothing. He nodded reassuringly and she walked out the door. “We need to get him out of here,” he said to Val. Val’s brow furrowed as he assessed the walls of the underground chamber. “You’re sure?” He nodded. “While vampires feel safer below ground, I can help him more if he’s above. Being underground is unnatural for us.” “You’re the boss.” With his vampire strength, Val lifted Sinjin from his deathbed and slung him over one shoulder. Quinn picked up the flashlight, one corner of his brain noted the incongruity of his actions. Vampires were creatures of darkness and many of them, even after having aged to the point of being able to walk in the daytime, spent their lives in the dark. Now, he was about to introduce Damien St. James to the light.

***** Maeve adjusted the small pillow under Sinjin’s head as Shai straightened the white cotton sheet now covering him. They were almost ready. She stepped back, careful to avoid the still-damp pentagram painted on the floor. The pale-blue figure wasn’t perfectly even, but she hoped it would do. Art had never been her strongest subject in school. The scene was eerily reminiscent of Bliss’ funeral chamber, minus the flowers and glass coffin. Even the minions were in attendance this evening. Beyond the windows and the salt circle, the darkness was complete, but she could feel their malevolent presence, waiting, watching. “They can see us.” Her voice came out scratchy. 85

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“Let them.” Quinn stepped behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She resisted the urge to lean into his warmth if only for a few seconds. “Mortianna will know within minutes what we’re about to do. The minions will carry the tale directly to her.” She nodded and looked across the supine body of her friend to where Val stood, one arm around Shai and the other around Sunni. Shai stared out the window, scowling into the darkness as if she could see them hovering, waiting for an opening. Every now and then, she flashed her fangs as if to warn them away. Sunni’s fingers were curled into small fists, worry lining her lovely face. In her lifetime, she’d been a flapper, flower child and an artist. She was a gentle soul who only wanted to love her friends and enjoy her limitless life. Adversity, struggle and the unpleasantness of life were alien to her. Her gaze traveled to Val. He could more than take care of himself. Shai and Sunni were the most vulnerable, but they’d be safe as long as Quinn and Val were around. She reached up and patted Quinn on the hand he’d rested on her shoulder. “Thank you for what you’re doing. They mean a great deal to me.” He chuckled. “And you mean a great deal to them.” Disturbed, she pulled out of his loose embrace. She didn’t deserve their friendship, or his tenderness. If Quinn knew about her past and her plans for revenge, he’d abandon her as her family had. She heard his sigh and knew that, once again, she’d baffled him. “What do we need to do now?” she asked. “I’m going to meditate, then we’re going to cast a spell. You and everyone else can relax for a while. You’ll need to take your positions at five ‘til midnight.” She looked at her watch to confirm the time. They had fifteen minutes before the show began. Fifteen minutes until they would know if anything could save Sinjin from Mortianna’s wrath. She raised her head to watch Quinn as he walked to the central

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point of the pentagram surrounding Sinjin. Moving about ten feet north of the point, he dropped into an easy crouch then lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the floor. Their gazes locked and a tremor of apprehension sparked to life. He gave her a small wink, and her fear faded as an answering warmth bloomed in her chest. He removed his shoes, then his shirt, setting them aside. Placing his hands palm up, one on each knee, he closed his eyes. A chill raced down her spine. He was lost to her in more ways than one.

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Chapter Eight “We’re ready to begin.” Quinn’s soft words jolted Maeve into action. Pulling the lighter out of her pocket, Maeve lit the fat, white candle in the floor candelabrum in front of her. She glanced around the room to see Val, Shai and Sunni doing the same. Barefoot, Quinn walked to the edge of the pentagram near the central point. He wore baggy, white cotton pants and a matching, oversized, long-sleeved shirt. Runic symbols in gold thread decorated the hem of the shirt. His expression was solemn and his mannerisms calm and confident. He withdrew a fat vial of clear liquid from his pocket. Opening the cap, he dipped his fingers in the substance. “Guardians of All that is righteous.” He anointed the candle, starting in the middle then moving up. “I call upon you to attend our circle here.” He started in the middle once again, this time moving down to the base. One by one, he walked to each of the remaining candles aligned with the points of the pentagram and performed the same ritual. Once completed, he returned to the center point. “I call to you, Goddess, to attend our circle here.” He raised his hands toward the ceiling. “Our Goddess of the moon reigns over all who attend me tonight. Those who strive to subvert her work have no power within this circle.” The icy finger of a breeze tickled the back of her neck and the temperature in the room dropped. Maeve shivered and barely managed to resist looking over her shoulder to see what stood behind her. “I call upon the power of the Goddess to set the darkness to light within this sacred place. Banish that which is ill and protect that which is yours by right and natural law.” 88

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Cool air washed down her back, causing gooseflesh to break out on her skin. The flames danced in the draft. “Hold your children to your bosom and cast out what is malignant. Those who serve themselves by doing only harm are not welcome here.” Her vision wavered and a slight movement caught her attention. She blinked, staring hard at the area several inches from Sinjin’s chest. Smoke appeared to seep from the front of his shirt just above his heart. She glanced at the others to see if they’d noticed the phenomenon, but they were paying rapt attention to Quinn’s ritual. “Protect your child, Damien St. James, so he may work in your name. Nas miosa imich an seo-a mhain an leus failte.” The smoke thickened with each word. With a wave of his hand, Quinn urged Val to join with him in the chant. As his voice joined the witch’s, Maeve turned to see Val had noticed the smoke and was now staring at it with an expression of fascinated horror. “Nas miosa imich an seo-a mhain an leus failte.” The small cloud began to thicken and enlarge. “Nas miosa imich an seo-a mhain an leus failte.” It swirled like a miniature thunderhead. “Nas miosa imich an seo-a mhain an leus failte.” The movement increased when Shai’s and Sunni’s voices joined the men’s. “Nas miosa imich an seo-a mhain an leus failte.” With each utterance, the movement increased and the temperature continued to drop. Much more of this and she’d be able to see her own breath. A scent like that of burning leaves filled the air. Concentrating on the cloud, Maeve licked her lips and began whispering the words. “Nas miosa imich an seo-a mhain an leus failte.” “Nas miosa imich an seo-a mhain an leus failte.” “Nas miosa imich an seo-a mhain an leus failte.” 89

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“Nas miosa imich an seo-a mhain an leus failte.” Quinn raised his hand and pointed a finger at the spinning darkness. “Begone.” The quietly spoken word had a cataclysmic effect. The cloud coalesced into the form of a dagger, its sharp point directed at Quinn. “Oh my God,” Maeve whispered. The smoke-dagger hurled itself at him, yet he didn’t flinch. As the tip reached his chest, it lost form and surrounded his chest and arms in a wide band of darkness. “Remove yourself and your vile stench of malignancy and leave us in peace.” The smoke fused into a cloud once more, accompanied by a hollow, ghostly wail. The manifestation flew around the room. Maeve dropped to the floor when it came close to her head. The candelabrum tilted, and for a second she thought it would come down upon her. She grabbed the base to steady it before getting to her feet in time to see the cloud slam into the center window. With a crash, the window exploded outward. An unearthly crack of thunder shook the house and set the candle flames to dancing. Quinn raised his hand once more, made a motion, and the flames stilled. Within seconds came a wail of frustration. She looked at Quinn, who nodded in answer to her unasked question. It was Mortianna, thwarted at last. “It’s a very old spell, but my father taught me well. As long as the candles continue to burn, the vampire will be free from harm. However, there are only two ways to reverse the A’ bhais Cadail. Either she has to do it herself or it will occur automatically should she die.” His gaze seared into hers. “We have three days at most.”

***** Maeve’s heart leapt when she heard footsteps pause outside her bedroom door. It could only be Quinn as the others had left the house to feed. 90

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Would he enter? Did she want him to come to her? Yes. Her shoulders slumped when she heard him walk across the hall to his own room. Seconds later she heard the door open then close. She grabbed a pillow and held it over her face as she let loose a noisy groan of frustration. Her emotions were tangled when it came to Quinn. One minute she wanted nothing more than to spend eternity wrapped in his arms, other times she felt guilty for deceiving him. Cowardice had kept her silent when she could’ve told him the truth earlier tonight. But he’d leave if he knew the reality of her life. She threw the pillow across the room. She should be working on her plan, not dallying with him. But never had she met a man like him and never would she again. He reached a part of her soul she’d long since thought dead. Could she really walk away from that? No. He made her feel more alive than ever before. The reality of their situation was that their time was limited. Knowing that tomorrow did not exist for them, could she go to him? Yes. Her stomach clenched as the answer reverberated in her head. Yes, she could and would go to him. That decided, she rolled off the bed and padded to the wardrobe in stocking-clad feet. Stripping off her clothing as she went, she discarded the garments in a trail on the floor. She opened the door and rifled though the contents. Damn! Didn’t she have anything that wasn’t black? Just as she reached the back of the cupboard, she found the perfect garment. Her palms broke into a sweat when she pulled the satin hanger from its dark corner. The emerald green silk shimmered in the candlelight as she inspected the gown and matching robe. Lacking any adornment, the chemise straps were set wide apart and the matching robe was long-sleeved and came to mid-thigh on her. 91

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It was the perfect outfit for seduction. She slipped the gown from the hanger and pulled the cool silk over her nude body. Glancing in the mirror, she noticed the chemise skimmed her curves and showed, without doubt, that she was a woman. She licked her lips. She’d never tried to seduce a man. Seduction wasn’t something she’d ever had time to play with. In her experience, men were like the old joke about how to get a man into bed. You bring beer and show up naked. But she had a feeling Quinn wouldn’t fall for that. She pulled on the robe then secured the sash, shivering as the silk caressed her skin. Even though she had a fire burning in her room to ward off the chill, she was cold from the inside out. Only one thing could warm her, and he was in the next room. Picking up a candle, her steps faltered as she crept out her door. What if he turned her away? What if he doesn’t? Good point. The floor was cold beneath her feet as she approached his bedroom door. Partially opened, she glanced down to see that a wrinkle in a rug had stopped the door from shutting all the way. The fates were on her side. She peeked through the opening and caught a glimpse of a huge fire crackling in the fireplace and dancing shadows on the wall. Now or never, babe. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open, wincing at the loud squeak from an old hinge. She stepped inside and eased the door closed behind her, mindful of the wrinkle in the carpet. The warmth from the fireplace caressed her skin and she approached the bed, her heart in her throat. “Quinn?”

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Her voice came out as a squeak and she fought the urge to laugh at her own timidity. Look at her, Miss Kick-Ass-And-Take-Names-Later, quivering over a man. Shai would get a kick out of that. That’s all Quinn was, a man. Holding her candle higher, she stepped to the foot of the bed. Just an ordinary— Witch. Run-of-the-mill— Heart-stoppingly handsome— Man. She reached the bed. A man who just happened to be asleep. His silky blond hair was tumbled over his brow, giving him the appearance of an exhausted child. His skin was golden against the pale sheets and it appeared he slept in the nude. The covers were pushed low on his stomach and a fine line of silken hair ran down the center of his abdomen to vanish beneath the sheet. He lay on his side, arm outstretched as if reaching for someone on the empty side of the bed. Her stomach gave a quiver and she licked her lips. Now what should she do? Climb in bed with him? Wake him up? Leave? She brushed her finger across his palm, a shiver raced up her arm. Okay, so maybe he was more than just a man. What she’d witnessed downstairs was certainly testament to that. He was a witch of tremendous power, a man of strong ethics and certainly too good for the likes of her. She was tainted, impure. Her throat tightened. When she turned to leave strong fingers curled around her wrist, preventing her escape. “Don’t go.”

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Quinn sat up and tugged her closer. Taking the candle from her, he set it on the bedside stand. Helpless to resist, Maeve climbed into his bed when he pulled back the covers. “I’m so cold.” She was dismayed to hear her voice break. “Let me warm you.” He replaced the covers then tugged her into his arms. Heat surrounded her as he drew her to close to his body, and she wanted to weep at the sheer pleasure of it. Their legs tangled and she placed her hands on his chest. His heartbeat thudded against her palm. She raised her head, her nose bumping his. The scent of warm man swirled around her. His breath mingled with hers and she inhaled his essence. Eyes locked, a slow tingle began in her throat as their breathing mated. In. Out. In. Out. His face was less than an inch from hers and she tasted him on her lips. He mimicked her and placed his hand over her heart, their bodies aligned and her heart joined his in rhythm. Warmth shafted through her body, expanded into her chest, and coursed down her arms with each beat of her heart. His free hand slid around her body to the base of her spine, bringing her body tight against his. “Put your hands on me.” His voice was warm velvet. Maeve slipped her arm around him, aping his movements by placing it on the base of his spine. His swift intake of breath indicated she’d done the right thing. She slid her other arm around his neck, bringing him within millimeters of her mouth. It was an incredibly erotic experience to lie in a man’s arms and touch, yet not touch. She ached—her breasts, her mouth, her thighs and the warm, honeyed flesh between

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them. She was powerless as these erotic sensations washed through her, her desire growing with each breath. Her body softened and moistened to accept him, yet he made no move to take her any further. Their joint breaths quickened and desire rode low and hard in her abdomen. Their breathing deepened. Her nipples tightened as the tension spiraled even higher. Air raged through her lungs and their gazes remained locked. His blue eyes were dilated and stormy with arousal. Their breathing quickened and, without warning, she reached orgasm, spasms of release moved through her as gentle and welcome as a summer sunrise. Wave after wave of delicious sensation undulated through her and a soft cry escaped her mouth. As the final shock waves ebbed, Quinn tucked her head into his shoulder as she floated back to earth once again, secure in his arms. Moments later the lethargy had receded and she stirred, only to realize that Quinn hadn’t found his own release. Full and heavy, his erection lay between them, pulsing against her lower stomach. His breathing was harsh. She pulled away to meet his gaze. They glowed with an inner warmth she didn’t have the strength to question. “What did you do to me?” she whispered. He rubbed the back of a finger down her cheek. “I didn’t do anything. We did it together.” “I’ve never—” She stopped when those mouthwatering lips curled into a satisfied grin. “I mean, I have, of course. With you, even…I haven’t been…I mean, I’m hardly a virgin at my age…” “Of course.” His grin grew wider as she became more flustered. “I’ve just never…” She waved her hand as words deserted her. How could she describe such an experience? “Very few have.” His smile turned wicked. “But there’s more to come.”

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Heat curled low in her belly. “Mmm, I’m not sure I can survive much more, but I’ll do my best.” She rubbed her foot against the back of his calf, enjoying the friction of his hair against her sole. “Lead on, teacher.” He nuzzled her collarbone. “Mmm, nice outfit.” She glanced at the rumpled silk. “Thanks.” “Now take it off.” She smiled but made no move to comply. “Oh no, not yet, my friend. First Maeve gets to have just a little fun.” One blond brow arched and a spark of interest gleamed in his eyes. “Indeed?” He rolled onto his back and laced his fingers behind his head. “Lead on, Pocahontas. Go forth and discover the west.” Maeve laughed and sat up. “I think that might be south, my friend. Hmm,” she tugged the sheet down around his ankles. “Please don’t tell me you can’t read a map.” “Of course I can read a map, I’ve just never been the map before.” His eyes gleamed with amusement. “Here’s to new experiences then.” Her lips brushed his. Reaching across him, she pulled open the bedside drawer to locate a bottle of massage oil. “Now, I think we’ll start with a nice lube.” Her smile widened when she opened the bottle and sniffed. “Hmm, spicy, sensual with a touch of ylang-ylang.” “What the hell is that? Some kind of poisonous flower?” His brow furrowed. “Not quite.” Maeve poured a generous amount of the oil into her palm. “It is a Chinese flower that is very relaxing for women and very uplifting for men.” “Ah, bring on the flowers,” he rumbled. She spread the sweet almond oil over her hands before spreading it over his erect cock. She coated his thick, hard shaft and the broad head, feeling her body responding as she did so. His shaft twitched in her hands and she gave him a satisfied smile.

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“Keep your eyes on me, John Smith, as your Pocahontas is going to take very good care of you.” He made a gasping sound and she leaned forward, smiled then took the tip of his cock into her mouth. The head was firm, broad and slick with oil when she closed her lips over it. Sucking him into her mouth, inch by thick inch, the oil was strangely sweet and his cock hot and hard against her tongue. “Maeve,” he panted. “You have a wicked mouth.” “Mmm.” She released him. “Thank you, I’m glad you approve.” Returning her attentions to his cock, she took him as deep into her throat as she could. Willing her throat muscles to relax she took him just a touch deeper until she was in danger of choking. “Damn, woman, are you trying to kill me?” he moaned. She gave his cock a long, slow suck, releasing him with a soft plop. “Only every other day, lover.” When she covered the head of his cock, his hand came down on the back of her head, showing her how he liked being touched. She slid her mouth, tongue and hands over his cock until he was moaning with abandon. His movements began to increase and she enjoyed the total freedom with which he responded to her lovemaking. But she didn’t want it to end quite this soon. She sat back on her heels, her hand still wrapped around the shaft of his cock. “Do you like this, Quinn?” “Oh Goddess, yes. I never want it to end.” She gave his shaft a gentle squeeze before moving down to tongue his balls. His legs began to quiver especially when her silk-covered breasts stroked his thighs. Moving between his legs, she took him again into her mouth, this time pumping him

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for all he was worth. Her tongue glided over the broad head, and his hips began to twitch ever so slightly. He was close. “Maeve, just like that.” He groaned. “Fuck me with your mouth, babe.” He was trembling from head to toe by the time she took his cock deep into her throat. He grabbed handfuls of her long hair trying to either hold her in place or direct her—she wasn’t quite sure which it was but she wasn’t having any of it. Ignoring his movements, she swiped her tongue around the head, giving the sensitive underside a caress with her thumb. His moan was deep, guttural and it signaled the end of her playtime. With a wild thrust of his hips, he ejaculated in her mouth. Maeve swallowed every drop of his release before carefully licking him clean. Fully relaxed, he was limp on the bed when she snuggled against him. “Goddess, Maeve.” His voice was lazy with satiation. “I thought you were going to be the death of me.” “The French call it le petite mal or the little death.” She draped her arm across his chest. “Fitting, is it not?” “Very.” He took a deep breath and rolled to the side, shoving her onto her back. “I think it’s playtime for me now, Princess.” Her brow arched and she darted a look toward his semi-hard cock. “You just had a massive orgasm, do you think you can follow through?” “Why don’t you let me worry about that?” He leaned forward and nipped her earlobe. “Now, let’s take this beautiful nightgown off.” Maeve reached for the belt but she stopped her. “Allow me.” She fairly purred when he shoved the sheets out of the way. He rose over her as naked as the day he was born. Bracing his hands on either side of her waist, he leaned

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forward and picked up one end of the belt with his teeth. His eyes giving heated promises soon to be delivered, he leaned back, pulling the silk with him to loosen the bow. The robe slithered open to reveal the chemise beneath. He dropped the tie. “You’re a beautiful woman, Maeve Leigh,” he whispered. In that moment, she truly felt beautiful, but an attack of shyness had her wanting to cover herself. “Only through your eyes.” Her voice caught and she was startled to feel the prick of tears. He chuckled. “Woman, you were beautiful long before I set eyes on you.” He kissed the exposed skin of her throat. At his urging, she sat up and he slipped off the robe, discarding it over the foot of the bed. Unhurried hands brushed the straps from her shoulders, his mouth caressing each inch of flesh he uncovered. Maeve tipped her head back as he pushed the chemise to pool about her waist. Cool air washed over her skin. Instinctively, she curved into him, offering herself. His hands stroked her sensitive flesh, her nipples hardening to aching fullness. Sensation crowded her mind when he took one into his mouth. She gasped, clutching his shoulders as he teased her with his tongue. Sobs escaped her when he suckled, first one nipple then the other. She stretched out on the bed and pulled him with her. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she laughed when he nibbled on her skin. His fingers pulled up the hem of the chemise, stroking the sensitive skin of her inner thigh before delving into her damp pussy. A groan rumbled from his chest, a mixture of desire and impatience. “Touch me,” she hissed. “I need to taste you, Maeve. With my tongue, nip at your flesh with my teeth, tease you into mindless oblivion.” “Mmm, what are you waiting for?”

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He chuckled and quickly helped her remove the chemise before coaxing her to lie back on the bed. He parted her legs and nestled his hips there as he began working his way down her body. He stroked his tongue over her throat, her sharp collarbone before turning his attention to her breasts. Taking his time, he teased both nipples into painful awareness of him until she was aching and shivering. She arched, forcing one nipple into his mouth and he began to suckle until she was trembling in response. Quinn suckled the hard nub, swirling his tongue around the hard flesh before moving to the next breast and repeating his pleasurable assault. When he nipped her breast she hissed, her body arching toward him, her thighs parting even farther. Quinn licked his way over her slick collarbone and her long, nimble fingers tangled in his hair and pulled him closer. He resisted her movements and began licking and sucking his way down her belly. Dipping his tongue into her belly button he elicited a giggle from her. Parting her thighs, he inhaled her rich arousal. “Please, Quinn, don’t make me wait.” She panted. “Touch me.” “Now who’s impatient?” She moaned and with a growl, he parted the slick lips of her pussy and stroked his tongue over her clit. Her hips flew up off the bed at the slight, exquisite contact. My God, this man is going to make me lose my mind! He slid his hands under her backside, lifting her hips just enough to bring her on level with his mouth and began sucking her clit. When he rubbed his tongue over her damp, spicy flesh, she began to writhe beneath his touch. “I’m coming,” she gasped. “Show me, Maeve. Come for me.” Her back arched and her nails clawed at the sheets on the bed as she screamed out her satisfaction. Her movements were urgent and she was mindless with the force of

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her release. His tongue touched her clit before moving lower, inside her vagina, preparing his way. Removing his tongue, he inserted two thick fingers and slowly began to finger-fuck her. Juices from her arousal bathed his hand in sensual fragrance and his hand continued the in-out rhythm. “Oh my God!” She reached for him, her fingers tightening on his shoulders even as her pussy convulsed around his fingers. Her release creamed his fingers as she trembled and shook in the throes of satisfying release. He lapped at her flesh, greedy for any taste, touch or smell he could wring from their time together. Moments later she relaxed, limp against the bed. Quinn moved over her and her lashes fluttered when he kissed her. His chest rubbed hers and he nibbled at her lips before biting the lower one. She slipped her hands to his waist to guide his cock into her. She felt the warm, damp head of his cock pressing against her and instinctively, she arched. “Now,” she hissed. He entered her with a smooth thrust, and she took him deep. “Ahh…” His strangled cry was music to her soul. She linked her ankles around his waist and urged him on. Each thrust grew wilder and his skin grew damp with his exertions. With every motion, she rushed to meet him head-on, glorying in the sensations the lovemaking aroused within her. Her cries mingled with his when they reached release simultaneously. In a blinding flash, ecstasy exploded within her body and her legs tightened around his waist. Delight threatened to render her unconscious as his cock continued to thunder into her even as the final throes of his release consumed him.

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With his weight barely supported on shaky arms, she easily tugged him down upon her and he tumbled with an earthy groan. Contentment flooded her sated limbs and she reveled in the pleasure of keeping him still buried deep within her. She’d never felt like this with any other man. Quinn had reached a part of her soul she’d never explored and had imparted a rare feeling of wellbeing. She only hoped it lasted a while longer.

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Chapter Nine All his life Quinn believed he was capable of handling any situation that confronted him. His stepmother had taught him how to cook, wash clothes, gather herbs and heal the sick. His father had taught him more spells than he’d even known existed, to be independent, trust his instincts and examine every aspect of a given situation. The only thing Quinn had never been able to handle was a crying woman. He’d rather do back handsprings through a briar patch than deal with a woman’s tears. He felt helpless when a woman cried, just like he did now. He watched Maeve struggle for control before she finally gave up and rolled away from him. She was leaving. Without thinking, he reached for her, wrapping her in his arms. For a second, he thought she’d protest, instead, she relaxed against him. Tremors racked her body as she fought to rein in her emotions. Silent tears continued to fall and she settled her back against his chest. Her female scent surrounded him and his body responded as if they hadn’t made love less than an hour ago. “Want to talk about it?” he asked. She shook her head. “Sure?” He kissed the curve of her shoulder. She nodded, her tears were dampening his arm. “Anything you want me to do?” She shook her head. “Are you sure about that?” He nibbled her shoulder. “Yes.” Her voice caught even as she leaned into him to allow better access. He smiled against her neck. “You don’t sound so sure to me.” “Love me,” she whispered. 103

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“I’m pretty sure I can manage that.” He kissed the nape of her neck, enjoying the sensation of her firm flesh against his mouth. She slid her arm back and reached for him, her fingers encircling his hardening cock. His breath hissed through his teeth when she zeroed in on caressing the sensitive underside, just below the head. If she kept that up very long, he’d be a goner. “You have some very talented hands.” His breathing was growing shallow. He cupped her breast. Her skin was silken against his palm as he plumped his prize. His thumb teased her nipple from slumber into rigid awareness. “Mmm, thank you, kind sir,” she purred. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensations she aroused in him. Her hands, deft on his body, stroked and seduced, each movement slow and measured. He gritted his teeth when she increased her pace, drawing out each stroke until his toes curled. Lovely as this might be, it was time to call an end to it before he disgraced himself. He caught her restless hands and pulled them away from him. She made a sound of disappointment, then stilled when he slid his hand down her thigh, nudging her legs apart. He slipped his knee between hers, and she rested her leg on his, her body relaxed against him. A watery sigh escaped her as he entered, still slick from their earlier seduction. He moved easily within her damp flesh. Entwined as intimately as a man and woman could be, Quinn rocked against her, drawing out each motion and keeping it languid, sensual. Every breath that escaped her became a sigh as her fingers entwined with his. He continued his slow pace toward fulfillment. He was in no hurry and he sensed she wasn’t either. Buried deep inside her, flesh against flesh, seemed like the perfect way to spend eternity.

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One minute she was warm and relaxed in Quinn’s arms, the next a crash sounded in the hallway, jarring Maeve into awareness. In one smooth movement, she rolled from his arms and grabbed the handle of a short sword that lay on the nightstand. Facing the bedroom door, she took a defensive position. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him rise just as the door burst inward and Sunni came flying in. She stumbled over her long colorful skirt and almost landed in a heap on the floor. She clung to the doorknob to regain her balance. “Oops, the door wasn’t shut properly.” She grinned and her smile vanished as she caught sight of Quinn, naked. “Oh my.” Irritation flashed hot along Maeve’s skin as she moved into the vampire’s line of vision, cutting off what she knew to be a delectable display. “Did you need something, Sunni?” “Val sent me upstairs to get—” She nodded in Quinn’s direction, then averted her eyes. “Quinn?” she prodded. “Him,” Sunni finished lamely, a faint blush appearing under her pale skin. She seemed unsure where to look. “We’ll be down shortly.” “Umm, okay.” Lacking the usual grace of a vampire, Sunni lurched from the room, shutting the door behind her. Maeve shook her head. If the sight of Quinn naked had that much of an effect on Sunni, she was glad the vampire hadn’t come in a few minutes earlier. She would have been mute for life. Quinn chuckled from behind her and she turned and scowled at her naked lover. “What’s so funny?” “I’ve never rendered a woman quite so speechless before.” He reached for his jeans. “I could get used to this.”

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She rolled her eyes and laid the sword on the bed within easy reach. “Yeah, well, Sunni’s been sheltered all of her life. Don’t get your hopes up.” Her glance grazed the front of his unbuttoned jeans. “Or anything else.” She snatched her clothes from the foot of the bed and, nude, marched from the room, leaving Quinn wearing a thunderstruck look. Stifling a grin when she heard him laugh, her heart felt lighter than it had been in years.

The ballroom was oddly light as she entered, hand in hand, with Quinn. The candles still flickered around Sinjin as he lay in his dark sleep, but that wasn’t the source of the light. Her gaze moved outside, her heart stopping in her throat. The minions had formed a ring just outside the salt circle. Every other one held a large torch, the flames dancing in the darkness. “What are they doing?” she asked. “We have no idea. We were hoping Quinn could answer that.” Val stood near the shattered center window, his arms crossed over his chest. Mortianna moved into the circle of light to stand behind the minions, her expression serene. Her gaze locked with Maeve’s and the witch nodded. A knot formed in her stomach. No, not now! Mortianna had come for her in answer to her spell. Agony lanced through her and she closed her eyes. What had she done? “I don’t know why she’s here,” Quinn’s voice was low. “But I’m going to find out.” “I called her.” Maeve forced herself to drop his hand and move away from him, suddenly bereft. She turned her back on the witch to face her friends. Their expressions were patient, Quinn’s confused. “Why?” he asked. “I need her help.”

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“What kind of help could Mortianna afford you?” Shai spluttered. “I need a spell, one that only she can give me.” Silence. She met Quinn’s gaze, pierced by the anger and hurt she saw. “You’d betray your friends for this spell?” His tone was flat. She shook her head. “You don’t understand.” “Then explain it to me.” He crossed his arms over his chest. He was already condemning her. Images of her family flashed before her eyes. Panicky, she glanced at each of her friends, but they offered no assistance. “Eleven years ago, a vampire killed my sister. Rebecca was my twin and I watched her die. Do you know what it’s like to hear someone you love die screaming your name over and over again and there’s nothing you can do?” Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she’d cut out her tongue before she’d let one fall. “My twin, my other half, died and I couldn’t save her. I failed her.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and her stomach lurched. “He took my family, he took everything of value to me. For that, he must die.” “You’re a fool.” His tone was sharp. “You would sacrifice your friendships for this? You can’t engineer your redemption through revenge. It’s gained through personal growth. You learn from the events of your life and you move on. You don’t set out to have your revenge, it’s meaningless.” His words cut her to the quick and she resisted the urge to look and see if they’d left marks on her skin. “I know what it is to lose a loved one,” he continued. “I lost my best friend many years ago because I lost my temper and sought revenge on someone. He died because he trusted me to do the right thing, and I failed him. Trust me when I say the price of revenge is too steep, Maeve. If you go through with this, you’ll lose everything you hold dear. That includes your integrity and honor.”

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“What good are integrity and honor when my sister lies in her grave?” she shouted. “What good were integrity and honor when my family turned their backs on me?” “What would your sister want you to do?” Live life and be joyful… “Avenge her death,” Maeve whispered. “Then your sister also was a fool.” One look at his closed expression and all feeling died within her and she went numb from head to toe. He couldn’t, or wouldn’t, understand her plight. Which it was, she didn’t know. What she did know was that he wasn’t hearing her anymore as he’d shut her out. Now, she had only two choices—either he gave her the spell, or she went to Mortianna and paid whatever price asked. She refused to beg him for it. “I’m asking you to please give me the A’ bhais Cadail spell.” Her voice was flat, dead. “No.” His jaw hardened. So be it. She turned her back on him and walked to the door. “Where are you going?” Sunni quavered. Maeve didn’t answer. She was afraid that if she opened her mouth to speak, she’d start screaming and never stop. She’d do anything to avoid breaking down in front of him or anyone ever again. Footsteps followed as she exited the ballroom. The front door loomed and she half expected Quinn to interfere and prevent the doorknob from turning, but he didn’t. The cool wind whipped into the house when she opened it. “Don’t do this.” Shai’s words ended in a sob.

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Leaving the door open, she stepped into the darkness. Where the sword pointed outward, Mortianna stood, a soft smile playing about her lips, her cape just shy of the salt circle. She walked down the steps toward the witch. “Maeve—” She ignored Val’s voice as she approached, stopping short of the sword hilt. “Will you give me the binding spell?” Mortianna’s smile grew wider. “Of course I will, my child. That’s why you called me. Knowledge is strength and we all must help our sisters follow their destinies.” She turned to look at her friends one more time. Val stood on the bottom step, his arm around a crying Shai, his expression somber. Sunni stood near him, her cheeks streaked with tears. Quinn. He stood alone on the top step, framed in the doorway, arms crossed on his chest. Those same arms that had held her so tenderly less than an hour ago were closed to her now. His expression was cold, his gaze locked on her face. His visage blurred with her tears as she turned away. Stepping over the sword, she moved to Mortianna. Darkness surrounded her when the witch swept her into her cape. “Welcome home, my daughter.”

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Chapter Ten She’d left him. One minute she’d been in his arms, warm and vital, the next she’d been swept into Mortianna’s cape and they’d vanished. Quinn dropped into a chair and ran his fingers through his hair. Had he handled the situation right? At the time he’d thought so. He was obligated by his lineage to protect the secrets of witchcraft he’d been given and it wasn’t a task to be taken lightly. Maeve’s thirst for revenge would be the end of her. Knowing that, what should he do? Let her walk her own path? Step in and save her from herself? Weary, he rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Quinn.” Shai stood in the archway of the library. Her expression was uncertain, her emerald gaze was unfathomable. He looked away. He wasn’t up to dealing with normal conversation right now. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for bed? Morning approaches.” “Soon.” She advanced into the room and he resigned himself to having a conversation. So much for taking a hint. “What can I do for you, Shai?” “Nothing for me. Though I must warn you that is a dangerous thing to say to a vampire.” He heard the amusement in her tone and couldn’t help but smile in return. “You’re right.” “Is there anything I can do for you?”

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“Not unless you can give me answers to this mess.” Through narrowed eyes, he watched her slide into the armchair near him. “Actually, I can fill in a few blanks for you.” He raised his head and their gazes met. In their depths, he saw compassion and truth. Vampire or not, Shai had a good soul. He wasn’t sure he was ready to hear what she had to say, but he couldn’t turn his back either. “Go on.” “Have you heard of a vampire named Mikhail?” He nodded. Now he knew he didn’t want to hear the whole story. Mikhail was known for being one of the most brutal vampires who’d ever walked the planet. “I’ve heard of him.” “What do you know about him?” “Not much. He’s one of the most powerful vampires and he’s one of the oldest. Last year, he gathered an army and attempted to overthrow the Council of Elders. I heard the son of a Druid High Priest defeated him. That’s pretty much the extent of my knowledge.” “Do you know why Maeve wants the binding spell?” she asked. He shook his head. “Mikhail was the vampire who murdered her sister eleven years ago.” He sat upright as shock washed through him. No, she wouldn’t… He knew the answer but he had to ask the question anyway. “She’s going after Mikhail?” “Yes. When I was a child, Mikhail killed my mother. I didn’t know it then, but he waited for me to reach my thirtieth birthday before he came after me. Eleven years ago, I was working as a reporter in New York City when he began stalking me by killing women who resembled me. Maeve met Mikhail at her college and she was the link between Mikhail and her sister, Rebecca. The bastard kidnapped both, tortured them

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then killed Rebecca in front of Maeve. I don’t think she’s ever recovered from the loss of her twin.” She shook her head, her expression sorrowful. “After her death, Maeve’s family sensed something had changed, but they couldn’t pinpoint what. After a year, maybe two, they turned their backs on her and she removed herself from their lives. She doesn’t admit it, but she was devastated. She’d lost her sister and her family in a very short period of time.” She leaned into the chair, her expression weary. “I gather from what she said earlier that she hopes killing Mikhail will redeem her in the eyes of her family. She’s spent the last ten years honing her skills to take on Mikhail and my guess is that she thinks the binding spell is the key to success.” Oh my Goddess, Maeve, why didn’t you tell me? He felt frozen, shocked. How could he have missed this? She’d spoken of the binding spell on several occasions and he’d had an inkling that she was after it. But not even the most creative mind in the world would’ve come up with this scenario. If Maeve tried to get that spell, let alone cast it, she would be dead within minutes. He shook his head. “The spell will get her killed.” Shai’s eyes widened. “How so?” “It takes an experienced witch to wield it effectively. It requires a great deal of power to cast and even more to maintain the energy. It isn’t the casting, it’s the maintaining of the spell and that takes years of practice. Most spells require a burst of energy, this one requires prolonged exertion and it takes years to perfect that ability. There’s no way she can hope to succeed.” He looked down at his hands, hands that had cast many spells but never the A’ bhais Cadail. Could he cast and maintain it? He wasn’t sure as he’d never tried. There were very few witches who could complete the spell and live to tell about it. “Oh my.” Shai’s gasp tore at his heart. A subtle tapping turned his attention to the window. Darkness reflected his image and, in a spill of firelight, he saw movement outside. On the terrace stood a massive 112

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raven, its sharp black gaze locked with his. The bird tapped the glass with its beak, and this time, Quinn rose from his chair and walked to the French door. “Shai, can you leave us alone?” He opened the door to admit the bird. It hopped into the room, its sticklike feet making no sound on the carpeting. Quinn glanced at Shai in time to catch her speculative gaze. He had no doubt she’d be asking him questions later, but she nodded and rose from the chair. “Sure thing, Quinn. I’ll close the door.” When she left, the bird flew into the chair she’d just vacated. Fathomless black eyes stared into his. Quinn smiled. “Hello, Father.” The bird bobbed its head then spread its wings. In the space of a few seconds, the feathered creature transformed. Clad entirely in black, Keirgen was a distinguished man with golden hair tinted at the temples with silver and laughing brown eyes. “How’s the family?” Quinn asked. “Your brothers and sisters are fine and your mother sends her love. She’s a bit peeved that you haven’t contacted her about attending the yearly Samhain feast.” He waved a mock-admonishing finger at his son. “She’s threatened to come after you with her rolling pin.” He grinned at the thought of his tiny, five-foot-three stepmother coming after him with a rolling pin. Dainty and good-natured, Emme was a delight and she wouldn’t hurt a fly. “I meant to get back to you, but I’ve been pretty busy lately.” Now, there was an understatement. Keirgen nodded, his gaze sharp. “You look tired, my son.” Leave it to his father to say it like it is.

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“I am. It’s been a rough few days.” He gestured to the brandy snifters. “Care for a drink?” “No thanks, I don’t like to drink and fly, it makes me dizzy.” He gestured for Quinn to sit, waiting until his son was seated before he spoke. “I think you know why I’m here. I’ve heard disturbing stories about Mortianna and I’ve come to speak with you about it. I’ve been hearing she’s banding the witches together and she wishes to join forces with someone, a vampire, to overthrow the Council of Elders.” “Mikhail?” “Possibly, probably. He made a very public grab for control last year. I’m hearing another name also, Gabrielle DesNoir. She’s said to be Mikhail’s consort and a lesser vampire, only about a hundred years of age.” Quinn frowned. “What does Mortianna hope to accomplish with this?” “Power over the vampires and were-animals? I don’t know for sure.” His father’s gaze was direct. “One thing is certain, she wants the vampire you’re protecting and she’ll do anything to get him.” “Including using an innocent.” Kiergen nodded. “That’s a given. Mortianna will do anything to further her own end, including destroying her own child. She could care less if an innocent gets hurt.” Quinn fixed his gaze on the fire. He knew what his father was telling him even if he didn’t come out and say it. As her son, it was his responsibility to stop Mortianna from causing further damage. This new wrinkle was bigger than Maeve and her problems. The delicate balance of power in the world of the preternaturals hung by a thread. If Mortianna succeeded in her scheme, many people would die. Until Bliss’ death, Mortianna had been a reluctant figurehead in the realm of the witches, as she’d always preferred being left alone. When called upon in matters of dispute, she’d been known for fairness in her judgments even if her punishments were harsh. She didn’t tolerate fools gladly and she let that be known far and wide.

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But the tide had turned. In the last few months, the mortality rate among the preternaturals and witches had been rising. The rumored reason was Mortianna. With the death of Bliss, the witch had become unbalanced, lashing out at those surrounding her. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, my son.” He saw genuine sorrow on Keirgen’s face. “I know, Father.” “A child should never have to choose between what’s right and his family, but there are times when hard decisions must be made. This will probably be one of your most difficult.” Something died within Quinn’s soul as he accepted his father’s words. “You’re right. But I think I knew a showdown was imminent the moment I crossed her and stopped her from killing Maeve.” “I heard about that.” Keirgen smiled. “Good show, son.” “What else could I do?” “Just what you did.” “So now I have to decide what I’m going to do next. First off, what can you tell me about the minions?” His smile faded. “Nasty buggers. The only thing I know is they can’t stand water. They dissolve like sugar and the smell is abhorrent.” “That explains it then.” He told his father about the peculiar “corpses” they’d found a few days earlier. “I don’t know what happened to Mortianna.” Keirgen rose from his chair and placed a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “She wasn’t always like this. When I met her she was sunny and full of fun. She’d always possessed a darker side, we all do, but she seriously lost it when her father passed away about a year before your birth. It was downhill from there and I think Bliss’ death has seriously unhinged her. Mortianna is

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your biological mother, but I want you to know that when I left her, I kept the best of her with me.” “She was never my mother.” Quinn’s throat tightened. “She ceased to be anything to me the day she turned her back on us. You, Emme and the kids, are all the family I ever needed.” Keirgen blinked, his eyes suspiciously shiny. “You were more than I could’ve hoped for in a son.” He gave Quinn’s shoulder a squeeze before he pulled away and walked to the French door. “I’ll tell Emme to expect you around Samhain if not on it.” He winked at his son. “And maybe I can keep her from coming after you with that rolling pin.” Quinn grinned. Keirgen’s smile faded. “Right now, you have much to do. Your destiny lies before you. Embrace it and walk in light.” “Walk in light,” he echoed. The mantle of inevitability settled on his shoulders as his father stepped into the early morning. Transforming once more into a raven, Keirgen headed for the brightening skies. Quinn wished he could follow his father but he knew what he had to do.

***** “So tell me, what do you want with the binding spell?” Maeve rubbed her eyes, trying to rid herself of the fuzzy sensations in her head. When Mortianna had closed the cape around her, she’d lost consciousness only to awaken in what she assumed was the witch’s lair. She cleared her throat before meeting the woman’s gaze. “Does it matter why I need the spell?” Mortianna’s brow arched and a slow smile curved her lips. She nodded before turning her attention to a heavily laden table and the myriad objects contained on it. 116

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“It doesn’t matter to me why you need the spell, I’m merely curious.” She reached for a thin sheet of ivory parchment and selected a black quill from a glass container. “By giving you the spell, I’ll be breaking thousands of years of silence. It’s never been given to a mortal and very few witches have the knowledge even today.” She selected a small pot of red liquid. “What I offer you is quite the coup. Many have died in pursuit of this knowledge.” She dipped the tip of the quill into the liquid and began to write. What would it hurt to tell her? “I have a score to settle with someone.” “Really? And this calls for the A’ bhais Cadail? Now this is interesting, indeed.” The scratching of the quill over parchment stopped and Mortianna glanced at her. “Revenge is a motive I can understand. It appears we have much more in common than I thought. Who is he, a mortal?” “Vampire.” “Ahh, that explains it.” She nodded slowly. “May I ask who you wish to use this spell on?” “Mikhail of Kiev, the vampire who killed my sister.” The witch’s expression was startled before turning faintly admiring. “It appears I’ve underestimated you, for you aim high.” She turned away once more and the scratching resumed. “Will the binding spell work on a vampire of his power?” “Oh, yes. The binding spell works on any living creature. However, one thing stands in your way.” “And that would be?” The sound of spiked heels on stone sounded behind her. Maeve tensed as the sensation of cold air prickled over her skin. Her eyes narrowed and her preternatural senses screamed the arrival of the dead. Vampire.

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Slowly she turned, every sense on alert. Walking toward her was Gabrielle DesNoir, Mikhail’s consort. She was a stunning woman. With the fairest of skin, her blue eyes were piercing—unearthly—and her hair was black as night. Her lips were ruby red and her fangs flashed when she smiled. Clad in black leather from neck to toes, she looked like the spawn of Satan. The scratching stopped. “Have you met my new friend, Gabrielle?” Maeve’s stomach gave a lurch. Since when did Mortianna declare herself friends with any of the undead? This couldn’t be good. “Not formally.” Her lips were stiff. Gabrielle smiled, her dark eyes were mocking. “Maeve Leigh? At long last we meet. I’ve heard a great deal about you.” “Funny, I’ve heard nothing about you.” She kept her tone bland. Gabrielle’s eyes narrowed and her breath escaped in a slight hiss. Her expression turned calculating. “Oh, I know.” She snapped her fingers. “I’d mistaken you for your sister, Rebecca. Mikhail speaks of her very highly.” Maeve curled her fingers around the ends of the chair arms. Gabrielle’s words had scored a hit, but she’d be damned to hell before she’d let the vampire know she’d drawn first blood. A trill of laughter escaped Mortianna. “Now, ladies, let’s sheath the claws and get down to business. I think we can all benefit from each other’s expertise. I’ve decided we need to form an alliance.” Inwardly, Maeve balked. She had no desire to enter into any type of relationship with the vampire. She’d heard of Gabrielle and her cruel nature and she wanted no part of it. While Maeve would do almost anything to achieve her goal, dealing with the bloodsucker might be the breaking point.

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What would the witch ask in return for the spell? Then the question would become was she willing to pay the price? An image of her sister’s face rose in her mind. Yes, she would. “What do we need from her?” Gabrielle was looking at her as if she were some sort of creature that had climbed out from under a rock. “Plenty. Whether Maeve knows it or not, she’s the key to our plans.” Maeve stiffened, her instincts telling her to run at the same time her body refused to obey. She remained planted in the chair. “What do you mean by that?” “Gabrielle has approached me about the witches’ lending aid to her and Mikhail’s bid to rule the Council of Elders. I, in turn, want Damien St. James’ head on a platter.” The witch smiled and it wasn’t pleasant. “That’s where you come in.” Maeve rose from the chair. It took all of her strength to keep her knees locked and her feet rooted to the ground as her head swam. They wanted Sinjin in exchange for the spell and that she would not do. Sacrificing her friends was the only price she was unwilling to pay. “I can’t help you. Quinn appointed himself Sinjin’s guardian and he won’t back down.” “He would…for you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You expect me to convince your son to relinquish Sinjin into your hands?” Mortianna smiled and nodded. “And, in return, I’ll give you the spell.” She didn’t even have to think about it. She had no qualms about destroying herself, but she wouldn’t pull Quinn and Sinjin down into her own personal darkness. “No.” Mortianna’s brittle smile froze. “What?” Her tone expressed her disbelief. “You heard me the first time. I said no.” A shriek of laughter escaped Gabrielle as she pointed her finger. “You’re a brave one. Foolish, too.”

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“You ask for the spell, yet you will not do me the smallest favor?” the witch asked. “This is hardly a small favor.” Maeve shook her head. “You can request anything but this from me. You’re asking me to betray two good, brave men. One of them your own son.” “I have no son!” Mortianna thundered. “My only child, my precious daughter, lies dead in the other room. She’s dead because a vampire laid his hands on her. That vampire will know my vengeance as will his cohorts in the dark realm. Either you stand with me or you stand against me.” Maeve turned away and walked to the door. A mad itch sprang to life between her shoulders seconds before icy fingers closed around the back of her neck. Halted in her tracks, she was whipped around to face Mortianna. She grabbed for her boot-knife only to find that her muscles wouldn’t respond to her command. She felt as helpless as a specimen of a bug pinned to a card in a collection. Her brain screamed for her to move, but she was unable to answer the desperate summons. “You would defy me?” Mortianna snapped. She couldn’t answer so she settled for glaring at the witch, leaving no doubt as to her feelings. “You’ve disappointed me.” Gabrielle loomed behind the witch, her eyes glittering with bloodlust. “Let me have her, Mortianna.” She licked her lips. “Nothing tastes as good as the blood of innocence.” Revulsion crawled under Maeve’s skin at the thought of this vampire’s hands on her. “No, I have other plans for her. I think a few weeks in the oubliette will remind her of the correct priorities in life.” The Little Place of Forgetting. Terror sprang to life as Mortianna dragged her in an iron grip to a small door on the far side of the room. Horror beat a desperate tattoo in her chest as she was forced into

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the darkness. The witch grabbed a torch to illuminate their way down a narrow, twisting passage that led deep into the earth. Maeve stumbled over the uneven dirt floor as they worked their way deeper still. The scent of mold, decay and damp earth invaded her nose. All too soon, the flickering golden glow illuminated a dark pit near a wall. A strangled scream locked in her throat when Mortianna pulled her to the ledge of a large pit. “I want you to think on this as you reside in the oubliette.” The witch lit another torch hung on the wall with the one she held in her hand. “Since you’re immortal, I shan’t have to worry about you dying on me. Again and again, your mortal body will dehydrate and die alone in the darkness, and your immortal soul will rejuvenate it to begin the cycle of life and death once more. It will be never-ending. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Bile threatened to choke her as she quivered in the witch’s grip. Oh, what she’d give to feel the hilt of her knife against her palm. Mortianna continued in a musing tone. “I wonder how many times an immortal can starve to death before the body and soul give up and actually expire? I suppose this could be an experiment of sorts.” Gabrielle gave a cackle, forcing Maeve’s gaze from the witch. “Goodbye, dear, It was so lovely meeting you,” the vampire said in a singsong voice. Mortianna jerked her, swinging her gaze back to the witch. “Shall we see how deep the pit is?” she taunted. Maeve watched as the witch dropped the torch into the hole. It kept falling and falling until it was but a tiny speck in the darkness. Then it vanished. Immortal or not, how could she even survive the fall?

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“Ah, before you go—I have a present…” Mortianna released her grip on her neck. Placing her hands on either side of Maeve’s head, her vision dimmed as darkness surrounded her. “Here is a little something to keep you company in the dark.” The witch’s voice dropped into a whisper. “Uile fois… I give you the gift of knowledge…” A scream broke from her lips as cutting pain tore through her head. An icy wind invaded her brain carrying with it myriad images. They jumbled and danced like a kaleidoscope in the hands of a two-year-old as her body jerked uncontrollably in the witch’s grasp. Consciousness dimmed.

She didn’t know how much later it was when Mortianna released her. Ears buzzing, Maeve wavered on wobbly legs at the edge of the oubliette. Her mouth was filled with the taste of blood and her brain staggered with the unwanted knowledge thrust upon her. Broken images flipped before her eyes like a slide show while bits of conversations played in her ears like that of an audiotape set to repeat. Exhaustion threatened to send her to her knees. “Sleep well, my daughter, and come back to me with your loyalties in place,” Mortianna whispered. “Your destiny awaits you.” A gentle hand brushed the small of her back, just enough to tip her into the unfathomable darkness.

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Chapter Eleven “You realize that we’re willing to die rather than turn Sinjin over to that madwoman.” Val’s eyes fairly smoked with displeasure. Shai shot Quinn a look that pleaded for understanding while she tugged her lover’s sleeve. “That’s his mother,” she hissed. “Something he should have told us earlier. The woman is insane.” Val stalked away. Silent, Quinn acknowledged the truth of his statement. As a child, he’d yearned to have a relationship with Mortianna. Even now, there was a part of him that still wanted her acknowledgement. However, it was apparent that it was impossible. How sad for both of them. His upbringing had been idyllic and in Emme he’d had the perfect mother. She’d been the one to hold him when he was sick, bandage his injuries, and kick him in the backside when he’d needed it. He’d never lacked a loving mother figure. All this time, what he’d imagined as the hole in his life left by a non-relationship with Mortianna, was actually a hole in himself. A hole that had been healed by Maeve. Her misguided journey to secure what, in her mind, was her redemption had led to his reevaluation of life. Now he just had to get her back, this woman he loved. Loved. A sense of wonder expanded through his chest. He loved her. He loved her fierce spirit, her sense of adventure and her loyalty to her friends and to her sister. She was misguided in some ways, but nothing she couldn’t work out. He hoped.

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He looked at Shai. “Mortianna wasn’t a mother to me, never has been. I was raised with my father and his second wife, Emme, who is the mother of my heart. Until a few days ago, I’d never had any contact with Mortianna.” Her expression was skeptical. “I need to know where you stand, Shai.” He braced his hands on the desk between them. “If I’m going to go against Mortianna and stop her from this madness, I’ll need all the help I can get.” A slow smile crept across her face. “What did you have in mind?” He returned her smile. “I need you to gather the troops. We’re going on a little trip.” “We are? Where are we going?” Her eyes gleamed with anticipation. “Oh, no, you don’t.” He shook his head, a smile on his face. “That would ruin the surprise.” “Spoilsport. I can’t guarantee Val will jump in with both feet until he knows what you’re planning. My man is rather cautious.” “I’ll explain later. Gather everyone and we’ll discuss it then.” As Shai left to do as he’d requested, Quinn uttered a quick prayer for Maeve’s safety. If the Goddess would look after her until he could get to her, which was all he could ask for.

***** The darkness was smothering. Head throbbing, Maeve leaned against the unseen wall, the cool stone contrasting with the strangely warm air. Exhaustion screamed through her body and she closed her eyes once more. All she wanted to do was sleep. She had no idea how long she’d been in her prison. Her body craved food and she longed for a glass of water, but there was none to be had. Was the witch correct? Would she die in this pit only to be resurrected by the curse of immortality? 124

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Brilliant specks of light flashed against her eyelids as she tried to remember exactly how she’d ended up here. Memories of her time with the witch and the vampire were disjointed, like loose images in a photo album. Open another page and the photograph slipped through her fingers. While she recalled speaking with Gabrielle and Mortianna and she certainly remembered the witch’s demand that she turn over Sinjin, she had no memory of landing in this dark hell. One minute she’d been up above, the next she’d been here, in the depths of the earth surrounded by darkness and the overpowering stench of sulfur and decay. She kicked her leg, her foot connecting with yet another bone, sending it clattering over the uneven floor. The oubliette was scattered with human bones, or, at least, she thought they were human, and rotting clothing. Every now and then she heard a rattle of disturbed bones and the patter of tiny feet in the darkness. The witch was wrong, she wasn’t alone, after all. A reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. It seemed Mortianna hadn’t quite gotten her wish after all. Her smile faded. Where had she gone wrong? An image of Quinn crystallized in her mind and a shaft of sorrow pierced her heart. She remembered too many things about him. He really had a great laugh but, in general, he was serious most of the time. His eyes turned a darker, stormy blue when he was aroused, and his smile could make a woman’s toes curl. His touch gave her shivers and the scent of his skin made her want to curl in his arms and stay there for eternity. Her throat tightened. The reality of Quinn far outweighed her desire for revenge—too bad she hadn’t realized that before she’d leapt. She’d gone with Mortianna for two reasons. Quinn had refused her the spell, and her life had become one long quest for revenge that she barely remembered anything else. She’d been wrong, horribly wrong.

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Slow on the uptake, she only now realized that what she really wanted was what she could’ve had. It had been staring her in the face for days. Tears stung her eyes. Her desire for revenge was a valid emotion in one sense—she’d lost the person dearest to her, so it had been natural for her to want Mikhail to pay for his crimes. Yet, in the limited span of a mortal life, she’d been foolish. Reb was gone and nothing would bring her back. And Maeve had allowed her life to become a mockery of her sister’s. Her time consisted of training and planning, all to bring down a vampire who’d destroyed the other half of her heart. Tears slipped from beneath her eyelids. What had happened to the young woman who’d laughed with her friends, flirted with guys, played guitar, frolicked in the rain and had only wanted to become a chef? Hell, when was the last time she’d cooked? She swallowed hard. Effectively, her life had ended the moment she’d met Mikhail on the campus of SUNY where she and Reb had attended school. She, too, had died with her sister, only it had taken eleven years for her to realize it. A mirthless smile touched her lips even as pain lanced through her chest at the realization. Mikhail had won and she’d never known. Her sister, her other self. A sob erupted even when she tried to prevent it by biting her lip. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth to stifle those that followed. What would Reb say to her right now? Get off your ass. All is not as it seems. A bark of laughter bubbled to mingle with her bitter tears. Had she been in the oubliette long enough to go insane? Maybe she was already dead and didn’t know it. Was this the other side? She opened her eyes only to see darkness. If this was it, heaven was highly overrated. Who said you were going to heaven? You could very well be in hell and not know the difference. “Except I don’t believe in hell.” Her whisper sounded loud in the silence. 126

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Don’t you? A cackle escaped her. That had sounded like her sister’s voice. It was just like Reb to get right to the heart of a matter. She’d never believed in letting grass grow under her feet. With a groan, Maeve pulled her legs up tight to her body and leaned her forehead against her knees. All may not be as it seems, however, she’d gone over every inch of her prison, searching every crevice on her hands and knees, and it wasn’t as if there was a door. Hell, even a crack in the wall would help, but there was none to be had. Isn’t there? She raised her head and blinked watery eyes. That definitely sounded like her sister. “Reb?” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “Is that you?” she whispered. Silence. She’d really gone off the deep end this time. She straightened her legs and rubbed her damp eyes with the hem of her shirt. She blinked several times. Yep, it was still dark. Leaning her head against the wall, she closed her eyes once more. Her sister’s image swam before her eyes. God, she missed her. Will you get off your ass? Maeve started, her head jerked upright, her heart thudded in her chest. Was that real? No, it couldn’t be… She had to be hearing things. No, you’re not—now, get moving, you have work to do. “Reb?” Yes? Startled, Maeve leapt to her feet as if scalded. As she stood, her head connected with a rocky overhang. She sat down hard, head smarting and ears ringing. Rubbing the spot, she scowled. “Of all the stupid things…” she muttered.

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You’ve got that right. A ghostly giggle raised the hair on her arms. “How can you be talking to me?” Do you remember the witch putting her hands on you and whispering something? Maeve frowned as images flashed through her mind. Mortianna dropping the torch, Gabrielle laughing, cold hands on either side of her head, then a tremendous flash of pain. She flinched. “Yes.” She gave you the gift of knowing, more commonly called the Knowledge of the Ages. “What does that mean?” You’ll figure it out as you go. Right now, you need to get out of this hole or all will be for naught. Maeve blinked, her mind whirling with possibility. Did she have the ability to escape this hell? She looked around. The darkness didn’t seem to be as complete as before. She held her hand several inches in front of her face. Yes, she could see the pale outline of her fingers. Excited, she scrambled to her knees. Why was it lighter in here? She blinked again several more times. Across from her, a section of the wall looked vaguely lighter than the stone around it. She frowned. That hadn’t been there before. How could she have missed such a thing? Was it a trick? Does it matter? She jerked as the voice sounded in her head once more. Was it really her sister? She didn’t know for sure. Whatever or whoever it was, it was showing her the way out. She got to her feet and approached the new find, careful to shuffle her feet to avoid tripping over objects scattered about the lumpy floor.

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Feeling the walls with her hands, she located the lighter area to realize it was a narrow recess in the wall. She squeezed into the niche. A fresh draft of air touched her cheeks and she took a deep breath. Excitement tingled down her spine as she examined her ticket to freedom. A narrow shaft led up into the rock and it was definitely lighter in here. Daylight? Had it been cloudy in here earlier and that was why she’d missed it? Was it a way out? If it was, she was in for a climb. “Thank you,” she whispered. Finding a handhold, she began to climb, each step bringing her closer to freedom.

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Chapter Twelve Quinn stared at the façade of Mortianna’s house. She should think of remodeling it. The sheer number of windows on the south side made for a liability when it came to defense. Then again, who would dare face the dragon in her lair? Only a fool. Guess that makes me a fool. He assessed the situation as he exited the SUV. Through the windows, he saw the minions gathered in a circle around the outer edges of the pentagram. Standing two deep, they surrounded Bliss’ coffin, resembling a military honor guard from hell. Mortianna was nowhere to be seen. “Aren’t we delivering ourselves right into her hands?” Alexandre Saint-Juste asked as they approached the front door of Mortianna’s house. The leader of the Council of Elders had met them outside London, joining forces with them for the coming confrontation. “You’ve got that right,” Val muttered. “How do we know this isn’t a trap engineered by you and your mother?” “Regardless of what you think, I’m here to rescue Maeve and put a stop to the nonsense my mother started.” Quinn stopped at the door, turning to face his companions. “You don’t have to enter. This isn’t your battle.” “Like hell it isn’t,” Val answered. “That witch threatened the life of my best friend and aligned herself with Mikhail, who is my problem. This battle is mine whether you like it or not.” Quinn nodded then looked at Alexandre. He straightened. “I’m the head of the Council of Elders.” He threw a wry grin to Val. “Such as it is. It’s my duty to protect the interests of those I serve.”

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“I want both of you to know that I’m not sure I can convince her to back down. This could get ugly real fast. We may very well die here tonight.” Val threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Now he tells us.” Alexandre grinned and looked up at the clear night sky where thousands of brilliant stars twinkled. “It wouldn’t be a terrible day to die.” Taking that as their acceptance of the situation, Quinn nodded and reached for the doorknob. “Shouldn’t we knock?” Alexandre asked. He shook his head. “Trust me, she already knows we’re here.” Before he could turn the knob, the door opened wide to admit them. The entry was empty and gaslights flickered in the breeze from the open door. “I guess we’ve just been invited in,” Val said, stepping through the door. Quinn followed with Alexandre close on his heels. The door closed silently behind them. “Parlor tricks,” Val muttered under his breath, contempt dripping from every word. Quinn nodded. He’d warned them earlier that Mortianna would try and throw them off balance with small feats of magic. If anything, she was predictable. He led the way to the room where Bliss lay in state. Quickly, he scanned the room and saw that neither Mortianna nor Gabrielle were there. Only the minions stood in their silent rings around the casket. “Damn,” Alexandre hissed, his gaze locked on the coffin. Val motioned to him and, together, they approached the coffin, shoving minions out of the way with their hands. The little beasts regrouped seamlessly behind them as if nothing were amiss. Both men stared at his half sister—Alexandre’s face carefully blank while Val’s expression was troubled. “Why?” Val asked. “Why didn’t Mortianna bury her daughter?” 131

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“Because I couldn’t bear to place my child in the cold earth.” Mortianna swept into the room. Dressed in her usual black, Quinn was shocked at how old she appeared. Deep grooves bracketed her mouth and her hair was heavily silvered. Her magic was fading even faster. What caused this drain of her powers and why did she seem to be oblivious to it? Was it the A’ bhais Cadail? Was this the price for using it? She continued. “I realize, being a vampire, you don’t understand my reluctance. But to us, being underground is abhorrent.” She walked to the coffin, the minions parting like water before her. “On the contrary, Mortianna, not all vampires sleep below ground,” Alexandre responded. “The smart ones do.” A small woman entered the room dressed in black leather from head to toe. This could only be Gabrielle. She smiled at Alexandre, her fangs catching the light. “Alexandre, so lovely to see you again. I see you’ve met my new friend, Mortianna.” The witch gave the vampire an indulgent smile before she redirected her attention toward the men. “To what do I owe this pleasure, gentlemen?” “You know why we’re here.” Quinn said. “We’ve come to retrieve Maeve, among other things.” “Maeve?” Mortianna feigned surprise. “She’s doing quite well, I assure you. We’ve reached an agreement and she’s perfectly content where she is.” “I’d prefer to hear that from her,” he responded. She shook her head. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, she’s quite busy right now. She has much to prepare for.” “You gave her the spell?” “Oh, that and then some.” She nodded, a satisfied smile on her face. What the hell did that mean? “You gave her more than the binding spell?” Val asked.

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“I’ll say,” Gabrielle drawled. “Where is she, Mortianna?” Quinn pressed. “Oh, really, trying to spoil my fun.” She rolled her eyes. “Her priorities weren’t in line with our goals, so I made a gentle suggestion that she rethink before proceeding any further. I feel it’s good to have a plan prior to battle.” “She’s not on the premises,” Val said. “I can’t feel her.” Alexandre nodded agreement. “You’re so right, vampire.” Mortianna waved her hands as if to signal the end of the discussion. “Let’s talk about her later. I have a feeling we have many more stimulating things to discuss.” She gave a chilly smile. “I’d like to invite you to partake of some refreshments. However, I have no fresh blood on hand.” She shrugged. Quinn was reluctant to let the subject of Maeve go, but for the moment he didn’t see that he had any choice. All he could do was hope she’d remain safe until he could ascertain her whereabouts. “I’d like to talk to you about your plans with Gabrielle.” He nodded in the female vampire’s direction. Mortianna laid a hand on her daughter’s coffin. With a great show of unconcern, she traced one of the seams on the glass lid. “Why is this any of your business, my son?” “You made it my business when your actions threatened the lives of innocents.” He moved through the lines of the minions, using magic to shove them aside so he didn’t have to touch them. “Historically, the witches have never chosen sides nor have we participated on the Council. When Bliss was on the Council, she was careful to never speak for the witches, only the revenants. Now you’re about to change all of that by joining with Mikhail and Gabrielle. What do you hope to gain from this?” “Control of the Council, of course.” She spoke slowly as if he were a child. “What would you do with control of the Council? What do you hope to accomplish?” She shrugged. “Wealth, more power, the elimination of vampires.”

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Gabrielle snapped to attention. “Hey, that’s not what—” “Shut up, you twit!” Mortianna snapped. “You’re a silly child who should know better than to trifle with a witch of my powers.” Her lip curled. “You and your kind sicken me.” As she ranted, Quinn slipped a hand into his pocket and opened the top of a small drawstring bag he’d deposited there earlier. Contained in the bag was a small amount of magical powder he’d created using dirt, a variety of crushed herbs and dried mother’s milk. Dipping his fingers into the talc-fine powder, he pinched a small amount between his thumb and forefinger. Withdrawing his hand, he rubbed his fingers together, disbursing the powder in a small but steady stream as he walked toward Mortianna. “Vampires,” she continued, “prey on humans and innocent little girls like mine. They take and destroy purity, subverting it into something dark and evil. I want no more of your kind to walk the planet.” Gabrielle flinched. “I—” “Begone, fiend,” Mortianna snapped, waving her hand in Gabrielle’s direction. The vampire gave a hiss as four of the minions turned and started in her direction. “You haven’t heard the last of me!” With her gaze throwing daggers at them, Gabrielle ran from the room with the minions hot on her heels. “What about Bliss?” Val asked. “What would she say about this?” Mortianna scowled at him. “My daughter can’t say anything. She’s dead. Why do you think I’m doing this?” Quinn continued his slow journey as the conversation ebbed and flowed around him. Careful to keep his movements unobtrusive, he divided his attention between his task and the discussion, waiting for the right time to jump in. “I meant, if she were here right now, what would she say about your plan?” Val’s tone soothed.

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Mortianna frowned as if confused. Her gaze fixed on a spot on the floor as if something were troubling her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Quinn knew exactly what was bothering her. Already the powder was taking effect. He continued his task, moving in a wide circle around his mother, enclosing them in a circle of fine powder. “Why do you think I’m doing this?” she repeated. She rubbed a spot between her brows. “My daughter, my beautiful daughter,” she whispered. “Don’t you think she’d be upset that you’re trying to destroy her friends?” Alexandre asked. “Well, of course she would be. The silly twit believed she was in love with St. James. He bewitched her. What mortal could love a bloodsucking fiend?” She began to pace. Quinn kept an eye on her as he completed the circle. Unaware of the boundaries, Mortianna paced within it. The enchanted powder was keeping her secured without her knowledge. So far so good. “Mother,” he spoke, drawing her attention. He stood across from her, the casket between them. She looked up and he was struck by her grief, etched in every inch of her face. For all her faults, Mortianna had truly loved her daughter. But not him. Never him. He waited for the pain to come, but it didn’t. Only a bittersweet whisper resonated as he thought of the severed relationship between his sister and mother. His biological family certainly took the fun out of dysfunctional. He shook himself back to the present. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” “What?” she snapped, clearly irritable. “Bliss loved Sinjin with all her heart.” He looked down at the serene face of his sister. “And he loved her to distraction.” He met his mother’s gaze one more. “Vampire or not, your mortal daughter did love a bloodsucking fiend as you put it.”

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For a second, he thought she’d erupt in flames. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparked before she forcibly calmed herself. “He tricked her,” she said. “How? How did Sinjin trick her into loving him?” She waved her hand and resumed her pacing. “I don’t know. Vampires have powers that even I don’t understand completely. My daughter could have never loved one of them.” She indicated Val and Alexandre. Quinn laid his hand on the casket, the glass chilly beneath his palm. “You keep ignoring the fact that Bliss did love one of them. She wished to spend her life with him, but she couldn’t because you forced her to make a choice. She chose to leave him and keep him alive, rather than allow you to kill him.” He stroked the glass directly above his sister’s face. “What else was I supposed to do?” Mortianna’s pace increased. “Let them live in peace.” He traced the sign of the pentagram over his sister, disbursing the last of the dust that clung to his fingertips. “It didn’t bring her back to you, did it?” “No.” The one word came out as an anguished sob. “You drove your daughter out of Sinjin’s life, but you admit she didn’t readily accept you back into hers.” He turned from the casket. “And now you’re going to exact your vengeance on the vampires, many of them innocent of any wrongdoing, because you made a mistake?” Slowly, she turned her face to him. She appeared to have aged another ten years in the past few minutes. Her eyes burned bright with anger as she beheld her firstborn. “My only mistake in life was in having you.” She pointed at him. “Your father was weak, and he bred a weak child upon me. Once I discovered this, I cast you both out though now I realize I should’ve drowned you at birth.”

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Quinn refused to react under her venomous gaze. “I guess you made two mistakes then.” He glanced at Val and Alexandre, giving them the prearranged signal to divide and conquer. “One which I shall soon rectify,” she said. He shifted, careful to keep her attention on him as he moved, so she wouldn’t see Val and Alexandre as they dealt with the minions. “You would kill your own son?” he asked. “The Rede states ‘An it harm none, do what thou wilt’. You’d violate this basic tenant of witchcraft?” Mortianna laughed and it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “You fail to see the big picture. There is so much more than your feeble white magic. There are untapped resources of alchemy out there.” She waved her arm to indicate outside the boundaries of the house. “There are no limits on power, and it’s there for the taking. Anything can be had.” “For a price?” “Some prices, regardless of their size, should be paid for the gain they offer.” She shrugged. “Who can put boundaries on the gift of limitless knowledge? What price would one pay for anything they desire? Everything, Quinn, most would give everything.” He thought of Maeve and her thirst for revenge. He wondered what she’d say to that after spending several hours in Mortianna’s company. Was the price too high for the knowledge it afforded? “I can set boundaries.” He spoke quietly. “If I can’t look in the mirror every morning and like what I see, the price is too high.” “Fool!” Mortianna gave a bark of laughter. “Exactly as I thought. You’re weak just like your father.” He smiled when he saw the first minion melting into a puddle. He switched his gaze to his biological mother. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

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Her eyes widened then narrowed. She turned to see Alexandre and Val moving methodically among the minions, injecting them with water-filled syringes. As they worked, the minions dropped into sodden puddles of smelly brown wool. “Stop that!” she shrieked, stalking toward Val, her anger fading to amazement when she realized she was restrained by the boundary of the circle. “What the—” “It’s over,” Quinn spoke. “It’s time to put the darkness behind you and put aside your ideas of vengeance.” “You did this,” Mortianna accused, swinging around to face him. “You would betray your own flesh and blood?” “For the love of my sister, yes.” “Your own mother?” she shrieked. “You were never my mother,” he shot back. “You are nothing to me.” “You’ll pay for this.” With a mad gleam in her eye, Mortianna raised her hands and pointed in his direction. Quinn cast a quick protection spell around himself before the first blow fell and white light blinded him.

The room erupted into chaos when Maeve entered. A few minions were flying about while many lay melted on the floor, the stench of cotton candy and wet copper was overpowering. Val and Alexandre, armed with brightly colored water guns like the ones her nieces and nephews had used on hot summer days, squirted the little beasts as they attacked. Minions were dropping to the ground while the wounded ones grew enraged and tried to dive-bomb their tormenters. One came too close to Val and he pulled out a fat syringe and stabbed it in the shoulder, injecting the clear fluid. A shriek came from the hapless creature before it dissolved. A crack rent the air and she turned in time to see Quinn fly across the room as if shot from a cannon. He stopped abruptly as if he’d hit an invisible wall and slid to the

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ground. Mortianna stood near her daughter’s casket, looking much older than she had the last time Maeve had seen her. Her eyes glowed with madness, her gaze fixed upon her son, hatred etched throughout her posture. She was going to kill him. “Make your choice, Maeve,” Val spoke. She turned to see him walking toward her, his water toy was almost empty. “Will you help Quinn or sacrifice him so Mortianna will give you the spell and the key to your revenge?” Quinn rose from the floor to face his mother once again. He said something she couldn’t hear over the thudding of her own heart. Mortianna raised her hands and Quinn did the same. Lightning broke from her fingertips and raced at Quinn in the blink of an eye. A shriek lodged in her throat as the sparks stopped midway between them, curling into a ball of light. As Quinn shifted his hands, the ball changed shape and moved closer to Mortianna. The witch scowled and leaned forward as if to put more effort into moving the ball of light. It began to swing back toward Quinn. “Get more water and worry about your own problems, I’ll deal with Mortianna.” Maeve walked through the sea of flying bodies and melting minions, untouched. When one of the beasts came too close, she kicked it in the head and moved on. “You can’t breach the circle,” she heard Alexandre call from behind her. She paused at the edges of where she thought the circle might be. She couldn’t see anything on the floor but the power rolled in the air like waves. She held up her hands to absorb the sensation prickling her skin. Tingling ran through her palms and raced along her arms and shoulders, coalescing in her abdomen. Her head swam for a split second as images like slides flipped before her eyes. None of it made any sense. She blinked and the images cleared in time to see Quinn falter and the ball of lightning swing toward him.

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Without thinking, Maeve stepped into the circle behind her lover. “I’ll be damned,” Val muttered. She had the satisfaction of seeing Mortianna’s eyes widen when their gazes met. The ball swooped and raced toward the witch. She came to her senses and sent it whizzing back at Quinn. Maeve placed her hands on Quinn’s shoulders and leaned into him. Concentrating on her hands, she envisioned a brilliant white light collecting in her chest to shoot down her arms and into her palms. Exhaling, she shoved the light into him in a blast of energy. Quinn straightened and moved his hands. The light threw off blue sparks as it raced toward Mortianna. She gave a shriek as the ball hit her in the midsection, knocking her to her knees where she crouched, gasping for breath. She curled her arm over her abdomen as if in pain. Maeve stepped away from Quinn, careful to avoid his gaze. “How did you do that?” He gasped for breath also. “She did it.” Maeve pointed to Mortianna. “She gave me the Knowledge of the Ages.” “She did what?” Maeve met his incredulous gaze. “She said she gave me the power of the ages before throwing me into the oubliette.” She frowned and looked at her hands. “I’m not really sure what it means though.” Quinn laughed, and Maeve stared at him, startled. “She defeated herself. She gave you her powers and her ability.” He waved his hand at the woman who lay on the floor, glaring at both of them. “Mortianna was the keeper of the Knowledge and she gave it to you.” He looked at the woman who’d given birth to him. “You really didn’t know, did you? Only one person can hold the sum of the Knowledge at one time and you gave it away.”

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Stunned, Maeve looked at Mortianna, then back at Quinn. “I’m a witch?” She gulped. He nodded. “I’m a witch,” she repeated. Her knees sagged and he reached for her. “Steady now.” “I—” An enraged shriek tore them apart when Mortianna came up off the floor, a lethal Turkish knife in one hand. She pointed it at her son and charged. Maeve took a flying leap, barreling into the witch’s side and diverting her path. Without thinking, she grabbed for her boot-knife. Her attention divided, she stumbled over Mortianna’s cape, and together they fell with Maeve landing on top. She grabbed Mortianna’s wrist and watched as her expression turned from one of rage to one of surprise. She sprang to her feet, and her stomach turned when she saw both the Turkish knife and her boot-knife embedded in the witch’s chest. She staggered back, her feet tangling in the cape once more. She almost fell before strong arms encircled her waist and held her upright. Quinn. “I killed her,” she whispered. His arms tightened. Mortianna struggled to rise to her knees. Crawling, she crept to the casket, trails of blood marking her path. Staring raptly at her daughter’s face, she clawed at the glass, but her strength gave out and she fell to the floor. Her body brushed a small plaster column, tipping the vase of flowers to the ground. The vase shattered and spilled the bounty of cream-colored roses across the floor. “Bliss,” Mortianna whispered as blood erupted from her mouth. Her eyes glazed and her lips barely moved as she breathed her last words. “Forgive me.”

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Epilogue Tears spilled down her cheeks as Maeve watched Sinjin place a dozen red roses on the casket. Torchlight flickered across the faces of her friends as they gathered to bid farewell to Bliss. Conor MacNaughten stood at the head of the casket, his words soft and melodic in the still of the Samhain night. Jennifer Beaumont stood next to him, wiping tears surreptitiously as he spoke the final prayer. Alexandre stood next to her, his Armani armor in place and his expression stoic, but his eyes glimmered with unshed tears. Beside him stood Shai, who leaned on Val’s arm, both wearing stricken expressions. Maeve stood at the foot of the casket with Sunni who was dry-eyed and solemn beside her. Next came Fayne. The massive were-cat stood stone-faced, his arm around his weeping mate, Erihn. Sinjin stood next to her, his head bowed, his gaze fixed on the face of the woman he’d loved for so many years. Then there was Quinn. He stood beside Mac, his face expressionless. Only the tightness of his jaw hinted at his inner turmoil. After the death of Mortianna two days before, a whirlwind of activity had commenced. They’d buried the witch in an oak grove behind her house. Surrounded by the remains of her minions, Maeve hoped her tortured soul would find peace at last. Hilton, Sinjin’s butler, was found dead in the woods surrounding Aisling Crioch earlier in the day and he’d been laid to rest in the St. James family cemetery. Maeve

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would dearly miss the gruff man who’d snapped at her for entering the hall with wet boots yet concocted herbal teas when she was ill last month. Now, in Sinjin’s beloved Highlands, they attended to Bliss. Inwardly, she sighed. So much death had surrounded them in the past year and she could only hope for the sake of her friends that it would end soon. “Sinjin says this meadow is filled with heather in the warmer months,” Sunni whispered. “I’ll bet it’s lovely.” Maeve jerked back to awareness. Mac had fallen silent. “Yes,” her words were scratchy. She cleared her throat. “I think Bliss would be pleased.” The men stepped forward to take the ropes that lay strung beneath the casket. They lifted it and Jennifer and Shai removed the wooden slats that had held the coffin above the grave. Silently, the men lowered the casket into the hole. Maeve swallowed as Val and Fayne picked up shovels to complete their task. Quinn stopped Fayne. “Please.” He held out his hand for the shovel and the were-cat acquiesced and handed it to him. Sinjin followed suit, and soon both men shoveled the dark earth into the grave. Maeve flinched when the first shovelful hit the reinforced glass of the coffin. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she watched the two men who’d loved Bliss the most put her to rest. Once their task was complete, they all stood silently for a moment. Nothing moved, not even the night creatures. Then Mac held his hand out to Jennifer. Silent, she took it. He dropped a chaste kiss on her lips and they turned away. He grabbed a torch and they walked down the hill toward the house. Fayne reached for Erihn, pulling her into his arms. He dropped a kiss on her head before they, too, started down the track.

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Alexandre was next. He walked alone, his head high and his shoulders stiff. Maeve caught the look of longing Sunni gave him as he passed, ignoring her presence. Her shoulders slumped. Val came up behind Sunni and slid an arm around her, steering her toward the path. Shai joined them and, grabbing a torch, she linked an arm around her lover’s waist as they joined the procession. A lump lodged in her throat as she watched Quinn and Sinjin standing across the grave from one another. They were as different as night and day. Quinn as light as Sinjin was dark. Quinn was warmth and sunshine, Sinjin cool and deadly. It was the warmth that held her heart. Turning, she walked to the path with tears blurring her vision. More the fool was she to love a man who would never return her feelings. She’d made a huge mistake by walking away from him, then had compounded it by taking the life of his mother. Granted, Mortianna had been trying to kill him at the time, but murder was murder and Maeve had been the one to end Mortianna’s life. She sighed. She wasn’t cut out for this. All her life, all she’d wanted was to be a mother and a chef. Children and food were her two greatest passions and she had neither. “You forgot something.” She jerked when Quinn’s voice intruded. Hastily, she wiped her eyes before facing him. He stood a few feet away, his eyes red and his expression solemn. A torch flickered in his hand. “Sorry, I did forget, didn’t I?” She reached for the torch, surprised when he held it away from her. “No, I didn’t mean the torch, I meant something else.” She glanced at his other hand. Empty. She shook her head, not sure she could speak.

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Atonement

“You forgot me,” he whispered. Her heart leapt into her throat and she stepped back, unsure what to say. Surely he didn’t mean what she was thinking. “I could never forget you, Quinn.” He smiled and her toes curled. “That’s good because I have no intention of letting you ever forget me.” He reached for her hand. “Seeing that you and I will be together for a very long time, that should be impossible.” “Together?” Her voice was faint. “Like peanut butter and jelly.” With a gentle tug, he pulled her toward him. Their hands linked, he guided her arm around her back and pulled her into him. “It’s hard to forget someone when you wake up beside them every morning.” He leaned closer. A shiver of delight ran down her spine at the prospect of seeing his face day and night. “But I killed your mother,” she blurted, seconds before his lips touched hers. He pulled back. “Yes, and she was trying to kill me. You saved my life.” “I thought she was immortal. How did I kill her?” “She lost her powers when she used the binding spell. She would have survived if she hadn’t given you the Knowledge of the Ages. She literally threw her power away.” He shook his head. “While I regret Mortianna’s death with all my heart, she brought it on herself. If you hadn’t done it, I would have. I realize now that she wouldn’t have backed down no matter what the stakes were.” Tears overflowed once again as she sniffed and leaned into him. “You have to admit, it’ll make for some interesting stories for the grandchildren,” he chuckled. “What?” Maeve scrubbed at her cheeks. “Grandkids?” “Yes.” He released her enough to turn her toward the house. “Dozens of them.” “Dozens?” she stammered.

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“Yes.” He grinned, his expression turning mockingly lecherous. “I think we’d better get started soon, don’t you?” Her heart grew lighter as joy bubbled into her soul. She wasn’t sure what she’d done to deserve such a man, but she wasn’t taking any chances this time around. She was going to grab him while she had the chance. “Now, aren’t you forgetting something?” He frowned. “What?” “You haven’t asked me to marry you.” He stopped, his expression so comical she wanted to laugh. “Married? You want to get married?” “Oh, yes.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, relishing the feel of his steely frame against hers. “I want our children to have your name legitimately.” A silly grin spread across his face. “You’re serious? You really want to get married?” She nodded. “Okay.” He wrapped his free arm around her waist and hugged her tight, brushing a light kiss across her lips. She purred and nipped at his lower lip before she pulled away to see him watching her, love written on every inch of his face. Had anyone ever looked at her like that? Not until Quinn. Her heart swelled with joy. She laughed and pulled free of his arms. Taking his hand, she steered him down the hill. “That’s a very nice suit you have on.” He glanced down at the somber, black Perry Ellis suit. “Thanks.” His expression was perplexed. “I had to borrow it from Sinjin.” She released his hand to move in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. “Now, take it off.”

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About the Author J.C. Wilder left the world of big business to carry on conversations with the people who live in her mind, fictional characters that is. In her past she has worked as a software tester, traveled with an alternative rock band and currently volunteers for her local police department as a photographer. She lives in Central Ohio with 6,000 books and an impressive collection of dust bunnies. The award-winning author also writes as Dominique Adair.

J.C. welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

Also by J.C. Wilder Ellora’s Cavemen: Tales From the Temple II anthology In Moonlight anthology Men of SWAT: Tactical Maneuver Men of SWAT: Tactical Pleasure Shadow Dwellers 1: One With the Hunger Shadow Dwellers 2: Retribution Shadow Dwellers 3: Tempt Not the Cat Tactical Pleasure Things That Go Bump in the Night 2004 anthology ‘Twas the Knight Before Christmas

Writing as Dominique Adair Holly Last Kiss Party Favors anthology R.S.V.P. anthology Tied With a Bow anthology Xanthra Chronicles: Blood Law

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.

www.ellorascave.com