Placing his hand on her waist he pushed her aside, not hard enough to really hurt her, but enough to satisfy her masochistic craving.
“What is your name?” Drake demanded of the stranger, his eyes glinting malevolently.
“That hardly matters,” the youth sneered. “Let’s just say that I’m your replacement.”
Faster than a striking cobra, Drake moved across the room, seizing the younger vampire by the shoulders and sinking his fangs into his neck. It was all over in a matter of seconds. Ripping through flesh and bone, Drake decapitated the nameless fool who had disrespected him in his own house.
Dropping the severed head on the already blood-stained carpet, Drake used the cotton sheet to wipe his mouth before tossing it, along with all the other linen onto the floor, leaving only the bare mattress.
“You’re going to get this cleaned,” he growled, turning back to Genevieve. Her body glistened with sweat and her make-up was smudged beneath her eyes. She looked wanton and unbelievably desirable, but it still took every ounce of Drake’s willpower to yank her against him and cover her body with his.
Hours later Drake sat at the kitchen table. Despite the weariness that had settled into his very bones, sleep evaded him. Genevieve, on the other hand, had fallen into a sated slumber, surrounded by the carnage of the day’s events. He wondered idly what Quinn was doing now and then cursed his own naiveté. No doubt she was tucked up in bed with Tristan, the Guardian she had chosen over him. He had been foolish to confess his feelings for her at the bonfire. She would never defy the Guardians and she would never look at him in that way. Her loyalty and her passion were too strong. Still, he would help her. It was why he had stayed when she needed him. He would find her sister’s killer so that she could know peace, and then he would let her go.
Steeling himself, he placed one foot on the stairs when there was a knock on the door. Frowning, Drake moved to the window beside the front door and peered through the curtains. Standing on the porch, in a dress which he had last seen her wearing at a party during the Prohibition, stood Lenora.
Opening the door, a small smile played about his lips.
“Lenora. To what do I owe the honour?” He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms over his chest.
“You came looking for me, remember?” As always, her fangs were fully extended. Lenora so seldom ventured out in public that she never bothered to hide them.
“Do I even want to know how you found me?”
“Probably not. Now, are you going to leave me standing out here like some abandoned prom date, or are you going to let me in?”
“Genevieve is home.”
“Oh, how lovely. I haven’t had a good old-fashioned cat-fight in forever.”
Chuckling, Drake stepped aside.
Larger than life, Lenora swept into the living room, her eyes missing nothing as she scrutinised every inch of her surroundings.
“It’s very… quaint.”
“Oh you know me. I’ve always been a simple man.”
“You, my love, are anything but simple.”
“I would agree,” Genevieve announced, and they turned to see her coming down the stairs, her fangs bared. “You’re looking well, Lenora. I wouldn’t put you at a day over sixty.”
“Genevieve!” Lenora replied pleasantly, her gaze roaming up and down Genevieve’s naked body. “Good on you for not being ashamed of your body type.” Genevieve hissed furiously and Drake stepped between them, trying to compose himself.
“Ladies, ladies. Let’s all try to get along, shall we? Lenora, may I offer you something to drink?”
“Wine, please. Red, if you have.”
Drake moved into the kitchen and poured three glasses. When he stepped back into the living-room, Lenora was examining a small Monet on the far wall. Genevieve had covered herself in a thin cream blanket and was eyeing the older woman hatefully.
“I still love this painting,” Lenora announced, blissfully unconcerned. “I remember the day I gave it to you… it feels like just yesterday.” Genevieve choked on her wine.
“She gave it to you?” Drake didn’t answer and, satisfied that she had struck a nerve, Lenora turned her attention to a larger painting on the opposite wall. Wrinkling her nose, Drake saw her eyes flick to Genevieve. It was apparently obvious that the painting was more to Genevieve’s taste.
“Oh dear. This is rather vulgar, isn’t it? It cheapens the room – much like you do, dear,” she added over her shoulder. Drake grabbed Genevieve’s free hand in a vice-like grip just in time, and held her in place.
“Lenora, that’s enough,” he reproached.
“I’m only playing. You really shouldn’t be so sensitive, Genevieve. Besides, I don’t want to upset the apple-cart. Not when I’ve come to stay.”
“Stay?” Genevieve laughed.
“Yes, stay,” Lenora purred. “It’s been so long since I saw either of you,” she winked deliberately at Drake, “I thought it would be nice to spend some time together.”
After everything she had done for him after Charlotte’s death, Drake could not deny Lenora his hospitality.
“I do not want that bitch in my house,” Genevieve hissed. She had fled upstairs in a fit of rage and Drake had followed her. “I have enough on my plate, and, in case you’ve forgotten, my brother is still missing.”
“She is my guest, Genevieve,” Drake deliberately ignored the reference to Sebastian. “And I hardly think you have the right to protest after what I discovered in my bed this evening. Unwanted house guests seem to be the flavour of the day.”
“That stupid boy meant nothing to me,” she countered, “whereas you and Lenora have a history.”
“Exactly. History. There is nothing between us now. You,” he smiled indulgently down at her, pushing a lock of blonde hair off her face, “are the only woman in my life now.”
“I don’t want her here. I don’t care what she did for you all those years ago, you don’t owe her anything.”
“On the contrary, I owe her a great deal. I will not send her away.”
When she finally realised that nothing she said would change his mind, Genevieve had stormed out into the night claiming she needed to hunt. The cadaver upstairs was proof that this was not the case, but Drake let her go. He knew she would be back soon enough. Her jealous nature would not allow her to leave him alone with Lenora for long.
“What are you up to, Lenora?” he asked, when they were alone. They both knew she wasn’t here for a simple visit.
“I’ve come to help you, actually,” she replied. “You’re up to something, and, based on the questions you were asking, it’s dangerous.”
“I’m not up to anything.” He retrieved the bottle of wine from the kitchen and refilled their glasses. Genevieve’s remained untouched on the coffee table.
“How is your Guardian friend?”
“Not entirely pleased with me.”
“The women in your life generally aren’t.”
“It’s not like that.”
“It’s exactly like that,” she snapped. “Give me some credit; I’m not as self-absorbed as Genevieve. I know you, and despite your aversion to the Quest, you would never help a Guardian, not unless you had feelings for her.”
Drake didn’t argue because there was no point in denying it.
“She cares for you too?” Lenora pressed, her tone softer. When he didn’t answer she sighed. “She’s fighting it, isn’t she? All that Guardian superiority, it’s enough to make me sick to my stomach.”
“She’s a good person.”
“Aren’t they all? You will never be happy with her, you know that, right? She cannot fight her nature. And being near her only puts you in danger. She will turn on you… eventually. Her blood will prevail.”
“Why do you despise them so much?” he asked. “You have no interest in the Quest, so what inspires this hatred of Summerfeld’s protectors?”
“They hunt us! They kill our kind, regardless of our beliefs. I
sn’t that enough? I have no interest in finding the City, but do you think a Hunter would stop to listen? Would spare me? Never! The Guardians paint us all with the same brush.”
“Quinn doesn’t.”
“Oh, so she has a name, this Guardian who has bewitched you. Listen to me, Drake. You stay away from her. I will not let you die for their cause.”
“I made her a promise.”
“To find her sister’s killer?”
“Yes,” he sighed, swilling his wine in his glass and gazing into the ruby liquid as though he might find the answers he needed inside. “Once my promise is fulfilled, I will leave her alone.”
“For good?”
He met her gaze hollowly. “Yes.”
“Well, in that case, I will help you. And when this is over I can go back home, content in the knowledge that you will be safe.”
“I don’t suppose I could talk you out of it?” he mused. “Your being here doesn’t make my life any easier.” Lenora laughed gaily, and then turned serious once more.
“There is another reason I’m here,” she began, uncharacteristically hesitant, “it would seem that Genevieve’s brother has gone missing.” Drake kept his expression deadpan.
“I didn’t think you’d care about Sebastian’s whereabouts,” he mused lightly.
“I don’t,” she agreed, “but in his absence, a new council member has been appointed to take his seat.”
“That is of little concern to me.” A new council member meant nothing, just another enemy of the City.
“Actually, it does,” Lenora murmured, her face somber, “its Charlotte.”
Drake recoiled as if she had physically struck him; the air driven from his lungs. Even now, after all the years that had passed, it pained him to hear her name. Charlotte had been his greatest failure, and his greatest regret, for centuries. He had known of her devotion to the Quest, but he had believed that she would tire of it, as he had. Obviously that was not the case. If what Lenora said was true, Charlotte now held a position of power, with all the might of the vampire race behind her. The thought alone was terrifying.
“She is advocating that vampires stop seeking the City and devote themselves entirely to hunting down its defenders.” Lenora’s husky voice interrupted his musings. “You are placing yourself in a very dangerous position. If Charlotte is hunting Guardians, and you are helping them, it is only a matter of time before your paths collide.”
“Charlotte is not stronger than me,” Drake growled.
“It is not your body I am worried about,” Lenora retorted fiercely, “it’s your heart! I know the grief you endured after losing her. How can you be sure that you will not hesitate… or worse, join her?”
“I will never join the Quest!”
“Not even for Charlotte? The girl you loved so deeply that losing her almost destroyed you? Are you certain that your feelings for the Guardian can withstand Charlotte’s memory?”
He could not answer because to do so would be a lie. He was not ashamed to admit that he had feelings for Quinn, but he had loved Charlotte more than life itself, and Lenora knew it. When she had found him, he had been a broken shadow of the man he once was. It was Lenora who had helped him recover – had encouraged him to harden his heart in order to move on. For Lenora, it was a bittersweet and selfless action. The Drake who she had met was vulnerable and felt deeply. Charlotte had exposed a very human side of him, a side that Lenora believed was his true essence. She had known him before Charlotte as a cruel, merciless creature who despised almost everybody, and she far preferred the man he had become through loving Charlotte, but she also realised that he would not survive unless he changed. His grief would overwhelm him, as hers had almost done. Lenora had loved and lost, too, and she knew from experience that the only way to survive was to not feel anything.
It had worked. Drake had healed, met Genevieve and moved on, but every now and then, Lenora caught a glimpse of the compassion he had locked away in the deepest part of him. She could see it now when he spoke of Quinn. In time it would weaken him, break down his resolve and expose his vulnerability. Lenora could not allow that to happen.
Chapter 23
Quinn headed down the cobbled street keeping to the shadows. As she rounded a corner she caught a glimpse of Tristan heading in the opposite direction, towards her house. She ducked behind a lavender hedge, waiting until the sound of his footsteps had all but disappeared, before continuing on her way.
She didn’t call for the unicorns until she had crossed the cornflower field and entered the woods on the opposite side. She couldn’t afford for anyone to overhear her. Emitting a low, melodious whistle, she waited, ears pricked for the faintest sound, and after a while she heard the unicorn approaching. To her surprise it was Zinnia who answered her call. The dominant mare did not leave Primera’s side often, and in the fifty years she had ruled alongside him, Quinn could not recall her ever answering a summons from either Guardian or Fae.
“Easy girl,” Quinn crooned, stroking Zinnia’s broad neck. The mare was quivering, and she stamped the ground in obvious distress. Murmuring gentle nonsense in an effort to calm her, Quinn threaded her fingers through the mare’s mane and slowly lifted herself up onto her back. Zinnia reared up immediately, almost unseating her. “Whoa,” Quinn leaned forward over her ears trying to steady herself. One by one, ghostly shadows appeared around them. The entire herd had surrounded them, snorting, stamping and whinnying desperately. Quinn quieted her own fears, urging her mount forward. She had never known the unicorns to behave like this.
When Zinnia finally responded to the pressure of her legs, Quinn was astounded by the breakneck pace at which they hurtled through the trees. Her crossbow banged painfully against her back with every stride. By the light of the full moon she could see immediately that they were heading in the wrong direction. Over and over she tried to steer Zinnia in an easterly direction, her legs aching with her efforts, but the mare would not be swayed off course.
They were galloping near the waterfall when Primera joined them. Hurtling in from the right, he raced beside them, his eyes rolling frantically. At least three hands taller than Zinnia, Quinn could see his ears flattened against his head. The herd fanned out behind them, thundering towards something that Quinn feared she wouldn’t want to see.
When they finally came to a halt, Quinn’s cheeks burned from the wind that had whipped at her face during the journey.
“Oh no,” she gasped, as the unicorns converged around her. The pale form that lay in the long grass was barely recognisable, but Quinn knew immediately what had caused such distress among the peaceful herd. Crouching beside the mangled body of a newborn foal, Quinn felt the bile rise in her throat. The dazzling silver coat was stained crimson with blood. Swallowing, Quinn clenched her jaw and examined the small corpse. As she reached over to lift the foal’s head, Primera let out a desolate whinny.
“It’s okay,” Quinn spoke gently, her heart breaking. The foal could only be his – Primera was the herd’s sole breeding stallion. Glancing around, she thought she could identify the mother, too. Her stomach was still slightly distended, and she was clearly weaning… and visibly devastated. The other mares congregated around her, nudging her shoulders and offering silent support. Turning away from the pitiful sight, Quinn once again reached out and lifted the sweet head. The spiraled horn was only a few inches long and the mane still had the soft, fluffy texture of a newborn. The foal couldn’t be more than a week old.
Lowering her gaze, Quinn noted a gaping wound in the foal’s neck. There were also bloody gashes across the hindquarters. Breathing slowly in through her mouth, she slowly lowered the foal’s head back onto his shoulder, leaving him peaceful in death, and got to her feet. A cold fury was washing over her, starting in her head and making its way down her spine, consuming every part of her.
Turning back, she met Primera’s anguished gaze and made her decision. In a few short strides, she vaulted onto the stallion’s back. If the foal’
s death was anything to go by, she might already be too late. She needed the stallion’s unprecedented speed.
Quinn had never known anything like it. There was a reason Guardians didn’t ride the strongest unicorn in Summerfeld, other than the fact that he wouldn’t usually tolerate it. It was dangerous. Primera streaked east so fast that it seemed his hooves didn’t even touch the ground. Quinn felt as though they were flying, united in a common goal. As the Lunar Grove came into view, Quinn pressed her heels into Primera’s flanks, and he sped up, moving even faster than before. Unlike Zinnia, Primera responded instantly to every touch and signal Quinn gave him. She set their course diagonally, until they were skirting the edge of the grove, the trees blurring into one solid line beside them. Quinn pulled Primera back, slowing him enough that she could leap safely from his back. She still hit the ground hard, rolling three times before she managed to stop. Primera continued on, hurtling away from the dark woods.
Quinn had been on her way here when Zinnia had taken her in a new direction. Regardless of what the other Guardians said, Quinn wasn’t about to let another ward die. She had only come to protect Rafe, but what she had just witnessed made her even more certain that the only way to truly do that was to take Caleb out of the equation.
Pulling the crossbow from her back, she loaded the first arrow, keeping the bow at chest height as she placed one foot in front of the other. Her dagger was nestled in the sheath on her belt, easily accessible. She moved through the woods becoming more anxious by the minute. It was too quiet, too still. Quinn doubled back and moved further north, towards the most remote part of Lunar Grove. The moon shone brightly above her, filtering through the trees and setting every shadow skittering towards her.
Quinn heard howling in the distance and she broke into a run, leaping fallen logs and boulders as the wolves’ chorus grew louder, letting the sound guide her to them. Then the pack was moving, away from her, and she increased her pace as she tried to follow them. They were moving quickly and she cut through the trees, hoping to head them off. One particular wolf’s deep, guttural timbre caught her attention. It could only be Caleb.
Guardians of Summerfeld: Full Series: Books 1-4 Page 42
