He was furious. Quinn could hear it in the tone of his voice. She didn’t blame him; the physical reaction they had had to one another defied logic and she wanted answers just as badly as he did, but she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t open herself up to the possibility of anything between them. It was too selfish and far too dangerous. The wards were in a fragile position and the Guardians needed to be united, now, more than ever. So instead, she remained silent, keeping her thoughts to herself and letting him believe the worst of her.
When they finally pulled into Lenora’s drive, she slowed to a halt and switched off the engine.
“I need you to go,” she finally turned to face him. “It’s better if I tell them alone. You can speak to Daniel,” she added, as a small frown crossed his brow, “but this isn’t the way to do it. Let me speak to them first. Stay close – I’ll call you just as soon as I’ve explained everything and made sure that he’ll stop long enough to listen.”
The growling of the motorcycle engine behind them broke the oppressive silence, as Austin revved the throttle impatiently, and, in the time it took Quinn to turn and signal that she would only be a minute, Drake was gone.
Braddon was the first to reach the car, and his relief at having her back safely was second only to his shock at finding a new Guardian in tow. Isaiah immediately gathered everyone together in the large dining-room. Quinn noticed that Lenora, Balthazar, the wolves and a few members of the Fae were also called, and it struck her that change was well and truly upon them. No longer was Guardian business confined to the ranks of those branded with Eldon’s charmed tattoos. Every person in this room had proven themselves worthy of protecting the wards. They were united by a common enemy. She also noticed that, while everyone else pretended not to, something had changed between Isaiah and their host. It wasn’t anything she could put her finger on, but small things, the way Isaiah held out Lenora’s chair, the way her hand brushed his as she turned to thank him. Quinn wasn’t too surprised. She alone knew the depth of their feelings for one another and if they had decided to act on those feelings she was happy for them.
Quinn remained silent as Isaiah explained everything to Austin. More than once she caught Lenora staring at her thoughtfully, but she averted her gaze, knowing full well that Lenora wanted news of Drake. Usually, new recruits were briefed alone, but Austin took everything in his stride, maintaining an outward calm that impressed everyone present. Quinn wondered once again if his military background had anything to do with it.
Invariably, the conversation turned to the allies present in the room; the gypsies, the vampires, and the reason for them being there. Sensing where the conversation was headed and before Austin could bring it up, Quinn spoke.
“Drake was with me when we found Austin,” she announced. It came out defensively and Quinn cringed. From the reactions of the others, it was obvious that this was startling news to everyone, with the exception of Lenora and Isaiah.
“Drake is an enemy of Summerfeld,” Daniel reminded her eventually, his body going rigid with anger.
“There is no Summerfeld,” Quinn replied calmly. “The City is gone, and the only way to save the wards is to open the Rose Gate. We need all the help we can get. And I trust him,” she added defiantly.
“I agree with Quinn,” Isaiah said, ignoring Daniel’s look of disgust. “We should not turn away those who would help us. We cannot do this alone.” The fact that none of them would be here if it weren’t for Lenora, was directly implied.
“Drake has requested a meeting,” Quinn continued, her eyes never leaving Daniel’s face. “He would like to speak with you, personally.”
“No.” It was final.
“You may decline,” Isaiah pointed out, “but you cannot speak for all of us. I, for one, would like to hear what he has to say.”
“So would I.” Braddon’s words surprised Quinn more than anything else.
“Me too,” Piper announced bravely, and, one by one, the Guardians nodded their agreement. Only the other Hunters; Daniel, Liam and Garrett remained uncompromising.
Quinn took a deep breath. “There is one more thing you should all know. Drake is not like other vampires. Sunlight doesn’t affect him. He’s a day walker.” In the chaos that followed this revelation she got to her feet. “It is not my story to tell,” she insisted, in answer to the barrage of questions being fired at her. “I will arrange a meeting tomorrow morning. He can tell us himself.”
Isaiah got to his feet, too, silencing everyone with a wave of his hand.
“Never before have we been so vulnerable,” he began, in his rich, soothing voice. “Summerfeld has fallen, and many of our precious wards along with it. But, at the same time, never before have we been so united. We have forged new friendships and unlikely alliances, but the prophecy speaks of the trials of change and I believe that time is upon us. This war is coming to an end and there is no doubt that we will suffer terrible losses. We may not all live to see the Rose Temple opened,” the words were sombre, “but Wintyr will be released and all the magic of the Fae along with him. The City is gone, but Summerfeld will live on. We will prevail.”
In the silence that followed, Quinn was struck by the fact that there was no victorious outcry, no loud, uproarious agreement, but instead, a sense of silent camaraderie. Lenora took Isaiah’s hand, and Braddon clapped Balthazar on the back. Piper wiped away a tear, and a look of grim resolve settled on her sweet face. Isaiah was right; they were united, more than ever before. Tristan had betrayed them but he had unwittingly brought them all closer together, and together, they could achieve the impossible.
As they slowly dispersed, Quinn headed upstairs, wanting nothing more than to take a shower and sleep, but first, she needed to let Drake know that the others had agreed to hear him out. Pulling her phone from the drawer where she had left it, she saw her battery was about to die. A small envelope flashed on the top left of the screen, signalling a message. She dialled voicemail, expecting to hear an irate message from one of the others for leaving her phone behind. Instead, what she heard sent an icy terror down her spine. The message was short and the voice was not one she had ever expected to hear again.
“Quinn?” The terror was undeniable. “Quinn!”
A click sounded, signalling the end of the message and the phone dropped from her hand, landing on the carpet near her feet as her legs collapsed beneath her. There was no mistaking that voice.
Avery.
Chapter 22
Inside the City of Summerfeld, preparations were being made to leave. Aleksei would be staying at Charlotte’s home while she and the others did his dirty work. Charlotte was still seething over his blunt and cruel dismissal of her, and the thought of bowing to his every whim had lost a lot of appeal. Charlotte was used to getting her own way. She had envisaged Aleksei being eternally grateful for everything she had achieved; had deluded herself with aspirations of becoming queen of their race and ruling at his side. It never occurred to her that she would be just another servant in his nameless, faceless army. Charlotte bristled with righteous indignation. After everything she had accomplished she would have her reward, and, if Aleksei would not grant it, she would seek it through other means.
“Sloane,” she crooned, as he opened his door. If he was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it. Charlotte had been so convinced she could seduce Aleksei, she had made her intentions fairly obvious. The bitter burn of humiliation washed over her, but she cast it aside, smiling up at the councilman. He moved aside so she could enter the house he had occupied since his arrival. There was a small cradle beside the sofa and Charlotte felt heady as the lingering scent of faery assaulted her senses.
“Did we find the child?” she asked, wondering which of her people had experienced the pleasure of feeding on a faery baby.
“Not to my knowledge.”
Charlotte sighed, “A pity.” She moved across the room to the tiny kitchen. The musky scent of wolf was faintly detectable here. “It appears that thei
r friendships transcend species,” she mused aloud.
“They were always close,” Sloane told her. “Before the war, we all lived in harmony with one another.” He noticed how she curled her lip in disdain, a reminder of her youth. She did not know anything, this gorgeous, feckless, creature. All she knew was blood and lust.
“What do you want?” he asked eventually, when it seemed she would not get to the point of her visit.
“Do I need a reason to see you?” she feigned hurt.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On what your true intentions are. Don’t,” he held up a hand, silencing her. “I may not be immune to your charms but do not take me for a fool. You used me to get onto the council, which I had no problem with, seeing as how I was handsomely rewarded,” he dipped his head graciously, “but you have your seat now. So I guess my question, Charlotte, is what else is it that you want?”
Charlotte chose her words carefully. If she said too much, she would be committing blatant treason.
“I am concerned for your safety,” she said, injecting just a trace of fretful unease into her voice. “Aleksei has assigned you a dangerous mission.”
“He has,” Sloane agreed gravely, although in truth, the mission to source weapons from mankind was not dangerous at all. It was simply below him, as Charlotte well knew.
“I do wonder why he couldn’t have sent someone less,” she paused, as if searching for the right word, “valuable to perform this task. Perhaps he doesn’t realise your worth?” she let the question hang in the space between them. To her satisfaction, a resentful frown creased Sloane’s brow, making it clear that the same thought had occurred to him.
“I am sure he has his reasons,” he replied, sounding far less sure of himself. “Perhaps he simply needed someone he could trust. I have, after all, been in his inner circle for centuries.” Sloane’s arrogance had always been his downfall, Charlotte thought wryly, but she saw through his facade. The councilman was furious.
“Which is why I thought he would prefer to keep you here, at his side,” she pointed out archly, “instead of sending you out like a common henchman. After all your years of service,” she shook her head, indignantly, “I would expect him to treat you with a little more regard. The way that he speaks to you is most offensive, given how much we have done for him.” Again she fell silent. Sloane could not know that she was holding her breath, waiting to see if her ploy had worked. His face remained impassive, but she could practically hear the cogs of his mind working.
“Forgive me,” Charlotte spoke, before he could fully comprehend her veiled accusation, “I should not question our master’s decisions. It was foolish of me to have come, I only wished to see you before you left and wish you safe travels.” Without waiting for an answer she swept toward the door.
“Charlotte!” he called her back as she reached the threshold and Charlotte’s lips curved into a knowing smile. Composing her features, she turned to face him.
“Yes?”
“Close the door.” Once she had complied, he continued. “It is true that Aleksei disgraces me in front of the others,” he admitted, drawing her into his own self-absorbed sense of pride, “but there is not much I can do about it.” There was an underlying question in his words and Charlotte seized the invitation willingly.
“There is something we could do,” she murmured, stepping closer.
“I’m listening.” He would have her speak first, she realised, so that if she was not on the same page, he could feign ignorance or outright disapproval.
“Aleksei is not the king we envisaged,” Charlotte came clean. “I am starting to realise that perhaps he is not the best person to rule us, after all.”
“I tend to agree,” Sloane admitted, and just like that, an alliance was formed, born, not of respect for each other, but of a mutual enmity toward another.
As Charlotte picked her way through the cobbled streets toward Tristan’s house, she wondered how she could best use Sloane to her advantage. Aleksei had spurned her, made it obvious that she would never be treated any differently to the legion of vampires he commanded, let alone ever rule at his side. After everything she had achieved, this was unacceptable. She would do his bidding because she had little choice, but she would make him pay.
Tristan was not happy to hear of their plan to leave the City.
“We shouldn’t leave yet,” he insisted. As much as he wanted out of Summerfeld, he would never be truly free until this war was over, and that would only happen when the wards were destroyed. New Guardians stood between the vampires and that goal, Guardians who would report here when they were branded. Charlotte took a seat on the sofa, accepting the glass of red wine she had demanded. She eyed the massive painting of Avery with a look of pure loathing. In truth, it was Avery’s twin sister, Quinn, who she hated most, but the resemblance between them was remarkable and, as she gazed upon Avery’s portrait, she saw only Quinn, and the triumphant look in her eyes when Drake had chosen her over Charlotte.
“Why?’ she asked eventually, tearing her eyes from the image.
“Lucas and Blair both died in the battle. Their new Guardian replacements will have been branded instantly, and as soon as they have retrieved their crystals they will report here,” Tristan explained.
“We will leave a small contingent here to wait, while we search for the others,” Charlotte pointed out. “Any new Guardians will be imprisoned, not killed, so that the threat is contained. Besides, Aleksei doesn’t believe the crystals are of any importance anymore. He is satisfied that as long as we have yours, the Guardians cannot open the Rose Gate.” Tristan didn’t respond to the mention of the Gateway that would open the Rose Temple. Knowing he needed leverage in case Charlotte went back on her word to keep him safe, he had kept its location a secret.
A knock at the door distracted them both and Tristan moved to open it, knowing that Charlotte would never deign to do so. He recognised the vampire at the door as one of her many personal henchmen, and stepped aside, allowing him in.
“Miss Charlotte, there’s been an incident,” the vampire stammered, and Charlotte narrowed her eyes.
“Leave us,” she instructed Tristan, who had to vacate his own home so that she could have her privacy. A minute later he heard the sound of glass smashing and he bolted back inside. Charlotte was on her feet, quivering with rage. Across the room, on the floor below Avery’s portrait, lay the shattered remains of her glass. Wine dripped from the canvas onto the floor and Tristan felt his own temper flare at the sight of the ruined painting.
“What happened?” he asked, as the male vampire beat a hasty retreat.
“It would seem your errant wife has escaped,” Charlotte growled.
“What?” Forgetting himself, Tristan took a step toward her. Charlotte extended her fangs and he stopped, only a few feet away. “You promised me my wife would be safe!” he hissed, clenching his fists into balls at his sides.
“Your wife murdered one of my oldest servants!” Charlotte retaliated. She was seething. Not only had Avery escaped the dungeon, but she had killed Frederick, Charlotte’s oldest, most loyal servant.
When she had sent for most of her mansion staff to assist in the attack on Summerfeld, she had left Frederick to watch over the Guardian. Confined to the dungeon prison, weakened, and in no state to defend herself, Charlotte had believed the woman would be of little concern until they returned, but she had underestimated Avery. Just as she had underestimated her bitch of a sister who had stolen Drake away from right under her nose. Charlotte vowed she would kill them both, personally.
“How could you let this happen?” Tristan was unconcerned with Frederick’s demise.
“In case you have forgotten, I kept your wife alive, even when you failed to get her to confess the location of her crystal!” she hissed furiously. “We should have just killed her then.”
“That wasn’t part of the deal! Avery was to be kept safe until all this is over.”
“We made a deal!” Tristan repeated, his brain still trying to process the fact that, after all this time, Avery had escaped.
“Yes, I know. You would help me win this war, and, when all the wards had been destroyed and the Guardian charm was broken, I would compel your wife to forget everything about it and you could play happy family with your brats until you both grew old and died,” Charlotte sneered, “I remember.”
Taking a seat, she smoothed back her dark hair and lowered her voice. “Might I remind you how much trouble I have gone to for you? Do you think it was easy finding someone so like her for Caleb and Tane to maul that the Guardians would believe her dead? Replicating her tattoo so that they wouldn’t question her identity? I would think you might be a little more grateful.”
Tristan pulled at his own unruly blond hair.
“You have to find her,” he insisted. “She couldn’t have got far. Your men can still bring her back.”
“I will have my people scour the area,” Charlotte relented, “but she’s got a head start.” She was infinitely relieved that she had not told Aleksei of Avery’s confinement. If he had known, his fury on learning of her escape would be terrifying.
“You have to find her!” Tristan repeated frantically.
“Calm down!” Charlotte warned. “It doesn’t matter if we don’t find her because she’ll come to us, remember? After all, Avery doesn’t know the City has fallen.”
Her words made sense and went a long way toward calming Tristan. Avery would head straight for Summerfeld. The Guardians changed their phones every year and she would have no way of contacting any of the others. The only logical course of action would be for her to come here.
Guardians of Summerfeld: Full Series: Books 1-4 Page 68
