Guardians of Summerfeld: Full Series: Books 1-4

by Melissa Delport

  “Enough!” Avery’s voice broke the spell and she wrestled Quinn’s arm from Drake’s grasp. Quinn hadn’t even heard her sister return. She had forgotten about everything and everyone, forgotten that a battle still waged outside of the stillness of these four walls. Drake’s chest heaved with emotion and Quinn looked stunned, getting dazedly to her feet with Avery’s assistance.

  “What have you done?” Avery whimpered, as the yells echoing around the stables became louder and more discernible. “What have you done?”

  Avery’s desperation pulled Quinn together. Her wrist was on fire, but not the same wrist Drake had just fed from. Her branded arm, where the black Hunter tattoo marked the pale skin, seared with the heat of a thousand suns. Ignoring the pain, she pulled down her sleeve and moved away from Drake as he got to his feet. Without another word, they fled out into the chaos of the night.

  Chapter 42

  Isaiah swung his sword again and again as the vampires converged around him. Most of the Guardians were back, fighting alongside him, and with renewed purpose, they fought tooth and nail against those who would harm the wards. None of the vampires had followed the herd or the Fae who had escaped with them, but there were still innocent lives to be protected here.

  It seemed that the Guardians were gaining ground – the vampire numbers were dwindling and so far not a single Guardian had fallen - although they were not without injury. The Orochian was still picking off vampires, focusing on the area around Piper, who was seriously injured and barely able to defend herself. Isaiah noticed that the gypsies had congregated around the young Guardian, doing their utmost to fend off her attackers. They had gotten their hands on stakes, each and every one, including a concussed Jonas. No doubt his presence added to Monique’s focus of attack. She wouldn’t let the vampires hurt him, not if she could help it.

  Monique, however, wasn’t omnipotent, and eventually, it was inevitable that she would fail. The Orochian had just streaked back up into the air when a wiry female vampire seized the opportunity, darting forward and snatching at Cara, who she recognised from her confinement in the City. Zebulon, however, shoved his wife aside, and, before any of the others could react, the vampire had snapped his neck. Cara screamed so loudly that the air around them seemed to absorb and magnify the sound, and in the instant that Zebulon’s body dropped lifelessly to the ground, Balthazar lunged forward and drove the stake with ruthless force through the vampire’s chest. He only just missed her heart, but Rowena didn’t. Her stake scraped against his as she too attacked and the vampire’s life was cut short as abruptly as Zebulon’s had been. Together, the newly married couple jerked their stakes free and steadied themselves, unable to give in to their grief while still under attack. Cara had crumpled to the ground, cradling Zebulon’s body, as the others instinctively formed a protective circle around her.

  “Enough!” The word was hurled into the night, so loudly that it drew everyone’s attention. Abruptly, the fighting ceased, all eyes turning to face Charlotte who stood on the front lawn. Her brown eyes were maniacal in her pretty face, her body heaving with emotion. Gripped tightly against her chest, a stake pressed up against her heart, was Lenora.

  Nobody moved. Charlotte’s threat was clear. She had taken Lenora because she knew of Drake’s affection for her, but nothing prepared Charlotte for what followed.

  “No!” the cry came, not from Drake, but from the Slayer, and Charlotte’s eyes widened in shock and triumph. Moving forward, Isaiah’s eyes never left Lenora’s face as the crowd parted to let him through. “Let her go,” Isaiah called across the space between them.

  “Isaiah, no!” Daniel yelled, sensing what he was about to do.

  “Your sword, Slayer,” Charlotte hissed, pressing the stake into Lenora’s chest so that she gasped in pain.

  “Don’t do it,” Lenora pleaded with Isaiah, even as tears of pain streamed from her eyes. Isaiah ignored her. Without hesitation, he tossed the sword onto the ground at Charlotte’s feet and the Guardians gave a collective gasp of horror. Charlotte weighed her options. She could not win this battle – she had lost too many of her people and it was time to flee - but her sadistic nature called for blood. Expertly, she pulled back her arm so that the stake was pressed against Lenora’s back.

  “Pick it up,” she instructed. Gingerly, Lenora bent over and retrieved the sword, holding it limply at her side. Drake watched helplessly. He knew the look on Charlotte’s face. She would kill Lenora, of that there was no doubt; to punish Isaiah, to punish him.

  “You want her?” Charlotte taunted Isaiah. “Come and get her!”

  Drake stepped forward but Isaiah moved too quickly for anyone to stop him. Quinn lost sight of him for only a second through the crowd, but she heard Lenora’s howl of anguish and, as the crowd parted again, she watched in abject horror as Isaiah slumped to the ground before her, run through with his own sword.

  Pulling it free with a roar of agony, Lenora tossed it aside and collapsed on top of him. The Guardians darted forward as one, but it was too late. Charlotte was gone, and the Slayer lay dying on the soft grass.

  Chapter 43

  Charlotte had abandoned the vampires who remained, and, in the meleé that followed, the Guardians tore through them, their despair fuelling their bloodlust. Channon, unable to control herself any longer, shifted fully and the other wolves followed suit. They fought with renewed vigour, their eyes glowing yellow, their desolate howls filling the air. It wasn’t long before not a single vampire remained and the air was thick with ash.

  Quinn, however, sat on the ground at Isaiah’s side, tears streaming down her face. Lenora’s pain echoed in all of them as, one by one, the Guardians, werewolves, Fae, gypsies and everyone else who had fought so valiantly, knelt around him.

  Isaiah lifted his hand, touching Lenora’s cheek, and she clutched it desperately, her eyes closing as her tears splashed down onto his face. Her hair blew gently off her face as the Orochian landed on the lawn and Monique scrambled off his back hurtling toward them. When she caught sight of Isaiah, she slumped to the ground in disbelief, and Jonas barely caught her as she fell. Daniel gazed down at his oldest friend, his eyes dry. The pain was almost too much and no tears would come. Isaiah gave a gurgling cough but nobody tried to help. There was nothing anyone could do.

  “I love you,” Isaiah murmured, still gazing at Lenora, and she gave a wracking sob.

  “I love you too,” she gasped, “so very much.” He let his gaze linger on her face for a few more moments and then his eyes shifted to Quinn who sat on his other side.

  “Quinn,” he murmured, “there is something you need to know.” Another rasping gurgle sounded in his chest and Quinn shook her head.

  “Don’t try to talk,” she insisted. The words were barely audible.

  Finding Daniel’s face, Isaiah nodded as a silent message passed between them - the last remaining original Guardians.

  “She needs to know,” he murmured insistently. Against his better judgement, Daniel nodded. “You have to tell her,” Isaiah finished quietly, and then his eyes closed, and with one last shuddering breath, he was still.

  Nobody moved. Most of the women were crying, as were a few members of the Fae. Evangeline stepped forward, placing a hand over Isaiah’s eyes and closing them, uttering words in a language that had long been forgotten. The wolves had shifted back and they stood dazed, staring down at Isaiah. The dull sound of hooves on soft grass reached them and Kellan rushed forward to meet the Fae who were returning now that the danger had passed.

  Dazedly, Quinn pushed off the grass, getting to her feet and lurching away from the gruesome sight. She couldn’t comprehend his words, nor did she care what they meant. She could think no further than the fact that her mentor, her friend, the bravest of them all, was gone. She would never again hear his low, soothing voice; never again feel the warmth of his hand on her shoulder as he encouraged her to be better, to embrace her purpose. As she stumbled to her knees, she noticed the gleaming silver
hilt of Isaiah’s sword on the grass. The blade shone crimson with his blood, the blood of the most compassionate man she had ever known.

  Without thinking, she picked it up, her heart breaking. Drake watched, wishing he could take away her pain, knowing there was nothing he could do to ease her shattered soul. Cursing Charlotte, cursing every vampire who had ever pledged their allegiance to the Quest, he vowed that he would not rest until the bloodshed stopped.

  And that was when Quinn screamed; a blood-curdling, spine-chilling sound that rent the air and froze the blood in his veins. Her body convulsed, her back arching so violently that he thought her spine would snap. He moved faster than anyone else could. As he reached her, she collapsed, her body limp in his arms, her face so pale he thought for one horrifying, heart-stopping moment that she had died. Her dark lashes swept her cheeks and Drake prayed like he had never prayed before that she would open her eyes, those exquisite violet-blue eyes that haunted his dreams. It couldn’t be over. Not now, not when she had finally let him in. Not when only minutes ago she had confessed she loved him.

  At the same moment that Quinn’s eyes had closed, Braddon gave a guttural bellow, dropping to his knees, and then reeling forward, face first. Torn, the Guardians rushed forward, trying to help, but Daniel beat them to it. He examined Braddon for only a moment before hastening over to Quinn. One quick look told him all he needed to know.

  “Get away from her!” Daniel yelled, and Drake’s temper spiked, believing that the Guardian was blaming him for what had happened. And then he realised what it was that Daniel was trying to show him, and a numbness came over him as his body tried to protect him from the horrifying truth. Quinn’s tattoo was no longer black. It was red as blood. “You need to get away from her,” Daniel continued, insistently. “If she wakes she could hurt you.”

  “No,” Drake shook his head, his eyes fixed on the vivid red brand. “She can’t be... she wouldn’t...”

  “She is and she would,” Daniel interrupted, but his voice was kinder, more gentle. “I’m sorry, Drake, but you need to get away from her. Go round the back of the house. Take Lenora, too,” he added, and Drake glanced over to where his friend was still sobbing over Isaiah’s lifeless form.

  “I need to know that she’s okay,” Drake whispered.

  “You don’t have to go far,” Daniel murmured.

  “I need to...”

  “We will keep you updated,” Daniel promised. “She’s going to be fine. Listen.” Drake did as he was told and closed his eyes, hearing the steady beating of Quinn’s heart. “She’ll be okay,” Daniel continued, his voice filling the space between heartbeats.

  Drake didn’t open his eyes as he got to his feet. Only when he had turned away did he open them, putting one foot in front of the other until he reached Lenora. Crouching beside her, he gently pulled her to her feet. Lenora didn’t protest. She buried her face in Drake’s chest, her shoulders heaving as she sobbed. Drake didn’t say a word. Instead, he lifted her into his arms and carried her away from the others, away from Isaiah’s body, away from the woman he loved.

  When Drake was gone, Daniel sat with his head in his hands, contemplating what it all meant. Isaiah was right; he needed to tell Quinn the truth. Whether she was the one mentioned in the prophecy was yet to be determined, but she deserved the truth. They all did. Tonight had changed everything. Quinn had replaced Isaiah as the Slayer, and her father had taken her place as a Hunter. A new Guardian would be coming, the white tattoo branded on his or her arm leading the newly-summoned Guardian to what had, until recently been Braddon’s crystal. Dawn was coming and, for the moment, at least, they were safe, but the vampires would return. Charlotte had not anticipated this battle and yet she had still rallied a small army against them. She would return with a force they could not stand against. Never before had there been such rapid succession; so many untrained Guardians in their ranks. Now, when they needed their strength the most, they were at their most vulnerable, and their Slayer was a girl who might be the only one who could save them or who might condemn them all. Daniel sat beside Quinn and waited for her to wake.

  Chapter 44

  When Quinn opened her eyes it was still dark. She could hear voices, fading in and out.

  “Why did she pass out?” Avery was asking.

  “I have no idea,” Daniel replied. “It shouldn’t happen that way. Eldon’s magic doesn’t allow for the Slayer to be vulnerable upon turning.”

  Deep in the recesses of Quinn’s mind, she answered the question: the blood loss. She had given Drake a fair amount of her blood, and she had been weakened as a result. She would probably have passed out anyway, even without the added stress of the scorching tattoo. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes.

  Avery and Daniel loomed over her, and Quinn blinked, slowly focusing on their concerned faces. The dew-drenched grass had seeped through her clothes, and she shivered slightly.

  “What...what happened?” she asked, but their faces gave away nothing. And then she remembered the white hot pain, and she lifted her wrist, her eyes finding her tattoo.

  “We’ve moved Lenora and the others to the back of the house,” Daniel spoke plainly, while her father watched her intently, trying to gauge her reaction. Quinn could sense them, even from here, and her first thought was to find them, to slay them all, but she forced herself to stay still, breathing slowly in and out through her mouth.

  “Where is Drake?”

  “He’s with them,” Avery reassured her, and in that moment, everything that had happened between them fell away. Avery squeezed Quinn’s hand, her eyes frantic with worry. “He didn’t want to leave you, but we thought it was for the best until you could get a handle on your emotions.”

  Quinn tried to assess what she was feeling. She was angry, furious at what Charlotte had done, and she wanted vengeance, but strangely, her strongest emotion was grief.

  “Isaiah,” she choked, the memory of what had happened coming back to her. Neither Daniel nor her sister responded, but she saw her pain reflected in their eyes. Swallowing down the emotion that rose in her chest at the thought of the fallen Guardian, Quinn reached out again, trying to get a sense of how she would react to the vampires. It had taken Isaiah years of solitude to master his Slayer instincts. She could feel them, simmering below the surface, but her primary concern was for her friends’ safety. She needed to know that they were all right.

  “I won’t hurt them,” she spoke without hesitation, and, as she said the words she knew they were true. She wouldn’t hurt her friends, no matter how badly her body craved it. Her mind was strong enough. Idly she wondered if it was because she had come to care for them so deeply, because they had become a part of her family, but if it was as simple as that Isaiah would never have tried to harm Lenora all those years ago.

  “You can’t know that,” Daniel pointed out, but Quinn silenced him with a stern look.

  “I won’t hurt them,” she insisted, relieved that she was completely in control of herself.

  “But... how?” Avery asked, looking to Daniel for answers. “The Slayer has no control over their instincts.”

  “Isaiah did,” Quinn remarked pointedly. “And so do I.” She got to her feet, trying to get a handle on her newfound ability. She knew exactly how many vampires were behind the house, and, if she concentrated, she could sense their movements. It was surreal and frightening.

  “I wish there was more time for you to adjust,” Daniel said, sounding as though he meant it. Quinn detected a new respect in his voice, a reverence that she had only ever heard when he addressed Isaiah. Recalling her mentor, Quinn swivelled, searching the lawn for his body, but it was gone.

  “Lenora had him moved,” Avery murmured, sensing her distress. “She wants him buried before we leave this place.”

  “We should leave soon,” Daniel reminded. “Dawn is only an hour or two away, but Charlotte will return as soon as night falls, and this time, she will make sure she brings an army.”

 
“No,” Quinn murmured, so softly that they had to strain to hear her. “No,” she repeated, louder this time. “I won’t run anymore. That bitch murdered Isaiah. She destroyed Summerfeld.” Every word rang with fury as Quinn felt the full weight of her need for vengeance settle on her shoulders. “We’ll get the wards to safety, but then I’m going after her. I’m going to get back those crystals and we are going to open the Rose Gate.”

  “Quinn, it’s suicide,” Daniel replied.

  “No, it’s not,” she countered. “It’s the best chance we’ve got. She won’t expect it, which gives us an advantage, and besides, how long do you think we can flee from her – from all of them? We can’t hide forever. Without the City, we are lost. We need the Fae magic. We need Wintyr.”

  “How will we find the crystals?” Daniel tried again to dissuade her. “They could be anywhere. Who knows where Charlotte is keeping them.”

  “One person knows,” Quinn smiled menacingly. “Tristan.”

  Inside, the Guardians were preparing for their departure, packing up all their belongings. The mood was sombre, but, as Quinn entered the house, an awe-struck hush descended upon them. Ignoring them, Quinn moved down the hall toward the library which Isaiah had been using as a training room before the wedding. The door was open and she walked directly to the shelf where Lenora kept her classics, running her hand along the dusty spines of the books, feeling a tingling in her fingertips. She smiled as she reached a first edition of Bram Stoker’s Dracula and saw that the spine didn’t line up with the others. She pulled the dusty tome free from the shelf, reaching behind it and withdrawing Isaiah’s crystal which now belonged to her. It was a sapphire, as simple and beautiful as the man in whose possession it had remained for a millennium.