Drake cursed as Daniel continued, speaking almost to himself. He sounded remonstrative, but Drake wondered if he felt sorry that he had kept this information from the others, or simply rued the fact that he had been so wrong.
“Isaiah knew,” Daniel lamented. “He knew all along and I refused to believe it. When she became the Slayer, I had my proof. I believed she could never be bonded because her blood would kill your kind.” He waved his arm in Drake’s direction. “I had no idea it had already happened. And when I told her about it she never said a word, although she must have known. She knew the second I told her about the bond that she was the one. That’s why she’s going to such great lengths. That’s why she’s so determined to open the Rose Gate.”
“Why?” Braddon’s question was an exclamation of grief, but Daniel answered anyway.
“Because she’s starting to believe.”
Drake stood, transfixed, as Daniel’s words sunk in, but Braddon showed no such reserve. Instead, he punched Daniel right in the face, apparently with all the force he could muster, because Daniel was knocked clean off his feet.
“You son of a bitch!” Braddon roared, trying to hit Daniel again. Drake grabbed him from behind, restraining him as Daniel pulled himself up off the floor. “You should have told us!” Braddon shouted, writhing in Drake’s arms. “If we had known Quinn would never have given him her blood! You did this to her! No wonder she feels compelled to be our saviour... and she almost died tonight because she feels this is her responsibility! You kept it from us and it could get my daughter killed!”
“We had to keep it a secret!” Daniel was insistent. “We couldn’t afford any temptation. If the Guardians knew of the prophecy, what was to stop the Hunters from passing their blood to a vampire in the hope of fulfilling it? The prophecy had to take its natural course. We had to be sure!”
Drake heard the words, but such was his shock that he didn’t really absorb them. He was still restraining Braddon, holding him firmly in place so that he couldn’t attack Daniel again, but his mind raced with this new revelation.
“Hold on!” he yelled eventually, shoving Braddon behind him and stepping between them. “Just hold on a damn second!” Turning to Daniel, trying to keep his own temper in check, he spoke.
“You say that the chosen one will be torn. What does that mean exactly?”
“Eldon’s prophecies were never clear – they can be interpreted in a number of ways.”
“I’m guessing you have a theory, though?”
“Yes, although it’s only my interpretation. From what I understand the prophecy does, indeed mean the fighting will end, but I believe that the end result is not set in stone. The war will end, but it might not be the outcome we are hoping for. It depends on the chosen one’s... on Quinn’s,” he corrected himself, “decision.”
“You’re saying that Quinn... that Quinn might side with the vampires?” Even as he spoke the words, Drake realised how ridiculous they sounded. “Quinn would never do that. The wards mean everything to her. She would never do anything that might cause them harm.”
“What if the end of the war meant the end of the vampire race?” Daniel’s words were pregnant with meaning. “All of them... including you?”
“Do you mean to tell me that my daughter might have to choose between us and him?” All the fight had gone out of Braddon as he contemplated the impossible choice that Quinn might have to make. Drake understood his concern. Braddon had already admitted to knowing that Quinn was in love with Drake. Either decision would crucify her. They both knew that she would never survive the pain.
”I don’t know,” Daniel admitted. “I can only offer my own interpretation. I could be wrong.”
“You could be wrong about a lot of things,” Braddon sneered.
“The prophecy states that she will be torn,” Daniel insisted. “I cannot possibly imagine what else it could mean.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Drake interjected, sensing Braddon’s anger mounting once more. “She won’t have to make that choice.”
“The prophecy...” Daniel began, but Drake cut him off.
“Screw your prophecy!” Drake roared. “Quinn will not have to choose.” He lowered his head, his heart aching as he accepted his fate. “Because I will make that choice for her. I’ll die before I let her destroy everything she loves.”
“I can’t allow that,” Braddon insisted.
“Really?” Drake rounded on him. “Would you rather your daughter be crucified by having to make the decision herself? No, Braddon,” he was vehement, “we will not let that happen. We will do right by her, if it’s the last thing we do and I’m counting on you to make sure of it. If anything goes wrong and I can’t do it, I want your word that you’ll kill me yourself.”
Chapter 20
Quinn witnessed the entire scene through Drake’s eyes, even while she slept. Drake’s self-sacrificial statement was what woke her, jarring her out of the slumber that was helping her body to heal.
“No!” she yelled, trying frantically to immerse herself in Drake’s mind again, but she couldn’t.
The pain had subsided but she still felt as though she had gone ten rounds with a battering ram, and her mental and physical state had weakened her. She couldn’t control the bond. Either that, or Drake had sensed her and shoved her out of his head. Quinn wished she could know what her father’s answer had been. She only prayed that Braddon hadn’t agreed to Drake’s terms.
Liam and Monique were dozing nearby and, as she pulled herself up into a sitting position, Quinn caught sight of the Orochian lying on the lawn nearby, feasting on what looked like the bloody remains of a wild cat. The dragon was probably oblivious to the crucial role he had played in bringing down Charlotte, but Quinn would never forget it. She smiled fondly at Summerfeld’s most vicious beast and he glared back at her. As she got to her feet, she accidentally knocked aside the Slayer sword, which clattered off the rock upon which it was resting. Liam and Monique jerked instantly awake.
“Sorry,” Quinn smiled apologetically, but they both grinned at the sight of her up and about. Quinn didn’t want to think about what she had unwillingly witnessed while she slept; the choice which Daniel had referred to or Drake’s proposed solution. It struck her that no one really knew what the prophecy meant and dwelling on it wouldn’t do any good. She would find a way to make it work. She would save the wards and Drake if that’s what it came down to. If there was one thing she had learned in her century as a Guardian, it was that there was always another way. She would make her own fate.
“Have you been in yet?” Quinn asked, looking back toward the site, where, until so recently, Charlotte’s house had stood.
Liam shook his head. “We thought we should wait for you.” Quinn nodded her appreciation as she raised her eyes skyward. From the looks of it she had slept for most of the day.
“It’ll be dark soon. I think we should get what we came for and get out of here before any of Charlotte’s friends come looking for her.” It struck her then that she had actually done it. She had killed Charlotte. Being impaled and almost dying suddenly seemed a small price to pay for the victory she had won.
Taking a few tentative steps forward Quinn was relieved to find that she felt fine. Her body ached in places, but she wasn’t weak or dizzy and she was quite confident that she could hold her own in a fight. Not that she expected any attacks. She was fairly certain that all of Charlotte’s men had emerged during the commotion the previous evening. Her Slayer instinct wasn’t picking up any vampires, but, admittedly, it might be weakened after her life-threatening injury. Neither Liam nor Monique had been inside to check either, so she kept her guard up as they picked their way through the rubble, on alert for the slightest hint of the nausea that would warn her of any danger.
Liam and Monique followed her down the stairs. Quinn was pleasantly surprised that the air down here was cool and clear. Perhaps Oliver, the new Guardian, who was being held captive here had survived the fire a
fter all. Tristan had told her that he was being held in Charlotte’s dungeon and, while she had been almost certain the dungeon would not be destroyed in the fire, Quinn had known there was a small risk that he might not make it. It was a risk she had been prepared to take. If they didn’t get him out of here, Oliver would have been dead soon anyway. Charlotte was wicked and her evil didn’t bode well for a captive Guardian. Fortunately, the smoke from the fire above hadn’t permeated the dungeon, but the fire had destroyed all the wiring and the only light that penetrated the darkness came from the doorway above, which dimmed the further down the stairs they got. By the time she reached the bottom, Quinn could barely see a foot in front of her. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark, listening to the sound of the others breathing. They fanned out behind her and Quinn closed her eyes, letting her instinct guide her. It took only a moment for her to be convinced that there were definitely no vampires hiding down here in the gloom, but she would still prefer that they got out and away from this place long before nightfall.
“This way,” Quinn murmured, heading toward the door that led to Charlotte’s prison cells. When she opened the interleading door she heard nothing but the echoing creak reverberating through the small space. “Hello?” she called softly, “Oliver?” No answer was forthcoming.
“Do you think she had him moved somewhere else?” Monique whispered. “Or that Tristan may have been lying?” Quinn didn’t reply, although the second option was certainly a possibility. She didn’t trust Tristan an inch.
“Oliver?” she called again, surveying the first empty cell and praying he was here. “My name is Quinn. I’m a Guardian, just like you. The vampires are dead. We’re here to get you out.”
“I’m here.” A weak croak alerted her to his presence and Quinn felt a thrill of elation. He was alive! Moving quickly in the direction the voice had come from, she found a man standing in the cell furthest from the door. The same cell, she noticed with a pang, that Anna and her friends had been confined to. Once again, Quinn was struck with the guilt of the three women’s deaths. She should have simply let them go the second she found them. Instead, she had tried to protect them, keeping them close. In the end, Charlotte had tracked them down and killed them anyway. For just a second as she gazed through the cell bars, Quinn saw Anna and the others as she had when she found them - three women, crouched, terrified, in the far corner of the cell. Then her memory faded and instead she saw a lone man standing in the centre of the cell. He was obviously wary, but he didn’t cower, meeting Quinn’s gaze levelly. Guardian pride, Quinn thought. Guardians didn’t show their fear.
“Oliver?” she asked the obvious question. Even with her eyes adjusting, the cell was so dark that she could only just make out that the man before her had fair hair and was probably about her age in human years. He looked slightly the worse for wear, but he was in nowhere near as bad a shape as Avery, Anna and the others had been, given his relatively short period of captivity.
“Are you okay?” Quinn asked, as her hand traced the bars of the door. Her fingers brushed cold metal, confirming that the padlock had been replaced.
“I’m fine,” Oliver’s voice was stronger than she expected.
“We’re going to get you out of here,” she told him as she searched around for something to break the lock.
It was Liam who came to her aid, having discovered a set of keys hanging on the wall just outside the door and, a second later, Oliver stood before them in the narrow corridor. He seemed to be dragging his left leg slightly, but Quinn was unable to assess the damage fully in the dark. When she reached forward to assist him, Oliver pulled away and the stench of sweat and urine assailed Quinn’s senses.
“Oliver, my name is Quinn. This is Liam, and Monique,” she gestured at the two shadows behind her.
“You’re Guardians?” he asked, but there was a definite note of distrust in his voice.
“We’re not like, Tristan,” she explained quickly. “We’re the good guys. We’re going to get you out of here.”
“I heard the fighting,” he said, “shortly after the fire...” There was an unspoken question in his words and Quinn nodded.
“Charlotte is dead,” she confirmed. She could only imagine the cruelty Oliver had suffered at Charlotte’s hands.
“So which of you three got to do the honours?” Quinn sensed a grim satisfaction in his tone.
“That would be me.” She smiled, despite herself, as Oliver held out his hand. His grip was firm and his hand dry and warm as she shook it.
“We helped,” Liam grumbled, before turning back down the corridor.
They emerged into the main dungeon and, by the dim light, Quinn could see that Oliver was indeed favouring his left leg, his foot sliding behind him as he walked. She wanted to assess the damage but it would have to wait until they were out of there.
“Before we go, we need to get your crystal,” she instructed.
“It’s over here,” Oliver answered immediately, shuffling to the far corner of the room. Quinn followed, growing confused when they came up against a solid brick wall. “It’s here,” Oliver insisted, feeling his way along the cold brick. “It’s right here. I can feel it.”
“Step aside,” Quinn instructed, taking his place. Running her hands along the smooth cold surface, she closed her eyes, letting her sense of touch be her guide. It took a few minutes but finally she felt it. There was a small groove in the stone just to the left of where she was standing. Pressing gently, she heard a grinding noise as a section of the wall slid aside, revealing a rectangular opening. Reaching inside it, her hand closed over the two missing crystals. She could feel Oliver rigid with tension beside her.
“Which one is yours?” she asked, passing them both to him. He handed back Tristan’s crystal immediately, keeping the thinner of the two stones. Quinn couldn’t quite make it out, but she thought it might be an amethyst. Oliver visibly relaxed once he had his crystal back.
“Let’s get you out of here.” Quinn pocketed Tristan’s crystal and led the way upstairs while Liam supported Oliver. Their progress was slow and Oliver grunted in pain with each step. Quinn moved slowly above them, guiding them through the dark until they emerged from the bowels of the wreckage. Oliver squinted against the glare of the sun. In the fading light of day Oliver looked far worse than she had initially thought. His shirt was bloody and torn and his pants were stained with urine and Eldon-only-knew what else. Averting her eyes, Quinn’s gaze fell on his leg and travelled down. What she saw drew a shocked gasp from her mouth.
“Yeah,” Oliver murmured, following the direction of her gaze. “It’s pretty bad.”
“That might just be the understatement of the century,” Quinn replied, trying to hide her shock. She marvelled at the fact that Oliver was still conscious, let alone able to walk. His left foot was twisted, facing almost ninety degrees in the wrong direction. Everything visible below the hem of his long pants was distorted and bruised – a rainbow of black and blue with the odd splotch of yellow indicating older injuries. Catching sight of the mangled mess, Monique clapped a hand over her mouth and made a small retching sound.
“What did they do to you?” Quinn asked, meeting Oliver’s gaze levelly. She felt the utmost respect for this man who had been ripped away from his previous life only to go through hell.
“They broke my ankle,” he replied matter-of-factly, “over and over. Every time it started healing, they did it again.”
Quinn felt a rush of respect for the young man. Clearly, he didn’t need sugar-coating, but she still grimaced at the thought of what needed to be done. Oliver’s bones were healing themselves out of alignment.
“I’m going to have to break it again.”
“I know,” he replied, without hesitation.
“Liam,” Quinn gestured him forward and between the two of them they slowly lowered Oliver to the floor. Seeing Monique looking a little green, Quinn despatched her to check on the Orochian. “Ho
ld his shoulders,” Quinn instructed Liam, and he did as he was told. “You want something to bite down on?” she asked Oliver. His brown eyes widened slightly as she took hold of his foot, but he shook his head.
“Okay, on the count of three,” Quinn said. “One. Two.” Without warning she jerked Oliver’s foot to the right, cracking his ankle back into place. To her relief, Oliver promptly passed out.
“Liam, do you have any extra clothes in that pack?” Quinn asked and, to her relief, Liam nodded. “Good. Let’s clean him up as best we can and get him into some clean clothes. Even the slightest movement is going to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. I’d rather do it while he’s out.”
As Liam rifled through his backpack, Quinn started unbuttoning Oliver’s shirt. There was a small circular badge sewn on the pocket, barely legible it was so covered in grime. She peered closer, just making out the words, Winchester Electronics and below that, his name Oliver Winchester.
Sighing, hoping that the Winchesters had another family member to take over the family business, Quinn lifted Oliver’s left arm to pull it through his sleeve and froze, her chest constricting. On Oliver’s left hand, around the base of his ring finger, shone a slim gold band.
Chapter 21
If Austin was spitting about being left behind with Piper to guard the wards, it was nothing compared to Avery’s fury when she spotted Garrett shoving Tristan into the back seat of one of the cars that would be heading for Cliffdale. “What are you doing?” she demanded, preparing to haul Tristan right back out. “He’s not coming with us, surely?”
Guardians of Summerfeld: Full Series: Books 1-4 Page 91
