Warrior Betrayed: The Sons of the Zodiac 3

by Addison Fox

  PULL WHATEVER FILES YOU CAN FROM MY DESK ON EIRENE GRANT.

  The slight vibration thirty seconds later let him know the request had been received.

  SURE.

  Quinn slammed the device back in his pocket and watched Montana’s form where she bent slightly over the book. Her back had to be killing her, yet she never even mentioned it.

  But her eyes.

  Those liquid crystal-blue eyes.

  He had seen the doubt there. The wild speculation. The fear.

  And he’d been responsible for putting it there.

  Fuck it. What else could he do? He now had no doubt she was the victim in all that was happening. His senses had been off from the beginning and after millennia of trusting his gut more often than his head, it had troubled him from the start that the pieces didn’t fit.

  The attack today was the final bit of proof he needed to just trust his instincts and fuck the rest of it.

  Which meant that whoever was behind the dirty, underhanded parts of Grant Shipping didn’t want Montana at the helm.

  But what about the Themis stuff? And Eirene? And the fact that somewhere in Eirene’s mad ramblings, she had mentioned that he was a Taurus Warrior.

  On a frustrated sigh, he ran his hand through his hair. None of this made any sense.

  If the attack came from internal sources, it was a human problem.

  If the attack was external, it was an immortal problem.

  So why the hell did it feel like the two were related?

  Callie caught his attention from outside the far door of the library. With a last glance at Montana, he stepped into the hallway and took in Callie’s serious gaze.

  “I have the files you wanted.”

  “Thanks.” Quinn reached for them, but Callie stepped back.

  “Her mother is Eirene Grant?” Before he could even nod, Callie continued, her small frame quivering.” The Eirene Grant?”

  “Callie. Yeah. Geez. The Eirene Grant. What’s wrong with you?”

  She threw the folder at his chest. “I swear, you and the rest of them.” She tossed a hand over her shoulder, Quinn supposed, to suggest the rest of the household. “Do you pay any fucking attention? Ever?”

  “What has gotten into you?”

  “Eirene?”

  When he didn’t say anything else, Callie grabbed the folder back and flipped to a photo of Eirene as a young woman, smiling up with love and adoration into Jack Grant’s equally loving gaze.

  “Long, flame-red hair. Thin, elegant frame.”

  She flipped to another picture, one where the young woman stared back up at them. “Blue eyes. Remind you of anyone?”

  “Montana?” The photos looked so like the woman he was protecting he couldn’t see anything else. He certainly couldn’t see whatever it was Callie wanted him to. “All I see when I look at that is a carbon copy of Montana.”

  “What about your boss, fuckwit? Do you see her in the flame-red hair, the thin elegant frame and sky-blue eyes?”

  Quinn turned his gaze toward the other room, his eyes roaming over Montana’s bent head.

  And the flaming red hair at her crown.

  Quinn threw up his hands in a move oddly reminiscent of Callie’s. “Come on, Cal. I’m not up for one of your riddles or your annoyance about years of history I’ve long since forgotten.”

  Callie shook her head and held out the picture again. “Themis and Zeus had several children. The Fates are the most well-known now in modern times, but they had others.”

  Quinn knew he should know what she was talking about, but he’d long since given up keeping track of the abundant fertility of the gods and goddesses who occupied Mount Olympus. Rogan had that duty and the Sagittarius didn’t make it his business to give them all genealogy lessons on a regular basis. “So tell me what I’m missing.”

  “Themis had another set of triplets. The Horae.”

  “Okay. Right, the peacekeepers. What do they have to do with this?”

  “One of them fell, oh, about forty years ago.”

  “And you think that fallen Horae is Montana’s mother?” Quinn probed. “That Themis is Montana’s grandmother?”

  “Think it? Quinn. Look at the facts.” Callie waved the photo once more for good measure. “The woman in this picture. The woman sitting on our couch. They belong to Themis.”

  Montana tried to understand the words on the page—tried to understand what it all meant—but it just felt like the jumbled-up words of an ancient story. An interesting story. But a story, all the same.

  There was no way Quinn could really believe all this.

  She’d reread about the Great Agreement twice. How Zeus indulged his ex-wife, Themis, the great goddess of justice, and allowed her to create a race of warriors.

  Zodiac Warriors.

  Quinn had used the term “Warrior” and her mother had rambled on and on about Quinn being the Taurus Warrior.

  But really?

  Even if she could wrap her head around the idea that something bigger—something supernatural—was happening to her.

  This?

  It was just too fantastical.

  Astrology and zodiac signs were for newspaper columns and pickup lines. It was the early twenty-first century, for God’s sake. Astrology as a legitimate discipline had gone out of style centuries ago.

  Even as she tried desperately to come up with some other answer, the desperation—the raw, focused belief—she’d seen in her mother’s eyes the previous night couldn’t be ignored.

  “What do you think?” Quinn had stopped at the end of the couch, his hands shoved in his pockets.

  “I’m not sure.”

  The corner of his lips turned up slightly. “I suppose that’s better than a flat-out no.”

  “I suppose.”

  He settled himself at the end of the couch, careful to keep his distance, as if she were a skittish animal who’d run off at any moment.

  At least her heart had stopped racing like a frightened rabbit.

  Whatever else she felt—whatever else she’d discover on this weird journey of enlightenment—she knew she didn’t need to fear Quinn.

  “This Great Agreement.” She held up the book as if he somehow didn’t know where she had gotten her information from. “You’re a result of that?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that’s why you and your brothers felt the need to translate this book for posterity’s sake, even though the volume looks hundreds of years old.”

  “Yes. Because it is hundreds of years old.”

  “And you’re the Taurus Warrior? And an immortal?” And probably married, her conscience added for good measure.

  “Yes on both counts.”

  From somewhere deep inside her, an ember sparked to life with each successive affirmation coming out of Quinn’s mouth.

  It wasn’t reasonable. But it felt damn good to have a target for the confusion roiling around inside of her.

  “How dare you sit there calmly and tell me all this?” She leaped from the couch, those embers flashing to quick anger without any warning.

  “I’m not calm, Montana.”

  She knew it wasn’t rational—this frustration and anger and wild rage that continued to gain strength, like a hurricane gathering force over the ocean. “You could have fooled me. You’re sitting here telling me all this bullshit, you drag me in here after kissing me senseless and let your wife take care of me and then you act like all of this is just some matter-of-fact thing I should just sit here and accept. Well, fuck you!”

  If she weren’t so angry, the look on Quinn’s face—dropped mouth, widened eyes and a flush of red creeping up his cheeks—might have made her laugh. As it were, it only fueled the fury inside of her.

  “My wife?”

  Mortification crept up her chest in swelling waves, but Montana kept on. There was no way she was backing down now. “Callie? That woman who took care of my back. I heard her reaction when you called her the housekeeper.”

&n
bsp; “She’s not my wife.”

  “Fine. Your girlfriend, then. Either way, she was clearly pissed you didn’t even acknowledge who she was to the strange woman you brought home. And really, who can blame her? The housekeeper is the best you could come up with on short notice?”

  “Is that why you’re so upset? But Callie’s not my wife, girlfriend or any other thing that implies we have sex on a regular basis.”

  “Oh. Well. That doesn’t change anything.”

  Even as the words left her mouth, her conscience leaped up and taunted her that it made a heck of a lot of difference. Which didn’t diminish her anger, but merely complemented it with a massive shot of hormones because the man standing across from her—all broad shoulders and thick body and luscious hair and big hands and long legs—was doing a serious number on her libido.

  Down, girl. Down.

  A smile played at the corner of his lips. “So is that why you’re so upset? Because you thought Callie was my girlfriend?”

  “No. I’m upset because you lied to me.”

  “I did what I had to do. And, assuming I could get in, take care of the problem and get out, you never needed to know.”

  Anger, sadness, fear, longing—none of them came close to the mind-numbing disappointment she felt in that moment.

  All her life, like a song that just repeated in your mind until you wanted to scream in agony, everyone did things for her own good.

  She never had a voice.

  Never had any say.

  It was always for her own good. Someone else always knew best. She was the little rich girl who needed protecting.

  And this man—this stubborn, smug, self-serving stranger—thought he could come into her life and do whatever he damn well pleased.

  “You incredible asshole! You’ve lied to me and kept me in the dark and you have the nerve to insult me and tell me you’d have gone on that way if you hadn’t been found out?”

  “Yes.”

  Just like everything else in her life, this was one more thing she had no control over. No say. No ability to affect the outcome.

  “Get out.”

  “Montana?”

  “I’m serious. Get out and leave me alone.”

  Chapter Nine

  Quinn paced the hallway outside the library. He wanted to walk back in—wanted to rant and rail and scream—but nothing could erase the image of her as she turned away from him.

  She held the long length of her body perfectly still, her willowy frame as unbending as an oak tree.

  Fuck it all, he was an idiot.

  “I did what I had to do. And, assuming I could get in, take care of the problem and get out, you never needed to know.”

  Their conversation replayed in his mind, those smug words hitting him over and over.

  The stubborn bull, always doing what he felt he had to do. Always ensuring his fucking obstinate pride had the last word.

  His decisions.

  His choices.

  His way.

  He leaned his forehead against the heavy wood of the door to the library. Her soft sobs filtered through the door, a ringing reprisal for his idiotic words.

  For months now, he’d felt helpless against the choice he’d made for Kane and Ilsa and none of those self-recriminations had anything on this moment.

  He’d hurt her. And he’d been cruel.

  Without stopping to think, Quinn opened the door and barreled across the room, Montana’s huddled form in his sights.

  At the sound of his footsteps, she whirled from her position on the couch, coming to her feet in a rush. Tears stained her cheeks, but her anger quickly added color as she stared him down. “I told you to get out.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve got a listening problem.”

  “No shit.”

  Hunger unlike anything he’d ever known flared to life from deep inside. Gods, how he wanted this woman.

  He didn’t deserve her. Didn’t deserve to take anything from her, but damn it if he could stop himself from wanting her.

  He should go.

  He really should.

  And then she made the decision for both of them.

  With slow, purposeful movements, Montana closed the distance between them. She ran the edge of her tongue over her lips and Quinn couldn’t have stopped gazing on her lips if his very life depended on it.

  She was still mad, he could see that. Her back was still arrow straight and large tears still rimmed her eyelids. “I’m not ready to forgive you yet.”

  “I’m not either.”

  Oddly, none of it mattered standing there in the heat that arced between them.

  He had to have her.

  Now.

  His gaze roved over her, reminding him she still wore the blanket Ilsa had draped over her earlier. Her bottom half was still clad in her skirt, pantyhose and heels. With a lift of her shoulders, she allowed the heavy blanket to slide down her arms and pool at her feet.

  Putting on her best boss voice, she pointed across the room. “Close the doors. Both of them.”

  He didn’t need any prompting, practically leaping across the room to complete the task. Before she could even catch a breath, Quinn again stood in front of her.

  His heated gaze resumed its travels, following the line of her throat to roam over her breasts. His hands followed as he reached for her and ran one finger over her right breast, the nipple hardening under the thin material of her bra.

  He might be an immortal, but he was also a man, and the light hiss that escaped her lips rocketed through his system like gasoline set to flame with a match.

  “If you don’t kiss me in the next two seconds, I’m going to make you very sorry you ever met me, Mr. Tanner.”

  Fortunately, he only needed one.

  Quinn didn’t need any further encouragement as he reached for Montana. Somewhere deep inside he knew this was only staving off the inevitable showdown—the one where he had to tell her that her mother was a fallen immortal—but gods help him if he could resist what she offered.

  Bending his head, he ran his tongue over the edge of lace that ran along the rim of her bra, delving under the silky material. He heard her breath exhale on a long whoosh and used one finger to tug the thin barrier down, exposing all that luscious skin to his mouth. Without looking up at her to gauge her reaction, he moved in and ran his tongue over her nipple, satisfied as the tender tip grew ripe under the heated suction of his mouth.

  Montana’s fingers threaded through his hair as she held him against her body, a moan rumbling through her chest cavity as he drew long and deep. With his fingers, he reached for the other silky cup of her bra and drew it down over her lush, full breast, baring her other nipple to his questing palm.

  Her body was perfect. All long, supple limbs and taut flesh. He shifted his attention, wrapping his arms around her and splaying his hands across her back to move her toward the couch when he stopped suddenly. Like a blast of cold water, he felt the flat gauze bandage Callie had placed temporarily over her wound.

  The image of her hurt and huddled on the couch not all that long ago filled his thoughts, pulling him up short. “Montana? Am I hurting you?”

  “Hmmm?” Her gaze slowly cleared as she focused on him. “What?”

  “Your back. Am I hurting you?”

  The lingering effects of passion cleared completely as she focused on his words. “No, actually. Not at all.”

  He dropped his arms to her waist and tried to turn her. “Here. Let me look.”

  With gentle movements, he lifted a corner of the gauze where Callie had taped it to her back with surgical tape.

  “It really doesn’t hurt, Quinn.”

  Her words registered, but he already knew the truth. With a slight tug, Quinn pulled the bandage free of her skin. The taut lines of her back and the graceful arch of her shoulder blades were smooth and silky. As if she had never sustained an injury at all.

  “Quinn? What is it? Is it that bad?”

  “No, it’s not b
ad at all. It’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Montana twisted, her gaze roaming over her back as she sought some proof from her peripheral vision. “What do you mean it’s gone? Callie pulled thirteen spikes from my back.”

  Damn straight, she did. And he had watched her remove each and every one of them. “Do you feel anything?”

  “Well, no.”

  He ran his fingers across her shoulder blades, in the same spot he felt for injuries in the park. “What about now?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “That’s because nothing’s there.”

  Montana’s gaze caught on a large mirror on the far side of the room and ran toward it. Clearly ignoring her half-naked state, she turned to look at her back in the mirror.

  “Oh my God. I don’t believe it. It’s not possible.”

  Not possible? Of course it was possible, based on who her mother was. Here Montana was, an immortal all along. What a merry chase she’d led him on, those wide blue eyes smacking of innocence and ignorance.

  Ignorance, his ass.

  Quinn came to stand behind her, his face visible over her shoulder in the mirror as he gripped her to hold her still. “Now who’s the one playing games, Montana?”

  “Games?” She whipped around so fast he fumbled his hold. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It looks like you’re an immortal, too, just like your mother. Cut the crap, Montana. Clearly you’ve known about Eirene all along.”

  Her thoughts whirled through her head in a jumbled mess. Like the speeding images you saw when you rode a roller coaster, she couldn’t focus on one.

  Her mother was an immortal?

  And how did Quinn know that?

  And he thought she was an immortal?

  Through all the noise, one thought finally penetrated above the others. “You don’t believe me?”

  “It’s an awfully handy excuse, don’t you think? You’ve got this big, global conglomerate and you can come and go as you please. You’re about to take the company public. You’ve probably set this entire thing up to your benefit. A little bit of drama to build up support for your ideas.”