by Addison Fox
“Shut up and help us with this.” Callie shot him a warning glare. After Brody and Kane had ported the bodies back to the brownstone so they could map out a way to contact the police, Callie had mobilized the rest of them into action.
Which, in Callie-land, meant manual labor.
“Has Brody called you back yet?” he asked Ava for the tenth time in as many minutes.
Ava let out a soft sigh, but her voice was gentle when she spoke. “Quinn. You know they can’t just call the police. They have to have the right story and then, even once they do come up with something, they have to wipe the officers’ minds. It takes time.”
Of course it did. Surprisingly, they didn’t have to deal with mortal fatalities all that often, but it did happen. Themis had given them many gifts—individually and as a unit—and the Vulcan mind-meld, as most of them fondly thought of it, could be counted on in a pinch.
It also worked quite well for dealing with bureaucrats when trying to change property ownership and any other nosy entities that simply wouldn’t understand why the same individuals came and went from the same place, never appearing to age.
For all its conveniences, the modern world was a big, fat pain in the ass a good portion of the time.
“Callie. Maybe you should go check on them. I don’t want to leave Montana.”
“Would you stop it already?” Ilsa pointed her broom at him. “It’s her mother. Would you give them some privacy and let them talk? It’s not like the girl hasn’t had a big day.”
“But she looked at me—” Quinn broke off, the words drying up in his throat.
“Like a leper. Actually, like a murderous leper,” Ilsa added for good measure.
“Not quite what I was going for.”
“But accurate,” Ava added, holding Ilsa’s trash bag open so she could drop in an armful of debris.
“Yeah. She did,” Quinn muttered as he reached for a huge handful of waste and slammed it into the half-full trash bag beside him.
“It’s a lot to take in. It took me a while to accept it, Quinn. You have to give her a chance.”
Quinn whirled on Ava. Despite the good intentions behind her words, he couldn’t hold back the anger. “But you came around. You didn’t look at Brody like a”—he shot a pointed stare at Ilsa—“fucking murderous leper.”
“Quinn—” Ilsa tried to break in, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.
“I thought we were making progress and then she stood there and stared at me like I was an animal. Worse. A predator, out to harm her.”
Never one to back down from a fight, Ilsa moved up in his face. Although he had her by more than a hundred pounds, the goddess formerly known as Nemesis wasn’t one to be cowed by that. “And what reason did you give her to think otherwise? I heard you talking to the guys and Kane filled in the gaps. You stalked her because your precious equipment gave you a few clues that put her on your radar. You then follow her and drag her into any number of dangers. And to boot, you tell her you think she’s running diamonds and human slaves on her boats. Would you trust you? Because other than a nice ass, I’m not sure what else you’ve had to sell yourself to the poor woman.”
The anger that seethed through his veins like thick, molten lava evaporated, like water turning to steam. How in the hell did these women manage to make sense and put him in his place, all at the same time? “You think so?”
“I know so.” Ilsa patted his arm, her rapid-fire change of mood oddly comforting. “Give her some time to come around. She knows you’re one of the good guys. She does, Quinn. Give her some space.”
“Well said, Ilsa.” Montana’s voice rid him of whatever lingering anger still vibrated in his chest as Quinn turned to see her standing in the door. “I especially liked the nice ass remark.”
Before he could answer—could even take a step toward her—Brody’s shouts rang out through the apartment.
“Quinn! The monitors!”
The Leo raced into the office, the Scorp on his heels. “Arturo’s outside. Fucking outside! It was on your monitors at home. He’s got to still be here.”
Montana momentarily forgotten, Quinn felt a rising fury fill his veins. “Where?”
“Roof.”
Quinn didn’t wait—didn’t even think to discuss it with his brothers—he simply acted.
As he came out of his port on the roof of Montana’s apartment building, Arturo Veron stood across the flat stretch of concrete.
The bull that lived in the man’s aura already stood by his side, breath coming from the animal in heavy pants that steamed up the air. “Well, this should be fun.”
Quinn’s own bull filled the space next to him as it unfolded from his aura. “Bring it on, motherfucker.”
Raw anticipation filled his veins as Quinn stalked toward Arturo. Unstrapping the Xiphos he’d replaced earlier on his calf, he flicked his wrist in the moonlight and watched the light reflect off the wicked edge of the blade.
A comparable light flashed back at him from his opponent.
Let the asshole think they were well matched.
Unwilling to toy with Arturo, Quinn leaped immediately, man and beast engaging simultaneously. Although not enough to take Arturo off his feet, it did have the effect of knocking him off balance and he stumbled precariously close to the edge of the roof.
Quinn continued pushing, his bull feral with the need to engage its opponent when a stray line of voltage hit him square in the back.
What the hell?
On an unspoken command, Quinn kept his bull at his back as he turned to face the latest threat. Four Destroyers stood opposite him across the roof, their frames lit up with electricity.
What the fucking hell?
An arc of light came barreling at him as the Destroyer on the end launched a fireball. Before Quinn could block it, Kane let out an ear-piercing war cry as he materialized on the roof, his Xiphos outstretched to deflect the shot.
“Thanks, brother.”
“Don’t mention it.” Brody materialized behind Kane and the two of them went to work on the line of Destroyers. With his own personal cavalry in place, Quinn turned back toward Arturo. “Nice friends you’ve got there. And now it all makes sense. You made a deal with Enyo.”
“I don’t deal. And I certainly wouldn’t deal with that bitch.”
Arturo’s bull leaped, but Quinn’s beast easily deflected it, their forelegs locked in battle as they butted heads. Quinn fought to hold to his feet as the power of his bull rocked through him. “Oh no? Then how’d you get her little boys?”
“She’s not all-seeing,” Arturo shouted through gritted teeth as he opened his stance wider to accommodate the battle.
“Yeah, but she’s awfully protective of what’s hers.” Quinn tightened his grip on his Xiphos and ran forward. “Just like I am.”
Bracing himself for the harsh sting of resistance, Quinn swung in a large arc, slicing his Xiphos through the neck of Arturo’s bull before bringing the blade in a downward arc through his opponent’s chest.
Arturo screamed, his own blade clattering to the concrete near his feet.
Quinn wasted no time. With an upward slice, he caught the edge of Arturo’s shoulder just as the man backpedaled. “You took what belonged to her.”
Quinn slashed again, this time nicking a kidney as Arturo fumbled over his feet and accidentally presented his back.
“You took the people she loved.”
He slashed again, barely missing Arturo’s body as the asshole got lucky on a sidestep. Quinn stumbled as his blade met air, but the movement gave him the additional momentum he needed. With unconscious orders honed over millennia of battle, Quinn and his bull acted as one, using the benefit of their forward movement to catch Arturo off guard.
Before the asshole could regain his balance, Quinn pushed him off the edge of the roof.
He watched as the duo landed on the sidewalk below. Quinn knew the fall wasn’t fatal—had it confirmed as Arturo struggled below—but before h
e could gather the strength to port below and finish the job, he heard shouts from behind him.
Whirling, Quinn watched as Brody finished off the last standing Destroyer.
As silence descended over the rooftop, Quinn’s gaze lit on the far corner where the door to the rooftop stairs stood open.
Montana stared at him in the moonlight, her gaze firmly riveted on the bull at his side.
Chapter Seventeen
“Are you okay?” Quinn fought the urge to reach out and touch Montana to reassure himself as they sat in her living room. Callie hadn’t had a chance to clean the kitchen and Quinn hesitated to bring Montana to the site of Laura’s death.
The living room seemed like a natural alternative.
Wrapped in large, oversized terry-cloth robes, Montana and her mother occupied opposite ends of the cream-colored sofa. He sat just to the side in a stiff wing-backed chair that recalled the time of long-dead French despots.
“I promised Montana I’d tell her the entire story. But I want you to hear it, too.” Eirene started in, turning her liquid-blue gaze in his direction.
Quinn vacillated between shock at how much Montana and her mother looked alike and the sad acknowledgment that Eirene wasn’t long for this world. Even if he hadn’t put it together from her physical frailty, the racking coughs that convulsed her body every fifteen minutes confirmed it.
“I’m sorry I haven’t told you sooner, Montana,” her mother began. “But I didn’t know how to tell you. I always thought I’d have more time.”
“More time for what?” Montana rubbed Eirene’s arm where they sat next to each other. Quinn marveled at the inherent warmth in her actions and wondered yet again how he had ever suspected Montana of such a horrible series of crimes.
Her innocence shone through in everything about her—her care for others, her unwillingness to put those around her in jeopardy, even the questions she asked.
She was a thoughtful person, with an innate kindness that came through in her every action.
And why did he find that so compelling? Like the warmth of a fire on a cold day, he wanted to get closer.
For the first time in his very long life, Quinn had to admit he wanted someone to let him in.
He wanted Montana to accept him. Welcome him.
“What is it, Mother?”
“I have cancer.” Eirene’s statement was so simple—so direct.
“Oh God.” Montana’s breath rushed on an exhale of air.
Without thinking, Quinn reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers across the small chasm that separated her position at the end of the couch and his seat on the chair.
“Why did it take you so long to tell me?”
Quinn heard the words, but he also sensed the deeper despair underneath. Even he—who had seen more than his fair share of death, destruction and the horrors man could inflict upon each other—had to admit Montana had suffered through more in one day than anyone deserved in a lifetime.
“Come now, my child. You knew. I agree you deserved to hear the words, but surely you knew.”
Quinn saw it—the almost imperceptible nod of her head—and the lone tear that ran down her cheek. “Yes. I knew.”
“Please don’t be upset, my darling. It’s necessary. For you to fully ascend, it’s necessary.”
Quinn leaned forward, Montana’s hand still tucked firmly within his. Even though he’d come to the same conclusion earlier in the day, the truth of it was hard to fathom. “Will she really ascend to your position?”
“It is my mother’s great curse on me. Not only will my mortal body die, but my daughter will take my place in the pantheon.”
“But how?” Montana’s eyes were wide as she processed the news. “I’m a mortal woman. I bleed, I ache. I told Quinn that earlier. I had my appendix out as a kid, for heaven’s sake. That’s not the constitution of an immortal.”
“For as long as I live, you are a mortal.” Eirene’s smile was gentle as she continued. “But my mortal body is dying and you are called to fulfill the promise Themis made to me forty years ago.”
Quinn felt his earlier anger renew, even as the object of it was his boss and leader. “But Montana didn’t agree to this. Why would Themis do that to her?”
“I gave up a great gift and I was told the price.”
“But Montana is innocent! It isn’t her price to pay.” Quinn knew yelling at the woman wouldn’t change anything. Wouldn’t make it any less so. If he had learned anything over the last ten millennia it was that his boss had her own set of rules.
Her own way of seeing the world.
Her eternal quest for balance often led to some very odd choices.
Of course, his conscience taunted, that same insistence on balance made Ava an immortal and gave Kane and Ilsa freedom from their personal demons.
You can’t only take the good, boy-o. His father’s words rang in his ears. The village seer, his father had always had an odd mix of worldly wisdom. Of course, it was coupled with bouts of depression so severe his descent into alcohol and drugs ensured he walked the fine line of madness at least fifty percent of the time.
But Quinn hadn’t ever been able to argue against the core truth of his father’s words.
And he couldn’t now.
Unwilling to raise his voice to Eirene, Quinn tried a different tact. He gave Montana’s fingers a quick squeeze before pushing ahead with his question. “With all due respect, if you knew this, why did you ever get pregnant?”
“I tried everything in my power not to. But my sisters had other ideas.”
The realization slammed through him as he quickly tallied up Themis’s many children, all accounted for in the Pantheon. “The Fates.”
Eirene’s eyes dulled as another spasm shook her, but not before she nodded in the affirmative.
Montana laid a hand on her mother’s back, holding her through the worst of it until the coughs subsided. She pressed some tea on her mother. “Here. This should help. And then we’re not asking any more questions and you’re going to rest.”
The teacup shook in Eirene’s hands as Montana’s words registered. “I can’t stay here.”
“You will stay where you’re safe. I’ve been understanding enough up to now, but you will not stay on the streets.”
Quinn leaned forward. “You need to listen to your daughter, goddess. There’s a place for you. Where we can protect you. At the Warriors’ house. We’ll take care of you.”
Indecision crept into her pained gaze before Eirene slowly nodded. “All right. Thank you.”
Montana opened her mouth to speak, but her mother took her hands. “Thank you, my darling. Thank you.” Resettling herself, Eirene picked up the thread of her story. “As I was saying, my sisters, the Fates, stepped in.”
“But why? Not that I’m not happy I’m here,” Montana quickly added, “but pregnancy prevention is an easy enough thing.”
“Not when you’ve tempted fate, darling. And besides, I knew the moment I found out—you were meant to be.” Eirene’s lips tightened into a straight line. “Even as I wouldn’t wish this on you.”
“What am I, exactly?”
“You mean you haven’t figured it out?”
“Figured what out, Mother? I’m just me.”
“The peace talks you facilitated off the African coast. The continued efforts you expend for goodwill between nations around the world.”
That light blush Quinn was growing so fond of spread up the fine column of Montana’s neck to settle on her cheeks. “But that’s just Grant Shipping. Goodwill is part of being a global company.”
“But you’ve taken it a step further.”
“But how? We simply defused a difficult situation.”
“You, Montana. You returned peace to a hopeless situation,” Eirene said gently. “Upon your ascension, you will replace me as the goddess of peace. It’s a role that’s long been missing from the world and you’ve already begun to show your aptitude.”
“Yo
u are the third Horae,” Quinn added, Eirene’s words confirmation of his suspicions. “Just as Callie thought you were.”
“I knew your nymph many millennia ago. She is a woman of amazing talent and understanding. And she’s correct. Upon my death, Montana’s ascension will be complete. That’s why she’s under attack. That’s why you need to protect her, Quinn. Until she’s fully ascended, she can still be killed as a mortal.”
Montana’s gaze drifted toward the hallway and Quinn knew she pictured the ravages from her office just down the hall. “And based on this evening’s events, it’s an immortal who wants me dead.”
Montana found Quinn a half hour later, in the same place she’d left him on that chair in her living room.
“You can’t possibly be comfortable, folded into that thing.”
Even more uncomfortable were the lingering memories of how she treated him earlier.
Had those words really come out of her mouth? And had she actually suggested he was some sort of dirty animal. Especially after she saw what his animal—no, his tattoo—was capable of.
A blush crept up her neck at the remembered violence of her words, the irrationality of her fear. On a small shiver, she wrapped her arms around herself, burrowing her hands in the long sleeves of her terry-cloth robe.
“I hadn’t noticed.” Quinn looked up from his BlackBerry.
She watched the long, elegant sweep of his fingers as he placed the device back in its case, then back into his pocket.
Clearly her lecture earlier had sunk in.
So why couldn’t she tear her gaze away from the long lines of his fingers?
Because you can’t forget what those fingers are capable of.
Ignoring the errant thought, she tried to focus on what she’d come to do.
Apologize.
Even if she couldn’t think of any words that would be remotely adequate to make up for what she’d said before.
“You’re still getting messages? It’s after midnight.”
She saw him hesitate, the indecision stamped in his dark gaze before he took a deep breath. “Brody and Kane are back at the house. They contacted the police, who are now in possession of the bodies. Jackson, Laura and Tony will be well cared for now. Brody ensured they were placed in a good precinct with a detective who will do right by them and their families.”
