by J. C. Wilder
Giving him a wide berth, she climbed into the back of the truck, scrambling into the far corner closest to the passenger seat to avoid touching him. He tossed the sleeping bag in her direction before picking up the duffel bag. The car rocked as he climbed in, pulling the hatch closed behind them.
Sitting in the closed, confined space sent anxiety rocketing through her body. A wave of claustrophobia washed over her, and she squelched the urge to fling herself at the door. Her companion ignored her presence as he stretched out on his side of the blanket, his back to her.
“You should change out of those damp clothes. I don’t want you getting sick on me.”
Of course not, your highness. We wouldn’t want you to have to lower yourself to dealing with germs.
“There are some dry things in the bag.” His words were slurred, and within moments his breathing deepened.
Is he asleep already?
With her gaze glued to his back, she held her breath as she waited to see if he would move. He didn’t. After a few moments she released her breath and reached for the bag. Opening it, she pawed around inside and found a small penlight in the side pocket. Flicking it on, she located a clean pair of sweatpants and a thick, ivory woolen sweater. She glanced uneasily at the man’s back, the dry clothes clutched in her hands.
Will he turn around?
She scowled. To hell with him. If he wanted to watch, let him. Dropping the clothes into her lap, she stuck the penlight in the fold of her knee. Grasping the hem of her shirt, she was forced to bite back a groan when her pain rocked through her shoulder and down her side.
What the devil had she done to herself? Inspecting her shirt, she was dismayed to find a large tear at the shoulder extending several inches down onto the back. The cloth was damp with blood. Using her shirt, she mopped at the injury she couldn’t see. Judging from the amount of fresh blood on her shirt, she didn’t think looked bad. Thank goodness she was an immortal and accelerated healing was a key benefit.
Looking regretfully at the dry plush sweater, she wiped her damp fingers on her pants before pitching the sweater over the back of the driver’s seat. There was no way she could put it on if she was going to bleed all over it. The pants were another story.
She wrestled off her boots then placed her only remaining blade within easy reach. Flicking off the light, she dropped it back into the bag then pushed it down to the foot of their makeshift bed.
After wiggling out of her damp pants, she stifled a groan of pleasure when she pulled on the dry sweats. The cotton was thick, wonderfully warm, just what she needed. She spread her clothing over the back of the passenger seat to air dry then slid beneath the sleeping bag.
The man didn’t stir as Maeve settled with her back to him. She curled one arm to support her head, shivers racking her body as she willed herself to relax. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her other arm around her waist in an attempt to get warm. Exhaustion crept in, and her last thought was she hoped she didn’t bleed on his sleeping bag.
Mortianna smiled as the young vampire entered her workroom, every movement cautious. Dressed simply in black cotton leggings and a white mohair sweater, Gabrielle DesNoir looked fragile, almost wholesome in a macabre way. Her hair was a somber pale brown, cut short in a pageboy style and with her understated clothing and pale lipstick—she was the image of the all-American girl next door instead of the blood-sucking devil-spawn Mortianna knew her to be. Only her unnaturally pale skin gave her away.
The witch wasn’t fooled. Only the very brave or a total imbecile would dare approach her in her own home. As to which category this vampire fell into, Mortianna was very curious to find out. Desperation had made fools out of many people before her and would continue to do so long after this creature was dust.
“Why do you wish to speak with me, Gabrielle?”
The vampire jumped and spun toward the voice. Her expression showed her apprehension before she quickly masked it. Mortianna quelled her satisfaction at the further evidence of unease.
The vampire cleared her throat before she spoke. “I have a business proposition for you and your people.”
Mortianna stepped from the shadows and picked up a small tray of items she’d collected earlier. “Indeed? You presume a great deal in thinking I need anything from a vampire.”
In the center of the room was an open fireplace. A massive cauldron hung over a low fire and Mortianna set the tray on a small, marble-topped table before picking up a glass container. She made a great show of holding it up to the light so the vampire could see it contained human teeth.
“I have something you need.” Gabrielle’s voice was shaky, though she tried to control it.
With a pair of tweezers, Mortianna selected a tooth and dropped it into the cauldron. A hiss of dark blue steam escaped as the tooth broke the surface of the murky liquid. She returned the jar to the tray and selected a variety of dried herbs. “I’m listening.”
“I’m sure you’re aware of the events of the last winter solstice. The vampire Mikhail made a bid for the leadership of the Council of Elders and was tricked by Conor MacNaughten. We were almost killed.”
Mortianna failed to quell her laughter. “That isn’t quite how I heard it happened but, yes, I know the story.” She dropped the herbs into the liquid, and varying shades of green steam escaped when they sank below the surface. The scent of the bubbling liquid turned dark, earthy.
“Since then, our lives have become a nightmare of persecution. Our followers, fearing retribution from the remaining Council members, have scattered. Mikhail and I would like to respectfully request your help in regrouping our followers and gaining control of the Council.”
Mortianna’s gaze moved over the young vampire. There was something very familiar about this woman, but she just couldn’t put her finger on it.
“Why didn’t Mikhail come and ask me himself? Why did he send you to represent him?”
The vampire’s expression turned sad. “There was an accident at the circle and Mikhail was injured—”
“Injured?” She laughed. “Why in the world should I come to the aid of someone in dubious health? If he cannot be bothered to pay me a visit, how can he hope to command the Council? It takes an iron will and an even stronger hand to keep those creatures in line.”
The vampire moved closer. “Should Mikhail be unable to carry out his duties, I’m more than capable of taking over.”
Ah, the plot thickens…
Mortianna selected a large dipper and stirred the liquid, the ancient handle familiar against her palm. “You want me to aid your cause in gaining control of the Council? How do you propose I accomplish this?”
“Align your followers with ours.”
Startled, Mortianna’s gaze met the vampire’s. Never would she have expected the creature to make such an audacious request. Contrary to what some believed, the witches weren’t a cohesive group as were other preternaturals. The only thing the witches would agree on was that they neither wanted nor needed interference from the Council. Consequently they lived on their own terms, not at the behest of the Council of Elders.
“You ask for a great deal, little vampire. Since the dawn of witchcraft, we’ve chosen to remain outside the politics of those who dwell in the shadows. Now you ask that we aid the cause of the vampires.” She gave Gabrielle an arch look. “What is in it for us?”
“Damien St. James on your doorstep within forty-eight hours.”
Startled, Mortianna released the handle of the spoon and it slipped beneath the bubbling surface. “Bother,” she muttered, annoyed she’d let the little vampire rattle her concentration. She grabbed another spoon to fish out the first. “What do you know of St. James?”
“I know he took your daughter many years ago and ultimately played a role in her death. It’s well known you placed a curse on him and would’ve killed him if it weren’t for Bliss’s interference.”
Mortianna dropped both spoons on the tray with a clatter. Presumptuous wench. Yes, she wanted
Sinjin dead, but how dare this little brat—
Bliss. This woman reminded her of her dead daughter.
Stunned by this realization, her eyes widened. Bliss was as audacious as Gabrielle, and her daughter wouldn’t have flinched at bearding the devil herself in hell if needed. Intelligent, forthright and foolish to her very core, this vampire was very much like her beloved Bliss.
“Edward killed my daughter, not St. James,” she muttered, still shocked by the revelation.
“And for that he paid with his immortal life. But it was Sinjin who set Bliss on the path to her ultimate destruction, and his death is what stands between you and avenging the loss of your daughter.” The vampire moved to a straight-backed chair and perched herself on the edge, a soft smile playing around her mouth. “I can deliver him directly to you.”
Mortianna’s mind whirled with possibilities. What the little vampire said was intriguing. Could she get close enough to Sinjin and take him unawares? Even more importantly, was there something to be gained for the witches by throwing their support behind Mikhail? She had no interest in Council business, but it could be handy for him to be beholden to her.
With a flick of her hand, a pair of comfortable chairs appeared on the other side of the fire. “Come, let us warm ourselves while we chat a bit more.”
Smiling to herself, she watched the vampire rise from her seat, her movements far more relaxed than when she’d entered the room just a few minutes before. Gabrielle and her dark cohorts might be able to deliver St. James, but that wouldn’t stop Mortianna from her current plans.
Digging into the voluminous folds of her cape, she located an emerald-colored pouch. Opening it, she withdrew a pinch of gray dust, and she sprinkled it into the cauldron. The potion turned black. It was almost ready, and the time for her revenge was close at hand.
The morning sun woke him.
Quinn blinked, and for a moment he couldn’t figure out why he was sleeping in the back of an SUV. Then the events of the night before slammed into his skull, and he closed his eyes.
He’d betrayed Mortianna, his mother.
She betrayed you long before this.
It was rare, very rare, that he thought of her as his mother. He’d been too young when his father took him away to have any memories of her and what little he knew came from stories he’d heard. His father didn’t speak of his mother willingly.
He opened his eyes. Allowing her to kill an innocent went against everything he believed in. The Wiccan Rede, “An it harm none, do what thou wilt”, was more than an ancient belief. He strove to live the rule every day of his life. After a costly slip in his teenage years, it was the one lesson he’d never forgotten. If that included stopping the madness that was his mother’s need for revenge, so mote it be.
He tried to sit up, but a peculiar weight on his right side halted him. A warm, very female body was snuggled against him and restricted his movement. A fat braid of brilliant red hair lay across his chest. The morning sunshine brought out threads of gold and mahogany. The urge to release those strands of liquid fire was strong.
Most of her face was obscured by her arm thrown over her eyes, but he could see the firm line of her jaw. A bruise covered one side of it. He clenched his teeth as annoyance lanced through him. No one should’ve hit her, certainly not one of the minions.
And you shouldn’t have been so hard on her last night.
By nature, Quinn wasn’t without feelings. His stepmother would’ve hit him upside the head if she’d witnessed their discussion last night, and he would’ve deserved it.
His guest stirred, drawing his attention to the firm body molded against his side. The bulky sleeping bag hid the rest of her from his view, but he certainly felt every delectable inch. His cock stirred when she shifted. Her leg moved higher nudging his groin. The heat between her legs rested against his thigh.
A soft groan escaped her, and a rush of lust raced to his groin. She stirred again, her palm flattening over his heart. Her limbs were heavy against him, and she was sprawled across him like a living blanket. His jaw closed with a click as lust pooled in his gut. It had been a while since he’d taken a woman into his bed and his body throbbed with need. Hell, just the scent of her hair, her skin, was enough to set his blood on fire.
The woman moved again. Her small, firm breasts pressed into his side as the scent of summer heather and warm female swirled around him. His teeth ground together when his cock lunged for freedom. What he would give to simply roll her over and sink into her body.
So much for self-control.
The minions had kidnapped her from Sinjin’s home. Was she his lover?
Gently, he untangled himself from the woman and sat up. Wrenching open the hatch, he climbed out into the crisp, morning air. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly. This was his favorite time of day. The air was fresh, the day was young and yesterday was in the past. It was a new beginning.
A feminine moan drew his attention back to the woman. She rolled into the spot of warmth he’d just vacated. Wiggling her hips, she settled down once more. Stifling a groan, he eased the door shut. They had a long road ahead of them, and by sunset they would be at Sinjin’s.
Quinn glanced down at the erection tenting his trousers. He had a feeling it was going to be the longest drive of his life.
Maeve shivered when she exited the car. Dressed in her black pants, still damp from yesterday’s adventure, and an athletic bra, she leaned against the tailgate to pull on her knee-high boots. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d camped in the wilderness—not that there’d be smoky eggs and burnt bacon for breakfast or a twin sister to chase around the campfire.
A wistful sigh escaped her as she retrieved her knife and tattered shirt. There were times she missed her sister like a severed limb. Her twin, the one person who’d understood and loved her unconditionally, was gone. Even now, years later, it was a tough pill to swallow.
The irony was, now that she was an immortal, she could look forward to hundreds of years of mourning her sister. If that wasn’t penance then Maeve didn’t know what it was.
Eternity had never looked so lonely.
Tossing the shirt over her shoulder, she shut the hatch. Lonely or not, she had work to do and that included finding her erstwhile traveling companion.
After taking care of her most pressing needs, the sound of running water drew her attention. Following it, she walked down a small hill, through a thicket of trees. Without warning, the trees gave way to a rocky shoreline and a broad river.
On the opposite shore, the trees grew thick and impenetrable within a few feet of the river. The water was a swift, crystal blue torrent, and the sound was soothing. Delighted, she took a deep breath and exhaled with gusto. The stark beauty of this spot tugged her soul. When was the last time she’d left behind the trappings of civilization in favor of roughing it?
Tilting her head, she spied a large bird overhead. It hung on a current, wings outstretched, hovering as if suspended by wire. Now that was the definition of freedom, hanging out waiting to see where the wind would take you next.
A splash drew her attention to the water. A large fish came flying out of the water, the sunlight turning its scales to gold. Salmon? Another one burst from the water, its body contorted into a graceful arch. It no sooner plunged beneath the water when another appeared. Holding her breath, she watched the ballet being played out before her.
Both she and her sister had loved the water. Each year their parents took them to the beach, and the entire Leigh clan would spend every possible moment in the ocean. Her mother would make lunch, and they would play in the sand until her father declared it safe to venture back into the water.
Pain coursed through her body, freezing her breath in her lungs. Damn them to hell for turning away from her.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she opened her eyes as the tension slowly eased from her body. It was a waste of energy to dwell on the past. It was what it was, and she could only hope that soon
er or later her heart would accept what her mind knew.
A branch floated past on the swift-moving current. How easy it would be walk into the water and just let go, allowing the river to carry her away from her problems. No more struggle.
She took a step toward the river then stopped. What the hell was she thinking? As an immortal death wasn’t the easy way out. According to Sinjin, killing an immortal wasn’t a simple task so suicide wasn’t terribly practical. Beheading was the only sure way to guarantee death for a revenant.
A bitter smile twisted her mouth. The devil was in the details.
Turning away from the river, she stopped when she caught the flash of silver in the sunlight. Less than fifteen feet away stood her traveling companion balanced on the trunk of a massive fallen tree.
Bare-chested, he stood facing the morning sun, arms straight out from his shoulders, palms up with his head tilted back to expose the thick column of his throat. The sun glinted off a medallion that hung from his neck.
The sun bleached his hair to white fire and gilded his bronzed physique. There wasn’t any fat on his body. Each muscle of his chest was perfectly delineated and she had the feeling it wasn’t from working out in a gym. No, this wasn’t the type of man who hung out in an overpriced club sipping orange juice as he made passes at perky blondes in pink sweats. This was a man who viewed his body as a temple…and it was definitely worthy of worship.
His arms were muscular without appearing bulky. Shoulders broad, more than enough for a woman to cling to as he made love, tapered down into a narrow waist. Loose-fitting black pants rode low on his hips as a soft breeze molded them to his long limbs.
Impervious to the chill, he looked completely at ease in his surroundings.
Maeve licked her lips and heat expanded through her body. He wasn’t built like a weightlifter, all muscles and no neck, but he was solid looking, strong. His body swayed with the breeze, the muscles shifting beneath his golden skin. Hell, even his feet were sexy.
