by Bliss Brant
“Nah. You’d have to meet Buck to understand. He’s a mother hen. He’s the only family I’ve got now.”
“You used to never rely on others?”
His brows raised. “No, but Buck’s earned my trust over the years.”
“So there are no threats to deal with, human or otherwise?” The itch of lust had her ready to climb him and made thinking almost impossible.
“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” He scowled. “Why the interest in me after all these years?”
“Curiosity. I’m having a hard time envisioning the boy I knew years ago as settled, but you sound content.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I am for the most part.”
“Do you get to transform and have the freedom to be who you are without fear?” As a teen, he’d always been antsy, needing to be constantly on the go. He’d loved to give his wolf free rein and run for hours. Her heart beat loud in her ears as she waited for his response.
“Yeah, I get to do what I want for the most part.” He met her gaze. “If you’re done playing fifty questions, I need you naked and under me. If that doesn’t happen within the next five minutes, I may carry you out of here over my shoulder.”
She smiled. Her sex clenched. She leaned closer and looked at him from under her lashes. “What are you waiting for?”
“Priscilla!” Her father’s voice echoed in the ballroom. All heads swiveled toward them.
Priscilla jumped out of Quinn’s arms as if she were still a teenage girl, caught making out by her father.
“Your husband hasn’t been dead long enough to be cold, and you’re acting like a bitch in heat with this low-life loser.”
The look on Quinn’s face said she’d screwed up. She should have told him why he was here when he first showed up instead of letting hormones and old memories get in the way. “Quinn, I…”
“You didn’t have to lie about your husband, Priss. I fucked you anyway.” He walked away without looking back.
She turned on her father. “Why? Haven’t you done enough to wreck my life?”
“You were carrying on like a whore.” He grabbed her arm and squeezed hard. “I have plans and will not let you ruin them.”
“I let you interfere in my life once, because you threatened to kill Quinn.” She yanked her arm from his grasp. “I’m not a child any longer, and you won’t manipulate me again.”
****
Priss had lied to him. She had fucking lied. Just like she had before. Why had he let his guard down? Trusted her again? Quinn crossed the terrace with tiny twinkling lights strung overhead and strode between the long rows of box hedges. A saxophone played blues in the distance that reflected his mood.
“Quinn, wait.”
He walked faster, determined to lose her. There was nothing she had to say that he wanted to hear. Where the fuck was an exit? Everywhere he looked, blossoms that resembled tiny white stars stood out among the greenery. Red, pink, and white caladiums, one of the few plants he recognized, lined the walkways. They all mocked his presence at this fancy shindig.
Something hit him on the head. He spun around. One of her stilettos lay on the path behind him. He stooped to pick it up, rubbing the knot already rising on the back of his skull.
“Dammit, Priss,” he snarled, tossing the shoe back to her. “What the hell do you want?”
“Stop, please. Give me a chance to explain.” She held the heel by its strap and blinked back the moisture gathering in her eyes. “I need you to understand why I asked you here. And technically I didn’t lie. My husband didn’t make it. He died.”
He snorted. “That’s semantics. You’re wasting your tears. I understand perfectly. You played me for a fool years ago and wanted to see if I was stupid enough to fall for it again. Congratulations. Your plan worked. This time. Goodbye, Priss.”
She caught his wrist in both her hands and clung to him. “Thirteen years ago, my father threatened to kill you if I didn’t walk away. I sacrificed my happiness to save your life.”
Quinn flinched. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been that. “Why should I believe you?”
“Can we sit down and talk? My feet are really killing me.” Tears ran down her cheeks. She tugged off the other high heel and carried them both as she led the way to the bench where she’d sat earlier.
He paced under the live oak tree, strands of hanging moss clung to each branch like thick spider webs and swayed in the now cooler breeze. He needed to turn his wolf loose and run off his anger. Only, he couldn’t, not here. “Your father threatened to get rid of me?”
She nodded. “He had already arranged for me to marry Claudius Tegula in exchange for political favors and support to get himself appointed as Secretary of Monster-Human Relations with Monsters United.”
Quinn growled. His incisors sprang from his gums. “The bastard sold you. Why didn’t you tell me?” His words came out a snarl, barely understandable. The wolf within him roared to be freed. And to rip out Amadeus’s throat.
She sniffed and wiped the tears from her face. “I always felt he didn’t care for me as most fathers do their children. When my mother lay dying, she confessed she was pregnant when she married him. I’m not his. She never told him, but I believe he suspected.”
Quinn punched the tree trunk with his first. It didn’t help. “You didn’t have to marry this Claudius fella. If you’d told me—”
“You’d disappeared by then,” she said, slipping her shoes on once more. “You didn’t have a cell phone. No one knew where you’d gone or how to find you. Believe me, I asked everyone who might possibly know.”
“Even so, it wasn’t the dark ages, Priss. Your father couldn’t force you to marry someone you didn’t want.”
“A month after you left, I stood up to him and refused to have anything to do with Claudius Tegula. Claudius was old—more than three times my age. I hoped you’d come back, and we would be together. He said he’d expected as much, so he’d had you followed and killed.”
“Son of a bitch.” Quinn’s nails lengthened into claws and bit into his palms. He struggled to maintain control.
She stood, adjusted her skirts, and moved toward him. “My father cares for no one and will use anyone if it benefits him.”
“I wish I’d known. I couldn’t think beyond the hurt when you walked away. I just wanted to get away.”
“Believing you were dead, nothing mattered anymore.” She placed her palm on Quinn’s chest. “I married Claudius Tegula because I no longer cared what happened to me. Without you, my life was over.”
Quinn wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. “God, Priss. If I’d known…”
“But you didn’t. All that’s in the past. I need you to understand why things happened as they did. I’m not asking you to forgive me for turning my back on you all those years ago. I guess I’m hoping maybe you won’t hate me any longer.”
Despite all the times he’d cussed her and tried to outrun the memories, he’d never hated her. He’d damn sure tried though.
“Since you arrived here naked with nothing but the ticket in your hand, I’m guessing you don’t have money for a hotel?”
“No. I was hoping you’d send me home the same way you brought me here.”
She laughed and moved to the bench, leaning down to lift a rock from beside the tree. Holding up two envelopes which she’d hidden underneath, she said, “Our exit visas. They will transport us back to the hotel when we open them. I’ll get you a room there for tonight. We can talk in the morning. I just want to get out of here before my father finds us again. Tomorrow, I’ll buy you an airline ticket back to Texas.”
Quinn wanted to argue. He’d been making his own way a long time. It wasn’t right for her to pay. He seldom went into town and when he did, he used cash. He had a bank account for when he sold cattle and a credit card which Buck kept for buying groceries and feed for the stock. Buck also had a cell phone. Since they lived and worked together, Quinn had never asked for
the number, not that he needed it since he didn’t have a phone. “I guess I should let you pay seeing as how you brought me here without asking if I wanted to come.”
She looked up and gave him a tentative smile as she placed the exit visa package in his hand. “I didn’t make you open the envelope, Quinn.”
Chapter Three
So much for arriving at the hotel where Priscilla had rooms.
The streets of the French Quarter were packed with New Orleanians and tourists, who’d come out to celebrate All Hallows’ Eve in the most haunted city in America. Miles of colored lights illuminated the roads filled with vampires, zombies, and other undead, who danced to loud jazz music.
It took over an hour on the crowded streets to walk the short distance to the hotel. Taking a taxi would have been impossible, given the celebration that showed no signs of winding down, even though it was already past two in the morning. If she ever saw Madame LaDeaux again, she would give her a piece of her mind and demand a refund.
Priscilla slid her key card through the lock to her suite. The green light signaled, and she opened the door. She glanced back down the hallway to watch Quinn disappear into the room she’d obtained for him.
Entering hers, she found her son, Luka, seated on one end of the couch while Mrs. Messalina sat on the other, her head nodding as she slept. When the deadbolt clicked into place, he leapt over the back of the couch and gave her a hug. “So, how was the big shindig?”
“Boring as always. How did you and Mrs. Messalina get along?”
He grinned. “Good. She’s pretty cool for an old lady. We ordered pizza. I saved you two slices in case you’re hungry. Mrs. Messalina made it until ten o’clock. Once we ate, she conked out and has been snoozing since. Guess it’s past her bedtime.”
“It’s long past yours, too.”
“I know. I watched the craziness from the balcony for a while. I wanted to stay up until you got home.” He hugged her again.
If she hadn’t had on high heels, he’d be taller than her, even at twelve years old. He’d grown up way too fast. She kissed his cheek, already scruffy with the beginnings of whiskers, typical of all young wolves on the brink of their first shift. “Goodnight, sweetie.”
“Night, Mom.” He headed barefoot across the sitting area and disappeared into the bedroom he’d claimed as his when they arrived yesterday afternoon.
Priscilla dug a hundred dollar bill from her wallet. Getting someone to stay with Luka during a local celebration cost more than dinner at a nice restaurant, not that she ate out often. She moved to the couch. “Mrs. Messalina, I’m back. The front desk has a taxi waiting to take you home.”
The older lady jumped, her eyes wide. “Oh, lands sakes, I guess I drifted off. Luka and I were watching a World War II movie, and I’m not a big fan.”
“I’m not either.” Priscilla patted the woman’s shoulder. “Thank you so much for agreeing to come over on such short notice. Do you need me to accompany you downstairs?”
“Heavens, no. I’m fine.” Mrs. Messalina patted her almost blue hair and picked up her large handbag. “Anytime you need someone to stay with Luka, please call me. He’s a well-mannered young man.”
“Thank you. I will.” Priscilla followed her to the door and waited until she disappeared down the hall to close it.
Young man. She had dreaded this from the time of his birth. He had been the one bright spot in an otherwise dismal life. What would she do once he left? She collapsed on the couch, toed off her stilettos, and pulled the pizza box closer. She refused to think about it. At least not until morning.
****
Priscilla loved the mornings. She stood on the balcony, watching city workers clean up all traces of last night’s celebration, and sipped her second cup of coffee. She wondered if Quinn was out of bed yet.
Luka strolled from the bedroom in a pair of pajama bottoms. “I’m starved.”
She stepped inside. “Good morning, sweetie. You’re up early, considering how late you were awake.”
He lifted a glass of orange juice from the tray she’d ordered earlier from room service.
A knock sounded on the door. She opened it and froze. “Father, what are you doing here so early?”
“Are you going to invite us inside?” Her father’s eyes glowed bright yellow, hitting her with the power of an alpha and willing her to obey.
She ripped her gaze from him to Whiton Marrbury, a brutal son of a bitch who had already buried two wives. As head of Monster-Human Commerce, Marrbury garnered a lot of respect. Security at Monsters United tended to look the other direction where he was involved. Dread twisted her stomach into a knot that threatened to send her coffee back up. “Of course, please, come in and have a seat?”
Luka returned the glass to the tray and took a beignet. “Hey, Gramps.”
Her father scowled. “I’ve asked you repeatedly not to call me that.”
Priscilla moved between the two and ruffled her son’s dark hair. “Sweetheart, take your breakfast into your room and watch television for a while.”
He piled another beignet onto his plate and disappeared into the other room.
“Can I order some coffee or breakfast for you?” What she really wanted was to show them both the door.
Her father sat in a chair, leaving the couch for Whiton Marrbury. “Sit down, Priscilla. This isn’t a social call.”
With no other choice, she made her way into the room to sit on the other end of the couch. She crossed her legs and placed her hands in her lap.
“Whiton Marrbury has asked for your hand in marriage. I have accepted.”
Her stomach clenched. Not again. She wanted to transform and lunge at the man who’d raised her. He held the power to destroy her world. Now she faced her worst fear much sooner than she’d anticipated. Priscilla jumped to her feet, needing a moment to gather her thoughts. “Please excuse me. I believe this conversation calls for a clear head. For that, I need more caffeine than I’ve had.”
She hurried to the phone in the bedroom and ordered two pots of coffee and more pastries. She wasn’t hungry. Far from it. But she needed something to do. Otherwise, she might fall apart. She’d expected her father’s interference in her life after Claudius’s death. Still, she wasn’t prepared for it. Not this soon.
She left the bedroom and paused in the hallway, leaning against the wall for support.
“When I agreed to the marriage, Amadeus, nothing was said about the boy. I won’t raise another man’s bastard.”
She took a step forward, intending to tell Whiton Marrbury what he could do with his marriage plans.
“The lad will disappear,” Amadeus said. “You don’t need to worry about him. I’ll take care of him, same as I did Justus Pitino last night.”
Shock ricocheted through Priscilla, replaced seconds later by her protective instincts. Whatever it took, she would not allow her father to harm her son. She took several deep breaths and let them out slowly to regain her crumbling composure.
“You killed Justus Pitino?” Whiton Marrbury asked.
“I did,” her father said, sounding smug, as if killing someone was as mundane as ordering a beignet for breakfast. “Rather ingenious, if I do say so myself. It will appear he had too much to drink, stumbled into the bayou, and drowned.”
“I’m impressed,” Whiton Marrbury said.
“He didn’t put up much of a fight,” Amadeus said. “I really expected more from a vampire.”
She leaned against the wall for support. Her father’s words pierced her heart. She swallowed past the tears that threatened. She hadn’t fought him when he forced her marriage to Claudius, because she’d been too depressed after Quinn’s departure to care what happened. But Luka was another story. She’d watched Amadeus push her son away time and again. She’d feared this day would come. But also the man he’d killed, Justus Pitino, was the one who’d told her Quinn was still alive. She felt indirectly responsible for Justus’s death. If he hadn’t helped her, he’d still
be alive.
She took another deep breath and let it out slowly, then forced her feet to carry her into the sitting room. “Fresh coffee and beignets will be up shortly.”
“Whiton and I have worked out all the details. The wedding will take place in one week. You’ll honeymoon for two weeks in France.”
“I can’t leave Luka for that long.” She sat on the couch again and forced her hands to her lap, afraid if she showed rebellion or fear, he would take Luka now, before she could get him to safety.
“The boy will stay with me while you’re gone.” Amadeus gave her a hard look, warning her not to argue with him. She knew the expression well.
“Very well, Father.” There was no point in trying to reason with him. It had never done any good in the past. She had very little time left and needed to act fast.
And everything depended on Quinn.
****
Quinn paced a path from the door to the window and back in his hotel room. He hated being cooped up. He needed to transform and run, work off the anxiety that twisted his gut into a knot. That and the sound of jazz music and celebrating drunks filtering up from the streets had kept him awake most of the night and put him in a foul mood. Not that he would have slept anyway after all that had transpired at the Monster Ball, after seeing Priss again, after feeling her heat surround him as he fucked her against a goddamned tree.
He’d made note of which room Priss had disappeared into last night. It wouldn’t have taken more than the crook of her finger to convince him to set aside his anger and what little sense he had left. He’d have taken her seven ways to Sunday and back again so that he could go home with no regrets and her out of his system. He’d go to her now if she asked because he was a weak fool.
But dammit, he couldn’t mess around here all day. He had cattle to move out of the east pasture before the tank dried up. He hoped he still had a herd left. He’d only been gone one night but things could happen fast on a ranch, especially when it came to lack of water and what that meant to the livestock. Maybe Buck had already take care of it. Or maybe the first cold spell of autumn had come with a drop in temperature and rain. He didn’t like not being home on his land where he worked, made decisions, and belonged. He’d covered every inch of that land, whether on two or four legs. He’d made it his.
