Mile High with a Vampire by Lynsay Sands

Thirteen

“Which part of full-time protection at the Enforcer house did you people not understand?”

Quinn closed her eyes as that bellow increased the pain crashing around inside her head. She’d only woken up moments ago, and had immediately been confused by both the fact that her head hurt and that she was cradled in Jet’s arms as he carried her into the Enforcer house. She hadn’t noticed that the rest of the members of the shopping party were following them until Jet had stopped abruptly in the entry and the others had slid past and fanned out around them. Now she turned her head to scowl at the man who was the reason Jet had stopped and the source of the bellowing that had such a detrimental effect on the pain hammering inside her skull at the moment.

Lucian Argeneau. He’d obviously returned from up north while they were shopping. Pity, she thought, laying her head wearily back on Jet’s shoulder. It was pounding like crazy, almost enough that she could ignore the aches and pains that seemed to be plaguing her entire body. God, she felt like she’d been hit by a bus, Quinn thought, her nose twitching as she noticed that Jet smelled good. Which wasn’t new. He always smelled good to her, but at the moment he smelled especially yummy, she thought, inhaling deeply.

“This is my fault, Lucian,” Marguerite said solemnly, drawing Quinn’s attention from how nice Jet smelled. “Mary mentioned that Quinn and Jet had lost their luggage in the crash and had nothing but the clothes on their backs, so I thought we should take them out to get more and—”

“That’s not true,” Sam said at once. “Thank you, Marguerite, but—” She turned to Lucian. “I’m actually the one who suggested shopping was in order when Mary mentioned they’d lost their luggage. I—”

“But I thought it would be fine,” Marguerite interrupted, and told Lucian, “We took four Enforcers with us, and there were eight of us altogether to protect Quinn: the four Enforcers, Jet, Mary, Sam, and me. I thought surely that would be enough to dissuade anyone from trying anything.”

“And you thought wrong!” Lucian roared. “I nearly lost all nine of you!”

“If you’re going to yell at anyone, yell at me,” Mortimer growled, coming up the hall from his office and slipping an arm around Sam when she moved to his side. “I approved the trip. I’m ultimately responsible for our nearly losing everyone, including my own life mate,” he added grimly, and then assured him, “It won’t happen again.”

Quinn watched Sam lean up to press a kiss to Mortimer’s cheek, and then she rested her head back on Jet’s shoulder with a sigh, envying the easy show of affection. She wished she could just kiss Jet on the cheek like that. Or the neck, she thought, unconsciously easing her nose a little closer to his throat and inhaling deeply again. God, he smelled so good. She wanted to kiss and lick and—

A gasp of shock slid from Quinn’s lips when her head was suddenly yanked back by what she thought was a handful of her hair. Surprisingly enough, it didn’t hurt. It was the only thing that didn’t hurt at the moment, she thought as she heard several gasps around them, and then her attention refocused on Lucian as he snapped, “Get her a bag of blood before she makes a meal of Jet.”

Quinn was aware of movement around them as someone rushed to do his bidding, but she was busy staring at Lucian with mounting dismay as she realized she very well might have been about to do just that. Dear God, her fangs were out and she hadn’t even felt them descend. Realizing that Lucian was no longer scowling at her, but instead seemed to be looking at her hair—or at least something on her head—with surprise and what might even be concern, she asked, “What happened?”

Rather than answer, he took the bag of blood Tybo was suddenly there offering, and popped it on her fangs.

“Living room. Now,” he ordered, releasing the hold he had on Quinn and turning to walk into the large living room across from the kitchen.

Placing a hand to the base of the bag to prevent it slipping off her fangs, Quinn leaned her head against Jet’s shoulder again as he followed the others into the living room. By the time he had settled her on the couch and seated himself next to her, the bag at Quinn’s mouth was empty.

The moment she pulled it from her fangs, Tybo was in front of her, taking the empty bag with one hand and offering her a fresh one with the other.

“Thank you,” Quinn murmured, and popped this bag to her fangs, then glanced around at the people situated around the room. They were all seated now; even Bailey was sitting between Mary and Dante. The dumb dog was staring adoringly at Lucian, she noticed with disgust, but everyone else seemed to be looking from her to Lucian and back. It made her shift uncomfortably and glance down at the bag at her mouth.

“Report,” Lucian said abruptly, and several people started to speak at once. He immediately raised one hand for silence and then pointed at Valerian.

The blond man sighed with resignation and said, “Everything was fine at the beginning. We went to the mall, and guarded Quinn while Francis helped her pick clothes.” He paused briefly, and then grimaced as if not pleased to have to admit it, but said, “And then Tybo and I took the shopping bags back to the SUV while Russell escorted the women to the lingerie shop and Francis and Jet went to get his clothes. We were as quick as we could be,” he added solemnly. “But when we were a couple of storefronts from the lingerie store where we were supposed to meet them, Russell came rushing out carrying Quinn.”

“At first we thought they’d been attacked.” His gaze slid to Quinn briefly and then back to Lucian. “But they explained she’d fainted and hit her head when she fell, so we went back down to the parking garage. They tried to revive her, but when they hadn’t been able to by the time Jet and Francis caught up with us, we decided to head back here.”

There was another pause where he ran a hand through his hair, again seeming reluctant to admit whatever was coming, but then he continued. “We were all in the car, about to leave, when Jet suggested checking the vehicles for bombs.”

“Jet did?” Lucian growled. “The mortal pilot thought of checking for bombs, not the immortal Enforcers who were supposed to be the protectors?”

“Yes,” Valerian admitted unhappily.

Lucian glowered at him briefly, and then gestured for him to continue.

Valerian cleared his throat, and said, “Tybo and I got out to look under the car and spotted a bomb under each vehicle. We immediately got everyone out of the SUVs and moved them back into the mall. We had no idea if or when the bombs would go off, so Tybo stayed by the elevators to prevent any mortals from going into the parking garage, and I ushered the others to the opposite end of the mall in case the cars exploded. Once I had them what I considered to be a safe distance from the danger zone, I called Mortimer. He sent out several Enforcers. Two immediately brought us back in the SUVs they arrived in, and the other men stayed to handle the bombs.”

Lucian eyed the man narrowly and then, his voice dangerously soft, asked, “You left your assigned post of guarding Quinn to take the shopping bags to the car?”

“That’s my fault,” Francis said before Valerian could respond. “Valerian didn’t want to leave Quinn, but I insisted he and Tybo take the bags back to the SUV. It seemed the sensible thing to do. Russell would be with Quinn, as would all the women, and it would only be a few minutes and they’d be back with her. They wouldn’t have been much good at protecting her with their arms full of bags anyway,” he pointed out, and then added quickly, “Not that she needed protecting. She wasn’t attacked. She apparently fainted.”

“Immortals do not faint except after life mate sex,” Lucian said dryly.

“That’s what I thought too, but that’s apparently what happened,” Francis assured him. “Ask Russell.”

Lucian shifted his gaze to Russell expectantly.

“I do not understand it myself, Lucian, but that’s what it looked like to me,” Russell assured him, and then hesitated before admitting, “I did not see anything that might have caused it. I was keeping an eye on the people in the store, watching for trouble, when I heard Marguerite calling Quinn. I shifted my attention to the two women; Marguerite was rushing toward her with concern and Quinn . . .” He glanced at her and frowned slightly. “She was looking toward the front of the store with her hands on her head, and then she lowered her hands, turned, took a step, and just collapsed.”

Lucian gave a short nod and then shifted his attention to Marguerite. “Why were you concerned? What did you see?”

“Not much. It was just . . .” Marguerite shrugged slightly. “I called Quinn to come and see a pretty little white lace panty and bra set with garters and matching stockings that I spotted, but she didn’t seem to hear me. I called again, louder, but she . . .” Marguerite frowned slightly. “She suddenly covered her ears and just stood there stiff and frozen, staring out the front window of the shop. I knew something was wrong, so I tried to read her mind as I rushed toward her, calling her name again. This time she seemed to hear me. Her hands fell away from her ears and she turned toward me, took one step, and then . . . I’m not sure if she fainted, but she did drop. And I do mean drop,” Marguerite assured him. “She didn’t fall, didn’t stumble or trip; she just . . . dropped,” she finished helplessly, and then closed her eyes and shuddered as if seeing the moment again in her mind. “Her head hit the floor with a crack and she was unconscious with blood pouring from the wound when I got to her, and then everybody was surrounding us. It took several moments for Russell and the other women to control the shopgirls and other shoppers and send them away, and then we wrapped Quinn’s head in that cotton nightgown. It used to be white,” she added dryly.

Eyes widening, Quinn raised a hand to her head and felt the wet cloth there. When she pulled her hand away it was covered with the blood that must be soaking the nightgown around her head. Apparently, Lucian hadn’t grabbed her by the hair, he’d grabbed the wrapping around her head, she realized.

Marguerite continued. “Russell handed Sam his phone and told her to call Francis and Jet to tell them to meet us at the SUV, and then Russell scooped up Quinn and we headed out of the store.” She shrugged. “Valerian told you the rest.”

Lucian nodded agreement, but asked, “What did you find when you read her mind?”

Face solemn, Marguerite said, “All I could hear was screaming.”

Quinn pulled the now empty bag from her fangs as Marguerite’s words reminded her of what had happened. She’d seen that man, and she’d heard screaming. It had seemed to come from all around her, but had been loudest from right next to her and that had sounded like—“Pet.”

“What about Pet?” Mary asked, drawing her attention to where the woman sat in a chair positioned next to the couch.

“Pet was screaming,” she explained, and looked around expectantly. “Where is she?”

“Pet isn’t here, Quinn,” Mary said quietly. “She’s in Italy.”

“But I heard her,” she protested.

“Why was Pet screaming, Quinn?” Mary asked, rather than address what she’d heard.

“I—” She paused, confusion filling her mind. “I don’t know. I saw the monster at the window and everyone was screaming, but I’m sure Pet was the one screaming beside me. It sounded like Pet.”

“What window, love?” Jet asked, rubbing her back soothingly.

“The shop window,” she explained.

“Can you describe him to us?” Mary asked.

Quinn opened her mouth, and then hesitated; all she could remember was—“A mean smile and black eyes with brass flecks.”

She heard Lucian murmur something and glanced over to see Tybo rushing from the room.

“Quinn,” Mary said softly, drawing her gaze back to her. “Can you tell us what happened? What you saw? Start a couple minutes before you saw the monster,” she instructed.

Quinn peered at her with confusion, wondering why Mary was calling the man a monster, but then made herself think back, and placed herself in the store again. Just before she’d seen the man she’d been—“I had selected three pairs of the bra and panty set that Sam had shown me. I looked around to see if there was anything else I wanted,” she recalled. “But then I saw the man at the window, and everyone started screaming. I heard Marguerite call my name, but I didn’t dare look away from the monster. I didn’t know what to do, but then a woman stepped in front of me briefly and when she moved he was gone.”

“The monster had gone?” Mary asked.

“Yes.” Quinn nodded. “So, I turned to see what Marguerite wanted, and tried to go to her, but—” She shifted her gaze down to her body, remembering how it had betrayed her. It was as if every muscle inside of her had just abandoned ship, leaving her to flop to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

A rustle of sound drew her head up to see that Tybo had returned and was handing a file to Lucian. He immediately stood and crossed the room as he opened the file. Pulling out a large photo, he held it in front of her. “Was one of these men the one you saw outside the store window?”

Quinn stared at the two figures in the photo. It was obviously some kind of security shot. The men were in what could have been a bus station or airport; there were people moving past with luggage. She scanned the two men who had been circled with a red marker, her gaze moving quickly over the first man, but then stopping abruptly on the second as someone started screaming again, increasing the pain in her head that had already been building as she consumed blood and the nanos started to repair the injury her blood loss had prevented.

Feeling suddenly sick, Quinn pushed the picture away and stood up, intending to rush to the bathroom, but she didn’t get that far. Lucian was blocking her way, and her legs decided to give out on her just as her stomach rebelled. She was already dropping when she began to spew, and she watched as if from a distance as she splattered vomit from Lucian’s waist to his shoes before passing out.

“Quinn!” Leaping to his feet, Jet caught her by the upper arms just before she landed on the floor, but she was limp, her body sagging in his hold. Ignoring a cursing Lucian, he scooped her into his arms and carried her around the man now staring down at his vomit-covered clothes with disgust.

As he left the room, Jet heard Tybo say, “Well, I’m thinking that’s a ‘Yes, it’s the guy she saw.’”

If he weren’t so worried about Quinn, Jet would have laughed at the words. But he was worried about her. So much so that he didn’t realize anyone had followed him until he was nearly to the door to Quinn’s room and Marguerite rushed ahead to open it for him.

“Thank you,” he murmured, carrying her inside.

“Wait. Don’t put her in the bed until we clean her up,” Marguerite said, hurrying toward the door to the bathroom.

“There’s nothing to clean up, Marguerite. She didn’t get any vomit on herself,” he assured her as he reached the side of the bed and set Quinn gently down on it. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he brushed her hair back from her face, and when Marguerite came to stand next to him, he asked, “What the hell’s going on? Immortals don’t faint except for new life mates during sex, and I have definitely never heard of one vomiting. I didn’t even know it was possible,” he said with amazement.

“I suspect both were emotional responses rather than physical.”

Jet glanced around at that comment to see Mary and Sam entering the room. His gaze settled on Dante’s wife. “An emotional response to whoever she saw outside the store?”

Mary hesitated and then said, “Perhaps, but I suspect it’s bigger than that. I think seeing this man has sparked her memories and they’re trying to come back.”

“Can that happen?” Jet asked with uncertainty. “You said they were blocked or something.”

“Blocked, not erased,” Mary told him quietly. “They’re still there. Her brain blocked them as a defense mechanism to protect her young mind from the trauma she endured when her mother and stepfather were murdered.”

“Why would they come back after all this time?” Jet asked.

Mary shrugged. “It could be because her brain has decided that she’s ready, but more likely because it realizes that her not remembering is now a threat to her well-being.”

“I’m surprised the nanos wouldn’t have fixed it so she had the memories again when she was turned,” Sam murmured.

“That’s because you think that her repressing the memories is a sign of some kind of fault with her mind. I believe just the opposite is true,” Mary said thoughtfully. “I think she has a very strong mind, and well-developed defenses.”

“But Pet went through the same thing and didn’t have to block memories to handle it,” Sam pointed out. “So, doesn’t she have the stronger mind and defenses?”

“Do not assume that just because they were both in the same room they had the same experience,” Marguerite said quietly.

Jet noted the exchange of glances Mary and Marguerite shared and narrowed his eyes. “You two know something we don’t, don’t you?”

There was another exchange of glances and then Mary admitted, “We’ve known you and Quinn were life mates pretty much from the start.”

“What do you mean from the start?” Jet asked uncertainly.

“From the moment four years ago when we brought her onto your plane,” Marguerite said softly.

“What?” He stared at her with amazement. “I didn’t even know then. How could you?”

“Marguerite has a certain skill at recognizing possible life mates,” Mary said softly. “She’s put a lot of couples together, and saw that you two had the same energy about you, or whatever it is.” She glanced at Marguerite, who nodded that she’d got it right. Mary then continued. “She told Pet and Abigail, and they put their heads together to try to figure out a way to get the two of you together. But Quinn made it impossible. You went to every Notte family shindig Abigail invited you to, but Quinn refused to go. Worse yet, she became a shut-in.”

Mary paused briefly and then said, “Of course, as twins, Tomasso and Dante are close, and we eventually got pulled into the scheming too. When Pet found out I used to be a psychologist she started talking to me about Quinn in the hopes that I could come up with an idea that might work. She started telling me about Quinn’s marriage, how she was always the dutiful daughter, and so on. She even told me about their parents’ deaths and that Quinn didn’t remember it and believed they’d been in a car accident. Of course, I immediately suspected the deaths had something to do with why she was reacting so poorly to being turned.”

“That still doesn’t make sense to me,” Sam complained. “Pet went through the same thing and actually remembers it, yet she had no problem accepting the turn and becoming an immortal.”

Mary turned an amused eye her way and suggested, “Okay, let’s look at it, then.”

Sam nodded at once, apparently happy to.

Mary opened her mouth, but then closed it again and narrowed her eyes before asking, “What exactly do you know about the death of Quinn and Pet’s parents?”

“All of it, I think. Mortimer told me that their stepfather was an immortal Enforcer chasing some organization of rogues called the Brass Circle. The Brass Circle got wind that he was hunting them, and murdered him and their mother and an older sister too.” She frowned and then said, “Or it might have been a cousin.” She pursed her lips and then asked, “A cousin raised as their sister?”

Mary nodded.

“Right,” she said with relief. “So anyway, Mortimer also said that while Pet remembers everything, Quinn doesn’t.”

“He didn’t mention how they survived?” Marguerite asked.

“Oh, yes, sorry—they were hiding in the closet. Their mother had put them in there.”

“Well, you got the gist of the story,” Mary said wryly. “But the Brass Circle didn’t just murder the rest of the family; they tortured them first, and the girls witnessed it all. But I think the most important part of the story is that, after finishing off the rest of the family, the head guy sent the other men off to search for Quinn and Pet and then he apparently decided to search that room and found the girls hiding in the closet.”

Jet stiffened at this news, imagining the tortures and torment that must have been visited on the twins for Quinn to block it from memory.

“Pet said he had a mean smile and black eyes with brass flecks.”

“That’s how Quinn described the man she saw at the mall,” Jet said at once.

Mary nodded. “Yes.”

Jet lowered his head to peer at Quinn and asked sadly, “What did he do to them?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” Jet’s head whipped around with disbelief.

Mary nodded again. “Well, not much anyway. Pet said she could feel the ruffling of his reading her mind, and then he grabbed her by the hair and turned to Quinn and his gaze narrowed, but then widened and he looked shocked. She said they stayed like that for a while, him staring at Quinn and the girls staring back, terrified, and then one of the men returned and he quickly released Pet’s hair, stood, and closed the doors on the closet.” She paused and arched her eyebrows as if to suggest they should sort something out from that. “And then, not only did he not reveal their presence in the closet to his men, but while they had planned to set the bodies on fire right there in the room where they had killed them, which surely would have seen the girls dead, he ordered the men to take the bodies outside and burn them in the courtyard.”

“Quinn was obviously a possible life mate to this Brass Circle man.”

Jet glanced to the door, his eyebrows rising when he recognized the tall, blonde woman now entering Quinn’s room.

“Basha.” Sam stood, and walked forward to hug her in greeting. “I didn’t know you were here too.”

The blonde hugged her back, explaining, “Marcus and I laid down to sleep on arriving. Well, he slept; I was lying there unable to sleep and then heard you talking in here and decided to join you. I apologize for listening in,” she added solemnly.

Marguerite smiled with amusement at the apology as she took Sam’s place to hug the woman. “With immortal hearing it’s impossible not to hear conversations in this house . . . or any other. Hello, Basha, dear. Do you know Mary?”

“Mary and I met briefly in Cochrane,” she assured her, and greeted the woman. “Hello again, Mary.”

“Hi,” Mary said easily.

“And you know Jet,” Marguerite added, turning toward him.

“Yes. Jet has piloted for Marcus and me many times,” Basha said, offering a warm smile to him.

Jet didn’t return the smile; his mind was still on what she’d said as she’d entered. “Quinn can’t be that guy’s life mate, Basha. We’re life mates.”

There was a moment of silence as the women exchanged glances and then Marguerite walked over and squeezed his shoulder. “There have been occasions, many more than one would expect, where an immortal or mortal has been a possible life mate to more than one individual.”

Fear shot down the back of his neck as the possibility of losing Quinn increased a hundredfold in his mind. Desperate not to believe it, Jet instinctively opened his mouth to protest again, but before he could say anything, Marguerite continued. “We don’t know for sure that she is a possible life mate to him, but it would explain why he let the girls live. In fact, it seems the only explanation.”

“It would also explain why she blocked the memory where Pet didn’t,” Mary said quietly.

“It would?” Sam asked, and then shook her head. “How? He didn’t tell Quinn that they were possible life mates. Or did he, and you left that part out?”

“No, he didn’t say that,” Mary assured her.

“But,” Basha said solemnly, “if he touched Quinn, she may have felt an awareness or attraction to him. Imagine how shattering that would have been when he was the monster who had moments earlier tortured and murdered her family.”

“She was only six,” Jet snapped with disgust. “You can’t think she experienced life mate passion for this bastard at six.”

“I did not say it would be passion or desire,” Basha said quietly. “Or that she would even understand what his touch evoked in her. But any kind of benevolent feeling it caused in her for him would have been anathema to a child who had just watched him torture and murder the people she loved most in the world.”

“Did Pet say he touched Quinn?” Sam asked with a frown.

“No,” Mary answered. “She doesn’t recall his doing so, but she was a terrified six-year-old in a traumatic situation, and she admitted she was staring at his face, not his other hand,” Mary told them. “He may have reached for Quinn’s arm or wrist without her seeing. In fact, it’s more than likely that he did.”

Jet shook his head. He didn’t want to hear any of this. He didn’t know what scared him more: that Quinn had another possible life mate, or that the bastard was a murdering sicko who had found her again.

“She would not choose him over you,” Marguerite said soothingly.

Jet frowned, and then asked, “Do you believe this crap?”

He was hoping she didn’t, and silently begging her not to, and he supposed she read that in his mind, because her expression was apologetic when she said, “I’m afraid I do. I believe that she did feel something when he touched her. Something she didn’t understand, but didn’t like feeling, and that has shaped her life.”

Mary nodded. “I think whatever she felt that day is the reason she blocked the memories. Because she couldn’t bear to remember whatever kind thoughts or feelings he inspired in her. I think that’s also why she’s always been the dutiful daughter without a hint of the usual teenage rebellion. Ashamed or terrified that she could have a benevolent thought or feeling for a monster, she was as good as she possibly could be to try to make up for it, and prove—if only to herself—that she wasn’t a monster like him.”

“And speaking of monsters,” Marguerite said. “That is probably why she also sees herself as a monster now that she too has been turned.”

“She called him that when you asked her to tell us what happened,” Jet recalled wearily.

“Yes, she called him a monster several times and yet didn’t even seem to realize she had,” Mary told him. “When we called him a monster back to her, she was confused as to why we would.”

“Mary also believes this is why Quinn has locked herself away for the four years since she was turned,” Marguerite said. “Because she is afraid if she doesn’t, she could become a monster, which she fears she may already be because as a possible life mate he inspired something in her.”

“Shit,” Jet breathed. Everything the women had said made sense. Quinn’s reactions were perfectly reasonable when explained like this. As much as he didn’t want to, he also now believed that she was a possible life mate to this bastard as well as himself. It fit everything perfectly. Except—

“Then why is he trying to kill me?”

Jet swung around, his mouth dropping when he saw that Quinn’s eyes were open and she’d obviously heard most, if not all, of their conversation. She’d also asked the very question that he’d been about to ask. If this monster was her life mate, why was he trying to kill her?