Mile High with a Vampire by Lynsay Sands
Sixteen
“Absolutely not,” Jet growled.
“Jet,” Quinn reasoned. “We need to find out what is happening. And we need to capture the members of the Brass Circle who are trying to kill me. Or,” she added quickly when he shook his head and opened his mouth again, “I’ll be stuck living in the Enforcer house for eternity.”
Jet snapped his mouth closed. She wasn’t terribly surprised. It was a bit inhibiting living in the Enforcer house. Aside from the fact that every single immortal in this place could read their thoughts, there was the problem that while the walls weren’t paper-thin, as Basha had suggested, they didn’t muffle sound enough for an immortal not to hear what they got up to. Something that Quinn found terribly upsetting. She shouldn’t. As Jet had said, they were all grown-ups, and she was even a doctor. Sex was a perfectly natural function and she knew that, but that didn’t mean she wanted everyone hearing her moaning, groaning, panting, and screaming as she and Jet fulfilled that perfectly natural function. Unfortunately, she couldn’t be quiet about it.
She had tried.
After coming downstairs the night before, heating up the leftover Greek chicken Sam had made for supper, eating it, and then asking about the clothes they’d bought and finding out that they had indeed been returned to the house, she and Jet had dragged the clothes upstairs to put away. Quinn had far more bags than Jet, and he had carried some of hers up for her. When she’d given him a kiss to thank him, it had quickly gotten out of control. They had been rolling around on her bedroom floor, ripping each other’s clothes off while trying to touch every part of one another, when she’d heard Marcus and Basha’s door open as they came up to retire.
Quinn had frozen for a minute, but Jet, not having immortal hearing, hadn’t and didn’t even notice her hesitation. Moments later she found herself trying to continue, but attempting to be quiet about it. Unfortunately, that was just impossible for her. Life mate sex was so feverish and frenetic that she’d quickly been huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf. And short of taping her mouth shut, she didn’t know how to stop the moans, groans, and mewls of pleasure that kept slipping out. She hadn’t had the discipline or control to stop it that time, but she’d woken up first afterward and had taken her pillow into the bathroom attached to her room and slept on the cold tile floor in there to be sure Jet didn’t wake up and tempt her to go for another round.
Of course he’d noticed her absence and come knocking to be sure she was all right. Afraid Marcus and Basha would hear, she’d quickly opened the door and slipped out, then dragged him onto her balcony to whisper what her issue was. Much to her relief, he hadn’t given her a hard time about it. She was sure he thought she was being silly, but he’d said he’d sleep in his own room so she could have her bed, kissed her forehead, dressed, and left her alone.
Quinn had missed him. She knew that was completely ridiculous; she’d slept alone for four years, and had only slept with him for several hours that day, but it was true nonetheless. It was as if asking him to be her life mate had changed something fundamental inside her that she didn’t understand . . . and for all she knew it had.
Whatever the case, she’d been eager to see him on waking, and had been happy to find him in the kitchen, eating toast. But Quinn had barely poured herself a coffee and sat down to join him when Mary had arrived and announced it was time for another session. Sighing, she’d reluctantly stood and followed the woman to Sam’s office for another three-hour gruel-fest. But they had worked through a lot of her issues. They weren’t gone or anything, but she was starting to see things more clearly and accept the changes in her life. She was also quite sure that they would be gone soon.
Quinn had left the session, hoping to find Jet and slip away for a walk or something with him, but instead she’d found everyone gathered in the kitchen, waiting for her. Including Marguerite, who wasn’t even staying there, but had gone home and returned. She’d soon learned why. After leaving her room last night, the women had gone downstairs and discussed everything with the men, and they’d come up with something of a plan to resolve this problem of the Brass Circle trying to kill her. Lucian wanted to capture both men in the picture he’d shown her, and ransom them back to the Brass Circle for the promise to leave her alone. The problem was, Lucian wanted to use her as bait to capture them, and that was what Jet was balking at.
“Fine,” Jet said finally, his voice grim, and then staring Lucian defiantly in the eye, he added, “But whatever the plan is, it better allow for me to go with her, because I’m not letting her be bait alone.”
Quinn scowled at him for even suggesting it, and said, “No. You are not immortal. They could kill you.”
“They could kill you too,” he pointed out shortly.
“Yes, but it’s much harder to kill me. As a mortal, you are much easier to kill.”
“Then turn me,” he said with a shrug.
“Good idea,” Lucian announced abruptly. “She can turn you and you can take her to dinner at a restaurant where either Yun Xiang will approach to tell her he’s a possible life mate and that the Brass Circle is out to kill her and why and we can capture him. Or Ziying Liang can make an attempt on her life that we will thwart before capturing him.” He nodded with satisfaction. “Either way we catch at least one of the bastards and have a bargaining chip to use with the Brass Circle.”
Quinn scowled at the ice-blond man briefly, and then turned back to Jet. “Are you sure? You don’t have to do this. I promise I’ll be fine. The men will be watching and—”
“I’m sure,” Jet said firmly, and then asked quietly, “Aren’t you?”
“If you mean am I sure I want you for a life mate, then yes, of course. But this is—”
“It has to be done eventually, Quinn,” he said gently. “Better to get it done now so I can be on hand while you play bait. Besides, delaying it will just give me more time to worry about how painful it might be.”
“Oh,” she said softly, and then heaved a sigh and nodded. “All right, then.”
“Good.” Lucian stood at once. “Let us get to it, then.”
Quinn and Jet turned shocked gazes on the man, but it was Jet who asked, “What? Now?”
“Yes, now. When did you expect it would be done? Next week? We need to clear up this issue with the Brass Circle.”
“I know we do,” Jet said at once. “And I wasn’t thinking next week, but I thought I’d at least have an hour or two for my last—I mean, favorite meal or something before it happened.”
“Last meals are for prisoners about to be executed,” Lucian said with exasperation. “You are being turned into an immortal. Your favorite meal will taste better after you are turned. Your taste buds will be more sensitive.”
“Yes, but—” Jet began, only to have Lucian interrupt him.
“The sooner we get it done, the sooner we can move forward with our plans, and the sooner we can end the threat to Quinn and Pet, and possibly everyone else.”
When Jet blinked in surprise at that, he pointed out. “Every minute that we delay raises the risk of an attack being launched on this house.”
“Right,” Jet breathed. “We do it now, then.”
Lucian nodded and turned to Quinn. “Can you insert a peripheral venous catheter?”
She blinked in surprise. “Yes, of course.”
“Good.” He turned to Tybo and Valerian. “Fetch what we will need and meet us up in Jet’s room.”
Quinn watched worriedly as the men hurried to do his bidding, and then joined Jet to follow Lucian from the room when he headed out of the kitchen. She was aware that everyone else was following. Marguerite was directly behind them, but Mary and Dante, Basha and Marcus, and Sam and Mortimer were on her heels, and Quinn wondered a little dazedly if it was because there was some kind of ritual that had to take place first, or if they would be needed. She had no idea what to expect, really. Patrick had just grabbed her, ripped his arm open, and covered her open mouth with his bleeding arm, then pinched her nose so that she was forced to swallow the blood to get it out of her mouth and find air. But he had been half-mad and rogue, so she doubted a proper turn would go anything like that.
“Get on the bed.”
Jet blinked and took in his surroundings at Lucian’s order, saw that they’d entered the room he’d been given during his stay at the Enforcer house, and wondered how they’d got here so quickly. The walk from the kitchen to here had passed in something of a blur for him as his brain had run around inside his head freaking out and squawking, Oh my God, I’m going to be turned. Oh my God, what am I doing? Oh my God, do I really want this? What have I agreed to here? And how painful is it going to be?
Very, was the answer in his head, because several immortals had gleefully told him it was a painful process full of nightmares and agony since he’d started piloting them around. But maybe they’d just been joking around, he thought suddenly. Maybe it wasn’t bad at all.
“Do you want this?” Lucian asked, echoing one of the questions presently occupying his mind.
Jet hesitated and then shifted his gaze to Quinn. The moment his eyes landed on her concerned expression a stone-cold calm slid over him. Yes, he wanted this. Quinn was his life mate. He wanted that. He wanted her. Turning back to Lucian, he nodded firmly.
“Then get on the bed,” Lucian ordered.
Nodding again, Jet straightened his shoulders and walked to the bed to stretch out on it, but then paused and sat up. “On top of or under the covers?”
“Actually,” Sam said, hurrying around the people following them into the room, “we need to strip the bed first. There’s a protective cover on all the mattresses in the house, but there’s no sense ruining the sheets.”
“Oh,” Jet said, nonplussed, and scooted quickly off the bed. He tried to help when Sam began to strip the blankets and sheets from the bed, but the other women shooed him away and helped in his stead.
“Are we good?” Lucian asked when the bed was bare but for a white mattress cover.
“Good to go,” Sam assured him, dropping the sheets and pillows on a chair in the corner of the room.
Lucian turned to him, but Jet was already moving back to the bed. It was much less comfortable without the pillows, but he stretched out flat on the bed and then glanced nervously toward Quinn. Finding her looking at Lucian uncertainly, he shifted his gaze to the man who was simply standing there in a waiting attitude.
“What happens now?” Quinn asked.
“We wait for Tybo and Valerian to arrive with the drugs and other items.”
Quinn nodded, and then hesitated briefly before moving to the bed, and sitting on it sideways with her feet on the floor. “Are you all right?”
“I am,” he assured her solemnly. She seemed upset and anxious, so he reached for her hand and squeezed it gently.
Managing a smile, Quinn squeezed back and then held on while they waited, but a moment later Valerian and Tybo arrived with the items they’d gone to fetch and Quinn stood up. Jet’s gaze skated over the cooler of blood, the small black bag, and the IV stand Valerian carried and then moved on to Tybo and froze on the chains he had.
“Why does Tybo have chains?” Quinn asked before he could.
“They are to ensure Jet does not hurt himself during the turn,” Marguerite said soothingly.
“Hurt himself? How could he hurt himself?” she asked weakly.
“They are just a precaution, dear,” Marguerite assured her.
Jet had no idea if Quinn was reassured, but he wasn’t. Still, he didn’t protest or fight when the men began to chain him to the bed spread-eagle. But watching Tybo chain one of his wrists down, he commented nervously, “I’ve been told this is pretty painful?”
“Oh, yeah, big-time. It’s agony. And the nightmares are apparently bad too. The whole process is just nasty,” Tybo assured him cheerfully as he worked. “But on the bright side, you might not remember any of it afterward.”
“I might not?” he asked with a frown.
“Some do. Some don’t,” he said with a shrug.
“Great,” Jet muttered. “With my luck I’ll remember everything.”
“Come on, man. Don’t say that,” Tybo chided. “You have to think positive.”
“All right,” Jet muttered. “Then I’m positive I’ll remember.”
Tybo shook his head and chuckled as he fastened the chains to the bed.
Quinn watched the men chaining Jet down to the bed with a small frown, unsure why it was necessary. She was also fretting about what she was expected to do. She knew she was supposed to turn him; he was her one turn. But she wasn’t sure how. Her gaze slid to the black bag Valerian had set on the bedside table and then she glanced at Marguerite and asked, “Should I be preparing the shot?”
“He won’t need a shot. The drugs are administered through the IV,” Marguerite explained. “Actually, it might be a good idea to insert the catheter into his vein now while he’s quiet. But leave actually hooking it up to the IV for now. The drug we use is too strong for a mortal and could kill him. Do not actually start infusing the fluid until he’s well into the turn.”
Quinn frowned, but nodded and moved to the black bag. As she expected she found needles, catheters, and tubing inside. She quickly gathered what she needed, settled the items on the bedside table, and then waited for Tybo to finish and get out of the way before going to work. It was a relatively quick procedure, but she was relieved when it was done and murmured, “Sorry,” for any pain she’d caused.
“Didn’t feel a thing,” Jet assured her.
Quinn smiled as she taped the catheter in place, but knew he was lying. She used to be pretty good at it, but surgeons didn’t usually perform the procedure, so she was out of practice. On top of that, she was anxious for him and her hand had trembled a bit. She was positive he was just being kind, and bent down to kiss the corner of his mouth for it.
“I’ll be right back,” she whispered as she straightened, and then stood and moved back to Marguerite and whispered, “You said he won’t need a shot?”
“No, dear, the saline bags are specially prepared. The drugs are already in it. You just hook him up once he’s in the turn, and then switch out the bags as they empty.”
“Oh, good, but I’m more concerned about how we get my blood from me to him? I assumed we’d draw blood from me and—No?” She stopped with a frown when Marguerite started to shake her head, and then asked, “Not how Patrick did it?”
When Marguerite nodded silently, she squawked, “What?”
“What what?” Jet asked nervously from the bed.
“Nothing, honey,” Quinn said quickly, and then flushed at using the automatic endearment, a little uncomfortable until she saw his surprised pleasure. Relaxing, she turned back to Marguerite and hissed, “That’s barbaric.”
“It’s the only way to do it,” Marguerite assured her, and quickly explained, “The job of the nanos is to heal and repair any damage their host incurs. To do that, they have to stay in the body, so avoid leaving it. You might get one or two nanos by withdrawing blood, but that isn’t enough to start a turn. Only catching them by surprise and incurring a large, fast wound can get enough out to turn him.”
“Well.” She scowled and shook her head. “Then I’ll slice my wrist open.”
“Not large enough. You have to bite hard, deep, and fast and tear the flesh away, then immediately put your wrist to his mouth to get enough nanos into him.”
“Oh God,” Quinn breathed, not sure she could do that.
“Yes, you can do it,” Marguerite said soothingly, obviously reading her mind. That or she was projecting.
“What’s happening?” she heard Jet ask behind her.
“Marguerite’s just explaining to Quinn what she has to do,” Valerian said soothingly.
“She didn’t know?”
“Apparently not,” Valerian answered, and then asked, “You did?”
“A couple of immortals have mentioned the procedure to me. At least that part and the why of it. No one mentioned being chained down, though.”
“You can do this,” Marguerite repeated, rubbing her shoulder.
“Time’s a-wasting, people,” Lucian growled. “Let’s get to it.”
“How bad is this going to hurt?” Quinn asked with a frown. Maybe the nanos would ease the pain of it for her. She hoped. She was not a big fan of pain. In fact, if she were to be honest, she’d have to say she was a big wussy when it came to pain.
“It will hurt some. But it’s only a moment.”
“A moment?” she asked.
Marguerite nodded, and then urged her to the bedside. “Now. Remember, bite deep and then press the wound quickly to his mouth,” she told her as Quinn sat on the side of the bed. Turning to Jet, she added, “Open your mouth and be ready, Jet, and the second she presses her wrist to your mouth, start sucking.”
“Suck on her wound?” he asked with a grimace.
“It will help get more nanos before they stop the bleeding,” she explained, and then added, “If you do not get enough the first time, she will have to make a second wound.”
“Suck hard,” Quinn growled, because she was not doing this twice.
“Right,” he sighed, and muttered, “Suck,” to himself as if he might forget the instruction when it was the only thing he had to do.
“Okay.” Marguerite turned to her and offered an encouraging smile. “Go on. Remember to bite deep, tear away fast, then press it over his mouth. You do not want to have to wound yourself twice.”
Sighing, Quinn nodded and raised her wrist to her mouth. Telling herself it was like tearing off a bandage—“a little ouchy, and done” as she used to tell Parker—she then let her fangs slide down and just did it. She ripped into her wrist so deeply her fangs scraped bone, and then she snapped her mouth shut and jerked her head away, tearing out a large chunk of skin and meat with it, which she immediately spat out on a howl as the pain hit her brain. Quinn was so shocked at the extent of it and what she’d done that she didn’t then slap her wrist to Jet’s mouth but grabbed it with her other hand and howled like a baby. Fortunately, Marguerite then tore her hand away and shoved the gushing wrist over Jet’s mouth.
“Suck,” she barked at Jet, and Quinn’s eyes opened on another howl as he did. God, it hurt! Every nerve in her wrist was screaming, and the pain was making her stomach roil violently. Afraid she was going to vomit on him, she snapped her mouth closed, cutting off her own howling, and turned her head away from him. She then squeezed her eyes tightly closed and clenched her teeth as he sucked, and sucked and sucked.
Quinn sagged with relief when he stopped and pulled his mouth away to mutter, “No more blood is coming out.”
Not having him suck on the wound lessened the pain. Not by much, but enough she hoped she wouldn’t vomit, after all, as she instinctively covered her injured wrist with her other hand again.
“Was it enough?” Jet asked with concern, and she heard the chains clank as if he was trying to reach for her. “She doesn’t have to do that again, does she?”
“I am not sure,” Marguerite admitted on a sigh, and when Quinn blinked her eyes open and turned on her with horror, she pointed out, “You did not place it over his mouth right away.”
“Gee, I’m sorry. This was my first time,” she muttered sarcastically, and then scowled at her. “And you said it would only hurt for a moment, but it’s been longer than that and still hurts like a son of a bitch.”
“I was not being literal,” Marguerite explained. “I meant it would just be a moment out of your life, a memory once done.”
“Well, next time be literal,” Quinn growled, closing her hand tighter around her wound in the hopes of easing the pain a bit. It didn’t help.
A bag of blood appeared before her mouth, and Quinn glanced up to see Sam smiling at her sympathetically.
“Thank you,” she murmured, taking the blood, but rather than pop it to her fangs, she finally turned to look at Jet. He was watching her with concern, and she managed a smile for him, but then frowned as she realized he looked normal. As she recalled, she’d dropped to the floor and started to convulse almost the moment Patrick had finished forcing his blood on her and released her. But Jet was just watching her with concern, looking perfectly normal except for the blood around his mouth and on his chin.
“How do you feel? Does anything seem different?” she asked worriedly. God, she so didn’t want to have to do that again.
He shook his head apologetically. “I thought I got a lot of blood. It seemed like a lot,” he added with a grimace. “But nothing is—”
Quinn jerked in surprise when he suddenly went stiff as a board, his back arching so hard and so high that only his head and feet touched the mattress. She stared wide-eyed as he stayed like that for a moment and then he began convulsing and thrashing, and he crashed into her, sending her flying off the bed. She landed on the floor next to it with a thud, and then swung her head around to look at Jet, but she couldn’t see him past the people suddenly surrounding the bed, trying to hold him down as if the chains wouldn’t be enough on their own.
“Here.” Sam was suddenly beside her, taking her arm to help her up. Once she had her on her feet, the woman bent to pick up the bag of blood from where it had landed on the floor and gave it to her, then steered her a little away from the noise and activity around the bed. “You need blood, Quinn. You need your wound to heal before you can do anything for Jet. I’ll hook the IV to the catheter and turn it on to start the drugs going while you down this.”
“Thank you.” Quinn finally popped the bag to her mouth as she turned to watch the activity around the bed. She couldn’t see Jet other than small, short glimpses of one part of his body or another as people moved, leaving brief cracks in the wall of humans around him, but it seemed pretty obvious he’d got enough nanos and she wouldn’t have to bite herself again. Thank God, she thought, and then Jet began to roar in agony.