Mile High with a Vampire by Lynsay Sands

Seven

“I’m so sorry. Oh my God, I can’t believe I did that,” Quinn babbled, whipping off her shirt and balling it up as she rushed across the room to Lucian Argeneau. Going up on her tiptoes, she pressed the cloth against the man’s wounded shoulder to stop the bleeding, as she assured him, “I never would have pulled the trigger if I’d realized it was you.”

“Which you surely would have known if you’d bothered to open your eyes before pulling the trigger,” Lucian Argeneau growled through clenched teeth as she put pressure on his wound.

“Or if you’d bothered to call out or knock or something,” Quinn pointed out a bit sharply with annoyance. “Why the hell didn’t you? Now I’m going to have to live with shooting the great Lucian Argeneau. Dear God, like I don’t have enough on my conscience,” she muttered, lifting the cloth to see that the bleeding was slowing incredibly quickly. Of course it was. He was immortal, she reminded herself. Still, she pressed the cloth tightly back in place, rather pleased when Lucian sucked in a sharp breath.

Glowering down at her, he snapped, “I was being quiet because I didn’t want to warn anyone that we were here until we found Kira and Liliya.”

“Quiet my ass,” Quinn snorted with disgust. “We could hear you pounding around—Wait! You haven’t found the women?” she asked with alarm.

“We have Nika and Marta, but not Kira and Liliya,” he growled, pulling her hand and the balled-up cloth away from his shoulder. “Where are they?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Quinn asked with agitation, and slapped the cloth determinedly back to his shoulder. “The only one I saw was Nika. Though we did hear another window break around the side while she was at the front.”

“So, is it safe to come out, or not?” Jet asked from behind them. “’Cause it’s kind of hard to breathe in here with us all squished together like this. I think one of the girls has already fainted and I’m feeling a little light-headed myself.”

Quinn glanced around with concern at that, her eyes widening with dismay when she saw that Jet was being crushed against the bars by the crowd behind him as they struggled for room to breathe.

“Anders!” Lucian suddenly bellowed right in her ear. “Get in here. I found the mortals.”

“Did he say mortals?” Brittany asked as Quinn turned back to Lucian Argeneau and slapped at his hand to keep him from pulling away the cloth she had pressed to his shoulder.

“Stop that. We have to stop the bleeding,” she told him sharply.

“I am immortal,” he reminded her. “The nanos will stop the bleeding. I need blood, not a doctor.”

“No blood,” a beautiful mocha-skinned man announced, entering the room. “We just gave the last of it to Kira and Liliya.”

“You found them?” Quinn asked, relief soaking through her the moment the man nodded.

The fellow—Anders, she presumed—ran wide eyes over her in her bra and slacks as she again slapped Lucian’s hand away from the cloth she was holding to his chest. His lips twitched with amusement, but he said, “Yes. Kira was hurt pretty badly, but was still in control of herself. However, her injury weakened her. Liliya was just helping her across the yard to the lodge when they were spotted.”

“I’m so glad,” Quinn breathed, relieved to know Liliya hadn’t been hurt.

“Uh, Quinn?”

Frowning, she glanced back to the cage, her concern deepening as she took in Jet’s coloring.

“Here,” she said, grabbing Anders’s hand and pressing it over the cloth on Lucian’s shoulder before sliding her own out. “Hold that for a minute,” she ordered, and then rushed over to the cage to grab the padlock. Quinn stared at it blankly for a minute and then lifted her head and asked, “Does Shawn still have the keys? Shawn?”

There was murmuring from behind Jet, and then he groaned as he was pressed even more tightly against the bars as the people behind him tried to move to look for Shawn.

“Oh my God, he’s on the floor. I don’t think he’s breathing,” someone cried.

Cursing, Quinn snapped the padlock off the cell and caught Jet when the door swung open and he started to fall out.

“Breathe, Jet,” she muttered, dragging him away from the door so the others could escape. Quinn set him down against the wall, checked to be sure that he was still breathing, and then straightened and hurried into the now nearly empty cell. Jason and Brittany were the only ones still inside with the unconscious man. Jason was watching as Brittany performed mouth-to-mouth on the unconscious man.

Quinn urged him out of the way, and knelt to take Shawn’s pulse. Much to her relief there was one. The young man was still alive.

“He’s waking up,” Brittany said with relief.

Quinn peered at Shawn’s face, smiling when he opened his eyes and stared at her.

“Are you an angel?” he asked faintly.

Quinn’s eyebrows rose slightly, but she merely shook her head and scooped him up to carry him out of the cell. Even with most of the people who had been crammed in there gone, the inside of the cell was still hot and airless. She set him down next to Jet, who was awake now and looking much better, then she straightened and peered around, scowling when she saw that Anders was not holding her shirt over Lucian’s wound as she’d instructed.

She was about to head over to rectify that situation when something warm and heavy was draped over her shoulders. Glancing down she saw that it was Jet’s aviator jacket. He was on his feet now, looking a little flush as he tried to tug it closed in front.

“Oh, thank you,” she murmured, shrugging first one arm and then the other into the jacket.

“My pleasure,” Jet growled, zipping up the front for her. “Young Shawn’s eyes were about to fall out of his head he was goggling at you so hard.”

Quinn’s eyebrows rose at the jealousy she heard in his voice, and then she leaned up and kissed his cheek quickly, before taking his hand and drawing him with her as she went to where Lucian, Anders, and a third man were now talking. The newcomer was a dark-haired behemoth of a man who made her think of her brother-in-law for some reason. While Santo was bald and this man had long, dark hair, he was of a similar size to her brother-in-law. He also had a similar mouth and the same black eyes with silver in their depths, she noted. Her eyes widened slightly when Jet said, “Dante. Good to see you.”

The large, dark-haired man turned a relieved smile on Jet, his gaze moving over him with concern as he stepped forward to shake his hand and say, “I am glad you are well, Jet. Abigail and Mary have been having fits.”

Realizing then that he was Dante Notte, the brother-in-law of Jet’s best friend/adopted sister, Abigail, Quinn left them to talk and moved over to Lucian.

“Stop poking at me, woman!” Lucian barked, swatting at her hand when she began tugging the ragged edges of his shirt away from the wound to get a look at it.

“I’m not poking. I’m a doctor, I’m examining,” Quinn snapped.

“You’re annoying,” he countered with irritation.

“Well, that’s gratitude for you,” she muttered with disgust.

“Gratitude?” Lucian choked out with disbelief. “You shot me!”

“Only because you didn’t warn me that it was you and not one of those crazed, blood-lusting loco Russians running around,” Quinn responded, flushing with embarrassment, and then she bit her lip and asked, “How are you feeling? You lost a lot of blood. You aren’t going to go all loco blood-lusty on us too, are you?”

Lucian scowled at her darkly and then growled, “Anders, take this creature and her mortal upstairs, please. I want them on the helicopter the minute it returns.”

“Of course,” Anders said mildly, and then arched an eyebrow. “Which one is her mortal?”

“The one presently attached to her hip, trying to look down his own jacket at her breasts,” Lucian said dryly.

Quinn glanced around with a start to find that Jet and Dante had joined them. She was just quick enough to see him jerk his head up and scowl at Lucian. “I was just trying to make sure the jacket was done up enough to cover everything. It’s a bit large on Quinn and the zipper doesn’t come up as high on her as it does on me.”

“Of course,” Lucian said dryly, and raised an eyebrow at Anders. “Why are they still here?”

“Because I’m finding this amusing?” Anders suggested.

Dante burst out laughing at that, and then shook his head and offered, “I will see them out. I have to go back to the others and help with the cleanup anyway. Besides, I am sure you can use Anders’s help down here.”

Lucian grunted at that, which Quinn guessed was agreement when Dante began to usher them from the room.

Quinn dragged her feet, though, and glanced over her shoulder toward the lodge workers, asking, “But what about Brittany and the others?”

“They will be taken care of,” Dante assured her. “Everything will be taken care of. You are no longer on your own in this, Quinn. We will handle everything and you and Jet can rest now until the helicopter comes back.”

“When will that be?” Jet asked as they made their way along the basement hall to the stairs.

“The helicopter was leaving to take Kira and her girls to Cochrane as I came below. The pilot said it would take close to an hour and fifteen minutes to get there. Figure fifteen minutes to half an hour for him to get Kira and her women off the helicopter and load it back up with blood and whatever else the pilot is bringing back, and then another hour and fifteen minutes to fly back,” Dante calculated aloud. “So, probably about three hours,” he announced apologetically.

“Three hours.” Jet almost moaned the words as they started up the stairs. Quinn wasn’t surprised. She was sure he must be as exhausted as she was. Besides which, she just wanted to get back to civilization and some form of normalcy.

“There are bedrooms upstairs,” Dante pointed out. “If the two of you wish to lie down and rest for a while, I can come wake you up when the helicopter returns.”

“That sounds good,” Jet said, and then asked, “Do you have any food on you?”

“No,” Dante said apologetically.

“No?” Jet nearly goggled at that news. “What the hell, man? You and Tomasso always have food on you. I’ve never seen you without it.”

“I had Snickers bars, but I ate them all while we were searching,” Dante admitted, and then said, “But surely they have food here?”

“They should,” Quinn said, joining the conversation. “Brittany said the provisions were delivered with her and Jason yesterday,” she told them, remembering that was one of the things the girl had babbled to her as she’d led the way back upstairs after the girl had shown her the booze box. Frowning, she added, “I don’t know where the kitchen is, though.”

“I do,” Dante announced as they reached the upper hall. Slipping around them, he said, “Follow me.” And led them up the hall, through the front room where Nika had thrust her arms through the window, and then down another hall on the other side of the building.

“Eat what you wish—Lucian will have it replaced before we finish here,” Dante said as they entered a large kitchen. “But if you nap after, use the rooms nearer the stairs so I do not have to search half the place when the helicopter arrives.”

“We will,” Quinn and Jet said at the same time, and then smiled tiredly at each other as the other immortal left the room.

“Well, let’s see what we have,” Jet breathed, moving to the refrigerator and pulling the door open. “Wow. A lot of choice here.”

“Oh?” Quinn moved beside him and pushed up onto her tiptoes to look over his arm at the contents on offer. Her eyes widened when she saw the fully stocked fridge. “Wow. Look at all those veggies and—”

“Oh, no,” Jet said at once, nudging her away from the refrigerator. “Don’t even look at the green stuff. You’re eating real food, not salad and seeds.”

“Nice idea, but your so-called ‘real’ food needs cooking, and I’m not much of a cook,” Quinn admitted unhappily.

“Lucky for you, then, that I am,” he said lightly, urging her toward the table in the center of the room. “Go sit down and I’ll make us something.”

Quinn smiled faintly as he hurried back to the refrigerator. He seemed a lot more chipper, his exhaustion falling away with the prospect of food before him. Dropping to sit on one of the chairs at the table, she asked, “So, how come you know how to cook?”

“Alcoholic mother, remember?” he said with amusement as he retrieved an onion, pepper, cheese, and milk from the fridge. “It was learn to cook or starve. I couldn’t eat at Abs and her mom’s house every night of the week.”

“Oh,” Quinn murmured, recalling that conversation about his mom from the dream. It seemed they’d definitely shared it, she thought as she watched him set the items he’d collected on the table and return to the refrigerator for eggs and a couple more items.

“Fortunately, Mom-Marge was happy to teach me to cook when I hung around at their house,” Jet said, transferring the new items he’d gathered to the table and then moving off to start opening cupboards and drawers.

“You called her Mom-Marge?” Quinn asked with interest, following him with her eyes.

“Yeah.” He smiled fondly as he returned to the table with a large bowl, a cutting board, and a paring knife. Setting them on the table with the rest of the stuff, he shrugged and added, “It’s what she was.” His smile faded now and he added grimly, “Unfortunately, the navy didn’t see it that way when she died and I tried to get leave to attend the funeral. As far as they were concerned, if she wasn’t a blood relation, I didn’t need to attend.” He shook his head grimly and sat down to start peeling an onion. “Actually, that’s part of the reason I refused to sign on for another tour. I was so pissed at them for not letting me go to her funeral . . .” Expression turning sad, he shook his head unhappily. “I should have been there for Abs. And I never got to say goodbye to Mom-Marge.”

Quinn reached out to touch his arm in sympathy and Jet looked up with surprise and then smiled at her crookedly, before turning his attention back to the onion and murmuring, “You’re good with sharp things. Why don’t you grab a knife and help me by slicing up the pepper?”

“That I can do,” Quinn said with forced cheer, and stood to go find a knife. It took opening a couple drawers, but she finally found one and returned to the table to set to work on the green pepper, cutting it in half and removing the seeds. She started to slice the pepper into long strips and then slice those into pieces, and then paused to ask, “Like this?”

Jet checked out what she’d cut so far and nodded. “Perfect.”

“Great,” she said wryly, returning to slicing. “I may have had to give up surgery, but at least I have veggie slicing to fall back on.”

Jet chuckled at her comment and said, “I don’t know. Seems to me you have lots of skills besides wielding a scalpel.”

“Like what?” she asked with disbelief. Wielding a scalpel was pretty much all she knew. Quinn was very aware that she was a one-trick pony.

“You handle a gun pretty well,” he pointed out, and teased, “You blasted a nice big hole in Lucian downstairs.”

“Ha, ha,” Quinn said dryly.

Voice more serious, and concentration on the onion he was dicing, Jet added, “And you saved the lives of eight mortals today. That’s pretty impressive.”

“We saved them,” Quinn said firmly.

Jet snorted at the claim and said cheerfully, “Well, that’s bullshit.”

“It’s true,” she insisted. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“All I did was slow you down. You could have reached the lodge quicker if you hadn’t had to drag me around,” he pointed out, and then he raised his head and met her gaze solemnly, and said, “You don’t have to worry about my ego, Quinn. I know what I’m good at and what I’m not. It doesn’t bother me that I needed you to survive today, and last night. Someday there may be a situation where I can save our asses. This was not one of those days.” He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

Quinn watched silently as he worked. He really didn’t seem bothered by the fact that she’d had to save him and the others. Not that she really had. The arrival of Lucian and his men is what really saved them, but she had carried Jet here, and then she’d dragged Jason away from the window before Nika could grab him. She’d also kept Jet from going to Nika when the Russian had taken control of him, and then she’d placed herself in front of them all, ready to fight for them down in the basement . . . And Jet didn’t mind.

That was rather surprising to her. Patrick would have had fits at the idea of her saving him. Actually, he would have made it impossible for her to do so. He wouldn’t have let her carry him unless he was unconscious, and once here he would have tried to take charge rather than share decisions with her as Jet had. And when it came to getting into the cage, he wouldn’t have. He would have insisted on taking the shotgun and staying out of the cage, whether it meant risking being controlled and made to shoot her or not. His ego wouldn’t have allowed anything else.

She wondered why the two men would have reacted so differently. Why would Patrick have needed to try to control everything and try to be the hero when he couldn’t, while Jet was okay with stepping back and letting her handle things when the situation called for it? She didn’t see him as any less manly because of it. Actually, it was the opposite. Jet seemed stronger to her than Patrick ever had. He was more dependable somehow, more self-assured, maybe. He knew his strengths, but he also knew his comparative weaknesses as a mortal and didn’t try to pretend they didn’t exist or were something to be ashamed of. He treated them like they were just a part of him rather than something to cover up.

“Here we go.”

Quinn glanced up, surprised to see that while she’d been distracted with her thoughts, Jet had finished dicing the onions, found a grater and grated the cheese, and even mixed the eggs and milk and whisked them to a frothy state.

“What can I do?” Quinn asked as he found a frying pan and set it on the stove.

“There’s juice in the fridge. Why don’t you pour us both a glass? Or maybe make coffee. Or both,” he added wryly.

Quinn went for the third option and made coffee as well as pouring them both a glass of juice. She then found plates and silverware to set the table and finally found bread and started to make toast. That, she could manage. By the time she’d made four slices of toast and buttered them, Jet was cutting the omelet in half and sliding a portion onto each of the plates she’d set on the table.

“Wow,” Quinn murmured as she set the toast on the table and sat down. “That smells good. I guess you really can cook.”

“Maybe you should try it before you make such statements,” Jet said with amusement as he set the frying pan in the sink and quickly ran water into it. Joining her a moment later, he noted that she hadn’t even tried it yet, and said, “Dig in.”

Quinn picked up her fork and knife and a moment later slid a piece of the omelet into her mouth. She then groaned appreciatively.

“Yeah?” Jet asked with a grin, cutting into his own portion.

“Oh, yeah,” she sighed with pleasure once she’d swallowed, and then, arching an eyebrow at him, she added, “Too much of your cooking and I won’t have a bony ass anymore.”

Jet stilled and then raised an apologetic face to hers. “I didn’t mean that. My head was just pounding and I was cranky. Besides, you know nanos ensure you’re at your peak condition. Peak to them isn’t skeletal and bony. And it was actually the backs of your legs I was hitting. You were running, your muscles extended and hard when my head slammed into them. But your bum is actually really nice and soft and curvy. It fit perfectly into my hands when we were—” He cut himself off abruptly there and turned his attention back to the omelet almost desperately.

They were both silent for a moment, both eating and avoiding looking at each other, but then Quinn couldn’t stand it anymore and said, “I know it was a shared dream, but I don’t understand . . .” Frowning, she shook her head, but when Jet lifted his head to meet her gaze, she struggled on. “I don’t know what was real and what wasn’t. We were on the beach and I asked you to kiss me. That part was the dream, wasn’t it?”

Jet nodded. “Yes.”

“Right. And you did. Kiss me, I mean, and then . . .” She hesitated, recalling his hands moving over her body, the excitement and passion of it, the heated need, and blurted, “And then we were on the sand and you ripped my blouse open, and moved my bra aside and—” She broke off, her hand rising to cover one breast rather than say he’d been suckling at it, and she was surprised to feel her nipple tingle under the leather jacket as her hand moved over it. Quinn was positive her nipples were erect. Just the memory of what they’d done in the dream was affecting her.

Shaking her head, she hurried on, saying, “I opened my eyes and I was looking up through the branches of the pine we were under in reality,” she admitted. “And afterward my blouse had been ripped open. The buttons were all missing. When did the dream stop and how did it become reality?”

She saw Jet swallow, and shift in his seat, and then he cleared his throat and said, “I don’t know. The last thing I recall before the dream is dragging you under the pine tree for cover. It was cold, and you were wet and shivering, and I spooned you. Maybe you rolled over in your sleep while we were dreaming and . . .” He shrugged helplessly. “Maybe we started to kiss in reality, while still asleep?”

“And you ripped my shirt open while we were asleep?” she asked uncertainly, and then pointed out, “But I was looking up through pine branches when I opened my eyes.”

Jet licked his lips, his gaze dropping to her mouth and down lower to her hidden breasts, then he suddenly stood to carry his plate to the sink, mumbling, “As far as I know I didn’t wake up until the dream ended when you suddenly pushed me away in it.”

Standing, Quinn followed him with her plate and said, “I must have been awake before you, then. But if I woke up before you, why didn’t the dream end sooner for you? You must have been awake too without realizing it.”

“Maybe,” Jet allowed, and stiffened when her arm brushed his as she set her plate in the sink.

“Quinn, honey, you’re killing me here,” he growled, turning the water on to rinse the plates. “I know you said you weren’t ready for a life mate, and I’m trying to give you space, but I find you irresistible, and bringing this up has me hard as a bone. So, unless you want to be ravished on the kitchen table, I suggest you—” His words died abruptly when she clasped his arm and leaned up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Quinn knew she wasn’t being fair. She really wasn’t ready for a life mate, but she found him irresistible too, and he wasn’t the only one who’d been excited by their discussion. She wanted him, and the idea of being ravished on the kitchen table excited the hell out of her. So she was relieved when Jet groaned in response and turned his head to claim her lips. Quinn opened her mouth at once to him, a moan sliding up her throat when his tongue delved in to fill her, and then he’d turned fully and his arms were around her, his hands clutching and squeezing the derriere he’d claimed fit into them perfectly.

When he lifted her by that hold, and pressed her tightly against his groin, Quinn gasped and wiggled against him, her legs wrapping around his hips and her arms snaking around his neck as she tried to get closer still.

Jet set her on a hard surface a moment later, but it was the counter, not the table, and suddenly his hands were everywhere. She didn’t notice his undoing the zipper of the jacket, but felt him push it off her shoulders, and arched her back, offering her breasts to him. But he didn’t caress and squeeze them right away as she’d hoped. Quinn didn’t understand why until she felt his hands at the back of her bra, undoing the snaps. She shivered in anticipation as the lacy cloth loosened and fell away. When his warm, rough hands finally closed over her excited nipples, kneading the flesh of her small breasts, Quinn gasped into his mouth and shifted closer on the countertop until his groin pressed against hers again.

They both groaned then, the kiss briefly broken on the sounds as liquid heat poured through them at the move. Jet leaned his forehead on hers, his hands almost rough on her breasts, as he growled, “You’re so fucking perfect. God, I love your body. I just want to—”

Quinn cried out and bucked on the countertop when one of her breasts was released and that hand slid down and inside her pants to glide between her legs.

“Oh God, you’re wet for me,” he moaned with despair, and then kissed her violently as he began to caress her.

Quinn was kissing him back just as passionately when he tore his mouth away and rasped, “You have to tell me what you want, Quinn. I don’t want to push you into—Ahhhh,” he gasped when her hand found him through his dress slacks and closed over his erection.

“I want you,” she muttered against his mouth, her hand rubbing over the length of his hardness and adding to the excitement a hundredfold. “Please, Jet,” she moaned. “I want you inside me. I need—Oh God,” she cried, her behind rising off the counter as one of his fingers slid inside of her and stayed there while his thumb ran circles around the nub of her enjoyment. “Yes, please. I—Oh God, just—”

Quinn clutched his shoulders and shook her head frantically. She wanted him to make love to her. She wanted to feel him inside of her, but knew that wasn’t going to happen. There was already too much pleasure. They were too close, and then his finger slid out and thrust back in. Quinn couldn’t hear his shout over her own cry as the pleasure exploded between them.