Shadow Dweller - Redemption Part 4

"Before you start, I want to ask you something."

Quinn retrieved his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Sure."

"What's your name?" He couldn't help but smile. "I guess we did this backward." He held out his hand. "Quinn Montgomery, at your service."

She hesitated before taking his hand. An electric jolt of awareness raced up his arm and expanded through his body. For a split second, his skin felt as if it were on fire. There was heat in this woman; heat the likes of which he'd never experienced before. He saw the awareness in her eyes when she dropped his hand as if she'd been scalded.

"Maeve, Maeve Leigh," her voice was shaky.

She turned away, almost running in her haste to put distance between them. She climbed onto the boulder and drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them.

He followed and dropped the bag on the rock behind her. Pawing through the contents, he located his small first aid kit.

She was watching him. "Were you are a Boy Scout?"

A snort of laughter escaped him as he opened the box. "Hardly."

"Well, you certainly seem to be prepared." Her tone was dry.

"It usually pays to plan ahead."

"Isn't that the-" Her breath hissed between clenched teeth as he inspected the wound.

"Sorry. This is going to hurt." He paused. "You might need to remove your bra so that I can clean this better."

She rotated her shoulder then winced as the movement tugged her wound. "There's no way I can get this over my head. It'll have to be cut it off."

He looked through the first aid kit again. "All I have is a small pair of bandage scissors. I'll have to go back to the truck-"

"Don't bother." She reached into her right boot and withdrew a knife. With a practiced motion, she slit the straps of her bra and shoved them out of the way, then slit the stretchy fabric between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

The fabric snapped away from her body as she crossed her arms over her bare chest, shielding herself from his gaze.

He turned away, but not before a tantalizing glimpse of a half-naked Maeve was burned into his mind.

As she'd cut the bra in front, he'd gotten a peek at the full mounds of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She was larger than he'd suspected. Who knew she'd whip her bra off like that? The least she could've done was warn him.

Mentally chastising himself, he turned his attention to her wound.

The gash wasn't deep - it extended from the top of her shoulder about three inches down her back. It should've been st.i.tched sooner, but it was too late now. The risk of infection was too great to chance it.

He reached for the alcohol.

"Are you really Mortianna's son?" He was used to the question, but it still annoyed him every time he heard it. Mortianna had never publicly claimed her son as she had her daughter. Bliss had been the desired child, while he wasn't. Even now, it still rankled.

"You heard her say it, didn't you?"

Maeve nodded. "I'd never heard she had a son."

"Not many have," he muttered.

He tried to ignore her tempting bare skin as he applied himself to her wound. The morning sunlight caught the fire in her hair, distracting him as he used the rubbing alcohol to cleanse the damage. As he dabbed the liquid on the deeper end of the cut, she trembled beneath his hand. He couldn't tell if it was due to discomfort or the chilly air. Even though it was unseasonably warm, it couldn't have been much over fifty degrees.

"Are you a witch, then?"

"Yes." Efficiently, he tore open the wrapping on a four by four and applied it to the cut.

"How does a witch go about learning spells?"

Her tone was curious, but there was something else there. Inwardly, he groaned. She was probably like the others who flocked to him once they found out about his talents. Invariably, they were in pursuit of a spell to guarantee happiness and wealth in their lives.

"We're taught by our parents."

"What if they don't tell you everything?"

He opted to ignore the question and added the last strip of tape to hold the pad in place. "There you go, all better."

She turned to watch him, her gaze direct. "What if your parents didn't teach you a spell you needed?

What would you do? Where could you get it?"

Anger bubbled. Whenever people found out who his parents were, it was the same old story. They always wanted something from him, usually a spell or his name in marriage. Some women thought that being married to him would ent.i.tle them to a life of leisure including a mult.i.tude of spells to take care of pesky details such as housework and money. Little did they know he wasn't much of a bargain. He'd make a terrible husband.

He leaned forward until their noses were mere inches apart. "Look. Witchcraft isn't about a spell to clean your house or make someone fall in love with you. It's a way of life and it's sacred. I won't give you a spell to make you rich, nor give you a spell of immortality. Both are an abomination."

She blinked, her expression turned wary. "Immortality is an abomination?" Her voice was low.

Now he knew what she wanted, the immortality spell. "Yes. Some of us are born immortal while vampires or witchcraft can make others that way. Unless it's a G.o.ddess-given gift, it's an abomination to Her." She straightened and scooted off the stone, forcing him to back up. Her back was rigid and her arms still crossed over her chest. "Thanks for your help and invaluable insight." Sarcasm dripped from every word as she turned and struggled awkwardly into her shirt.

"You should have told me about your injury last night. Waiting will cause it to scar even worse."

"No, it won't." She turned to face him, her expression defiant. "I'm an immortal, created by a vampire.

Or, in your words, an abomination."

Chapter 4.

Cynicism poured hot and heavy through her veins as she stomped through the woods toward the Rover.

He was just like the rest of them.

After the death of Reb, her family, not knowing what had changed their remaining daughter, had turned away from her. All too well, she remembered her mother's cries for justice and her unspoken condemnation of her remaining child. Maeve should've protected her sister. Reb had been well known for getting into one sc.r.a.pe after another, forcing Maeve to run to her rescue.

Until the last time.

How could she have told her parents that an elder vampire had killed Rebecca, and she, the remaining twin, had been made an immortal? Even attempting to tell them would've earned her a one-way ticket to the funny farm. Not only did it sound completely insane, what average, everyday person could comprehend such a thing?

None.

Now Maeve had no contact with her family. They'd abandoned her, content to mourn both of their daughters rather than face the one who'd lived. With their silent questions unanswered, she'd decided long ago that her presence hurt her family more than helped. She was a reminder of the nightmare that their lives had become.

When it came to nightmares, she could write a book.

Reaching the clearing, she s.n.a.t.c.hed open the door and grabbed Quinn's sweater off the seat. Shivering, she tugged it over her shirt, ignoring the pull of the bandage and her wound.

She liked being alone. No one to report to, pick up after or cook for. Her time was her own, her money was her own and, best of all, no one was going to impede her goal of killing her sister's murderer. Her thirst for revenge was what sustained her, not her family.

The crunch of dry underbrush announced Quinn's arrival. Fully clothed, he stopped a few feet away, his bag dangling from his fingertips.

"We need to get on the road." She refused to meet his gaze as she tugged the warm wool down aroundher hips.

"Were you willing?" His voice was hoa.r.s.e.

"Does it matter? What's done is done." She climbed in the pa.s.senger side and slammed the door, unwilling to watch the condemnation on his face. Let him think what he wanted. Most people did anyway.

Several minutes pa.s.sed before he got in and started the engine. Staring straight ahead, she willed him to put the Rover into gear and not say another word to her.

"Look at me."

His voice was low, commanding. Unable to resist his summons, yet steeling herself for his censure, she turned to him.

"It does matter," he said.

She turned to stare out the window as he put the vehicle in drive.

Yeah, right.

She breathed a sigh of relief as they rounded the last mountainous curve and Sinjin's home came into view. Set on a cliff overlooking the sea,Aisling Crioch , Dream's End, was a ma.s.sive stone structure built over four hundred years before on the remains of a medieval stronghold.

Pale cream-colored stone walls and empty gla.s.s windows stared as they approached. A plethora of gargoyles and dragons perched on the ramparts as if awaiting their turn to leap upon unsuspecting visitors.

Not that Dream's End had very many visitors. The locals in the nearest town believed the house was a gateway to the netherworld and Sinjin in league with the devil. Few dared set foot on d.a.m.ned ground.

As Quinn turned the Rover and drove through the wrought iron gates, Maeve tensed, expecting the power of the vampire to speak to her. She frowned as he maneuvered the twisting drive. She felt nothing.

Vampires had a variety of methods to keep the unwanted at bay. One way was to retain a Gatekeeper, a human or revenant to keep the living away. Another was to use a guard-a form of magical lock that needed a key or pa.s.sword.

In order to protect his privacy, Sinjin used the latter. In the past, as she'd approached the house, she'd been aware of his power. Reminiscent of a low- voltage current, she didn't realize until now how she'd grown used to the mystical energy. Now, she felt nothing but the cool air of the approaching Highland winter.

Something was wrong.

She flung open the door and leapt from the Rover as it came to a halt at the foot of the front walk. Her heart pounding wildly, she ran for the front door, only dimly aware of Quinn shouting for her to stop. Theaged oak door was open a few inches and it swung wide as she put her hand on it and pushed.

The entry was dark. She hated the dark.

A sense of unease skittered down her spine. There were always lights on in the main hall. She reached for her boot-knife. The house was as silent as a tomb. Hilton, Sinjin's ever-present butler, was nowhere to be seen. Something was very definitely wrong. Hilton would have never left the front door open, nor would he have willingly abandoned his post.

Palming the handle of the blade, she advanced, heading for the music room to her right. As she approached, she noted an unfamiliar scent in the air, like that of wet pennies and cotton candy.

The gloomy dregs of fading daylight filtered through the tall windows as she stepped into the room. A grand piano sat squarely in the center of the polished floor, its bench tipped on its side. Just a few feet from the bench lay a shattered vase and what looked like a large puddle of water with a sodden blanket in the center. Dying stalks of hothouse roses, heather and thistle were scattered on the floor where they'd fallen.

Cautiously, she moved to poke at the anomaly with the tip of her boot-knife. Catching the blade on a fold, she lifted. The sickening sweet scent of cotton candy, with an underlying hint of something metallic, a.s.saulted her nose. She dropped the cloth to the floor with a slap, jerking back as something small and white rolled out of the cloth.

It looked like a human bone.

Repulsed, she backed away. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a movement. Bracing herself, she spun around, startled to see Quinn, who stood less than three feet away. He held before him, in a practiced stance, a samurai sword from the display in the main hall. He'd tucked another short sword into his belt. His gaze swung from the damp cloth to meet Maeve's.

"It's one ofhers ."

She didn't need any other explanation. Mortianna's foot soldiers had been here, and this one, for whatever reason, would never return.

She nodded before moving around him to the door. Where was Sinjin?

Walking into the hall, she was careful to keep to the edges of the foyer, out of sight from the open galleries above. Without a word, they investigated the rooms on the main floor. Moving from one to the next with stealth and caution as they looked for anyone living.

All they found was death.

In the main parlor lay another one of the minions, or its clothing at least, its body missing. Another one like it lay in the corner of the main hall, a sodden heap of brown wool and a few bleached bones.

What sort of sorcery was this?

Maeve shot a glance at her silent companion as he inspected their latest find, his expression impa.s.sive.

The gentle breeze touched her skin, bringing with it the scent of fresh air. The library door moved a fewinches in the draft. She tapped Quinn on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow. The breeze grew stronger as she approached the library, then pushed open the door.

The aftermath of her kidnapping was evident. Broken gla.s.s from the window littered the once-priceless Persian carpeting, now ruined with rainwater. Two of the elegant Chippendale chairs were overturned, a porcelain vase shattered on the hearth-it's previous inhabitants shriveled on the stones.

On the floor lay the book she'd sought earlier and she was relieved to see it remained untouched. There would be time for that later. Right now, she had to find Sinjin.

"This is where it happened."

Quinn's quiet words startled her. She'd almost forgotten about him. That alone was unusual as she was guarded around most people. "Yes."

His handsome mouth firmed as if something displeased him. His dark eyes missed nothing as he scanned the shambles of the room, his expression closed. Tension radiated from his body.

She looked away, her gaze fixing on a broken decanter. Its contents had soaked into the cream wool of the carpeting, leaving an ugly caramel-colored blotch. What a waste of good brandy.

She waved her hand to indicate the disarray. "Whatever happened occurred shortly after I was taken.

Hilton wouldn't have left such a mess-"