Double Alchemy: Climax (4 page)

His words broke off suddenly as his efforts to prohibit Cade from his intentions were unsuccessful. Below the blanket, Cade took him in his mouth, causing extremely sensitive sensations and Quinn almost dropped the phone as his hips curved upward, his eyes closing in sheer satisfaction.

“Percy, I’m going to have to call you back. Something’s come up,” he said in a strangled voice and disconnected the mobile, leaning back against the headboard as Cade’s lips and tongue became even more active. “Cade, as much as I love what you’re doing, I wish you’d let me finish my bloody conversations…”

His voice trailed off once again as Cade’s hands stroked him softly in that sensitive place in between his legs, midway to groin and his backside, and he groaned loudly. His hands crept under the covers and buried themselves in Cade’s hair, twisting the strands between his fingers as he held Cade’s head in place, not wanting him to do anything other than what he was doing now.

“Hell, that feels incredible, just keep going…”

Cade’s lips tightened around him. For the next few minutes, Quinn gasped at the sensations he was causing with his warm, wet mouth and busy tongue. His groin finally exploded in a series of mini eruptions as he came in Cade’s mouth, feeling his lover licking up every drop. Finally Quinn lay spent, his eyes closed in sheer bliss as Cade crawled up from the covers with a smile, licking his lips.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured, kissing him deeply, and Quinn tasted his own semen on his mouth. He pulled Cade to him, his tongue entwining with his as he lay across him. Finally they came up for air and Cade snuggled into his shoulder. “I thought I’d give you an early present.”

“You could have waited for me to put the phone down,” Quinn murmured, his eyes twinkling. “I’m sure Percy knew exactly what had come up from the chuckle he gave just before I put the phone down. I’ll never live it down with him.”

He leered at Cade. “Do you want me to return the favour? I’m more than happy to reciprocate.”

Cade’s eyes darkened into smoky pools of grey filled with desire. “I wouldn’t say no…”

Quinn looked at him and grinned. “I think I would be remiss if I didn’t give you what you’ve just given me.”

Cade sighed in contentment as Quinn disappeared under the covers. Later they lay cuddled together, both satiated and ready for a shower.

“I can get used to this Christmas morning tradition of giving presents in bed.” Quinn drawled lazily as his hands threaded through Cade’s hair. Cade loved the feel of those warm hands running through it. “What else have you got planned for today?”

“Just you, me, lunch, then a roaring fire, watching old movies on TV and drinking a lot of gluhwein.” Cade chuckled as he stroked Quinn’s stomach idly, running his fingers along a jagged scar. “It’s freezing outside. The weather forecast says it might snow and if it does, I definitely plan on making snow angels with you in the garden.”

Quinn smiled at him. “That isn’t a euphemism for something, is it? You do mean make snow angels? I have no desire to be ravaged in the garden at minus one degree. All my bits will freeze and fall off.”

Cade laughed. “No, I promise I won’t ravish you in the snow. In front of the fire later, definitely. That’s a given.”

Quinn kissed the top of his head. “I look forward to that bit, then.” Quinn sat up and swung his legs out of bed, as he stood up and stretched. “Shower time.” He padded through to the bathroom as Cade watched the taut muscles of his backside admiringly.

Cade lay back in bed with a satisfied sigh, watching as Marco Polo jumped up onto the bed. “Surely Christmas Day couldn’t get any better, Marco. A good man, early-morning sex and a whole day together in front of a real fire. Sheer bliss, kitty, sheer bliss.”

His face darkened as he remembered the people who wouldn’t be enjoying any Christmas this year or any other. Cade felt a deep sense of sadness when he thought of Graham and his family. The only consolation he had was that he hoped that somewhere, somehow, they were all together again.

Chapter 3

Christmas had come and gone and the New Year was now just a distant memory. Both Cade and Quinn were back to work harder than ever, their paths crossing morning and evenings. Quinn’s responsibilities kept him even busier than before. With Graham’s death, Cade had found himself taking on extra responsibilities and he was now teaching more classes. Their life together had grown into some sort of pattern and their few months living together had started to feel comfortable. Quinn loved coming home to Cade’s welcoming embrace and warm body.

Quinn’s best friend and business partner, Jomo Onyango, was back at work with QuinnCo. After the events of last year, when Jomo had been attacked and badly injured in Quinn’s house, Quinn had convinced his friend to work from his own home when he could. It worked well as Jomo’s girlfriend, Ulinda, had moved in with him. Jomo now worked one day a week with Quinn from Quinn’s home and the rest of their time together was spent on Skype communicating where necessary. Quinn had more time to do his Warlock business in private as he became more and more involved at the Consortium. He definitely missed his friend’s company and wise words but deep down inside, he knew it was the only way to keep him safer. He had Cade to worry about now as well.

Quinn was currently seated at a large, round table in a dimly lit but very sumptuous hall, surrounded by some of his Marshalls at the Annual Consortium Dinner in the middle of rural Kent. The hall was set within a dome of magyck to prevent outside influences. It was a necessary evil, a get-together of some of the most powerful Warlocks in the country, even the world.

As Grand Master, Quinn was honour bound to be there. He didn’t really feel like it tonight. He’d had a fairly rough day visiting and commiserating with a family about the death of their son, the Warlock who’d died on Christmas Eve, which had caused Quinn’s recent reaction. Russell Pinkerton had been hit by a truck on the M25, his car dragged under the vehicle for the best part of a mile. There had been very little to identify and healing by his Withinner had been out of the question. The young twenty-five-year-old teaching assistant had stood no chance.

These dinners generally lapsed into talk about the Witchunters Alliance, the best way to fight it and of course the most discussed topic in hand currently: the hunt for the Witchfinder General and Quinn’s failure to find him after having him so closely in his sights. Quinn’s current nemesis, James Barton Sinclair, sat opposite him at the table, his rheumy green eyes in his florid face, his wine glass empty again as he gestured arrogantly to a passing waiter to fill it up for what Quinn thought was about the tenth time.

Barton Sinclair looked at him with a sceptical expression. “So, Quinn, I understand you told everyone that the Warlock you killed—again—had two Withinners? I must confess I find that a tad difficult to believe. I’ve never even heard of such a thing. Are you sure you weren’t mistaken?”

Quinn regarded James thoughtfully. “I saw them both leave his body. I can assure you I wasn’t seeing double.”

“But you were hurt? Everyone knows the mind can play tricks on itself when the body is weak.”

Quinn toyed with his whisky glass, his bad temper level increasing exponentially with every flick of Barton Sinclair’s fleshy pink tongue on his lips as he licked off wine with hedonistic enjoyment. “Yes, I was hurt. But I know what I saw.” He raised his eyes, meeting Barton Sinclair’s with an unflinching icy topaz gaze.

The other man shrugged. “Perhaps but I have to say I still think something else was at play. Perhaps a trick of the light, or a desire to find an excuse so one can say one
was
actually fighting against all odds.” He smiled, the gesture not reaching his eyes. “I imagine you count yourself lucky that you did win that battle. The alternative—losing—would have been quite a humbling experience for a Fairmont.” His voice was sneering.

The man is a buffoon. Can you not simply stick a knife in his ribs one night and toss his fat carcass into a river? If you invoke me, I will do it for you. No one can arrest me for his demise.

Taliesin was definitely not happy with the turn of events and Quinn held down a chuckle at his Withinner’s words.

Old friend, as much as that holds a great attraction for me, I’m afraid it’s not quite the way to go. He’ll get his comeuppance one day, I promise you.

Percy Ballantyne, Quinn’s right-hand man in the Consortium, shifted at Quinn’s side and his face darkened at James’s words. He looked at Quinn with a frown and Quinn shook his head almost imperceptibly at him as Quinn regarded the West Country Marshall with a flinty stare.

Time for payback.

“James, sometimes I believe you think you are beyond all the necessary niceties to make sure someone stays on your side. I have to say it sounds like a fairly short-sighted approach.” Quinn looked down into his whisky glass. He was going to enjoy this next bit. “I understood from Percy that you’d put in an application for some funds from QuinnCo to re-build your current home after a bad storm and a landslide? Normally I wouldn’t countenance such a thing but as your house also doubles as a centre for bullied youngsters and a community meeting place, I was fairly disposed to grant you the quarter million pounds you said you needed. But it appears my generosity might have been too—how shall I say this—quickly predisposed toward a positive outcome.”

He glanced mildly at Barton Sinclair, whose face had paled at Quinn’s words. Quinn knew Barton Sinclair was in dire need of those funds and the Grand Master leaned forward, his face hard.

“Whilst you and I can agree to disagree on matters of Warlock concern, such as how we would both manage the Alliance, without it affecting anything else that may be connected, the one thing I won’t tolerate are personal slurs or inferences that I manufactured a story to protect my own skin. I tend to get rather tetchy about things like that.”

The others around the table hid their grins at Quinn’s words. Barton Sinclair was not a man well liked by anyone and Quinn hid a small smile of his own as the other man scowled fiercely and tried to regain his composure.

“That wasn’t what I meant at all. I’m sorry if I said something to offend you. I assure you it was not intentional.” The man’s bluster and attempt at digging himself out of a hole he’d created gave Quinn a sense of distaste.

He nodded. “Glad to hear it. I’ll let you know the decision about the grant next week when I get back into the office.” He leaned back and sipped his whisky, the ire he’d felt dissipating slowly. Percy winked at him and Quinn grinned.

But Barton Sinclair wasn’t ready to give up to easily. “I imagine I can ask about the progress of the Witchfinder General hunt without being…misconstrued?” His tone was sarcastic.

Quinn waved his glass at him. “Go ahead. I’m sure Percy can fill you in on what’s been going on.”

Percy leaned forward. “Since August until now, we’ve had thousands of people, Fey and humans alike, keeping an eye out for Jeremy Payton. He’s gone to ground so deeply we haven’t been able to find him. We get leads and follow them up but I think I can safely say not one of them has been an actual sighting or magyckal happening to do with the Witchfinder. It’s as if he’s disappeared into the ether. There have also been no specific Warlock murders attributed to him either. At least on that side it’s a positive thing. Based on Quinn’s last assessment of him, when he was on de Vere’s yacht, there was definitely something different about Jeremy Payton and his powers. For a man to simply dissolve like he did, that means very powerful magyck.”

Barton Sinclair leaned back comfortably in his seat, regarding everyone around the table with mock surprise. “Well, that’s another thing. This so-called
increase
in his powers, how do we think that could have come about? Has anyone formulated any theory on it?”

His tone was gloating. The hairs on Quinn’s neck stood up as once again the thick-skinned Barton Sinclair made it sound as if Quinn was exaggerating or worse, lying about his encounter with Jeremy and Andrew de Vere. Percy smoothly forestalled anything Quinn was about to do, something Quinn was fairly glad about as he wasn’t sure just how he would have managed his rising temper.

“We
do
actually have a theory, Barton Sinclair,” Percy said bitingly. Quinn was a little nonplussed by Percy’s comment. If there was a theory, he hadn’t heard it from his Marshall himself yet.

Percy continued as he cast an exasperated look in Barton Sinclair’s direction. “The people doing the research say the only way that a Witchfinder General could gain powers of that nature is by channelling the actual Witchfinder General himself.”

Barton Sinclair spluttered as his wine spat out of his mouth, spattering the man next to him with red droplets. The unfortunate recipient of the contents of Barton Sinclair’s mouth glared at him fiercely. James Barton Sinclair ignored him.

“That’s the biggest load of poppycock I’ve ever heard!” His broad West Country voice echoed out across the room, causing people to turn and stare curiously at their table. Quinn sighed in exasperation at the attention they were getting as Barton Sinclair continued his tirade. He was perturbed at Percy’s words too and more than a little irate that this was the first time he was hearing them. Taliesin stirred inside, his faint mutterings making no sense and it was distracting.

Sorcerer, shut the hell up. I’m trying to bloody concentrate!

“Have your teams nothing better to do than come up with half-baked ideas like that?” Barton Sinclair expostulated angrily. “I’ve never heard such a load of cock and bull in my life. Channelling the actual Matthew Hopkins who’s been dead close on five centuries? That’s the best anyone can come up with?”

Quinn sat forward, his eyes glinting, his hands clenched on the white tablecloth in front of him. “I can assure you, if that’s what Percy’s telling you, it’s probably the best idea we have. I have complete faith in him and his team.” Percy looked at him a little worriedly, and Quinn saw the unspoken guilt in his eyes. His Marshall knew he was in trouble for blurting out something he hadn’t told Quinn about in advance and something Quinn was now putting his head on a block for.