Her Lycan Lover (13 page)

Heat rushed to her face, spreading fire at the callous description of Quinn and reminder of her mother’s fall from grace. “He’s not menacing? So far, he’s not done anything to make me feel… scared.”

“So you’re saying you haven’t mated with him?”

“Of course not.”

“I see. Regardless. They hold the trompe card. The Fae will seek you out. All the more because one of their own is willing to stand against them. And they know how to deal with one of their own. Far from pretty. But that’s not my concern. The
Unseelie
I leave to their own. You, my dear, are my concern.”

“Why are they so interested in me?”

“This could be their moment. They only need four casters to turn the tides. If they do, I don’t need to remind you what will occur. Have you shared this account with any of the Sisterhood?”

“No one.”

“As the Fae weaken, their need to cross sharpens. You must act quickly. If all you’re thinking about is lustful ramblings, I’d better pull you off your post. Can I trust you’re up for the job? I’ve put off my own desires for the sake of the Sisterhood Council. I’m not asking something of you I’ve not asked of myself.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” She did not need to be reminded the woman had come from imperial bloodlines that ran back thousands of years. She’d risen like cream, holding the highest caster level known. No one knew what she actually looked like or where she actually lived, only that she manned the Council like a Trojan.

“We’ll work on this end. I’m going to mark this occurrence as confidential, but I will have to note your file. For now, I’m going to lock your record just in case we have hackers in our record base. Only known to me until we’ve investigated using our internal channels. Keep your nose clean, Sherry. I don’t need to keep harping on what happened to your poor mum. I’d hate to demand your blade. Contact me in two days. And no more time ripples unless you’ve filled out the requisite forms and gotten approval. They’re digitally encrypted and you can download them onto your phone. No excuse for being lackadaisical.”

“Of course.”

“I must run. I’ve mountains to attend to.”

“Blessing, Your Grace.”

“And equally to you dear. Until we speak again.”

The High Priestess had known.
Of course she’d know
, Sherry thought. It had been the height of wishful thinking for her to believe she could turn back time and not get noticed. Great. Now she’d have to fill out an explanation form that would be included in her personnel file. If she ever desired to transfer to another post, this incident would be part of spellcaster history and now that the Sisterhood had moved into the digital age, this blight would indeed follow her.

A knock on her office door and Marcel stuck his head in. “You ready?”

“Absolutely.” Sherry waved in the chef. She brushed the hair away from her forehead, taking in a deep breath and plastering on a smile. Her thoughts tumbled. She had to get to the warehouse and check on the shield. After meeting with Marcel, she’d slip away. Quinn wouldn’t be back for hours and besides, she wasn’t a prisoner. His oddball behavior and a scorching kiss… all the more reason to verify the shield was up.

After an hour going over the menus for the Den’s gourmet restaurant, the chef left her office. She grabbed her purse, and rumbled around inside for her keys.

Sonya appeared in her doorway. “Got a minute? I just need to talk.”

Sherry was about to ask if it could wait, but Sonya’s expression made her sink back down onto the cushion of her swivel chair. “Something happen? You’re not usually on site until evening?”

Walking out of the side door of the courthouse, Quinn noticed two men he’d observed upstairs in the corridor down from Judge O’Conner’s chambers. They began moving in the same direction as him. He sniffed the air. Nothing. He was upwind. They looked like reporters. Wouldn’t be the first time, but hardly anything news breaking was going down in his law firm. Today, a summary judgment on alleged corporate violations. He’d won, but expected the opposing side to file an appellate brief. No biggie.

Unless they were Carrigan’s goons.

Quinn continued his progression on the sidewalk, crossing the street, and then pushed open the parking garage door. He glanced over his shoulder, and the men were stepping up onto the curb. Coincidence? The hairs on the back of his neck begged to differ.

His car was on the other side of the garage and be began to pick up the pace, weaving in between the parked cars, not stopping until he made the stairwell. Fuck. He wasn’t like Shawn who flanked himself with military shifters sporting handguns.

Quinn employed a laissez-faire attitude given he wasn’t directly involved in overseeing the Justice Council his partner ran. He wasn’t the one who heard cases or judged causes. No one was going to come looking for him for the merits of a ruling on corporate litigation. If Carrigan was behind these idiots, the question went to the warehouse property. Why so important?

Light flashed across the wall of the garage when the exit door opened. He listened intently. Only footsteps without voices or a slamming door. He’d been waiting for those two factors and vacillated between believing this was his imagination or, no. This was somehow linked to Sherry.

So far only silence. And in the world of useless attorneys, files and briefcases were standard accessories. He was without the 007 conveniences. Sure, he could shift but if he were wrong, there were laws and he’d have his arse tossed into jail. In his human form, he could run, vault, and crush, but he could also get shot.

His car was ten or so rows down. Pointless
to remain immobile. Still, he leaned against the wall, his senses heightened. The only sound was the low footfalls from whoever it was moving in his direction. He opened the door to the stairwell. Not a creak, only flickering light spilling outward. They’d notice the change in light. Nothing he could do.

Inside the stairwell, he took the broom propped in the corner and jammed it through the door handle. Without sticking around, he bolted up to the next floor and headed for the skywalk. He pushed through the doorway, rushing over the tiled floor and glass covered walkway. Only a few people were inside at this time. The dinging of the elevator at the end had him sprinting. Two women conversing in front of the lift, entered.

He called out, “Hold it.”

Quinn leapt inside with a thud, sniffed and assessed these were humans and no threat. He squeezed in next to the control panel, and smashed the button to close the doors. “I’m late,” he panted.

“You’re pressing the hold button,” one of the women said.

He exhaled, moving his finger, and pumped the correct button. The doors began to close, an inch or two remained as his heart hammered. Outside, the men stopped in front of the elevator. Any second he expected to see them shove their fingers inside the crack. Nothing. They stood outside, calling out, “Hold it.”

Shrugging, Quinn turned to the women and said, “Thanks.”

Down on the ground floor of the building, he crossed into the mezzanine and tore out through the front doors. On the front walk, cattycorner to the courthouse, he regarded the people nearby. No one stared back at him. Definitely, he needed to get his life in order. This was seriously bordering on sleep deprived illusions. Today was easily going down as the craziest day of his life. Another millimeter crazier and he’d wonder if he was hallucinating. He hailed a cab in front of the building, giving the driver the Den’s directions.

“A fifty if you get me there without stopping,” he said and the cabbie immediately floored the gas pedal.

“Without stopping,” the cabbie agreed.

Quinn speed dialed Sherry. She answered on the second ring. “I thought I was going to hear from you later. More like this afternoon. What’s the word? Did you win?”

“Anyone strange hanging around over there?” Quinn glanced out the back window of the cab. Two men were standing in the street, back where he’d been standing. They waved as he’d done to flag down a cab.

“No more bread deliveries,” she said.

“I’m serious.”

“You mean, for a stud club or in general?”

“On any and all levels? As you said, today is deliveries. The guards have a tendency to go a little lax on who comes in. I want them to collect and verify each bill of lading before anyone is allowed on the grounds.”

“What the heck happened at Court? Who’d you piss off now?”

“No one. And who do I ever piss off?”

She hesitated. “You’ve been known to step on a few toes.”

“Not like this. Today is… unusual. Does it seem like everything’s status quo?”

“A busy Monday. Same as always.”

“Something’s in the air. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Quinn, you’re right. I had my own thoughts after we… let’s not talk anymore over the phone. Are you coming here?”

“On my way. See you soon.”

“I’ll be in my office.” Sherry hung up.

Crossing over the river, he did a double take. “Hey mac, we’re headed wrong. You should have caught Speer.” Quinn looked around. He had lost track of which direction the cabbie was headed.

“Wrong,” the cabbie said.

“Was there a detour?” Quinn asked.

“A detour,” the cabbie replied.

“What?” Looking out the cab, he squinted. “There aren’t any signs.”

“Aren’t any signs,” the man shot back.

The sting of irritation worked up his spine. The cabbie was paraphrasing him. Using the same words and even his tone of voice. “I’d like a slice of apple pie,” Quinn said abruptly.

“Apple pie,” the cabbie echoed.

“Fuck,” Quinn glowered.

“Fuck,” the cabbie answered.

He attuned to his shifter senses already taut. He inhaled and coughed. Sitting in the back of the cab, the cherry fragrance of the interior flanked Quinn, turning his stomach. He put his physical reaction aside and considered the parroting cabbie’s strange vernacular when the driver ran a red light.

Quinn gripped the arm rest, scanning the road closely as they sped by buildings. “Slow, the fuck down.”

“Fuck down.”

He glared at the back of the man’s head, then noticed the rippling of the driver’s skin. It wasn’t the sign of shifter. This type of creature existed, but he had not seen one for years. Quinn sniffed, inhaling deeply while pushing aside the sickening cherry odor mask. He locked onto the underlying scent. Pervasively rank, and there was only one type of creature that had this stench. He tapped on the glass separating the compartments and the driver peered into the rearview mirror. The eyes that stared back were not human and they were not shifter. Hell, vampires didn’t even possess eyes like those. No whites. Complete black cavernous pits stared back at Quinn, but then the driver looked forward as the car in front braked.

The cab skidded to a stop. Quinn opened the cab door on the opposite side from the driver and chugged forward onto the street.

“Shite,” he swore, skidding to a stop as a car flew in front of him. He sprinted across the two lanes of oncoming traffic. The screeching of breaks behind him got his attention. The driver U-turned the cab, staring at him as though memorizing him. Absorbing.

Quinn did not have the luxury of pondering that messed up ride. It was the past. The present mattered. Getting his head on and back to the Den paramount. He had to get his bearings. The park was up ahead along Mile High Circle. He was about five kilometers from the Den. He took to the sidewalk and dialed Sherry’s number while keeping tabs on the traffic and people on foot.

When she answered, he nearly shouted, “Can you leave? Right now? Weird got a whole lot weirder. What type of creatures flicker?”

“Is this some warped game of twenty questions?”

“No joke. Do you know? I’ve had some experiences. I got out of the cab it was concerning enough.” He didn’t want to sound an alarm if he were wrong. The
Unseelie
hadn’t been seen in Denver in fucking forever. He had to be wrong.

“You said flicker?” Sherry’s voice rose. “Do you remember my last request? Quinn, words travel beyond the cell lines. Do not say another word on the subject. Where are you? I’ll pick you up.”

“Meet me at Bryant and Mile High. There’s a hotel on the corner.”

“I’m leaving now.”

“Lock your door.” A sharp chill tore through his nerve endings. The Lycan in him wanted to howl. He was supposed to be the one protecting Sherry. Not the other way around. This was all wrong. If he shifted, he could make it back to the club. His instincts rallied. No. His name had been on the court sign in. It was no secret he was part owner of several LoDo businesses. Easy to track. This made sense. Sher had to leave the Den. “Do you have a gun?”

“Flickering skin? We’ll need more than a pistol,” she whispered. “You need to take care. I’m on my way.”

He hung up, glancing both ahead and behind him. Ever since he’d kissed Sher, his world had come undone. So much for the magic moment of meeting his mate. He should have known the fates would kick his arse.

The Dark Fae were jackals coming to prey during times of weakness. What had happened for them to appear in Denver? So far, none were wielding any copper weapons. A sign that he was marked. Only one of his uncles had been a protector to a spellcaster. Quinn had heard tales. Not a pretty end. It was the only time a Lycan could be killed. A solitary death.