Warrior Betrayed: The Sons of the Zodiac 3 (13 page)

“You’re still you. Just enhanced.”

Montana pulled back on a real laugh—not a shred of the hysterical anywhere in sight. “Enhanced. I like that.”

“We’re going to get to the bottom of this, too. Quinn’s an amazing Warrior and he’s stubborn and persistent. He’ll find out what’s going on and we’ll all help you.”

A few more tears seeped out the edges of her eyes as Ava’s innate kindness penetrated the haze of panic and disbelief that she’d worn along with the blanket. With a small sigh, Montana remembered an earlier question. “They’re sisters? Callie and Ilsa?”

Ava nodded and smiled. “A recent discovery.”

“They haven’t known each other that long?”

“That’s putting it mildly. Oh goodness, where do I begin?” Her eyes alighting with a sudden twinkle, Ava added, “Since you’re one of the world’s most powerful businesswomen, I’ll give you the executive summary.”

Montana couldn’t help another laugh from bubbling up. “A dubious distinction at best.”

“Hardly,” Ava snorted. “But I’ll keep it brief anyway. Ilsa is the nymph who was selected to raise Zeus on Mount Ida.”

“Excuse me?” Whatever fantastical things her mother might have told her, nothing could have prepared Montana for
this
. “She’s what?”

Ava waved a hand. “I know, I know. It’s too wild to believe. But it gets even better.”

“Better?” Montana wanted to panic. It was the most logical thing to do and her conscience kept questioning why she wasn’t running for the door as fast as her feet would carry her.

But even as the urge to flee flitted around the edges of her thoughts, she couldn’t shake that immutable sense of
reality
that threaded through everything happening to her.

Her mother’s mysterious arrival and disappearances, despite the time and money she’d invested over the years to find her, disappointed time and again when nothing produced leads.

Quinn’s appearance and almost preternatural ability to sense danger, especially danger directed at her.

And then there was that one other fact. The one she couldn’t deny, no matter how many times she thought it wasn’t even remotely believable. One hour ago she had thirteen spikes sticking out of her back and now she was fully healed.

And talking about Greek gods and goddesses.

And discovering an odd sort of resonance in the information these newfound friends were trying to explain to her.

“It gets
better
than that?”

“After Zeus put a curse on her, she was rescued by Hades and became his errand girl—in a good way—and delivered souls to the Underworld. Then one of those souls punched a hole in hers and escaped.”

“Her soul?”

“I think.” Ava paused. “We’ll have to ask Ilsa the specifics.”

“Wow.”

Ava nodded. “Wow doesn’t even begin to describe it. Has Quinn showed you his tattoo yet?”

“No.” Montana felt the blush creep up her neck and knew her pale skin gave her away. “Um. No.”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He will.”

Shock replaced the embarrassment that was insistently moving toward her cheeks. “Ava!”

All she got in return was an angelic smile before Ava leaned in closer. “So tell me a bit about yourself. I’ve read about you in the society columns. Is it true you dated Orlando Bloom?”

Montana rolled her eyes, the change of topic so ludicrous it was comforting.

Oddly so.

“No, I’ve never dated Orlando Bloom. I haven’t even met him, truth be told. Apparently we were both at some resort one weekend, which in tabloid land means we snuck there under separate reservations to rendezvous for a seventy-two-hour fuck fest.”

“Fuck fest?” Ilsa screamed from the doorway. “Where, and can I get in?”

“This is what happens when you expose a Scorpio to a virgin,” Callie muttered, following her sister into the room.

“Hey,” Ilsa complained as she crawled onto the bed. “I’m a fast learner
and
I’m making up for lost time. And have you looked at the man’s abs? Can you blame me?”

“Which one is yours?” Montana asked, then realized what she’d inadvertently implied. “Was that nearly as objectifying as it sounded?”

“Oh, honey, it’s a favorite pastime around here.” Ava patted her knee. “And I mean that in the most nonchauvinistic way possible.”

Ilsa’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head. “The incredibly yummy, tall, rangy, broody one with short dark hair is mine.” She giggled on the last word, then flopped her slender form along the edge of the bed. “Mine, mine, mine! I just never get tired of saying that. And if it’s rude and objectifying, well…I’ve yet to feel all that bad about it.”

Montana mentally whirled through images of the men she’d semi-met and couldn’t quite come up with which Ilsa referred to. “There are two that fit that description. Is your…husband?”—Ilsa nodded, her smile growing even broader, if that were possible—“Bond Street or the other one dressed like a male model?”

All three women chimed in unison, “Bond Street.”

“That explains the British accent.” Montana thought about what else she knew. “He’s the Scorpio?”

“Yes.”

Montana turned toward Ava. “What about your husband?”

“The long mane of blond hair and enough pride to take down a small village.” Ava smiled. “I’ll give you one guess.”

Montana couldn’t help but smile. “The Leo?”

“Oh yes.”

Then she turned toward Callie, getting into the spirit of things. “What about your husband? Which one is yours?”

Callie’s smile never wavered, but Montana saw it immediately. Her brown eyes went hard as stone and the curve of her lips took on a patently false arc. “Let’s just say the player to be named later is taking his sweet time.”

Quinn ported across the room to stand in the light of the late-day sun, he was so impatient to read the markings on the largest shard of silver in his hand. He turned it over again, but his first instinct was one hundred percent accurate.

The silver pieces held the mark of the Taurus.

“It’s definitely one of us.” His gut clenched as the words escaped his lips.

“Do you know all the other bulls, Quinn?” Grey moved up beside him, the metal bowl still in his hands. With gentle fingers, he continued to poke at the various pieces, searching for any other markings. “Do you have any sense of who it is?”

Quinn’s mind whirled with the possibilities. A fallen Taurus? Another fallen Warrior trying to set him up? Enyo trying to set him up? The scenarios were endless.

“That’s one possibility but not all of them. Whoever’s following Montana knows I’m following her, too. Protecting her. This could as easily be a setup as a calling card.”

“How’d you get involved with her again?” Kane had moved into the arc of Warriors surrounding Quinn at the window and for the briefest of moments, Quinn felt the easy camaraderie they’d once had.

Before.

Before he’d fucked it up with his lack of loyalty and stubborn insistence on being right.

He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve the support. Didn’t deserve the ready willingness of his Warrior brothers to help him.

The urge to turn away was strong, until an image of Montana lying on the couch, her skin mottled and broken with the effects of the attack, reared up to choke him. He couldn’t do this without the help of his brothers. Couldn’t protect her if he did it alone.

So he tamped down on the urge to move away and shared his thoughts. “She popped up on a routine screen. I narrowed in on her quadrant and slowly put together it was her.”

Grey smacked him on the head. “In plain English, Your Geekiness.”

Quinn sighed, thinking of how best to explain it and finally settled on the same basic explanation he gave Montana. “I’ve written several programs that monitor for abnormalities on all the feeds I pull all over the globe.”

At the matched blank stares from his brothers, Quinn added, “Too much electricity, abnormal power surges where there shouldn’t be any reason for them, concentration of immortal activity.”

“You can track that?” Drake’s question was a sharp reminder his brothers really had no fucking idea what he did most days.

“Yeah. Everything gives off a life force and immortals’ are stronger than humans. It’s easy enough to track with recording devices. Sort of like a Geiger counter for immortals.”

Drake nodded. “Cool.”

“Grey’s club is full of them so I usually calibrate my tools in Equinox when I need to get a reading.”

At the Ram’s head shake, Quinn finished up. “Look. All you need to know is that I have my computers rigged to tell me when some heavy shit’s going to go down. Or where it looks like some heavy shit’s going to go down.”

Kane added, “And what you’re saying is some serious electronic noise broke over Montana.”

Quinn smiled, pleased to see he might be getting through. “On several fronts. Security activity has gotten weird around her apartment building and around her office building. A ton of news stories all hit on her, taking her company public and also ending this weird pirate attack off the coast of Africa.”

Kane whistled long and low, his MI6 training kicking into high gear. “She’s the one who did that? She’s the Grant Shipping heiress who’s now running the place?”

“Yep.”

“Oh, man, some serious shit is absolutely going down there,” Kane continued. “Grant Shipping’s been on MI6’s radar for years. No definitive proof, but they’re into all sorts of stuff. Her old man died about six months ago.”

Quinn held up a hand. “Your turn to streamline it. I know you love the James Bond routine, but give me the high points.”

“Grant Shipping runs weapons, smuggles diamonds and has even been known to deal in the slave trade. Despite all this oh-so-upstanding activity, their books are so squeaky clean they make a convent of nuns look dirty.”

“Too much cover-up?” Drake questioned.

“Oh yeah”—Kane nodded—“no doubt. No one believes they’re innocent, but they’ve been slick enough to hide all the nasty shit they’re up to. Black Jack Grant’s been untouchable.”

“And now?” Quinn asked, a sinking feeling gripping him low in the gut. “I’ve already gone through the head game on this after talking to Grey. I admit I doubted her, but I know Montana’s innocent. I know she is. I figured all along, but what happened today couldn’t be faked.”

Kane nodded in clear agreement. “She likely is. Black Jack was a wily son of a bitch and supposedly worked with a very small, very refined inner circle. If Montana’s trying to take the company public, an attack by an immortal is possibly the least of her worries.”

Quinn stared at the spike of metal in his hand and for the first time, felt a genuine trickle of alarm. Every time he got a handle on what was happening, the sands shifted yet again. As a lifelong disciple of Themis’s mission—a
Warrior
to the core—the sense of fear was as startling as it was humbling. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The kind of men who want her out of the way are likely as dangerous as any immortal. Hell, many of them even make Enyo look like a walk in the park.”

Montana ran her hands over the sleek lines of the indigo-blue silk sheath spread across her lap as she stared up at Quinn. “You really want me to still go to this event tonight?”

“We need to figure out who is behind the attack, and I can only do that if my brothers and I can get him out in the open.”

“Him?” She raised her eyebrows as she stood up from the small couch in the sitting area of the bedroom they’d given her. The bandages and stinky poultice were long gone, replaced by a designer gown and thousand-dollar shoes.

“Likely.” Quinn’s voice brooked no argument and he’d shifted into what Montana already thought of as security mode.

“And he’s an immortal?”

“Likely as well, but we need to confirm that.” The BlackBerry at his waist must have gone off because he had the device pulled out with the speed of an Old West gunslinger.

“I’m not done grilling you.” At his raised eyebrows and distracted glance from the small screen of his phone, she added, “All the immortal stuff. Just because I haven’t said much about it since earlier doesn’t mean I’m just going to roll over and agree with all of it.”

“It is what it is.” With that, he refocused on the device

Those flashes of annoyance came back in full force. She’d hated her father’s constant immersion with his BlackBerry, the subtle sense she was always taking second place to an electronic device an ever-present feeling. She’d be damned if she’d tolerate it from Quinn. “You really need to learn some people skills, you know that?”

He glanced up from where he scrolled through the screen. “What are you talking about?”

“That thing, for one.” She made a grab for the device, catching him off guard enough to wrest it away. “Look at me when I’m talking to you. The message will still be there in another five minutes.”

He actually looked confused. Lines furrowed his brow and his eyes had taken on a distinctly unfocused gaze as he watched her hold on to the device. “It’s giving me a constant stream of info on tonight’s event. I’ve got it synched to my office.”

Montana tossed said device in an arc, where it landed on the middle of the bed. “I don’t give a shit. Talk to me. I run a multibillion-dollar global company and I know how to ignore mine for more than two minutes at a time.”

“Montana.” He was already up and heading for the bed when she reached for his arm.

“Quinn. I’m serious.” On a deep breath, Montana weighed the pros and cons of what she was about to say. After the two days they’d shared, she finally settled on the realization she likely didn’t have all that much to lose.

She sat on a small settee flanking one wall. “I’ve spent my entire life ignored. And most of the time, I don’t let it bother me beyond the fact that it’s a base annoyance. But I was attacked today. And I’ve potentially discovered my body’s changing in ways I never could have imagined. And I’m trying to talk to you about what’s going to happen tonight.
Look
at me.
Talk
to me.”

Whatever confusion she’d seen in the chocolate depths of Quinn’s eyes morphed into a completely different sort of look. Those dark orbs turned molten as he took a seat next to her and turned to face her.

With sweet, aching movements, he ran a fingertip down her cheek, over her jaw and down the line of her throat. “What do you want to know?”

Every single shred of annoyance and anger slid in a heartbeat into long, sensuous ribbons of need. They unfurled in her belly and spread through her bloodstream. Their interrupted moments from earlier came rushing back as her body sprang to life with barely banked need.

With a shake of her head, she pulled back and shifted in her seat to add a few inches of separation for good measure. “Oh no. I can’t go there right now. I need to know about myself. I need to understand.”

On a resigned sigh, he sat back and settled himself on the impossibly small, decorative couch. “You’re right. I don’t like clients who are in the dark and I shouldn’t do it to you. Where do you want me to start?”

“You’ve told me about my mother. While it’s odd and fantastical, it makes a logical sort of sense.” As if any of this were logical. “What did you find out earlier?”

“Earlier?” Quinn took a deep breath as if he were reaching for additional strength.

“With the guys? When Callie came to find me, she said you had something you wanted to tell me. That you all discovered something. What did you find?”

“The guys and I were trying to figure out what weapon was used on you. What it meant.”

“You figured it out?”

“I wouldn’t exactly go there. But we do have a better sense of something.”

“Come on, Quinn. I’m aging here.” At the idea that maybe she wasn’t aging any longer, a laugh bubbled up in her throat. “Or maybe I’m not. But come on. Tell me.”

“We looked at the spikes that we pulled from your back. And there were images imprinted on the metal.”

“Really?” Montana had avoided looking at the metal bowl Callie had filled with the spikes beyond a cursory glance, but she had looked closely enough to see them. “I’ll admit thirteen of them hurt horribly—one would have hurt horribly—but they weren’t that big. How did you find writing on them?”

“The best we can tell, the spikes had been part of a larger knife that had a spell on them.”

“A spell?”

Quinn nodded. “Something dark, that hasn’t been used in a very long time. The moment it reached your skin, it shattered as it was designed to.”

Ice-cold fingers of fear gripped Montana from the inside out, the sensation reminding her of a long-forgotten memory of her father.

She had been fourteen and on a rare ski trip to Switzerland with her father and whatever woman he’d been dating at the time. Annoyed with the attention he lavished on the bimbo and the lack of time either of them had had for her, Montana took a lift to one of the highest mountains at their resort.

Within minutes after starting the run, she realized she was too far out of her depth as the scenery flew by. She’d finally found a place to regroup, in the midst of a few jagged outcroppings, and had stopped her descent down the mountain.

Cold wind had whipped around her and battered her body as she sat huddled between the rocks. Anger had filled her, but no matter how heated her emotions, it couldn’t warm her. Couldn’t keep the fear at bay.

She’d made a vow that day. A vow to ignore her father as he ignored her, taking what he was willing to offer and finding what she needed somewhere else.

So slowly, she worked her way down the mountain. It had taken her nearly two hours before she made it back to the chateau where they were staying.

She’d climbed what felt like endless stairs to her bedroom and fallen into the shower, allowing the water to run for what must have been an hour.

Long after her body had warmed, the fear that had consumed her on the mountain wouldn’t leave.

“Montana? What is it?”

“Bad memories.”

“About what?” Quinn moved closer and wrapped an arm around her. The motion wasn’t intended to be sexual, but she felt her body come to life under the comforting gesture.

Had she ever really found what she needed somewhere else?

“I was just thinking about something that happened when I was a kid.”

“Tell me about it.”

In a soft voice, she recounted the story and her painstaking trek down the mountain. “I was so afraid. So fearful I was cold from the inside out.”

“You probably had hypothermia.” She heard the anger in his voice, felt it in the subtle tightening of his grip on her upper arm. “What the hell kind of parent lets that happen?”

“
My
parent, obviously. The only one I had since my mother chose to leave.”

“If what we suspect is true, maybe she felt she didn’t have a choice.”

The heat of rising anger stamped hard on those cold fingers of fear clenched around her belly. She might have been unable to do anything about them as a child, but there was nothing that could keep the anger at bay now.

“Didn’t have a choice?” Montana leaped up and stalked across the room, the plush carpet under her feet a soft cushion as she moved back and forth. “She had a choice, Quinn. She had a choice when she fell from her supposed immortality. She had a choice when she bound her life to my father. And she had a fucking choice when she walked out on me!”

The anger morphed yet again, into the hot swell of tears. Great, heaving gulps of anger, frustration and the pain of long years of being ignored rose to the surface, swamping her and constricting her chest as if someone sat on it. She tasted the hot, salty tears before she even realized she was crying, her voice coming out in heavy sobs.

“She chose to leave. She ch-chose to walk out.”

Quinn walked toward her, his movements gentle, like he were reaching out to a hurt animal. “I didn’t mean that to hurt you.”

“Everyone has a choice, Quinn. She was a very wealthy woman at that point. She could have taken me out of that situation. Instead she left me in the middle of it.”

“What if she thought that was the only place you’d be safe?”

The continuous loop of angry emotions that flowed through her head on a regular basis—
you’re not good enough; you’re not worthy enough; your own mother abandoned you
—slowed until it finally stopped, replaced by Quinn’s words.

“Safe?”

“Yes, safe.” Quinn’s large body overshadowed hers as he moved to stand in front of her, completely consuming her field of vision with his large body and broad shoulders.

He wrapped his arms around her and Montana felt the steady thump of his heartbeat under her cheek.

“Think about it. She came back only in the last month, right?”

“Yes.” The hot tears still fell down her cheeks, but they were slowing, along with the hiccups that gripped her diaphragm.

“She came back for a reason, Montana. And we’re going to figure that out. But she has also brought something with her. Something that has set its sights on you.”

“What something? I know she’s not working with anyone.” She pulled herself back and stared up into the dark depths of his eyes. “I know it, Quinn.”

“Even if she’s not, none of this started until she came back.” Quinn tightened his grip. “She’s tied to what is happening to you.”

Montana gripped a bit of Quinn’s T-shirt and wiped her eyes, searching for some explanation as she repositioned her head against his chest. “It could be a coincidence.”

She felt the rumble under her ear before she heard the actual laugh. “I’ve been doing this for a very long time, Montana. I gave up on the idea of coincidence long before the Middle Ages, darling.”

The low, husky sound of his voice sent a wave of shivers down her spine and she felt his use of the endearment to her very core.

What would it be like to be loved by this man?

The thought was so immediate—so intense—it surprised her.

And then she didn’t wonder any longer. She tilted her face back, reached toward his neck and pulled his head down to hers.

Quinn gripped Montana’s hips, his fingers curling into the terry-cloth material she wore. Sometime during the afternoon, one of the girls must have given her something to change into. Ilsa, most likely, based upon the “juicy” emblazoned across the ass cheeks of the sweatpants.

He moved his lips from her mouth, trailing a row of kisses along her jaw, then down her throat. The heavy beat of her pulse throbbed under his lips, calling to him like a primal drumbeat of need and passion and want.

He unclenched his hands from her waist and dragged his fingertips across the top of the waistband. A small display of skin was visible between the top of the pants and the bottom of her T-shirt, the skin there calling him like a lodestone.

Montana’s mouth found his again as she wrapped her hands around his biceps. Her whisper was heavy against his lips. “We’re going to be late.”

“Well, then”—he pulled back and smiled down at her—“let’s make it worth it.”

With deft fingers he delved beneath the waistband of both her sweatpants and her panties, to her velvet core. Hot liquid heat filled him to his palm and his own body hardened in response, his erection painful against the fly of his jeans.

With unerring precision, he kept up a steady pressure against her slick channel, his fingers taking control and maintaining a rhythm her body was helpless to resist.

Filled with awe, he watched Montana as the pleasure built, her head thrown back and her breathing coming in short, quick pants. Despite the desperate needs of his own body, he was in awe of her. The purity of her response—so open, so receptive—humbled him and he leaned in and captured her cries of pleasure with his mouth, sucking her tongue between his teeth.

With his free arm, he held her body against his, the length of his hand spanning the slender width of her lower back. He knew it the moment her orgasm broke. Her entire body went still, then dissolved into a small series of explosions centered on his fingers.

Pulling her against him, he lifted her off her feet and cradled her in his arms, moving them both to the bed. Laying her gently on the bed, he followed her down and pressed his lips to where her pulse still beat a wild tattoo.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered against her throat.

A small giggle erupted from her as she turned her sloe-eyed gaze on him. “I was actually thinking that very thing about you.”

With seeking fingers, Montana ran her hand down his stomach and over his zipper. He pressed himself against her, unable to stay away from her seeking touch, even as he knew he simply wanted to savor the moment.

Savor her.

With shaking fingers, he reached for her hand and stilled her motions. “This is about you.”

“Quinn.” Montana struggled up onto an elbow, her eyes dark with a mixture of desire and annoyance. “What’s this all about?”

Before she could protest any further, he took her mouth in a searing kiss that was all lips and teeth and tongue. Satisfied he’d made his point—even as his heated body screamed for release—Quinn pulled back and pressed his forehead to hers. “You’ve had to take in a lot. Now’s not the time to get into this. I don’t want to rush.”