Day 10, 21:00, Las Vegas
Quinn was lost.
Not physically, obviously. He had an exceptional memory and he knew Vegas inside out although he'd barely ever set foot in a casino. The Strip had been his home for several years in the last century and he'd know how to navigate in his sleep. Now, he was lost in his own head, brooding in a manner that usually bred terrible results.
He couldn't help it. He hadn't felt so torn since Dove was staked by his own flesh and blood. It was an excruciating guilt that clawed at his chest and had his hands clenching with suppressed tension. It was his fault. He'd let his past get the better of him for a couple of seconds and it had almost killed the person that meant everything to him.
Quinn had no idea how she could forgive him, even if she wanted to. Although she may not have voiced it, he had sensed the betrayal inside her as soon as he released her throat. She would have been stupid not to react that way. Whatever had connected them before was built on the trust they had in each other to never hurt another. He'd shattered that faith. What did that make him?
The monster. The heartless creature he'd been most of his life. Rashel couldn't fathom what it was like to be him. It wasn't like flipping a switch and shutting off his demonic side. It was hard to quench old habits and he blamed himself as much as the ones who'd made him become this.
He'd repeated the words in his mind for the past hours as he wandered the Strip. I almost killed Rashel. It was a surreal image and every time he tried to recall making the conscious decision to choke her, he came up blank. It had been instinctive and that was what worried him the most. If he couldn't consciously prevent the vampire taking over, how was he supposed to be with her and guarantee her safety?
He gripped his head, trying to let the emotions out before they drove him entirely insane. Going so long without them, he'd forgotten how much agitation they brought with them. It was exactly the kind of frustration he'd felt in that cellar he'd first met Rashel. Only now, every cell in his body was cringing at the thought of what he had almost done. Purely self-destructive notions.
Kill or be killed, he'd told her over and over. That seemed far in the past now but the man who'd said that was still a part of him. He hadn't wanted this to happen but it was beyond him to make those decisions. He had to make her understand somehow.
He dropped his hands from his head, raising his eyes to the ocean of colour and light below him. His feet dangled a good ten floors above the tarmac. Anyone looking up who had the superlative eyesight to notice him would think him suicidal. It was a vertical drop over sixty metres to the street from this roof. He sighed as he stood up from the ledge and headed down the fire escape he'd come up from.
It had been too long. He wasn't going to come to terms with what he'd done anyway if he didn't see Rashel. Maybe she wouldn't forgive him but he would try to make her see why. There were a hundred explanations for his actions but he'd show her the only way he knew how. Enough had been done already. That was all he'd ever done in the human world; caused irrevocable damage. The process of patching it up was harder than he had anticipated.
He wandered down the busy streets, silent amongst the crowds of partygoers and gamblers that seemed to increase ever time he'd visited. He hated those who would try their luck stealing from those leaving casinos, even though nine out of ten cases exited with emptier pockets. Sometimes it truly appeared humans were incapable of common sense.
Then again, where had his logic been when he'd had his hands around Rashel's neck?
He made himself invisible by turning into side streets. The darkness penetrated more easily where the laser beams and flashing signs were absent. Quinn welcomed the dimness and increased his pace as he headed back to the mansion. He hadn't even registered how far he'd walked during the day to get away from the crime scene.
Rashel may have been his saviour when he had become tired of himself but she was also his doom. Loving someone so deeply, so overwhelmingly, had been his downfall once. He would not let the same fate take her.
He sensed her through their bond the moment he entered the place. He had chosen the front entrance instead of sneaking inside and received a pointed look from Nilsson as he strode past. The young man didn't say anything and even though Quinn saw no hostility directed at him, he did feel the gaze follow him up the stairs. He wondered if Rashel had told anybody what had transpired.
Thankfully the corridors seemed deserted. Even that werewolf girl Rashel had bonded with during the week was not prowling around tonight. If anything, he did not want to imagine the annoyance of having to deal with unwanted company right now.
The door was shut when he reached it and he could hear the steady breathing of his soulmate inside. The muffled sound of the television, the scrape of a fork over a plate, the rustle of clothing. Then the blare of the news was silenced and the cutlery clattered once, went quiet. She knew he was here.
He stepped inside, immediately catching her eye where she sat cross-legged on the sofa. She stared right back. The beautiful cat eyes had the unmistakable look of distrust in them even though her expression was blank. A small part of him was glad she'd come to her senses and realized he was not worthy of her trust. Another part kicked himself once again.
It hadn't even been two weeks and he'd broken the promise he'd made her in that motel room. He'd disappointed her trust and made himself the enemy. The bruising on her neck wasn't as harsh as he'd expected and he was glad for it. It could have been worse. He could have snapped her neck. The mere thought sent tremors down his spine.
She was the first to break the silence. She glanced down at his bandaged hand, which had seeped through during the day. He hadn't bothered to feed and he was sure it showed. "Are you okay?"
The irony of that question. Had he not been John Quinn but any other human boy that deserved her more, he'd have fallen to his knees and prayed her pain become his to carry. But he wasn't. He knew he didn't have it in him to beg for forgiveness and he figured she didn't expect him to. Instead, she showed concern for him. It affected him like a punch to the gut. So many answers he wanted to give but none of them would be right.
"I love you," he said instead because all that he could think of expressing was the truth.
Her face changed then, the indifferent mask cracked and dropped away. She rose from the seat and to where he was still by the door. She stopped within an arms length. He had the feeling she wanted to reach for him but at the sight of his hands, caught herself in the recent memory. The sensation overcame him too at the thought that her hands had driven wood into him hours ago.
That they should be wary to be close to another. He supposed he deserved it. Their relationship had been built on respect, recklessness and admiration. This last week, it had been solidified in battle, determination and the bliss of another's company. Now, he'd managed to damage it with nothing but his hands. The fragility of life was more apparent than ever.
"Do you believe me when I say I'm sorry?" he asked when she didn't reply.
"Yes," she nodded, "I'm sorry too"
"You have nothing to apologise for," he stated firmly with no room left for argument on that point, "It was my fault"
She paused and gave him a long, steady look. He waited, wanting it to sink in. He needed her to understand this before he gave her an explanation. Eventually she opted for, "It's really strange to hear that coming from you"
"I've learnt that sometimes taking responsibility is the only way to fix something," he said softly. There was another silence and when he looked up he could have sworn there was relief shimmering in her eyes. She even had a faint smile on her face.
"Remember on that enclave when you decided you'd turn me," she told him, "and when we felt the connection. You said you couldn't become anything better. But you can, Quinn. I know you don't believe that but you can. You already have. Things have changed"
He stared at her, bewildered by the words. How could she still believe in him? It was incredible. The conviction behind her speech. She truly was the most honourable, fiercely loving person he had ever known.
"Things have changed," he agreed, repeating her words with an entirely different connotation. He watched realization spark at what he was implying, "What I've done…I don't expect you to not resent me. But I want you to have an explanation"
"Quinn…" she started but this time he cut her off, stepping forward to grip her above the elbows in earnest.
"What I'm going to show you, that is not who I want to be anymore. It's something I can't run away from but I can try to make up for it. I will," he had no more control over the things he said; all he knew is that he needed her to comprehend his shame. He needed her to know, regardless of how she would handle it.
She was startled but gave nothing away, nodding slowly as he loosened his grip and slid one hand down to her exposed hand. Skin touched skin and he kept his eyes on Rashel as hers slid shut and the direct link opened their minds to another.
Waves of intense feeling overtook him and he could feel his soulmate's mingle with them. Her curiosity, wariness and worry and underneath it all the ever present feelings for him. It was different today though. She was holding back. The pain of his attack, the deep shock, was still fresh in her mind. It permeated the world around him like ink, running across everything in thin rivulets.
He shook his instant guilt away, focusing on what he wanted to show her. He let himself fall into the memory, one of his earliest that he hadn't revisited in many decades. It wasn't a pleasant image and he felt familiar coldness return with it. He knew Rashel was watching, felt her presence all around him, her question in the air.
What is this?
When I became a murderer.
Her surprise reverberated through him and his name rang back and forth in her mind. It wasn't so much fear as concern for what this meant. He pushed further into the past, projecting what he wanted her to witness. Time to let the demons out of their cage. He could feel his mind whirl even though for the first time today, he felt calm inside.
Darkness. Gradually, the soft flicker of flame. Six figures emerge, carrying torches and lighting their surroundings. The outlines of a large room, wooden beams stretching across the ceiling. Small impressions catch in the light. Pitchforks in a corner, stacks of hay along the far side, an oak table in the middle - a barn.
He has been here longer, already knows every detail about what the place holds. He's found the stakes concealed well in the dusty crates up in the loft. He knows exactly what these six men will speak about and also how to make sure their plans will never be carried out. It's his task and he won't fail. It's been a year and he knows himself now, knows his place in the world and knows that the scum he's spying on has no worth living.
They settle around the table now, leaning in close together, exchanging words. His hearing picks up the soft syllables anyway, understanding every word that is spoken.
"The major needs to be informed. I've written the letter, it contains all the evidence he needs. I'll have it sent at first light. We cannot chance more disappearances," a deep voice grumbles, followed by a choir of affirmative murmurs.
"We need to be certain, Benjamin, that he swears absolute secrecy. If the Redferns are as powerful creatures of death as we believe then we cannot proceed rashly. They have the devil's intentions. Imagine their fury if the major confronts them," another urges. Again, the hushed murmurs of indecision.
"I will go myself. The man trusts my family. I will stand with my name for the truth I bring him. We can no longer look away as they continue spreading this curse throughout the colony"
"Witchcraft indeed," a burly one adds, "The Crawford's girl was found in the forest last week, pale as death and out of her mind. She can't recall anything but has nightmares that she will not speak of"
"That is their second child," a shake of heads, "Dorian is right, we must act"
"Please use your messenger to send word to our friends in the North. We will need support if we are to catch them by surprise. A family of four, it will be too difficult to handle them by ourselves," the first demands and he cannot help a smile that curls his lip in the shadows of his spot. The fools. As though any number of humans stand any hope of skewering even a single one of them.
Hunter has been right all along. These men are bound by their stupidity, their naive belief that as a collective, they can fight evil. They haven't grasped that they stand below the likes of him. Kill or be killed. In their case, be killed. They have the brains to understand they are prey but the idiocy to trust they are above nature.
He uncoils from his place, moving silently as a snake through grass until it encounters its enemy. They do not see him. Believe themselves safe in their haven of wood. As though the building's materials make a difference to him. Neither does the holy water along its perimeter. It gives him joy. He revels in their ignorance.
He wants to draw this out though. For the first time since his turning, he doesn't make quick work of it. In the two years he has been with him, Hunter has taught him restraint, self-control and discipline. His ability to drink without killing preserves their secret for longer periods of time.
It was earlier tonight that he took Quinn aside, looked him straight in the eye and instructed him to cause these men pain. He said he must realize that they deserve no merciful kill for the things they would have done to his family. He said that he is the only one he can trust to do it. Hunter knows honour; he knows when something must be done so Quinn didn't object. It is his first time doing this but he feels he could master it as easily as breathing.
Here, now, he wants to spill their blood. What he has heard has made his blood boil with anticipation. He will make Hunter proud.
He grabs the first one around the middle, shoving a knee into his back and breaking the base of his spine. The scream of agony that escapes him as he falls is music to his ears as he rounds the table and rips the second one's arm in half. Bone protrudes out of flesh and the cries double as he too sinks onto the table, writhing and bleeding but not dead.
The remaining four have scattered but it is all too simple to round them up like sheep. Two have the sense to retrieve pitchforks and he leaves them for the moment, knowing the weapons will make no difference in their fight. The catches the man leaping for the door and slams a booted foot against the kneecap, sending him sprawling.
He is on him before the person can recover from the impact and his fangs sink into the chubby neck. He takes care not to bite too deeply, wanting to let him bleed for as long as possible. He steps on the ankle just for good measure, bone crunching under the force. He can't afford to have escapees.
Pitchforks face him as he turns and he dodges backwards into the dark. The torches have rolled everywhere, some gone out, some flickering. He is wary of the fire but knows he will have to use it tonight. The screams of his victims are peaking and although Hunter described it as miraculously empowering, he finds them irritating when he wants to concentrate.
He is growing tired of this game already. The two with the weapons are circling, back-to-back, peering into the dark corners of the barn to spot him. He can hear the last of them above him, creeping along the mouldy boards of the loft. The thought of facing an actual stake tonight excites him more than it should. He doesn't see how it could possibly be a lethal weapon in the hands of these imbeciles.
He shoots forward, taking a swinging pitchfork directly by its prongs to flip it into his own hand. The wide eyes and screaming mouth of the attacker doesn't deter him. He drives the tool into the man's abdomen, blinking when the blood hits his face. The body collapses into his partner who staggers. Perfect opening. Quinn doesn't even need to exert a muscle when he takes him by the collar and throws him right into the ceiling.
There is the familiar yell of pain, followed by creaking wood and then the human smashes into the ground at his feet. Chunks of wood rain onto him and Quinn hopes there is enough life left inside the man to ensure the slow death meant for him.
Even as a young boy, he had learnt quickly to save the best for last. He takes his time climbing the ladder up to the loft, patiently waiting for the last one to catch sight of him. It seems to be the one who spoke the most, appearing authoritative with drawn eyebrows and broad shoulders. One hand clutches the lit torch, the other a finely honed wooden stick. Quinn only smiles at him, wide enough to bare his teeth and earn a narrow-eyed glare from the human. The bravery is out of place but it is a challenge Quinn observes with pleasure. Perhaps he may even learn something more than how to massacre this evening.
"Redfern's boy," the man utters and the disgust in his voice almost outmatches the anger, "Your soul can burn in hell"
He doesn't reply but advances, slowly enough to allow the other man to back away unconsciously. He is aware of the fire so close in his proximity but his eyes never stray from the human's face. The stare and smile are unnerving the man, he can see the tough resolve draining the closer he gets. The knees are quivering though his hands are steady.
Quinn sees the involuntary clenching of the hand a second before the man jerks forward, the wood aimed at his heart. He catches the weapon mid-lunge, wrenching it out of the hold before it even grazes him. It drops down into the barn. He doesn't see the torch coming though and suddenly his wrist is caught in the blaze of red embers. A hiss escapes his lips and he releases the man, jumping away from the heat.
He stares at his arm, where a black burn is visible, the scorched skin remaining raw instead of healing. Fire harms the undead. His head snaps up to snarl at the human. The man is shaking but triumphant and with a yell, releases the torch in a flying arc. Quinn darts away, comes full circle and throws the man to the ground as the bales behind him catch fire.
The eyes are wide with fright now but still the man tries to spit in his face. Quinn doesn't give him the chance. His hands come around the muscular neck, squeezing the life out of the body. The face flushes red; the human's limbs jerk and fight him all the way. He increases the pressure, minding the pain in his burnt arm and listening to the storm of noises around him. The cackle of the burning straw, the still constant screams under his feet and the receding breaths of the body he straddles. With a last clench, he breaks the windpipe in his grip and the man finally falls still, agony still written in his face.
Quinn stands, stares down at the person who wished him down to hell without knowing he had already been there. Then he erases him from his thoughts. It is done. The spreading fire on his right comes to his attention and he drops back down to avoid the growing inferno. Some of the men he left here are dead, others on the brink.
He feeds on those he deems fit, feeling their tears run against him as he draws from their throats. The weakness they show sickens him. Despite proclaiming invincibility, these humans fear death and as he stares into the dimming eyes of one, he knows he has long since left those days behind. He is what they fear and he never wants that to change.
He takes the last of the torches that still burns and tosses is into the straw against the far wall. He exits the barn, listens to the blaze eating away at the wood and smiles to himself as he wanders back into the night. Humans are truly too easy to kill.
He shook himself back to reality when Rashel pulled away from him. Suddenly the rapid change of stimulus on his senses had him feeling dizzy. No charred wood but clean, cool air. No pools of blood but the smooth carpet of their room. This was the 21st century, not the sixteen hundreds and he had left any family loyalty behind him.
He opened his eyes to see his soulmate across from him, eyes downcast and breathing rapidly. She was leaning against the wall, which he supposed they must have used for support when they were far away in another's minds. He felt slightly uncomfortable himself. Apparently opening the dark part of his soul to her had taken more out of him than he'd expected. He swallowed, moving aside to sit on the sofa. He ran a hand across his face as he shook the intensity of his memory off.
"That was four hundred years ago," he said when he caught his breath.
It took her another minute to have processed everything and when she finally replied, it was in a tone of wonder. "That was…your first?"
"Yes. And since then I've never stopped. At some point, it stopped being on Hunter's demand too. It was killing because I could and I enjoyed the reputation. It's almost a reflex"
She startled him with a scoff. "That's definitely more impressive than my first"
He didn't even know how to react to that. Exasperation? Amusement? She was a walking mystery to him. Just when he thought he could predict her response to what she'd just experienced through his eyes, she hit him with something unexpected. He simply stared at her, anticipating something more severe to come.
She rubbed her neck absently, probably not even realizing that she was tracing non-existent bite marks. "I understand. That was your life. You did it so much longer than me, I get that it's impossible to not think like that. I knew what I signed up for the moment we decided to fight on that enclave"
"I wanted to make sure you do. We can break this off," he spoke the words even though they tore at him, "I want to make this right"
"You just don't know how," she finished for him, nodding to herself. When he didn't dispute the claim she got up and went to crouch in front of him. She seemed to struggle with herself before deciding what to say, "Maybe stop punishing yourself for my sake. You're sorry, let's just move past this and continue what we've come here to do anyway – make up for what we have done. Become better people. Help save the world, you know"
He was about to answer when she held up a hand. "And the animal blood?"
"I'll do it," he agreed and meant it. Anything.
She smiled faintly at that and he couldn't help leaning down and placing a kiss on her forehead. It was a gesture of affection and protection and she didn't push him away. They remained there for a heartbeat before she wrapped her arms around him and clung to him like he'd been away for weeks. He couldn't say anything. He knew she felt his gratitude.
"You'll talk to Thierry as well?" she probed and despite already knowing that the conversation was bound to be an awkward exchange, he nodded into her shoulder.
"For a vampire hunter who lived on a grudge, you're very forgiving," he noted a minute later, rousing a small laugh from her. The mood lifted even though the subject matter was still serious. She pulled away.
"Maybe I don't want to lose the person that means the most to me because of an accident," she shrugged. They shared a look and he realized she had beat herself up about exactly the same things they entire day. He had been a constant presence in her thoughts as she had in his. There simply was no life without the other.
"Makes two of us," he replied softly.
"Just wait till I show you my first kill. I was terrible compared to you," she rolled her eyes and he actually managed a chuckle. With that, the subject finally dropped and she shifted to sit on the couch next to him.
She picked up her plate again and mock offered some to him before digging in. He would definitely need to feed tonight but he wanted to stay for the moment. For the first time since their spar, he felt at ease again. She let the television drone on and in their companionable silence, both of them let everything that had happened gradually drift to the back of their minds.
In the commercial break, she remarked, "We've been assigned to a mission"
The smile he could see betrayed how happy she was about it. "What kind?" he asked. He always preferred the facts first before moving any further.
"Ironically, it's an assassination," she turned to face him, seriousness back in her expression, "A team assembled by the Council. So I guess we can assume they are the best of the best. They've sent out to track a person that they believe is a Wild Power. We should have details of everything by the morning"
"So they've found one," he shook his head, "Hunter is really pulling all the strings"
"We don't know. Nothing is confirmed but Daybreak wants to cover all possibilities. Thierry has also sent for two more agents from somewhere else, so we'll be a group. We'll leave tomorrow if you agree"
"You honestly think I'd let you go on your own?"
"I hoped you'd say that," she grinned and nudged at his elbow, "You might want to get your wrist healed by the witches before we head off"
A glance at the clock told him it was around eleven. Almost witching hour. She was right though. Judging by the information she'd gotten, it would be wise to be as healthy as possible for this trip. He was already mentally going through plausible options for such a squad. Anybody at Hunter's disposal was likely to be a deadly fighter or talented tracker. Either way they'd have a challenge to deal with and on top of that with Daybreak agents they had never worked with. Sounded like a disaster in the making.
The wound throbbed to remind that his neglect of it during the day was paying off. Rashel looked tired as well, perhaps not so much from injury but the emotional rollercoaster of the past hours.
"I'll see you later," he told her and received a smile in return.
The infirmary was almost as secret as the training area, located in the basement floor of the mansion. Circle members knew but generally it served more as an experimenting lab for the witches. Spells were tested in the secluded rooms, potions brewed and whatever else these witches did in their free time. He'd never pursued an interest in witchcraft even though he knew Hunter's bloodline had mingled with them. To him they were a race best left alone with their work and beliefs. Marcus was an exception simply because he was of great use.
The corridor was quiet despite the fact that so close to midnight. He knew they liked to channel the energy at that time for spells. He'd witnessed a midnight ritual before and it wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat. No, the infirmary wasn't a place he particularly liked, mainly because he felt on edge in the presence of people channelling the natural powers. It went against his very being.
Thankfully, the first person he ran into was Marta, the oldest witch here whom everyone referred to as the mother of the mansion. She took one look at him, nodded and ushered him inside her office. She appeared the least discriminate of any of the inhabitants here and he'd heard that she had worked for the Circle ever since it's origin. She took one look at the stained bandage and clicked her tongue disapprovingly.
"Wood?"
He nodded and the disapproving look grew stronger. She unwound the dressing and immediately set to work. That was the thing he was glad for. The old lady asked no questions where she felt she did not need to know more details. She worked in silence apart from the occasional mutter of spells. Herbal remedies tended not to work on vampire flesh as the body had already died and the original life energy was gone. Injuries could only heal through magic or blood.
It barely took five minutes and not a single scar remained. Just as he set to leave, she grasped him around the wrist. The blue of her eyes was electric as she looked at him and said, "You keep out of trouble, boy. It's never a good sign when I have to start looking after vampires down here"
The absurdity of being called boy by a woman not even half his age passed right by him. The precognitive abilities of these Night People had always disturbed him slightly and this statement confused him. Did she mean to take care with Rashel? Was it a bad omen concerning the mission?
When she let him go, she gave him a pat on the back, which made the entire situation even stranger, and sent him on his way. He remained outside, watching the closed door for a good minute as though it could give him the answers he wanted. He came to a decision. He needed to speak with Thierry now before they were sent off.
By the time dawn broke over the horizon and their room gradually became tinted in morning light, he was back, sitting on the edge of the bed. He'd showered and changed but had forgone sleep. The conversation with the Night World Lord had taken far longer than anticipated and he'd returned with no intention of going to bed. He could nap on the flight. Instead he chose to watch the last couple of minutes over Rashel who was still asleep but he knew she was one to rise early once she settled into a routine.
She had very attuned senses for a human, he noticed. The moment the light changed in the room and tinged the floor in gold, her body seemed to register this. She rolled over to face the other wall, stretched and blinked her eyes open.
"Did you even sleep?" she yawned, then buried her face in the pillow once more.
He considered the half-muffled question. "Later"
She raised her head just enough to peek at him from the hollow of her pillow. "Sometimes I wish I was nocturnal. So much happens whenever I catch some sleep"
He cocked his head slightly, considering that. "Our agents arrived half an hour ago. I'm sure they're being briefed right now. And Nilsson sent up our gear. I don't think anyone told him you brought your own weapons"
That wiped any traces of tiredness off her face right away and she practically leapt out of bed and began pulling on a fresh shirt. He laughed while she was reprimanding him for not waking her earlier. By the time she was done and shuffling through the case of guns they'd been provided with, her eagerness had infected him.
The headed downstairs together, for all appearances still partners that were as solid as ever. Quinn didn't even have to sharpen his hearing to pinpoint the new arrivals in the kitchen. One voice was familiar, the other he couldn't recall knowing and the third was Descoudres himself.
The barely detectable scent of warmed blood and an overpowering bacon smell greeted him when he walked through the door. They approached the table upon Thierry's gesture and settled across from the two others. Quinn's attention was drawn first to the familiar tanned face of the werewolf, who nodded over at them, his mouth full of bacon and toast.
"Connor Reeves, you've met," the made vampire indicated, "And this is Nissa Johnson. One of our best stationed in North Carolina"
The expressionless vampire gave them each a formal nod. She didn't smile but Quinn preferred that air of professionalism about her. She seemed very much a clean cut, no nonsense kind of person. Even her physicality, the mink coloured bob framing a face with sharp cheekbones and calculating eyes, marked her efficient nature.
He could tell that Rashel was thinking along the same lines because she turned right back to Thierry and asked, "Have we missed anything?"
"I thought I'd leave the briefing until after breakfast. Nilsson will be responsible for getting everyone up to speed in the drawing room," he pushed a plate of pancakes her way then stood up, "You'll be handed everything you need. I just wanted to see you as a collective and wish you all the best. It's imperative that this mission succeeds. It's an enormous responsibility I am placing on your shoulders. I'm sorry for that but the fact is you are all top fighters. I'm certain you will give everything"
"Absolutely," the vampire confirmed. Her voice matched her looks, a smooth, near ghostly voice that was nothing but formal.
"Of course," Connor added, conviction showing. Thierry accepted this, gave each of them an encouraging look, lingering on the made vampire a second longer before leaving them.
Quinn's focus didn't linger on the ancient vampire but slid straight back to this mysterious Nissa Johnson. She was holding a tall mug with one hand, filled with blood no doubt. She caught him eyeing it and remarked coolly, "It's deer. There is more in the thermos"
He replied in the same indifferent manner, "You've been in Carolina long?"
"Yes," she stated, sipping calmly. She gave no more information, seemingly not interested in conversation. Or she had recognized him and purposely gave him the cold shoulder. Who knew? It was a small world after all. He could never know how many people he'd gotten on the wrong side of.
Rashel had picked up the conversation with Connor, asking about his previous work. Quinn poured himself from the flask and almost gagged on the taste. It was definitely an acquired preference, an entirely different substance altogether. The only familiar traits were the red colour and fluid state. He forced the lukewarm stuff down his throat and suppressed a grimace. This would definitely take time.
"Why were you picked?" the vampire had turned to Rashel with a raised brow, "You're human. Do you have any concept of what you're up against?"
Quinn immediately growled low in his throat but his soulmate only raised her head from her cereal and shrugged at Nissa. "I'm guess I'm the only one here who is very handy with a stake, sword, knife, spear, martial arts and has practice in the field"
"Vampire hunter," Connor added and Nissa immediately narrowed her eyes a fraction.
"And you're sure you aren't working on your own agenda? Everyone knows vampire hunters follow their own cults," she remarked. The expressionless voice did a good job at hiding the offense of the inquiry. Although he'd previously thought her practical, Quinn now found he had half the urge to break her legs under the table.
He tried to shake the thought off. Feuding before the mission even began would be a mistake not worth making. Being in love sure made it easier to fail with his judgement of who was a friend or foe.
"We have time to argue about my usefulness after we've gotten rid of those Council guys," Rashel waved it off, emptying her bowl, "Focus is on completing the task now. I don't care if you don't like me but we're going to have to work together. They win, we're all dead anyway. Okay?"
The vampire didn't look any less suspicious but after eyeing the dark-haired girl for several moments, she turned back to her drink. Then the first hint of an almost-smile tugged at her lips.
"You sound just like my boss"