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“Quinlan, he’ll die otherwise.”
“Not your blood, Batya. Your blood belongs to me.”
Batya lifted both hands and then he felt her wind as she pushed back. “We must save your friend.” She moved toward him and grabbed his face with both hands, staring fiercely into his eyes. “Quinlan, come back to me.”
“I’ll donate.”
The words, uttered by Lorelei, brought sudden order back to Quinlan’s mind. He turned and saw that the wraith, back to her fae form, had dropped beside the unconscious troll. The medic had already hooked up the necessary tubing, but waited for Quinlan’s approval. In the realm world, all species could share blood. He nodded.
And the moment Quinlan saw Lorelei’s blood flowing into Henry, he sat down. Batya moved so that she could put her hand on Henry’s head, closing her eyes, and even from several feet away, Quinlan felt her healing power flow into the troll warrior.
He breathed hard, hating that she was touching another man then despising himself for even having the thought.
He pulled up his knees, angling his forearms to rest over the top of them, then dropped his forehead into his hands. What the hell had just happened?
A few minutes later, Batya’s hand was once more on his shoulder. “He’s going to live, Quinlan. See for yourself.”
He lifted his gaze to Henry and watched as his chest rose and fell and his color took on a more normal hue. “I would have let him die. Sweet Goddess, I would have let him die.”
“I don’t believe that, not for a second. But what happened? I’ve never heard your voice like that before and you created a wind like Margetta’s.”
She drew close, then lowered herself to the ground to sit next to him. Quinlan, what’s going on?
He couldn’t look at her as he shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t get it.” He met her gaze. “What the hell is this, Batya? What kind of sick game are you playing with me?”
She leaned her head back as though he’d struck her. “I’m not playing a game. Why would you say that?”
“Because I’ve felt your power and I think you’re using it to undermine who I am, to try to break down my commitment to Grochaire. You want to destroy me.”
* * * * * * * * *
Batya stared at Quinlan unable to believe these words had just come out of his mouth. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why, not? You don’t approve of Grochaire. You’ve said yourself that you’ll never live in my realm again. Why not destroy me at the same time?”
Batya glanced around. The troll brigade had begun re-forming at a distance, taken in hand by several team leaders. At the same time, Henry continued to receive a healthy dose of Lorelei’s blood.
“You’re mistaken. I just needed something different, something Grochaire Realm or any of the other realms couldn’t give me. And I have a purpose in Lebanon. A lot of realm-folk can’t be part of things in the Nine Realms right now. Many of them fear the Invictus to the point of paranoia, so they live in the United States. That doesn’t mean we hate Grochaire, not even a little.”
He seemed to settle down, but he appeared distressed. She suspected he didn’t like feeling out of control and that for a long moment, that’s exactly what he’d been, making it impossible for her to give what she could have so easily donated to Henry.
But if Lorelei hadn’t intervened, Batya also knew she could have reached Quinlan, helped him to tone down his caveman instincts. She also knew that his refusal to allow her to donate had more to do with their lovemaking last night than he understood.
“I can’t believe I prevented you from helping Henry.” Once again, he shaded his face with his hands.
“Quinlan, look at me.”
He scowled, but he lifted his face to her. “You know damn well that if Lorelei hadn’t offered, you would have relented.”
He gripped her hand. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “You don’t understand. I wouldn’t have. There’s something inside me now that won’t allow another man to touch you or to take from you.”
The ferocity of his gaze tore at something inside Batya, something that recognized and really liked what Quinlan was saying.
Her fingers moved against his palm, a sensual stroke. And I don’t want any other woman to have even a drop of what you can give. She stroked his hand again, running a finger down to the tip of his middle finger.
She heard a soft growl at the back of his throat, rumbling deep, something only a shifter or a vampire could do. The sound, full of vibration, went straight through her, forcing every ounce of her attention on him. No one but Quinlan existed.
With her free hand, she touched her throat, rubbing her thumb up and down her vein.
His gaze tracked the movement and his nostrils flared. I’m smelling exotic flowers, heaps of it. Do you know that your blood tastes like that as well, like I’m drinking nectar from flowers that grow in the tropics? His gaze slid past her, his brows low on his forehead as he watched everyone.
He pressed her hand harder. I’m taking you tonight. Do you understand? When we’re bedded down, I’m taking you.
She nodded.
Good.
He rose and offered a hand to her, lifting her easily to her feet. He crossed to Henry, now sitting up, though he still looked pale. But his gaze was fixed on Lorelei. “That’s some blood you’ve got there.”
Lorelei nodded. “Do you feel better, Henry?”
“You brought me back from the brink. Thank you, mistress.”
“All right, you troll bastard. I see you’ll live to fight another day.”
“I will, indeed.” He jumped to his feet. “The woman has restored me. In fact, I feel better than new.” He glanced around. “This is one big motherfucker of a cavern. Which way to the meadow?”
Quinlan pointed in the direction the river flowed, amazed that in a very realm way, he connected with these unknown parts of Grochaire. “About fifteen miles north. According to the legends about the Pickerne Caverns, there’s a well-worn, ancient path that tracks along this side of the river. I think we should walk, conserve our strength for later battle or necessary flights.”
Henry glanced around. “I agree. What do you think? Fifty in front? The rest behind and the women and support teams in the middle, spears at the ready?” He glanced up at Quinlan. “Will that do, mastyr?”
“You read my mind.”
He turned and issued a sharp whistle, delivered the split-force order, then waved his men forward. The first half of the troll brigade moved by at a brisk clip, and one of the team leaders set up a chant. Batya was taller than all of them, but something about their strong, soldierly manner, and natural troll charisma, made them a formidable force.
