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"Well, it does make sense for Starr to have his most valuable asset close to hand." And it would also explain the existence of the elevator entrance to his rooms - the one no one seemed to know about.
"We've no records of any installation, military or not, being built in this area, but I'll get Alex to check with her Government source. Hopefully, we'll have an answer soon as to what Starr is sitting on."
Alex was Alex Hunter, the woman responsible for the birth of the Directorate, and who'd been in charge of it since its inception. Not only was she a very old vampire - far older than even Quinn - but she was also Jack's sister. Talk about job security.
Though how Jack could be several hundred years younger than Quinn, and yet still be the sibling of someone several hundred years older was a point Jack and said sister had so far been unwilling to explain. But I very much intended to get an answer, even if I had to nag Jack to death.
"Where do you want Quinn to meet your removalist?"
"There's an old pine leaning over the fence near the south corner. We'll have people there in five." He hesitated. "Be careful. And keep in contact, Riley. I mean it."
I'm sure he meant it the first time he said it, too. It still didn't mean I'd remember. I flicked off the com-link and glanced at Quinn. "You'd better get moving."
He nodded and shifted his grip on the child, then wrapped his free hand around the back of my neck and pulled me close. His lips, when they met mine, were warm and demanding, the kiss itself unlike any other kiss from any other man. It was both a promise of intent and a declaration of feeling, and so damn right - so damn hot - it had me melting.
A sigh escaped when his lips left mine. He chuckled softly. "Keep that thought for when all this is over."
I opened my eyes and stared into the obsidian depths of his for several heartbeats. "Only if you accept what I am, Quinn. It wouldn't be fair to either of us, otherwise."
His smile was tinged with bitterness, though that bitterness didn't seem aimed at me but rather himself. "It has occurred to me that to win the race, I must first be in the race. I may not like a werewolf's propensity for many mates, but if sharing means I get the chance to prove that we are meant to be, then I have little other choice but to accept it."
My hormones did a happy little jig. "Meaning no more demands that I see you, and you alone? No more jibes at the werewolf culture?"
"Yes to the first, and I will try to the second."
Well, that was better than nothing. I leaned forward and kissed him gently. "Thank you."
"Even the very old can try to change if we see something worth changing for." He briefly touched my cheek with his fingertips, then stepped back. "Be very careful in that house."
I nodded. He turned and disappeared into the night, though I watched the flame of his body heat until the trees took it from sight. After which, I turned and headed back to my room.
Only Berna was there when I entered, but she wasn't asleep. Far from it. Her expression was dark, angry, like she was ready to hit someone. And her eyes, when her gaze met mine, suggested that someone was me.
I stopped cold, wondering what the hell I'd done. Other than whip their asses earlier, that is.
But before I could ask, pain hit. Deep, deep pain that struck like a hammer, smashing through my body, driving me to my knees and snatching the air from my lungs.
It wasn't my pain.
It was Rhoan's. ing is never a pleasant experience, but it's even less so when you don't know if the person sidestepping the projectile is friend or foe.
I mean, how can you defend yourself when you're chucking your heart out? It's impossible. Truly impossible.
The only way I knew I was safe was the mere fact that nothing happened in the time I had my head buried in the bushes. It was only when I leaned against the wall to steady myself while I sucked in great gulps of air that I caught the odd scent of earth and air. Iktar. Neither friend nor foe, but somewhere in between.
But he wasn't the only one here. Awareness shimmered across my skin, a warmth that went deeper than mere knowledge of presence, touching me in a way so few did.
Quinn watched and I felt a whole lot safer.
"Here." I dug into the bag and retrieved the notebook, then held out the bag to Iktar. "Your controls and some keys. Knock yourself out."
"Thank you." He accepted the parcel warily, but the glow in his eyes was that of a man who finally saw the ending of a nightmare. "I am in your debt, more than you could ever know."
"No, buddy-boy, you're in the Directorate's debt, and you may live to regret that." Because I had a feeling Jack would like at least one of Iktar's mob on his "new" team - and the old one.
He shrugged. "It cannot be any worse than being held prisoner by a madman, or being killed off one by one in his insane missions."
Except that the Directorate and insane missions often went hand in hand. Hell, why else would Gautier love the job so much?
