considered home. His arms tightened on her at Eamon’s approach.
Not jealously. Not possessiveness. But a grab for sanity to keep from stripping her out of her clothing.
Talk would have to wait. Confessions. Neither of them was as important as the touch of skin to skin, the urgent need to be inside her, to share her.
Pulling his mouth from hers, he said, “Let’s take this to the bedroom,” thoughts flashing to his fire and smoke and water-damaged house. Not Eamon’s bedroom but
His lips returned to hers, hands settling on her hips, though the will to stop the grind of her cunt against his cock deserted him.
In his mind he said,
Quinn pulled to a stop near the chain-link fence, cutting the engine steps away from an opening in the fence to the right of a No Trespassing sign. Again he contemplated calling Sean. Again he dismissed it.
He pulled his gun from its holster and got out of the car. He’d just take a quick look around, enough to either confirm he was nuts or…
The refrain pounded through him with each heartbeat. Racing until there was no break between utterances.
The twist in his gut got tighter with each step, until caution was a struggle.
He heard voices speaking Spanish. Harsh-edged, ugly laughter followed by the sound of someone being hit. A cry of pain, a piteous whimper.
Derrick’s cry. Derrick’s whimper.
Rage poured into Quinn. The red of furious fire burning away years of training, eradicating any thought of stealth.
He raced forward, driven by fierce possessiveness past abandoned buildings covered in graffiti, the sound of violence and agony, the scent of blood reaching him, feeding his urgency and providing a trail. He led with his gun, finger steady on the trigger despite the adrenaline rushing through him and the pounding beat of his heart.
“Please, no!” Derrick screamed, terror peaking, and Quinn promised himself Derrick would never beg again, unless it was in bed with him, and the words would be “Please. Yes!”
“Do it, Drooler,” someone said as Quinn rounded the corner and saw Derrick held between two teens, struggling as a third raised a gun.
Shoot to kill.
Instinct. Training.
He was rushing forward when something slammed into him.
He took two additional steps before his brain interpreted what his body knew. He’d been shot. Realization came with the delayed impression of a man ducking behind a stripped, abandoned car.
Quinn hit the ground. His hand went to his chest in a feeble attempt to stop the escape of blood, his consciousness wavering. His vision was wet and blurry as Derrick dragged himself toward him on his belly, using one arm while the other trailed.
“No, no, no,” Derrick sobbed, his face was bloody and swollen.
Quinn wanted to scream
The shooter stepped out from behind the car.
A roar of denial blasted from Quinn’s core. A determination to protect Derrick that held him to life and lent him enough strength to angle the gun upward and get off two shots.
Hits, both of them.
The man went down and didn’t get back up.
Satisfaction tempered the pain of having lost a future with Derrick.
Etain seized without warning, the violence of it tearing her out of Cathal’s arms and throwing her to the driveway to flail and thrash, limbs wild and back bowing as though it would snap. He dropped immediately, grabbing an arm, pinning it to the cool concrete as his other hand pressed against her chest in an effort to hold her down.
Eamon was instantly there, kneeling opposite her. Etain’s hand flashed out, grabbing Eamon’s wrist, her palm pressed to his flesh. Concern for her went to fear of her, a glimmer of expression quickly smoothed to hide its turbulence, but not quickly enough.
“Sire?” Liam said, stepping forward, Heath and Myk immediately flanking him.
“What’s going on?” Cathal managed, and yet he could feel it in the tattoos along his forearms. Magic.
Eamon stiffened, head snapping back, the muscles of his throat taut, his face reflecting struggle, as if he tried to break away from Etain’s grip but couldn’t.
Terror crawled into Cathal’s throat. Survival instinct screaming for him to break contact with Etain now, while he still could, demanding he flee because he was only human.
He held tight, denying everything, willing to sacrifice everything, believing in that instant that she needed him now more than ever, that magic, something intrinsically a part of her, had chosen him for more than a save from the Harlequin Rapist.
“She consumes you, Lord,” Liam said, voice urgent, determined. “Order me to kill her!”
The magic blazed a trail for Cage though he didn’t need one, given his close proximity to Quinn. He pushed through the opening in the chain link fence, urgent now with the scent of blood, Kestrel awake and hungry, the sound of a man crying, a body dragging chilling him to his core.
He did not limit himself to human speed in order to reach Quinn. Knew by the soaked front of Quinn’s clothing and pool of blood spreading next to him that only the magic held him to this life and this body.
Cage scooped Quinn up, taking in the three dead, one of whom Kestrel had hungered for outside Saoirse. Pity moved through him when he recognized Derrick, beaten and broken but dragging his body forward in an effort to get to his lover.
There was no time to offer comfort. And reassurance was premature even this close to water.
Cage raced forward, hurling Quinn into the bay.
Behind him Derrick screamed. A heart-wrenching, primal sound of such anguish that it silenced even Kestrel’s demands.
A wordless scream left Eamon and this time Cathal’s head snapped back as pain ripped through him as though he were being eviscerated from the inside out.
“Eamon. Lord. Order me to kill her!”
“No.” Cathal gasped. “Trust her.”
“No!” Liam urged, tensed and coiled like a panther ready to spring. “No! Today’s events demonstrated that the magic controls her, not the other way around. Accept her loss for the good of those who call you Lord.”
Another wave of pain clawed through Cathal. Pulsing simultaneously to what was happening to Eamon. Building, building, then suddenly condensing, shattering in his chest.
Cage watched as the bubbles rising to the surfaced ceased, the body disappearing, sinking.
He caught himself holding his breath and forced an exhale, guilt settling into his chest with the next inhalation.
Brother. The sense of it was stronger now.
He had not been his brother’s keeper here.
