The Cathedral of Cliffdale
Author: Melissa Delport
Date: 2015-08-14 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: A Guardian is dead. For the first time in one thousand years, no replacement has come forward. With only eleven Guardians remaining, the enchanted City of Summerfeld, home to the last survivors of the Blood War, is vulnerable. As their enemies close in the Guardians must unit Beyond the limits of mankind's understanding there exists a City, created as a sanctuary for the survivors of a brutal and bloody war. Within the city of Summerfeld the last mythical creatures live out their days in peace, fiercely protected by twelve immortals: brave defenders known as the Guardians. Now, a Guardian is d

Copyright © 2015 Melissa Delport

The text of this publication, or any part thereof, may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder.

The Author/Publisher has made every effort to trace and acknowledge sources/resources/individuals. In the event that any images/information have been incorrectly attributed or credited, the Author/Publisher will be pleased to rectify these omissions at the earliest opportunity.

Edited by Cathy Eberle of Wordweavers

Cover designed by Wendy Bow of Apple Pie Graphics

Website: www.melissadelport.com

For my babies, who I hope will one day believe in magic

Table Of Contents

Copyright

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

About The Author

The Story Continues

Acknowledgements

While this book is not my first foray into the world of speculative fiction, it is the first fantasy novel I have embarked upon and I found it to be the most liberating piece of writing I have done to date. Creating the world of Summerfeld allowed me to stretch my imagination further than ever before and I loved every single second of it. Of course, there are many people who must be thanked for their invaluable input during the course of writing this book.

As always, I must thank my beautiful family: My husband, Murray, whose support has never wavered, and my three gorgeous children who inspire me every single day.

My dearest friend, Wendy Bow, who is my ‘person’ and has been with me every step of the way, through every book I have written. No-one has done more for me as a writer than you have and I honestly don’t think I could have done any of this without your support, your guidance and your brutal honesty!

My wacky, crazy neighbour, Fiona McCarthy, beta-reader extraordinaire, who can spot errors despite reading at the speed of light and who loved my books before she loved me. I am so glad we met and so grateful that you believe in me.

Norma Neill, who has known me most of my life yet still takes me seriously as an author, for that final proof-read, and stepping out of your “reading” comfort zone to polish my final manuscript, thank you so much.

My amazing editor, Catherine Eberle; your words of encouragement are more validating than you will ever know. I am so grateful that I found you, four books ago, and I look forward to working with you for a long time to come.

A massive thank you to my writer’s group, The Scribe Tribe, and, in particular, Ian Tennent & Helga Pearson, who were honest enough to point out my flaws and are making me a better writer for it. Ian, your insight and constructive critique has truly made me grow in ways I could never have imagined. You are a great teacher and a true friend.

And of course, to everyone who has read my books; without you I wouldn’t be able to do this. Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart!

Chapter 1

“And then the little man fell through the hole in the ground and was never seen again.”

Quinn Harden closed the storybook with a snap and the children jumped. “Time for bed, you two,” she smiled, setting the book down on the bedside table.

“One more, please Aunty Quinn,” Jack begged, his blue eyes wide.

“The one about the fairies!” Ava added, stifling a yawn.

“And then you’ll go to sleep?” Quinn raised her brows.

“Promise,” the twins replied in unison. They were masters of negotiation, their intelligence and competence far beyond their two years. It was so with all descendents of the original Guardians, no doubt a result of the miniscule traces of Fae blood that ran through their veins. Jack and Ava were, however, blissfully unaware that some of the stories Quinn told them were true.

She cleared her throat, waiting for them to settle back on their pillows before she began, reciting the words by heart, as she recalled the stories that Kellan used to tell her as a child.

“There was a time when all of the mystical creatures read about in fairy tales roamed the Earth freely and lived among men; when dragons shared the sky with birds of prey and giants claimed the mountains as their home.” Quinn stopped, a soft smile crossing her face. The children were asleep. She allowed herself the luxury of watching them for a while, as the memory of Kellan’s voice washed over her, from a night many years ago.

There was a time when all of the mystical creatures read about in fairy tales roamed the Earth freely and lived among men; when dragons shared the sky with birds of prey and giants claimed the mountains as their home. Faeries, merfolk, werewolves and vampires, among the many supernatural beings, were as much a part of civilisation as man was. Protected by the enchantments placed upon them by the Fae they were seldom seen, but those of purest heart, who would do them no harm, were granted glimpses of their magnificence.

Reaching over, Quinn switched off the nightlight, dropping a kiss on Jack and Ava’s foreheads before making her way quietly out of their bedroom. The children would never know that the story she’d started did not have a happy ending. The creatures she spoke of had filled the world with beauty and magic, until a xenophobic holocaust ignited by a mad king extinguished their light over a thousand years ago. Over time, their absence resulted in their existence becoming fabled, warped into legend and myth and shrouded in allegory. And yet, exist they did. And to this day, some still do. Only twelve people know this - only ever twelve, whose sole objective is to ensure the safety of those precious few who remain. These twelve are known as the Guardians, fierce protectors of Summerfeld – the City that shelters the last surviving supernatural beings.

With only her dark thoughts for company, Quinn went downstairs to clean up the whirlwind that was dinner time with two young, energetic toddlers. She couldn’t quite figure out how the peas had made it halfway under the refrigerator, but knowing how Ava loathed them she suspected foul play. The twins were crafty.

Quinn clung to the menial task, trying to stem the memories that threatened to overwhelm her. As she reached under the refrigerator, scooping up peas, she caught sight of the ornate, white tattoo that branded her wrist, and, like a floodgate, the memories forced their way through her weary defences.

Kellan’s stories had been happy, much like the ones she told Jack and Ava, but Isaiah had spoken only the truth. Quinn had been twenty-one the first time she heard the legend. Her sister, Avery, had sat beside her at the council table, the girls eager for their first lesson. It had been nearly a thousand years since the Blood War, named for the sheer amount of magical blood that had been spilled, but now that they had been branded as Guardians, Quinn and Avery were to learn the truth; that in secret, unbeknown to their human counterparts, the war still waged, and the hunt for Summerfeld continued.

“In order to understand our purpose, you need to fully understand our history,” Isaiah explained. “I must warn you, however, that the story is one of tragedy, and destruction.”

“Tell us,” Avery insisted, leaning forward in her chair. The Sacred Book was open before him, but Isaiah didn’t look at it as he began to speak.

“When Enah, princess of the Fae, fell in love with Julian, the Vampire prince, she used her magic to bestow upon him the forbidden gift of sun-walking. Imparting Faery magic to any other supernatural being or creature was punishable by death.”

“Why?” Quinn asked, interrupting, and Avery scowled at her. “What?” Quinn shrugged. “It’s a logical question. Why was it so bad?”

“Fae magic was too powerful to be wielded by any other species,” Isaiah explained patiently, “and King Eldon feared that if any of the others learned that they could use it, they might turn on the Fae and try to take it for themselves. The Taboo was their most sacred law.” Quinn nodded that she understood and Isaiah continued, “In breaking it, Enah had betrayed her own kind, but more than that, she started a feud that would span centuries. Her father, King Eldon, couldn’t bring himself to take her life, so he hunted down the abomination she had created instead. He killed Julian.”

Isaiah heard Avery’s gasp of astonishment, but to his surprise, Quinn looked satisfied. The Guardian women were always more disturbed by this revelation than their male counterparts. Patiently, he waited for their questions, but again they surprised him and remained silent. Isaiah proceeded.

“Julian’s father, King Aleksei, declared war on the Fae. The werewolves were only too happy to unite with the Faeries, and all the other legendary creatures, reliant on the Fae magic, sided with them too – their alliance strengthened in the crucible of war.”

“So, if everyone sided with King Eldon, why is the war still waging?” Avery asked. “Surely all of those creatures could easily have overthrown the vampires?”

“Sadly not,” Isaiah sighed. “If that had been the case, we wouldn’t be here,” he remarked wryly. “King Eldon grossly underestimated the physical power of the vampires. King Aleksei wreaked his furious vengeance on all who stood between him and the Fae. Through his connection to all living creatures, King Eldon suffered terribly as one species after another was slaughtered to extinction. The Pegasus and the Phoenix did not survive the Blood War and the numbers of the ten species that remained were reduced dramatically. King Eldon’s hatred of the vampires grew with every death at their foul hands, manifesting in his evolution – and he became the first Slayer, a lethal, merciless vampire-hunter, whose very blood could kill them...”

Quinn jerked back to her small, humble kitchen as though she had been doused with ice-cold water. She could have sworn she had heard something upstairs. Dropping her cloth, Quinn raced up the stairs to check on the children. Jack and Ava were still sound asleep in their bed, Ava’s pyjama top pulled up, exposing her rounded belly. Her chubby, cream-clad legs were thrown over her brother’s stomach, and clutched tightly in her hands was Beebee – a pale pink teddy bear with a floppy hat that she had loved since birth. She never went anywhere without it. Smiling, Quinn pulled down Ava’s shirt and shifted her over, covering her up again with her blankets. Jack immediately rolled towards his sister, his curly dark hair falling over his eyes as he reached for her in his sleep. Ava was Jack’s comforter. Ava had Beebee... and Jack had Ava. Quinn watched them fondly for a few more minutes, a rapt expression on her strikingly beautiful face, and then left the room, shutting the door behind her. The twins didn’t stir.

As she pulled their door closed, Quinn’s senses heightened, jerking her from her moment of content. She hesitated, sensing that someone else was in the house. Moving silently down the stairs, she slowly pulled open a dresser drawer and extracted a long ornamental wooden stake. It was the only weapon within reach, although probably not the most suitable. The intruder was not a vampire – none had been invited in – but that didn’t change the fact that someone had broken into her house at this time of night. It didn’t bode well, either way.

Stepping quickly around the corner, Quinn raised the stake to shoulder height and jabbed it forward. It stopped less than an inch from the intruder’s right eye. Unperturbed, he lifted a hand and placed it over hers, lowering her arm.

“Hello Quinn,” her father murmured, his striking tanzanite eyes a mirror of her own, the perfect blend of violet and the deepest blue.

“What are you doing here, Braddon?” She always called him by his name, never ‘dad’ or ‘father.’ Not since she was a child.

“It’s time for you to return,” his eyes held hers and a million arguments died on her lips. “You have a duty to fulfil, and you have indulged yourself far too long already.”

“Indulged myself?” Quinn snapped, her anger back in an instant. “I have a life, Braddon! I have two children who need me!” He ignored her.

“You must return - the Guardians need you.”

“The Guardians can go to hell.”

“Quinn,” his voice was harsher, his eyes flashing angrily. “The Gateway needs to be protected. You know what is at stake.”

“The City is safe,” Quinn sighed, “Eldon wove his magic well.” The enchantments placed upon the City ensured that neither man nor vampire could find it, let alone enter.

Braddon didn’t acknowledge her words. “We cannot risk it! Enchantments can be broken, Avery’s death is proof of that. We are more vulnerable than ever before. It has been two years and we have yet to find your sister’s replacement.”

The mention of her twin sister, Avery, only fuelled Quinn’s anger. Avery had been a Guardian too, like their father. Like Quinn herself. Avery’s identity had been discovered by a vampire assassin.Since her death two years ago, no new Guardian had been marked and for the first time in Summerfeld’s history, only eleven remained.

“Has it occurred to you that Avery’s replacement hasn’t come forward for good reason?” Quinn sneered. “That maybe this person would prefer a normal life, without the burden of the Guardianship?”

“It is an honour to protect the last, Quinn. Duty is something no true Guardian would seek to avoid.” His words smacked of implied accusation.

“Well then, perhaps this one got lost? Perhaps the replacement Guardian is backpacking through Europe and didn’t get the memo?” Braddon shook his head at the blatant sarcasm in her voice.

“You know as well as I, that a newly marked Guardian will always find his or her way to Cliffdale.”

This was true; the moment that the white mark burned into a Guardian’s wrist the newcomer's instincts led him or her to Cliffdale, to be inducted into the Guardianship. Eldon’s Guardian charm ensured it. When he realised that he could not win the Blood War, King Eldon had called upon twelve humans to protect the magical realm, and imbued each of them with a trace amount of blood from each of the ten remaining supernatural species –forging a blood allegiance. These twelve humans became the Guardians of Summerfeld and were marked as such – an ornate, white, S-shaped tattoo was branded on their left wrists. They guarded the Gateway, a magical portal between worlds, and ensured that neither King Aleksei, nor his descendants, could find the City. No-one but a Guardian could pass freely through the Gateway, and no creature could ever leave until the day that every last vampire had been destroyed.

The Guardians do not age but that does not mean they cannot die. Vampires have been hunting them for a millennium, armed with the knowledge that only through them can they enter the City of Summerfeld and finish their quest to destroy the last remaining supernaturals. With the knowledge that the vampires could never be allowed to access the City, if discovered, a Guardian would take his or her own life. It was a pledge of honour. When one Guardian died, another was inevitably marked, always a descendant of the original twelve. Indiscernible from ordinary people, tracking a Guardian was no easy feat for the vampires, but every now and then they succeeded and a new Guardian would take the place of the fallen.

“How can you ignore the severity of this situation?” Braddon persisted wearily, “You are being petulant.”

“I am protecting Avery’s children!” Quinn had lost all patience with her father. “Your grandchildren!” The comment seemed absurd, considering how youthful Braddon appeared. He had become a Guardian at the age of twenty-seven, Quinn and Avery just before their twenty-second birthdays. Braddon looked only a few years older than she did, although in reality he was over two hundred years her senior.

“Jack and Ava will be taken care of; we will make sure of that. They may well be marked in time to come. Do you really think we would leave them unprotected, considering how valuable they are?”

“They are children, not possessions! They deserve to be loved – as Avery would have loved them. As Tristan should have!”

“You are letting your feelings for Tristan get in the way of your reasoning.” Quinn curled her lip at the undeserved barb. She may have loved Tristan first, but to imply that he meant anything to her after what he had done was ridiculous. When Tristan Ormonde had become a Guardian, it had been Quinn who had trained him, Quinn who had shared the Guardians secrets and helped him adapt to his new way of life. Their relationship had blossomed, becoming intimate, and Quinn had truly believed she had finally found her soul mate, after being alone for a hundred years. That was until Avery returned from a journey north. She had accompanied Braddon on a search for the Phoenix – rumours abounded that the bird, long thought extinct, might have survived. Sadly the exploration had proved futile, and had kept Avery away far longer than Quinn would have liked. She was eager for the two most important people in her life to meet. The irony of her anticipation was not lost on her later.

In the instant that Tristan and Avery laid eyes on each other, Quinn knew that Tristan would never look at her the way he did her sister. So she had done the honourable thing and stepped aside, never holding it against either of them - until her sister had died, just a few months after the birth of the twins. Tristan had already returned to Summerfeld to resume his Guardian duties and Quinn would never forgive him for not being there to protect her sister, the woman he supposedly loved more than life itself.

“I feel nothing for Tristan!” Quinn hissed. “He abandoned Avery – and his children!”

“Tristan understands the meaning of honour! He understands the magnitude of our duty and that some things are more important, even than family.”

“Tristan is still captivated by the novelty of his own importance. He has only been a Guardian for a few years. His enthusiasm will wear off, trust me. This job is eternal.”

“That is not true, Quinn. You know the prophecy. When the balance is restored the war will end.”

“Don’t quote the book at me, Braddon, I know it far better than you do.” The Sacred Book, studied by all Guardians as part of their training, contained both history and prophecy. “The balance will never be restored!”

King Eldon had chronicled that the war between the Fae and the vampires would end when the balance was restored. The Guardians understood this to mean the the number of vampires in existence needed to be reduced to that of the inhabitants of Summerfeld – a literal balance between good and evil - but the vampires’ ability to multiply made it an impossible task.

”It has been written,” Braddon replied with absolute certainty, irking her with his steadfast belief. She had believed once, too, but over the past two years she had withdrawn, pulling away from the Guardianship for the sake of her niece and nephew.

“That book says a lot of things, most of which have never happened. I think old Eldon may have been a bit mental.”

“That’s sacrilege, Quinn! Do not forget your teachings; do not doubt your beliefs. I have been protecting Summerfeld for three hundred years. My allegiance has never faltered.”

“You don’t need to remind me. I remember,” Quinn’s own tanzanite eyes were flashing now. “You dumped me and Avery the very first chance you got.”

Braddon Harden had loved his human wife, but had fulfilled his duty and returned to the Guardians immediately after his daughters were born, visiting them only occasionally. Their mother had loved and cared for them, but she had fallen ill when they were very young and died shortly thereafter. The girls had been removed from their home to be raised within the City itself. Their basic needs were met, but never again did they experience the love and affection that they had known from their mother in the human world. Without Avery, Quinn doubted she would have survived her lonely childhood. This was the main reason she had wanted to raise Jack and Ava herself, in the real world, so that they could experience a normal, happy childhood, without secrets, being raised by someone who loved them as much as their mother had.

On their twenty-first birthdays, Quinn and Avery were allowed back into the realm of man to start a life of their own – although they would always be watched over. Under no real threat from the vampires as ‘innocents’, the Guardians preferred to keep tabs on all descendants of the twelve Guardian families. Most were raised by their human mothers and were unaware of Summerfeld’s existence, but every so often, if an heir of a Guardian was orphaned before reaching adulthood, the child would be raised within the City itself. Quinn had been nothing short of delighted to escape the confines of the City and live a life of her choosing. She had soothed Avery’s fears of the unknown and promised her a life filled with fun and adventure. Avery had been loath to leave Summerfeld and Quinn had wondered if Avery’s Guardian instincts were naturally stronger than her own.

In a sick twist of fate, two of Braddon’s Guardian friends had been discovered by the vampires and had taken their own lives to defend Summerfeld less than a year after the girls left the City. Quinn and Avery’s marks had burned onto their wrists in a flash of pain, the white S-shaped tattoo that they had always feared – seeing it as a symbol of a family divided. Nevertheless, the calling was too great and the girls reported to Cliffdale where they were trained as Guardians – the newest protectors of the magical realm. Conversely, it was Quinn who then championed their cause. Determined to be the best Guardian possible, she trained harder than any other before her and swore her allegiance without hesitation. She led... and Avery followed. Over time, their fierce devotion and astounding skills earned them even the grudging respect of their own father. And then Avery had died and Quinn’s sole focus had no longer concerned the protection of others – it became the protection of her own blood – Avery’s children.

“This is how it works, Quinn,” Braddon continued, bringing Quinn back to the present. “You have been a Guardian for a long time – you have seen it, over and over. The children will be protected – they will want for nothing.”

“They will want for a lot of things. I know that better than anyone. I have been defending the Gateway for almost a century. All I ask is a few more years’ grace, to allow Jack and Ava to grow up in this world – their world. When they come of age, I will return.”

“That is out of the question. Daniel himself sent me to get you.”

A resounding silence followed these words. Daniel was one of only two original Guardians. Two alone had survived the last one thousand years and had never been replaced on the Guardian council. Daniel and Isaiah were legendary. Satisfied that he had her attention, Braddon continued. “There has never been discord amongst the Guardians – not in one thousand years – not until now. We lead by example and your actions will result in doubt. Where there is doubt, there is fragility. Without your sister’s successor we are even more vulnerable.”

“I’m only asking for a few years,” Quinn repeated, but Braddon shook his head.

“You have had two. Unfortunately, we can grant you no more time.”

“I will take as much time as I want. You can go back and tell Daniel that you asked but I am not coming back.” Instead of anger, something akin to empathy shone in her father’s eyes.

“You misunderstand me, Quinn. I didn’t come here to ask you. I came here to fetch you.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in but when they did Quinn gave a gasp of shocked understanding. Racing for the stairs, she took them two at a time. Skidding to a halt at the door to the children’s room, she let out a wail of despair and heartbreak. The unmade beds were the least of her worries. Jack and Ava were gone.

Chapter 2

“Where are they?” Returning to the living-room, Quinn snarled her question.

“I cannot tell you that.”

“Summerfeld,” she curled her lip, “they’re in Summerfeld. I’m going to fetch them,” she turned towards the front door.

“The children are not in the City,” Braddon corrected, halting her in her tracks. “Daniel forbade it. They will not be returned to Summerfeld until you have realised the error of your ways and come back to the Guardians.”

“Please,” for the first time, Quinn appealed to her father, not as a Guardian, but as a parent. “Please, give them back. I have served Summerfeld for a hundred years and I will serve it for a thousand more – when the twins are grown. It’s not too much to ask, surely, for an eternity of loyalty. Please,” her violet-blue eyes were wide and sincere, and glistening with tears she refused to shed. “I am begging you.” The reply was nothing less than she expected, but it still cut her to the core.

“You will report to Summerfeld in the morning to resume your duties Quinn.” The words echoed tonelessly around the small living-room and, with that, he left her.

Quinn wasted no time. The second her father left the house she streaked up the stairs, threw open her closet and pulled down the black duffel bag that she kept packed for emergencies. Retrieving a slim black cell phone from her bedside drawer, she threw it on top. She had kept one bag packed for each of the children too but she wouldn’t need them now. If only she’d had more warning, if her father had given her time to consider – she would have fled with the children. Cursing her naiveté she pulled a different phone from her pocket – her official Guardian contact phone. Dropping it, Quinn smashed the offending device under the heel of her boot. They would have no contact with her from now on and, without the phone, they could not track her. She would not return and have her niece and nephew raised the way that she and Avery had been - they deserved better. She would find them, get them back and take them where no Guardian would ever find them. She had been foolish to let the Guardians know where she was all this time, but she had thought it best if Tristan was allowed to visit so that Jack and Ava could know their father, despite what she might think of him. With one last longing look into the twins' bedroom, Quinn steeled herself and flew back down the stairs, snatching up her keys from the kitchen counter and racing out into the night.

Spending so much time in the realm of man had equipped Quinn in ways that the Guardians could not track. She had invested her mother’s inheritance wisely - in untraceable accounts and property. She had considered every possible scenario and had planned accordingly. She would find Jack and Ava, but first she had to get as far from here as possible – find somewhere safe where the Guardians could not find her and force her to return. She had mothered the twins for two years and had bonded with them as if they were her own children. She couldn’t abandon them now – she loved them too much.

Six hours later, Quinn drove into the town of Brookfield. It was a small, forgettable place in which she had purchased a quaint double-storey house less than a year ago. Arriving in the early hours of the morning, Quinn had nothing other than the duffel bag to carry as she wearily opened the door and flipped on the light switch.

The downstairs area consisted of a large airy hallway which opened up into a cosy living-room, and a spacious, open-plan kitchen. Upstairs were two bedrooms and a bathroom. The furniture was minimal, but brand new, and the kitchen was fully equipped. Quinn had employed a char, Alice, who had her own keys and came in once a week to clean. Although it had been almost a year since she had last seen her, there was no doubt that Alice was performing her duties well – every surface gleamed.

Dropping the duffel bag at the foot of the stairs in the hall, Quinn locked the front door and made her way to the kitchen. She drew the curtains and then opened the pantry door, punching a series of numbers into the electronic keypad on the wall. It looked much like any other alarm system, but when Alice had questioned her about arming it, Quinn had simply told her she didn’t use it. With an audible click, the panel on the opposite side of the pantry slid open to reveal a small, dark room. Flicking the light switch, Quinn regarded the contents of the room, a small, satisfied smile on her striking face. Nothing had been disturbed; the room was exactly as she had left it. She moved across to the small wooden desk in the centre, on top of which sat a black laptop, and reached underneath it to turn on the power. A green light appeared on the laptop. As she waited for it to boot up, she eyed the back wall directly opposite the hidden door. Most of the shelving held a variety of stakes, wooden and metal. There were also a few bottles of Cliffdale water and a compact crossbow, one of Quinn’s favourite weapons, but which was more suited to a Hunter than an ordinary Guardian, for use during tracking. Quinn couldn’t exactly walk around with it without drawing attention to herself. The water, blessed by the Fae at the Cliffdale Cathedral and the cross could not kill a vampire, but it could hurt them – particularly the younger ones - incapacitating them long enough to drive a stake through their heart, which is one of the only ways to kill a vampire, save for decapitation or leaving them out in the sun to burn. Unfortunately, the older the vampire, the more resilient they became to the water.

In the very centre of the shelves sat three wooden picture frames. A small amber crystal, no larger than Quinn’s hand, rested beside them. Quinn rounded the desk and touched the dusty glass of the first frame which contained a photograph of Avery the day Jack and Ava were born. Quinn had taken the photo herself and she remembered the way her sister had held the small bundles up to the camera, her face alive with excitement. She would have been an amazing mother if only she’d been given the chance. Lifting the frame, Quinn focused on her sister’s face, studiously avoiding looking at the twins. It was like gazing into a mirror – Avery was the spitting image of Quinn, tall and slim, with the same tanzanite eyes, but her rich brown hair was longer, falling past her shoulders. Quinn’s own straight hair was cut into an A-line bob, shorter at the back and longer at the front, falling only an inch below her jaw-line.

The second photograph was of Quinn and Avery five years before the twins were born. Tristan was with them, standing in the centre, his arm around Avery’s waist. The picture had been taken shortly after Tristan had completed his Guardian training – right after he had transferred his affections for Quinn to Avery. Quinn lifted the frame from the shelf and gazed at it, lost in thought. Avery was smiling at the camera, laughing at something Tristan had said. Tristan was gazing down at her fondly, his dark blond hair mussed up, as always. From the angle the photograph was taken you couldn’t see the colour of his eyes, but Quinn knew they were as clear blue as the midday sky. Quinn, standing slightly apart from the other two, was also looking at the camera, but there was a haunted look in her eyes. She remembered the day clearly - the celebration, the pain of watching the man she loved doting on her sister. Avery had not known the extent of Quinn’s feelings for Tristan, and Quinn could only assume that he had downplayed their relationship to spare Avery the guilt that she would no doubt have felt if she had known the truth. Quinn had never thought to enlighten her sister – Avery’s happiness meant more to her than her own, and besides, what good would it have done? Tristan had loved Avery much more than he ever had Quinn, so what was the point in trying to keep them apart? It was far better that the two of them were happy rather than all three being miserable.

Snapping herself back to the present, Quinn peered at the last photograph. She and Avery had been on a mission, away from the others for a whole week. One of the Guardian descendants had moved across country with his young children and they had lost track of his whereabouts. Quinn and Avery simply had to locate the family and report back. They had managed to do it in less time than Isaiah had allocated, but instead of returning, Avery had convinced Quinn to spend two nights in a small Bed and Breakfast, playing hooky. They needed a break, she lamented, and Quinn had reluctantly agreed. It was the last time they had ever strayed from their Guardian duties. During their absence, a Guardian had fallen. Quinn had never forgiven herself, and she suspected that Avery had felt the same.

Lost in her dark thoughts, Quinn studied the photograph.The owner of the Bed and Breakfast, entertained by the girls’ high spirits, had taken it one morning at breakfast and presented it to them when they left. Repressing the memory, Quinn focused on the pendant that hung around Avery’s neck in the photograph. She had seldom worn it – a small, circular aquamarine crystal. It had never been found after Avery’s death. The Guardians were still searching but, in two years, no headway had been made. The Guardians’ crystals were their most prized possessions. Each Guardian possessed a different stone, its location unknown to anyone else. If a Guardian was killed, his or her replacement would retrieve the crystal, instinct guiding them to its exact location, before reporting to Summerfeld. The Guardians protected their crystals with their lives and for good reason. If united, the crystals would open the Rose Gate, releasing Wynter and the magic of the Fae from the temple, but it would also undo all of Eldon’s protective enchantments. The Gateway would be destroyed and Summerfeld would be exposed.

Leverage, Quinn thought to herself. If she could find the crystal, she could use it as leverage for the Guardians to return Jack and Ava. They wanted that crystal far more than they wanted her or the twins. Setting the photograph back in place, she moved back to the desk, taking a seat and using her password to unlock the laptop. She checked that she had internet access and then locked the screen, which showed that it was three in the morning. Pulling open the top drawer of her desk, she pulled out a folded note that had been addressed to her. It had been found in Avery’s house after her death. Quinn unfolded the paper and stared down at her sister’s elegant handwriting. The note contained only ten words - ten simple words - and yet, in two years, Quinn had come nowhere closer to deciphering them.

You will find it in the heart of my own.

She was sure it was a clue to finding the crystal; that Avery had left her some way to retrieve it and use it to barter for the children’s freedom. In the heart of my own, Quinn read the words again. Tristan. It had to have something to do with Tristan – Avery had loved him more than anything else.

Her exhaustion taking its toll, Quinn retreated through the hidden door, punched in the series of digits that locked it and made her way back to the hall. She headed up the stairs taking the black duffel bag with her. Passing the upstairs bathroom she went straight into the children’s room. Opening the closet, her throat constricted with the pain of their absence as she gazed at the rows of clothes. She had clothing for them and herself at each of her three safe-houses.

Dropping the duffel bag at her feet, too tired even to get undressed, Quinn fell across Jack’s bed, the tears finally winning and streaming down her face as she sobbed silently into the blue pillow.

Chapter 3

Quinn only woke after midday; her body and mind exhausted. Mindlessly she retrieved the duffel bag, stowing it in her closet and stepping across the landing to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, showered, dressed and feeling marginally better, she sat down on her bed to brush her hair. Her bedroom, like the rest of the house, was understated, but elegant, with lined, white curtains and pale, dove-grey walls. In the corner of the room sat an ornate 16th century chair painted silver, with black and silver patterned fabric cushions. Quinn pulled her boots over her skinny jeans and slotted a slim mahogany stake into the right boot, pushing it down until it wasn’t visible.

Finding nothing edible in the entire house, not even instant coffee, she gritted her teeth. Alice obviously brought her own lunch as she was only here once a week. Quinn fetched her purse from the duffel bag and marched out of the front door.

Absent-mindedly, she tossed a few cereal boxes on top of the already fully-laden trolley before she pulled herself up short. Only the twins ate cereal – she didn’t touch the stuff. She retraced her steps and put the boxes back, eliciting a few inquisitive looks in her direction. Brookfield is a small town she reminded herself; people are naturally curious. Smiling politely, she finished her shopping and drove home without really appreciating the tranquil beauty of the sleepy little town. She did notice a small pub called Phil’s Place just a block away from her house, the sign outside claiming they made the best pizzas in town. Not hard, Quinn mused, thinking it was probably the only pizzeria in Brookfield. As she pulled into the drive she noticed the garden next door. She would have to have been blind not to. Every inch was covered in flowers, the most beautiful splash of colour Quinn had ever seen.

Having put away the groceries Quinn was scouring the internet for any Guardian-related news which she would recognise, even if ordinary humans wouldn’t, when the doorbell rang. Cursing, she pushed back her chair and headed into the kitchen, closing the hidden door behind her. To her surprise, a young woman in her early twenties stood on her doorstep, a small posy of wildflowers clutched in her hand.

“Can I help you?” Quinn asked, rather harshly.

“I’m sorry,” the stranger replied, “I’m Sarah Tate – I’m your neighbour – I live next door,” her hand fluttered feebly towards the house next door. Quinn glanced across to see the sweet cottage surrounded by flowers. “These are for you,” the young woman added, thrusting the colourful bouquet into Quinn’s hands.

“Thank you,” Quinn replied stiltedly, and then, her curiosity getting the better of her: “Do you live on your own?” Sarah nodded, her blonde ponytail bouncing behind her.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be living by yourself?” This earned Quinn a strange look, which, in retrospect, she should have expected. Being a Guardian, Quinn didn’t age – she still looked twenty-one, although she had almost a hundred years on Sarah. “I’m sorry, that was rude,” she quickly composed herself. “It’s just that we are – both – quite young to be staying alone. My parents are dead,” she smiled, “what’s your excuse?”

“My parents are alive and well,” Sarah replied shyly, her walnut brown eyes finding the floor, “but my boyfriend lives here in Brookfield. We met the year after high school when we were both travelling through Europe. When we returned I decided I’d rather stay here, with him. He works for the Town Council now.”

“What do you do?” Quinn couldn’t figure out how someone so young could afford to live on her own.

“I’m a kindergarten teacher. My parents help me out, financially, obviously – they like Todd,” she added, by way of explanation.

“Your garden is beautiful,” Quinn changed the subject abruptly.

“Thank you.” An awkward silence followed.

“Well, Sarah, it’s really good to meet you, but I’m kind of in the middle of something – it’s a work thing.”

“Um... yeah, sure, sorry. I just thought... well, the house has been empty for almost a year and then I saw the car in the drive this morning and I thought...” Her curiosity was blatantly obvious and Quinn needed to stop any further questioning.

“I’m a freelance writer; I can work anywhere. My mother left me some money and I bought the house a year ago. I just felt like I needed to get out of the city for a bit, you know – take a break, get the creative juices flowing.”

Unfortunately Sarah was not as naive as she appeared.

“Which publications do you write for?”

“None that you would have heard of,” Quinn replied curtly and Sarah visibly recoiled. Nodding her head again she turned towards the porch steps.

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” she called over her shoulder.

“Thank you for the flowers,” Quinn replied, feeling slightly guilty, but Sarah didn’t answer.

Refusing to let it bother her, Quinn went back inside. She slumped down heavily on the sofa trying to plan her next move. The Guardians would be searching for her, of that there was no doubt, but even with Piper’s technological prowess, she was certain they would not find her in a hurry. A stab of guilt pricked painfully at her conscience when she thought of her friend, and with it, a deep-seated shame that she had abandoned the wards she had sworn to protect. Quinn had not turned her back on Summerfeld’s inhabitants without great personal sacrifice. She loved them with her whole heart and she believed in the Guardianship, but she had vowed to protect Avery’s children, and as long as Avery’s memory was alive in her, she would honour that vow. The wards had ten exceptional Guardians to protect them, whereas Jack and Ava had no-one. She had made her choice and she would see it through. Just thinking about the City weakened her resolve and a wave of sorrow washed over her, as memories flooded, unbidden, through her troubled mind.

“That’s the second time you’ve landed on your ass,” Quinn grinned, offering Avery a hand up.

“You cheated.” Avery was laughing.

“No,” Quinn corrected, with all the arrogance of her immature youth, “I’m just better.”

“It’s not a competition, Quinn,” Isaiah reminded her, but his grey eyes sparkled with amusement. Quinn had once overheard Isaiah telling Daniel that he had never trained two more enthusiastic Guardians; that their dedication and passion was infectious. Quinn, in particular, he had murmured meaningfully, applied herself more than any Guardian before her. Quinn hadn’t told Avery that part. She put it down to the fact that he had found her, so many nights, fast asleep at the table, the Sacred Book open before her. She could not absorb enough of their history and she knew the prophecies by heart.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Quinn teased, getting back into a fighting stance. “We both know you and Daniel are itching to go head to head.” Using Quinn’s distraction to her advantage, Avery struck out, kicking Quinn’s legs out beneath her, and Quinn crashed to the ground as Avery did a victory dance around the training room.

“Who’s cheating now?” Quinn muttered, red-faced.

“Okay, enough you two,” Isaiah reprimanded, having given them enough play time. Instantly their smiles vanished. As comical as they were, both girls were deadly serious about their training, and they respected Isaiah, even more than the formidable Daniel, who would never allow such clowning around.

Quinn opened her eyes, the memory fading. A part of her wanted to hold on to it, to hold on to Avery’s face, the sound of her laughter, but she couldn’t snatch it back. The memory, however, had ignited her determination to protect the children. The wards would be fine without her. Jack and Ava would not.

Chapter 4

“What news, Braddon?” Daniel arched his brow. The entire Guardian council had come together for this meeting and Daniel did not want any delays. As a Hunter, he spent very little time in Summerfeld. Along with the other Hunters, Liam, Garrett and Blair, he travelled far and wide searching for vampires and destroying them. It was his purpose.

“Where are Jack and Ava now?” Braddon countered boldly, a blazing look in his tanzanite eyes. Daniel could see what Quinn could not; that despite what his daughter thought, the twins were Braddon’s grandchildren and he took their safety very seriously. Further down the long table, Tristan Ormonde’s blue eyes watched like a hawk, taking everything in but giving away nothing. The two chairs beside him were empty – Avery and Quinn’s places – and the obvious gap made everyone uncomfortable.

“They are safe; they are with Lucas, outside of Summerfeld, as we promised,” Daniel conceded. Lucas was an experienced Guardian and the children were in good hands. “Now, what news?”

“Quinn will not return?” Braddon shook his head. This was not the first time his headstrong daughter had embarrassed him. Daniel opened his mouth to voice his disappointment, but Isaiah beat him to it.

“She will.” All eyes turned deferentially to the second of the original Guardians. “The blood of the ten runs in her veins,” Isaiah continued calmly. “It will call to her. She can only fight it for so long. You need to let her be, Daniel,” he faced his companion. “We are not at war with one another.”

“This is not how it works, Isaiah,” Daniel thundered, his legendary temper barely under control.

“Things have changed,” Isaiah explained simply, “the world is different now. We cannot cling to the old ways if it serves no purpose. Quinn has suffered a great loss.”

“As have I!” Braddon interrupted. “Avery was my daughter! She was Tristan’s wife!” At this, Tristan’s lips pressed together in a grim line.

“You manage your grief better... you both do,” Isaiah nodded at Braddon and Tristan respectively. “However, this does not make Quinn weaker or any less valuable. She will come back when she is ready.”

“We do not have time to waste!” Daniel was relentless. “Without Avery’s replacement the Guardians number eleven. Never in a thousand years has this happened, not to mention the loss of Avery’s crystal. The last time a crystal was taken, a Slayer emerged.”

“You do not need to remind me,” Isaiah replied pointedly, “but in that instance the crystal had fallen into the wrong hands. Let us hope that, for now, at least, the crystal is safe.”

“I hope that is the case,” Daniel acknowledged, calmed by Isaiah’s words. He turned to address Tristan directly. “Are you sure you’re not forgetting something? Even the tiniest detail could be the key to finding it.”

“No,” Tristan shook his head forlornly. “Avery never told me anything.” His disappointment was palpable.

“Then only Avery’s successor can find it,” Isaiah spoke. In the same way that all new Guardians instinctively know to report to the Cliffdale Cathedral, they would also be led to the location of the crystal that passed into their possession at the moment of the death of the previous owner. If Avery’s successor never came forward, the crystal could well be lost forever.

“We can search her house again,” Blair offered. Blair, a Hunter, like Daniel, was an aggressive, assertive member of the council.

“We scoured the house from top to bottom,” Piper reminded, “it’s not there.” Isaiah smiled at the sweetest Guardian who happened to be one of Quinn’s closest friends.

“I believe that Avery did not hide the crystal at her house or you would have found it,” he assured her.

“What happens if we don’t find it?” Blair asked, deferring to Daniel, who, as leader of the Hunters, was the only person from whom she took orders.

“That is not an option,” he replied grimly, “we must find it, if for no reason other than to ensure that it hasn’t fallen into our enemies' hands. I do not need to remind you what will happen if the crystals are united.” An ominous atmosphere settled over every Guardian at the table as they considered this.

“There has to be something we can do,” Liam broke the morbid silence. “I knew Avery – she was committed and she erred on the side of caution. She would have left a clue – something to lead us to the crystal in case something happened to her.”

“Tristan?” Daniel pressed.

“Quinn,” Tristan seemed not to have heard him and he uttered the word dazedly.

“What about Quinn?” Braddon barked.

“If anyone can find it, Quinn can,” Tristan explained, the pain of loss shining in his blue eyes. “She knew Avery best.”

“But you were her husband; surely you have the best chance of...”

“No,” Tristan shook his head sadly, “Quinn. Quinn is the one you need – Avery trusted her more than anyone else in the world. More than me. If Avery left any clues Quinn would have found them.”

“There’s something else you should know,” Braddon spoke out. “On my way here I passed a convoy of gypsies. They were about thirty miles out, headed east.”

“Away from Cliffdale?” Daniel asked.

“Yes.”

“Then they are of no concern.”

“I must disagree,” Isaiah contradicted, “we should not underestimate the gypsies.”

“They are treasure-seekers; fortune hunters! What little they have guessed will never get them near the City.”

“They are thirty miles away,” Isaiah reminded him.

“That is a coincidence. For a thousand years they have scoured the globe seeking the City. I am sure they will continue to do so for a thousand more. We need not concern ourselves with them.”

Isaiah shook his head. This was a point on which he and Daniel often disagreed. Mankind’s proposed theories as to the gypsies’ origins were diverse and unfounded. They were also always incorrect. Due to their nomadic lifestyle, many wandering groups had been labelled as gypsies when in fact they were simply lost souls with absolutely no purpose. The true gypsies, as the Guardians were aware, had only one purpose: to find the City of Summerfeld. They had never ceased their search and the information that they had gathered had been passed down through the generations. They never identified themselves with any territories because they had taken a vow to make their home within the magical City. No-one knew how they had discovered the existence of Summerfeld, but it was suspected that a human faction had somehow witnessed some of King Eldon’s magic when he created both the City and the Guardians.

The Guardians had sworn an oath to protect the City from any threat, and, while their main concern was always the vampires, they could not allow any faction to find it. The gypsies were a mere irritation, never really getting anywhere, but searching nonetheless. Isaiah knew better than to underestimate people, but Daniel was adamant that the gypsies were of no real consequence.

“I want Quinn found,” Daniel barked, closing the subject. “She has to be living somewhere, and there has to be a paper trail, however deeply buried. Piper?” he turned to Quinn’s closest friend. Piper nodded meekly. She had no choice but to obey, but the thought of betraying Quinn weighed heavily on her kind heart.

As the Guardians dispersed, Isaiah approached Daniel, waiting until they were alone before he spoke.

“Do you not think we are being too hard on her?”

“No,” the reply was immediate. “For over one thousand years we have watched over the City so that the wards can live out their days in peace. I will not let one rogue Guardian be our undoing.”

Chapter 5

The gypsy convoy consisted of about twenty vehicles including a rusted old Chevy truck that had once been a vivid red, but was now a dull monochrome. Balthazar Blackman took a large slug of his bottled water, wiping the sweat from his brow. The truck had no airconditioning and the hot wind blowing in through his open window brought no reprieve. They had only travelled about thirty miles but the heat beating off the glass windshield was fierce and the level of discomfort rose with every passing mile.

Like his parents before him and their parents before that, Balthazar had been searching his whole life for the city, travelling without maps, relying on instinct as they moved from town to town, city to city, crossing continents in their ceaseless search. The Blackmans' history dated back to the very beginning of the gypsies’ heritage, over a thousand years of endless seeking. Balthazar’s sixteen-year old son, Jonas, shifted beside him. He had been napping on and off since they set out this morning, but the dry, breathless heat was rousing him.

“Here,” Balthazar nudged Jonas with the water bottle and the younger man jerked awake, glaring at the bottle with bleary eyes. Yawning widely, showing exceptionally good teeth for someone who had never once visited a dentist, Jonas took the bottle and swigged.

“Where are we?” he asked, rubbing his nose, with a hand so big it covered almost his entire face. He was a tall, lanky boy, strong as an ox, with dark messy hair and heavy-lidded eyes.

“In the middle of nowhere,” Balthazar laughed at the rhetorical question. It didn’t matter where they were; the only thing that mattered was their ultimate destination.

“Same place as yesterday, then,” Jonas grumbled. Balthazar tried to recall his own teen years and how he had questioned the nomadic lifestyle and the seemingly impossible task of finding the City. Jonas had reached an age where he no longer simply accepted his father’s beliefs, and had begun to challenge their way of life. Balthazar understood his son’s frustration and his selfish longing for a more stable upbringing, but Jonas did not yet comprehend the importance of their mission. He would understand in time, Balthazar tried to convince himself.

Jonas said nothing more, settling into a sullen silence that stretched across a few more miles, while Balthazar focused on the barren landscape ahead. Their pace was agonisingly slow; the old converted delivery truck that belonged to Rowena, in particular, could not travel above fifty miles per hour and Rowena threw a fit if they pulled too far ahead of her. Despite their ten-year relationship, Rowena insisted on her independence and would not relinquish her clapped-out old truck, no matter how much it slowed them down. Most of the women travelled in the back of Rowena’s truck. Rowena was a strong, fiery woman, whose family had contributed just as much to the search for the City as Balthazar’s own. When Jonas’ mother had passed away shortly after his birth, Balthazar had been certain he would never love again. He had known Rowena all his life but she had always been one of those women who showed no interest in men – channelling all of her passion and energy into finding the City instead.

When Balthazar’s wife had died, Rowena had been surprisingly supportive, stepping in to help him with baby Jonas. It had been years before he had finally summoned the courage to act on his blooming affection for her, and, to his utmost astonishment, she had reacted with far more passion than he had ever expected. Jonas adored her too, since she was the only mother figure he had ever known and Balthazar had spent the better part of a decade trying to convince her to marry him, to no avail. ‘Why fix what isn’t broken?’ was her standard response to his frequent proposals. Their relationship, however, kept Rowena safe from the ardent demands of the other men in their camp. Single women were fair game, expected to answer the sexual demands of the men. It was an accepted part of their culture, but Balthazar knew Rowena didn’t like it one bit. She couldn’t change it, but she did her best to ensure that the women were treated well. On more than one occasion, Rowena had intervened when things had gotten out of hand after a drunken night. Balthazar had often noticed men in camp becoming violently ill after mistreating one of Rowena’s girls. Nobody would admit that Rowena’s herbs might have been the cause, but Balthazar knew better. Her potions were another reason Rowena was left alone. The gypsies relied on her cures and antidotes, not to mention that selling her wares at local markets brought in most of their pitiful income. Rowena’s distant ancestor, Jasmine, had been the gypsies’ first alchemist, over five hundred years ago, and her knowledge had been passed down through generations of Rowena’s family.

Lost in thought, Balthazar drove on, his gaze lingering on the arid earth beside the road until a tiny splash of colour drew his attention. Cursing, he swung the wheel, the smooth tyres spitting up a cloud of sand as he pulled over to the shoulder of the dusty road. He emerged from the pick-up, his eyes searching the barren area until he spotted it. The heavy door creaked as it swung shut, and Jonas groaned, but Balthazar was already striding across the dirt, fixated on the splash of blue standing out against a sea of dry, cracked earth. He reached the spot and gazed down at the single cornflower, beautiful in its solitude. Bending his knees, he touched an intense blue petal, his excitement mounting.

“What is it?” Rowena called from behind him and he moved aside so that she could see it. Her astonished intake of breath confirmed that she felt it too, that she sensed the significance. Cornflowers needed water daily to grow and it had not rained for weeks. This was no ordinary bloom – it was a sign - intended for Balthazar to find.

“Oh, Balthazar,” her hand flew to her chest as she walked slowly forward. Crouching beside him, she gazed at the simple flower as though it was the most magnificent thing she had ever seen and then she reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“We found it,” she murmured, tears welling in her eyes, “you were right.”

“It’s just a flower,” Melchior announced when he joined them. Balthazar sensed Rowena’s hostility as her body went rigid beside him. Melchior was his friend, but he could be cruel, particularly to the gypsy women. He drank too much and alcohol fuelled his nastiness. Melchior had been on the receiving end of Rowena’s herbs more times than Balthazar could count, but he just never learned.

“It’s a sign,” Balthazar corrected, still gazing at the cornflower in reverent wonder.

“Does this mean we’re staying?” Jonas held his own excitement in check, not wanting to develop false hope. He tended to agree with Melchior on this one. He didn’t much like his father’s oldest friend, but it was, after all, just a flower - nothing to get so excited about. More importantly, if Balthazar believed that they had finally found the general location of the City he might be inclined to stay. Jonas was tired of driving aimlessly across country, never settling down in any one place, never meeting anyone his own age. The few friends he had made had been older than he was and they had all left the convoy as soon as they had come of age. Jonas was biding his time. In five years he’d be twenty-one and he would leave too. The thought of abandoning his father cut him deeply, but Jonas needed his own life.

“We’re staying,” Balthazar confirmed. Rowena, who missed nothing, observed Jonas’s ill-disguised look of glee and her heart sank. Balthazar was living in denial. They were losing their son and he was too blinded by his passion to see it. She had tried to address it countless times, but Balthazar simply brushed her off, insisting that Jonas would come around. Balthazar was a good man, but he had become obsessive. He didn’t see what was happening around him. A part of her was grateful for that fact because it allowed her to do what she needed to do without his ever finding out, but Rowena only hoped that he would see the truth before it was too late; that he would finally put his family first, before his quest.

Chapter 6

It took two days for Quinn to realise she wasn’t getting anywhere. She needed to visit Cliffdale. Despite what her father had said about the twins not being there, it was the only place she might find answers. At the very least she hoped that Piper might have information. Piper was a good friend and, if there was even the slightest chance that she knew where Daniel had sent Jack and Ava, Quinn had to try and get it out of her. She couldn’t phone Piper, it would make it all too easy for them to trace her, and besides, she doubted that Piper could be convinced over the phone. Sadly, the Guardians would be expecting her to come searching, so she would have to give it time – wait until they decided she wasn’t going anywhere near the Cathedral. In the meantime, she realised, she would go crazy if she didn’t have something else to occupy her time. She needed to keep her mind off Jack and Ava until she could actually do something about them. And so, despite her reservations, she started to integrate herself into the Brookfield community.

She visited Sarah, taking a box of doughnuts she had bought at the store, and this time she made polite conversation. Sarah was sincerely delighted with the abrupt turn of events and, soon enough, a friendship began forming. Sarah introduced Quinn to Todd Cooper, who was as nice a person as Sarah herself, and Quinn spent a few evenings a week with the two of them. She found her heart hurt just a little bit less when she was around other people. For those few hours she could forget her loneliness, her guilt and her concern for the children.

Alice, the char, continued to come every week. Her initial reaction to Quinn’s unexpected arrival was a simple, “Do you still need me to come in?” Alice was a lady in her late fifties and it seemed that nothing could ruffle her. Steadfast and dependable, she arrived every Tuesday at eight o’clock precisely – cleaned routinely and diligently and then left via the back door. Quinn was amused by this – she simply walked around the front of the house and then trundled up the street. Quinn could not see the reason for her leaving through the back. She assumed it was simply a habit that Alice had formed in the year that Quinn had not been around.

Doing nothing was silent torture for Quinn, as her desperate longing for Jack and Ava grew, but she consoled herself with the small victory of having eluded the Guardians. They had not discovered her hiding place and for now, that would have to be enough.

About three weeks after her arrival Quinn ordered a couple of pizzas from the local pub to take over to Sarah’s. It turned out that Phil’s Place was the only pizzeria in Brookfield after all, but fortunately their food was superb. Quinn wasn’t partial to cooking and had ordered more meals from Phil’s than she had made in her own fully-functional kitchen. It wasn’t far from the house and she decided to walk rather than take her car. Her black leather boots made little sound on the deserted street and ten minutes later she entered the small tavern. A few tables were occupied and Quinn waved at a couple of familiar faces she recognised from her trips to the shops, calling out a greeting to a teacher who helped Sarah at the kindergarten. Country music played softly in the background.

“Hi Quinn!” Phil, the friendly owner greeted her from behind the bar. “Sorry, it’s been a bit busy tonight but your order won’t be long.”

“Thanks,” Quinn smiled, taking a seat at the bar while she waited.

She sensed him before she actually saw him, but not quickly enough. This tall, dark-haired stranger, with pale, flawless skin, who came to stand beside her at the bar counter, had approached almost undetected.

“Drake!” Phil greeted him as warmly as he had Quinn, “you want the usual?” The stranger inclined his head and dropped down onto the seat beside her. “Where’s Genevieve?” Phil called as he poured two fingers of bourbon into a brandy snifter. “You want anything while you wait, Quinn?” he added, before the stranger could answer.

“I’ll have a beer,” Quinn replied, keeping her voice light. The vampire, Drake, stiffened beside her, but he didn’t turn his head.

“Genevieve’s at home,” he remarked drily, still focusing on Phil and answering his initial question.

“I don’t think you’ve met Quinn,” Phil placed the drinks on the counter in front of them, and Quinn immediately took a hearty slug of her beer. Drake turned his head slowly towards her as Phil continued, “Quinn is staying in the old Monroe house on Ridge Road.”

“Is that so?” Drake asked, his cruel green eyes boring into Quinn’s face.

“Yes,” she replied brightly, taking another swig of beer and wishing the bartender hadn’t been so free with giving out her address. “Where do you stay?”

“Oh Drake and Genevieve are just around the corner from you,” Phil interjected pleasantly, “in Abbey Place.” Phil didn’t notice, but Drake’s eyes narrowed briefly – he was not thrilled either with Phil’s light bandying around of information.

“How long have you been in town?” he asked, his voice low and melodious.

“Three weeks. I’m still getting to know everyone.”

“Drake knows everybody, of course,” Phil could not seem to let it go. “He and his wife, Genevieve...”

“Girlfriend,” Drake corrected.

“More's the pity,” Phil jested, “yes, well, he and his girlfriend have been here nearly... five years is it, Drake?”

“Six.” Drake didn’t take his eyes off Quinn’s face. Feeling the thin stake in her boot pressing against her leg calmed her and she met his gaze levelly.

“Ah, your pizzas are ready,” Phil reached behind him to pull the boxes from the serving window and Quinn, grateful for the distraction, looked away as she got to her feet and paid for the pizzas and her beer. Drake drained his glass and stood up, towering over her.

“I’m also heading home,” he announced and a feeling of dread came over Quinn, “I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Quinn muttered as they made their way down the street. She would probably feel safer if her arms weren’t laden with pizza boxes, limiting her ability to reach for her stake.

“It’s not exactly out of my way.”

Quinn’s mind whirled. What would a vampire be doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Granted, there were thousands of vampires in the realm of man – denied access to Summerfeld – and they could turn as many humans as they wanted. The sheer number of their population, despite the Hunters' best efforts to reduce them, was why Quinn’s faith in the prophecy was so shrouded with doubt. There were only a few hundred inhabitants of Summerfeld – it seemed unlikely that they would ever achieve a balance. No matter how many vampires they killed, it seemed twice as many were created. Vampires had enhanced speed, strength and heightened senses – their sight and hearing was incomparable. They also had unnatural healing powers which, like their other abilities, amplified with age. Idly Quinn wondered just how long Drake had been a vampire. He was attractive, in a hard, unyielding way; tall and pale, with short cropped hair, so dark it looked black in the moonlight.

Quinn took comfort in the fact that Drake could not sense that she was a Guardian - Guardians were indiscernible from humans to a vampire – but the silver watch she had taken to wearing on her left wrist to cover her tattoo suddenly felt like a hopelessly inadequate cover. Her instinct spurred her to destroy him – a natural threat to the supernatural beings she was sworn to protect – but Quinn had long learned to control these impulses. Only the Hunters flamed this primary instinct, honing it; their sole purpose to destroy. Guardians like Quinn were simply protectors, and they killed only when their lives, or the lives of their wards, were threatened.

“So... your girlfriend, Genevieve...” she began, but she had not realised how long they had walked in silence.

“We’re here,” he interrupted, coming to a sudden stop.

“Oh, right...” Quinn trailed off, “I’m actually going over to my neighbours' – not even I can polish off two large pizzas on my own.” She shook the boxes in her hands. Drake didn’t smile and she cast around for something else to say.

“Goodnight Quinn,” he beat her to it, and, before she could recover, he had been swallowed up by the darkness.

Chapter 7

Drake rounded the corner into Abbey Place, his eyes sweeping the empty street, seeing everything.

“You’re late,” Genevieve reproached him the second he shut the door. Drake turned to see a pretty brunette bound and gagged on the sofa. He didn’t recognise her face, unsurprisingly since they did not hunt within a hundred miles of Brookfield. Her eyes were closed and her mascara had smudged beneath her eyes, no doubt from crying. A trickle of blood ran down her chest from two puncture marks in her neck. Drake’s nostrils flared as the sickly-sweet smell reached him.

“You could have waited,” he remarked, striding across the room and taking the young girl's hand. Feeling her wrist he detected a faint pulse.

“I was irritated. Sebastian called again today. The Guardians have still not found the twelfth.” Sebastian, Genevieve’s brother, was a vampire elder. He served on the council; an active participant in the vampire’s Quest for Summerfeld.

“Genevieve,” Drake warned, his fangs extending – a combination of his rising anger and his thirst.

“Summerfeld has never been so vulnerable,” she continued, her own fangs bared. “We might never have another chance like this!”

“Eleven Guardians are as good as a thousand, Genevieve,” Drake tried to keep his temper in check.

“The balance has been compromised. This is just the beginning, I am sure of it. We need to strike now!”

“Oh yes,” Drake roared, his control slipping, “and what if you come across a Slayer Genevieve?” She stiffened involuntarily at the mention of the word. “Will you still be so confident then?”

“There has not been any whisper of a Slayer in over five hundred years,” she hissed, her fangs fully extended. “And should one emerge, we will deal with it.”

“Deal with it?” Drake barked in harsh, mirthless laughter. “You have never seen a Slayer and I pray to God you never have to.”

Unbidden, Drake’s own memories washed over him. The burning village, the vampiric screaming - so blood-curdling it sounded almost human. It had been over five hundred years and he could still smell the burning flesh of his fellows as one by one they were struck down. And then there were the memories of Charlotte - as crystal clear as if it was yesterday. Charlotte. Seventeen years old, beautiful and gloriously human. He had met her through a chance encounter at a market fair and her blood had called to him. She had been surveying the wares of a gypsy stall, fascinated by the trinkets and potions. Following her when she left, he had lured her into a pebbled alleyway, his hunger for her blood assaulting his senses. He had pushed her roughly against the cold stone of an ironmongery, his fangs extending painfully in his jaws. However, when he met her gaze and the liquid cocoa of her warm brown eyes - he was lost. He couldn’t do it. Not a single bone in his entire body would allow him to hurt her. All he could see were those eyes, exquisitely set in a heart-shaped face and the full curve of her lips, which trembled in fear. The dizzying scent of the posies braided into her hair overwhelmed him and he stumbled back, releasing her abruptly and shaking his head as though in pain.

She had turned and fled, and Drake had believed for one selfish, agonising moment that he would never see her again. But then she had done something that had both startled and enthralled him. She had stopped. She had come back.

“Are you unwell, Sir?” she had asked, her pink tongue slipping out of her mouth with a slight lisp.

Charlotte’s compassion ruled her head. She was the most beautiful soul he had ever encountered and he was enchanted. She captivated him, obliterating all thoughts of the Quest from his mind. They had fallen in love in that very moment, and, in the weeks that followed, their love blossomed. Charlotte had given herself completely to Drake. He discovered her blood tasted just as sweet as he had suspected, but she offered it to him willingly during their love-making and it was all the more alluring for this. He stopped feeding off other humans, their blood losing all appeal in comparison to hers.

Drake had never been more content, more alive, than the few months after their meeting, and then tragedy had struck. Charlotte’s father had promised her hand in marriage to another. Drake had steeled all of his resolve not to hunt her betrothed down and rip his heart out, but Charlotte had quieted his fury, insisting that this was the way of the world. She would not allow him to give in to his demons and fall back into his old ways because of her.

The night before the wedding, Drake drank himself into an alcohol-induced stupor at the local tavern, so profound was his heartbreak. And then she had come, roused him from his sleep and declared that she would run away with him, leaving her old life behind. The fact that she loved him so, despite his curse, made him feel more human than he had believed possible.

They should never have been in that village. The vampires gathered there had been celebrating when he and Charlotte had arrived, seeking a place to rest for the night. She had fled her parents' home in order to be with him, vowing she would follow him to the ends of the Earth and they had been travelling for days. Charlotte had never complained – she had borne each new challenge with a strength that belied her petite, fragile frame.

Finding the small village teeming with vampires, Drake had been all for spiriting Charlotte away – as far from the creatures who would prey on her sweet innocent blood as possible – but Charlotte had wilted at the thought of going any further, desperate for rest, and so he had consented to staying for just one night. He had tried to shake off the ominous feeling that had settled over him, for Charlotte’s sake.

It was only after they had settled into their room that Drake discovered the cause for the vampires’ celebration - they had murdered a Guardian, and, even more exciting, they had secured her crystal. The revelation sent a thrill of exhilaration through him – he had long supported the Quest and this was a great victory. Never before had a vampire possessed one of the twelve stones, and the prized possession had been displayed by a particularly striking, raven-haired vampire, worn proudly around her neck before she placed it in an ornate iron box. The fallen Guardian would be replaced, but the stone was irreplaceable, and, without it, the Guardians were one step closer to their demise. Drake had itched to join in the celebration and drink to the fall of one of the twelve, but he could not bring himself to leave Charlotte and he dared not tell her about the Quest, knowing she would never approve. He had left that life behind when he met her, and he would not go back to it.

He had been watching from the small porch of their sleeping quarters, determined not to sleep and leave Charlotte vulnerable while there were so many frenzied vampires about, when the Slayer had come.

Drake had never known fear in all his years until that night. The Slayer tore through the small village like a God, killing more vampires than Drake could count. He wielded a sword as opposed to stakes, but somehow the weapon was all the more frightening for the havoc it wreaked. The few who tried to sink their fangs into the Slayer dropped dead at his feet. Drake had grabbed Charlotte and tried to flee, but more Guardians blocked his path and carrying his precious Charlotte did not allow him to fight back.

One Guardian in particular caught Drake’s eye. A broad–shouldered, bare-chested warrior with battle lust in his eyes and a palpable thirst for vengeance. His arms were covered in intricate circular tattoos, stretching from his shoulders down to his wrists.

Drake could not have known the reason for Daniel’s black rage; that the vampires had murdered his mate, Emily, and stolen her crystal. Daniel and Emily, along with Isaiah, were the only three remaining original Guardians. They had been together for almost half a century, and now she was gone.

Seeing the human girl in the vampire’s arms, Daniel had used Drake’s limited ability against him and charged, an unearthly battle cry sounding from deep in his chest. With his lightning reflexes, Drake deposited Charlotte gently on the ground beside him and then stood to face this formidable opponent. Drake was not a new vampire, and he had no doubt that, as impressive as this Guardian seemed, he would be no match for Drake’s vampiric strength. Sadly, he would never know the outcome, because in the instant before Daniel was upon him, his silver stake raised to strike, Charlotte leapt between them, and the ornamental silver stake buried itself below her collarbone, cutting through her like butter, until only the hilt protruded from her chest.

“Noooooooooo!” Drake’s bellow of anguish reverberated through the cobbled walkways. He dropped to his knees cradling Charlotte’s limp, warm body in his arms, feeling the point of the stake protruding through her back, all thoughts of the Guardian forgotten. “Charlotte, Charlotte,” he murmured, stroking her hair and pleading with her to stay with him.

Above them, Daniel paused, and Drake watched as the realisation dawned on him. He had believed the girl to be a victim of the vampire, but the palpable grief he was now witnessing made it clear that that was not the case. The young girl, her breathing laboured, had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, and a pain so severe it doubled him over, washed over him as he realised he had taken her life. A human life – an innocent soul. Daniel hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. The Guardians around him, too, made no move towards the weeping vampire. They had never seen anything like it – a vampire protecting a human was unheard of. Bending over, Daniel reached for the hilt of his stake and pulled, the gurgling sound it made as it came free of the girl’s chest making him feel faint. Despite the tragic unfolding of events, Daniel’s Hunter instinct was too strong to ignore, and he lifted the stake above his head, his eyes fixed on the back of the vampire’s neck.

Drake turned to gaze hollowly at the Guardian wielding the stake above him, his green eyes glimmering with anguished tears. He did not fear death because it would be preferable to a life without Charlotte, but as long as her heart still beat, he would not accept defeat. Daniel stared into those green eyes and an eerie sensation trickled over his body. He could not do it. He could not kill this vampire. Lowering the stake, he backed away, leaving the nightwalker to mourn the loss of his loved one.

Everything else faded away. Drake could no longer hear the torturous cries of the vampires being slaughtered by the Slayer, or the raging roar of the fires as their bodies burned. All he could hear was the faint, fading beating of Charlotte’s heart as she slowly bled to death. Casting around for help, he was faintly surprised that the Guardians had moved away, engaging in battle with the remaining vampires.

A woman skidded to a halt beside him, collapsing on her knees. Drake recognised her as a gypsy, her long dark hair slung in a heavy braid over her shoulder. The unwashed scent of her body assailed his senses, but her words, when they came, were spoken with kindness.

“Press down here,” she instructed, seemingly oblivious of the carnage raging around them. Drake did as he was told, pressing his hand down over the entry wound in Charlotte’s chest.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, “you have to help her.” The woman didn’t reply, but another voice yelled over the sound of fighting, “Jasmine!”

Drake heard the sound of footsteps approaching, but the gypsy woman was gently lifting Charlotte to assess the damage to her back.

“Jasmine!” The gypsy man reached them, grabbing the woman’s shoulders, trying to wrest her to her feet. Jasmine pushed him away, leaning in close to assess the wound. Charlotte’s breathing was rasping, a death rattle in her chest as blood filled her lungs and made it impossible for her to breathe. “Jasmine,” the man tried again, “we have to get out of here!”

Slowly Jasmine lowered Charlotte’s body back to the ground, the sadness in her brown eyes conveying all Drake needed to know.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, shaking her head. She finally scrambled to her feet and was dragged away by the gypsy man as they fled the massacre.

Drake clutched Charlotte to him, sobbing into her hair. The Guardian who had struck her was now fighting alongside the Slayer himself, seeming to have forgotten about Drake. Seizing the opportunity he scooped Charlotte up and fled, racing into the night away from the carnage. The Slayer had single-handedly destroyed almost forty vampires in the space of five minutes and Drake needed to get away from him so that he could attend to Charlotte.

He had done the unthinkable in his desperate attempt to save her: he had turned her; turned the beautiful, kind, loving girl into a vampire. She was reborn that night, her senses heightened, her enhanced strength and speed terrifyingly beautiful in comparison to her sweet youthful beauty. But with her transition came the bloodlust. Unable to resist, she fed, as often and as much as she wanted. Denying the thirst was pointless, and although he expected she would feel guilty, she never did. Charlotte’s compassion had died along with her soul.

“Drake? Drake!” Genevieve’s frantic voice pulled him back to the present, away from the memories of Charlotte, but the destructive power of the Slayer was burned into his consciousness, a stabbing pain behind his eyes.

“The Quest is important to me,” Genevieve murmured pleadingly and Drake breathed deeply, trying to remember his own fervour for the Quest before he had met Charlotte... before he had ever seen the Slayer. He did not blame Genevieve; he had experienced the same single-minded determination. Losing Charlotte had changed everything. He did not want to lose Genevieve too, although he would never feel for her the way he had felt for his first love, but Genevieve and her brother Sebastian had been seeking the City for centuries. Keeping his voice low, he chose his next words carefully, not wanting to be cruel, but needing to be very clear.

“Genevieve, in a millennium our kind has never come close to finding the City. I am through with the Quest – I have told you this too many times to count. You have chosen to stay with me, to put it behind us. Or perhaps you have changed your mind?” Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he dipped his dark head and plunged his fangs into the soft skin at the young woman’s wrist, drinking deeply and feeling the faint pulse in her arm slowing down with every passing second until it ceased entirely. By the time he lifted his head, Genevieve was beside him, her eyes wide with lust, and he didn’t object as she bent her head to drink the vestige of blood from his mouth.

Chapter 8

Quinn tossed the pizza boxes onto the kitchen counter as Sarah came down the passage. Todd rose from the couch, opening the top box and selecting a large slice, piled high with cheese and pepperoni.

“Oh yum,” Sarah grabbed the boxes and carried them through to the living-room while Quinn got herself a beer from the fridge.

“What took you so long?” Todd asked, through a mouth crammed with pizza.

“The order took a while. Oh, and I met someone at Phil’s tonight,” Quinn mentioned casually. Sarah’s head jerked up.

“A male someone?” she asked, a huge grin on her face. Quinn knew that Sarah wanted nothing more than for her to meet a local man and settle down in Brookfield permanently.

“It was nothing like that; he has a girlfriend,” Quinn insisted and Sarah’s face fell. “His name is Drake.” Sarah’s knowing smile was met by a dark scowl from Todd.

“He’s gorgeous, right?” she quipped, oblivious to Todd’s reaction. There was no point in denying it, but mindful of Todd’s irritation, Quinn kept her opinion to herself.

“He’s weird,” Todd interjected.

“Weird how?” Quinn asked.

“Well, for starters, I only ever see him at night. It’s like he’s on some nocturnal schedule or something. My parents say he’s lived here what – five years...?”

“Six,” Quinn corrected automatically and Sarah looked suitably impressed.

“Six,” Todd conceded, “and I don’t know anyone who knows him any further than as a casual acquaintance. He doesn’t have a single friend. If you ask me, he thinks he’s better than everyone else.”

“Maybe he’s just shy?” said Quinn, and even Sarah laughed.

“Nobody is that shy, Quinn. Not even you,” she winked, reminding Quinn of their first encounter. Quinn had passed off her rudeness as shyness. “He is pretty antisocial,” Sarah conceded, earning herself a satisfied look from Todd, “but his girlfriend’s even worse. She creeps me out.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know, she’s just weird.”

“Hot though,” Todd got his revenge and Quinn couldn’t help but laugh.

“Hey, what’s this?” Quinn asked, wiping her greasy hands on her jeans and leaning forward too study a brightly coloured board on the table.

“It’s a display I’m working on,” Sarah replied, leaning forward and pulling it out from under the empty pizza boxes.

“Is it a boat?” Quinn asked, as Sarah held it up proudly for display. Sarah’s face fell, but Todd let out a snort of laughter.

“It’s Noah’s Ark,” Sarah sounded hurt.

“Of course it is!” Todd teased, but Quinn felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her. The Ark. This was how the original Guardians referred to Summerfeld. They called it the Ark.

King Eldon had created the City of Summerfeld as a safe haven for the last ten surviving supernatural species. Its exact location was unknown, but it existed at the very edge of the known Earth, accessible only through the Guardian’s Gateway. Like a second Ark, King Eldon had personally shepherded the mystical creatures and his own people into the City before magically barricading it from the outside.

“Quinn?” Sarah called, and Quinn realised it was not the first time her friend had tried to get her attention.

“Oh, sorry, I was just... admiring your artwork,” she finished lamely.

“It’s not finished.” Sarah sounded embarrassed and Quinn hastened to reassure her.

‘It’s fantastic. The kids are going to love it.”

She excused herself not long after, sensing that Todd wanted to be alone with Sarah, and the second she left the light, jovial atmosphere of Sarah’s house, her thoughts returned automatically to the task at hand. In light of her blossoming friendship, it was easy to forget the real reason she was here in Brookfield. She had decided to wait at least a few months before visiting Cliffdale, as difficult as it was for her to go about her life not knowing where Jack and Ava were. A Guardian at heart, she couldn’t shake the uneasiness that she was living in a town that harboured vampires, but she had decided that the best way to size up the opposition was to get as close to them as possible – which was proving difficult. Todd had not been exaggerating – Drake and Genevieve were intensely private, although they did frequent Phil’s a couple of nights a week. Quinn had taken to venturing over there herself, more often than not, in the hope of learning more about them. On the odd occasion when she did find them, she always greeted them politely, but neither invited her to join them at their table, and Genevieve’s obvious and instant dislike did nothing to further her cause.

One Thursday evening Quinn walked over to the tavern without much optimism, but, to her surprise, Drake was seated alone at the bar. Ignoring the queasiness in her stomach, fighting to subdue her Guardian instinct, she took a seat right beside him.

“Hi,” she smiled, ordering a beer from Phil who was just filling another order.

“Hello,” Drake gave her a perfunctory once-over and then stared moodily back into his drink.

“Where is Genevieve tonight?” Quinn persevered.

“She’s out of town.”

“On business?” He didn’t say it, but the look that he gave her made it clear that it was none of hers. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosey – I just don’t have many friends, you know – new to town and all.”

“It’s not the worst place to live,” he pointed out, catching her eye, and Quinn thought she detected a hint of a smile on his face. She was almost certain he thought she was flirting with him.

Quinn didn’t have the time to be offended. Without warning, a fight broke out on the other side of the bar. Phil yelled and a young woman shrieked as she was knocked to the ground in the scuffle. Quinn didn’t even see Drake move, but the next moment he was upon them, his face hard and furious. He pulled the brawling men apart, holding them by the scruffs of their shirts and frogmarched them to the door before tossing them outside in a heap. Returning to the bar, Quinn noticed his eyes slide over to where the woman was being helped to her feet by a friend. Seemingly satisfied, he dropped a few notes on the counter and nodded at Phil, before turning on his heel and stalking out into the night.

“He’s a good man,” Phil remarked, catching Quinn’s eye. “I don’t care what the others say about him – he’s a good man. It’s not the first time he’s had my back.”

Quinn recovered quickly, tossing her own money down on the counter and hastening after Drake before he had even made it halfway down the street.

“Are you okay?” she asked as she fell into step beside him. He didn’t reply. “That was a very nice thing you did back there – for Phil.” At that he stopped dead in his tracks, turning to face her, a wary look on his face.

“I am committed to Genevieve.”

“What?” Quinn didn’t follow.

“I am not sure exactly why you think I would be interested in you – although granted, you are exceptionally beautiful - but I am not.” The fact that he would think that she was romantically interested in him was so outrageous that Quinn broke into peals of laughter. Drake regarded her quizzically, as though wondering if she might be slightly mad.

“I’m sorry,” Quinn gasped, “but seriously? What on earth makes you think I would be interested in you? Granted, you are exceptionally good-looking, but really... I’m not.” Her echoing of his earlier words relaxed him, and this time there was no mistaking it – a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“In that case, I’ll walk you home.”

They walked on in preoccupied silence. Drake escorted Quinn right up the front steps, but, as she opened the door, she stood directly in the doorway, praying that he wouldn’t realise that she was barring his entry.

“Thank you for walking me,” she smiled. Drake cocked his head to one side, his eyes narrowing. Quinn leaned casually against the doorframe and an unnerving silence followed as Drake tried to make out if there was more to her than met the eye. Eventually, nodding a farewell, he left, as abruptly as before.

Walking along the darkened street Drake reflected once again on events that had taken place over five hundred years ago. He had stayed with Charlotte for five years despite the fact that she was no longer interested – her thirst for blood had completely overshadowed her love for him. He had stayed as a penance for what he had done to her, accepting it as his punishment for turning her into the monster she had become. Charlotte had morphed into the most sadistic and dangerous of vampires - capable of unspeakable acts of cruelty. She toyed with other vampires in front of him, male and female alike, her sexual appetite almost as insatiable as her thirst for human blood. It didn’t take long before she learned of the Quest for Summerfeld, and she embraced the idea as yet another way to inflict pain on others. Drake had no desire to take up the Quest again, not after seeing the power of the Slayer and how easily he had taken back the crystal. He had also reconciled the Quest with the loss of Charlotte, in his mind. Had the vampires in the village not murdered a Guardian, had they never taken the stone, neither the Slayer nor the Guardians would have been there that night and Charlotte would never have been turned. He would have loved her all the days of her life, and then, when she had passed from this world to the next, he would have joined her in the afterlife. The Quest had taken her from him, taken away the part of her that loved him and everything he had loved about her.

After five years spent trying to bring back the girl he had known, Drake had conceded defeat. His penance would never truly be paid, but he stopped trying to rekindle their love and hardened his heart, until one day he was no longer the same person who had loved Charlotte. He was the hard, cruel, soulless creature he had been before they had ever met. And so he had remained. He had met Genevieve a few years after leaving Charlotte and he had committed himself to her - out of respect for her position and her adoration - but he would never love again.

Entering the house Drake’s thoughts strayed to the woman he had walked home. Something about her irked him, like a pebble in his shoe. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Resolving to keep a closer eye on her, he took a seat near the fire and watched the dancing flames, wondering when Genevieve would return. His fangs ached in his jaws but he would not feed tonight. He didn’t need to – the older he got, the longer he could go without blood. He didn’t deny himself for any noble purpose, or to self-persecute, he simply couldn’t be bothered.

Chapter 9

“Hello again,” Drake murmured in Quinn’s ear. She started intentionally, not wanting to let him in on the fact that she had sensed him already.

“Hi,” she smiled, raising her beer at him.

“Just so you know, I’m unavailable,” he quipped, taking a seat.

“The usual?” Phil asked, appearing before them. Drake nodded.

“And another beer for my friend here,” he added and Quinn raised her eyebrows teasingly.

“Just so you know, I’m not available either.”

“Well, now that we’ve got that out of the way,” he raised his glass and she clinked her bottle against it.

And so it went for another week. Quinn was fairly sure that Drake was one of the neutrals – a group of unconnected vampires with a common aim – to live amongst humans and avoid detection. The neutrals had no interest in the vampires’ quest to destroy Summerfeld and its inhabitants. They couldn’t be trusted but they were not a threat to the Guardian’s charges. The fifth time he walked her home, Quinn decided to take the bull by the horns. Once more, he walked her to the door, and again, she did not ask him in. She could not continue for much longer without raising his suspicions and she watched closely as his eyes moved over the doorframe. He would discover that she knew eventually, and she would rather it was on her own terms, before he began to suspect what she really was.

“I’m not going to invite you in,” she murmured meaningfully. Drake seemed to freeze, his eyes on her face, as though trying to figure out what she had just said. “I know what you are...” she managed, before his pale white fingers darted forward and seized her by the throat, pulling her out of the doorway and onto the porch. Quinn forced herself to remain calm and not to struggle; she could not retaliate and risk Drake discovering who she really was. So she stood still, even though her throat was closing and she could not breathe. Drake’s fingernails pressed into her soft flesh so hard that they drew blood and his pupils dilated.

“You don’t need to do this,” she gasped, “I’m not going to expose you.” His fingers eased slightly, but his green eyes were still as cold as ice.

“Who are you?” he hissed.

“Nobody.”

“How do you know what I am?”

“I figured it out... I...” she could not say anymore, the lack of oxygen was making her head spin. Drake eased up again, slowly unfurling his fingers from her windpipe and allowing her to draw breath. Sucking in a huge lungful of air, Quinn coughed before continuing, “You’re never around during the day.”

“So what – you just logically jumped to vampire?” He didn’t believe her. Of course he didn’t – nobody in their right mind would believe that vampires exist.

“I met someone like you once,” Quinn bluffed, praying that he would accept her words as true. Vampires can sense when people are lying but Guardians are impervious to this ability. “He told me about your kind. He was my friend.”

“What was his name?”

“Jude,” she gasped, knowing it wouldn’t matter what name she gave. There were far too many vampires to keep track of everyone. Drake would not know if Jude existed or not, but he would take her word for it as he could not detect any untruth in her words.

He released her suddenly and unexpectedly and she reeled sideways, slamming into the doorframe.

“What do you know?”

“That sunlight will kill you. And that you’re stronger than humans.”

“What else?”

“You drink blood.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?” Again the disbelief in his voice.

“Of course it bothers me.”

“So why have you been talking to me – spending time with me?”

“My friend was a good person. He couldn’t help what he was. I figure it’s the same with you.” Quinn hoped against hope that Drake had been turned against his will, and wasn’t one of those vampires who had chosen this path. The fact that he lived out here, in the middle of nowhere, led her to believe he wasn’t party to the Quest. Many new vampires did not follow that path, they simply existed as they had centuries ago, harbouring no hatred for the Fae or their allies.

Drake looked long and at hard at her, his face a mask, not revealing anything.

“Stay away from me,” he muttered finally, before turning on his heel and leaving her. He didn’t go home. Instead, he made his way back to Phil’s, needing another drink. He would have to hunt soon. He and Genevieve never hunted in town – they didn’t want to draw any attention to themselves. If Genevieve was not back by tomorrow he would head for Colton – a larger town a few hundred miles away.

Genevieve had not said when she would return and Drake had not questioned her – neither about where she was going nor when she would be back. They had been together for almost half a century and often parted ways for extended periods of time. It was perfectly normal - when you lived forever, days didn’t matter. Genevieve, like her brother Sebastian, had fought alongside Aleksei in the Blood War – the siblings were over a thousand years old – but even they did not know Aleksei’s whereabouts. When Eldon had stopped fighting and created Summerfeld, Aleksei had simply disappeared and no-one had seen the Vampire King since. Drake was fond of Genevieve and had worked with her brother for a century, seeking the City of Summerfeld, before he had met Charlotte.

Drake had not been a part of the Blood War, and he did not carry the hatred in his heart as so many of his kind did. He had spent most of his vampiric life under the tutelage of a vampire named Lucian, a peaceful man, who had not condoned the war that was raging. Lucian had made Drake question King Aleksei’s motives, pointing out that one man’s personal vendetta had spiralled out of control. Lucian did not blame Aleskei for hating Eldon, who had murdered his son, but he did not believe that war was the answer. Lucian was refined and honourable, especially for a vampire, and Drake had followed his example, never realising how rare Lucian’s perspective was until the vampire died. When Lucian was discovered by the Hunters and murdered by them everything he had taught Drake had been eradicated, replaced by hatred and the all-encompassing need for revenge. For the first time, Drake sympathised with Aleksei. Lucian had preached a peaceful solution, but the Hunters had not shown him the same compassion. Drake had needed an outlet for his rage and Sebastian Russo had provided one – the Quest. Sebastian had given Drake a home and a family and he had fought bravely for the council.

Strangely, despite all the time he spent with her brother, Drake had never met Genevieve, who had been out of the country, working with another council member and investigating potential Guardian families. The day that Drake met Charlotte, everything changed for him. Charlotte reminded him of Lucian – her kindness and compassion brought him back from the dark depths of his misery, restoring him to his former self.

It was only after he had left Charlotte that he had paid Sebastian a visit and Genevieve had been there. She was the opposite of Charlotte in every way imaginable – confident, powerful, and not too shy about making her feelings known. She had targeted Drake that very first night and he had accepted her attention, a welcome distraction from the pain of leaving Charlotte behind. They had been together on and off ever since, but Drake had refused to rejoin the Quest and, over time, Genevieve had accepted this.

To his surprise, when he re-entered the tavern, Genevieve was there, and she was not alone.

“Drake!” Sebastian boomed across the small space, getting to his feet and coming forward to embrace Drake. Genevieve smiled smugly behind him and Drake narrowed his eyes at her, his mouth set in an angry line.

“Sebastian, it has been too long,” Drake clapped the shorter man on the back and stepped back to admire him. Sebastian was the same height as Genevieve, about a foot shorter than Drake, with the same white-blond hair and pale silver eyes as his sister. As with all vampires he was alluringly attractive, and even more so to humans.

“I have come to try and persuade you to rejoin us now that Summerfeld is vulnerable,” Sebastian murmured as they headed back to the table. “A drink for my friend, here,” he waved at Janet, one of Phil’s seasoned waitresses. She fetched a Bourbon for Drake and set it in front of him before scurrying away. Drake frowned – he had always gotten along fine with all of Phil’s girls. Sebastian had been in town five minutes and already he had made Janet uncomfortable, undoing all of Drake’s hard work.

“As I am sure Genevieve has told you,” Drake replied, refusing to meet Genevieve’s eyes, “I am not interested.” It was nothing short of rude and Drake heard Genevieve’s astonished intake of breath. Sebastian’s eyes hardened, but he grinned complacently.

“I understand, of course. The choice is yours, after all – you don’t owe me anything,” his tone made it clear that he thought that Drake owed him a great deal. “Let’s not talk of it any further.” Drake relaxed slightly, wondering if that was really the end of it. “You don’t mind if I stay? Just a few weeks – I find your little town... intriguing,” Sebastian continued cheerily, and now Drake realised that it was far from over. Brookfield was about as intriguing as an empty room to a vampire. Being nocturnal, they preferred the lure of the larger cities where they could be entertained by the nightlife and feed without being discovered.

“Of course,” Drake replied, determined to remain as calm as Sebastian, although the effort was taking its toll.

They continued to drink in silence, Drake still punishing Genevieve by refusing to meet her curious gaze. She was becoming increasingly desperate, practically draping herself across the table, but he would not acknowledge her. Male vampires are Alphas and the females thrive on their appreciation and approval. Genevieve had earned herself favour from Sebastian by bringing him to Brookfield which had temporarily sated her desire for attention, but now Drake’s icy indifference was crucifying her. Inwardly, Drake revelled in her suffering.

“Well, well, well. I might have more reason to stay than I initially thought,” Sebastian’s voice roused Drake from his musing and he followed the older vampire’s gaze to the door. Quinn had just re-entered the bar. Drake felt a flash of irrational anger as Sebastian drank in the sight of her. She was extraordinarily beautiful, even Drake could not deny it.

“I must ask that you leave the members of the community alone, Sebastian.” Sebastian raised his brows at the implied instruction. “This is my home,” Drake continued calmly, deliberately excluding Genevieve, “I have lived here for six years without drawing attention to myself and it would do me no good if you start stirring up trouble.”

“Of course. I understand,” Sebastian smiled, “I will not harm any members of your... community, as you call it. However, as I will be staying a while, it is only courteous that I extend the hand of friendship to the locals.” He picked up his drink and got to his feet.

“Why are you ignoring me?” Genevieve hissed, her fangs protruding slightly, as Sebastian made his way to Quinn’s side.

“I told you, Genevieve, I want no part in it!” Drake’s gaze slid finally to meet hers and she recoiled at the venom in his arctic green eyes.

“Sebastian is my brother – he is welcome in my home,” she replied haughtily. “This has got nothing to do with you or the Quest.”

“We shall see,” Drake replied grimly.

Quinn had needed another drink after her close encounter with the vampire. Never in a million years would she have expected that he would be back here tonight, along with Genevieve and another vampire, who had just made his way across the tavern to sit beside her.

“Another brandy, please,” he waved his glass at Phil, “and whatever the pretty lady here would like.” He smiled charmingly at Quinn and again, she experienced the queasiness in her stomach, forcing a polite smile in return. “I am Sebastian,” he continued arrogantly.

“Quinn,” she extended her hand, but instead of shaking it, he turned it over and kissed her palm. It was a repulsively intimate gesture, but Quinn kept her composure. “Nice to meet you.” She drank deeply from the bottle that Phil set down in front of her.

“You okay?” the bartender asked, casting a wary eye over Sebastian.

“Fine,” Quinn smiled.

Mercifully there was not much time for conversation. Drake appeared at Sebastian’s side unexpectedly a few minutes later.

“We must go,” he addressed the vampire directly, not looking at Quinn. “We have things to discuss.”

Not about to let the opportunity pass her by, Quinn interrupted.

“Sebastian says he is a friend of yours?”

“Yes,” Drake confirmed, the undertone of a warning in his voice.

“How do you two know each other?” she persisted. He turned to glare at her, but Sebastian answered smoothly.

“Genevieve is my sister.” Quinn glanced over to the table, where Genevieve was watching them intently, a hateful scowl on her beautiful face.

“Well, it was good to meet you, Sebastian. I’m sure I’ll see you around town.”

“I have no doubt you will, beautiful.” He lifted her hand again, his lips lingering on her smooth skin. Quinn held Drake’s gaze over Sebastian’s white-blond head and then watched as they walked out together, Genevieve following in their wake.

Chapter 10

Three evenings later Quinn went for a walk to clear her head. She would make the journey to Cliffdale soon - she could not put it off any longer. She was becoming desperate – her concern for Jack and Ava growing stronger by the day. Sarah had invited her over for movie night this evening, but Quinn had declined. She was already spending far too much time with the couple and thought that Todd might like to have some alone time with his girlfriend. As she returned home she saw a familiar figure standing on her porch.

“Sebastian!” she greeted him warmly, even as her mind raced. She had a stake in her anorak pocket, but using it would expose her.

“Good evening, Quinn,” his voice was mesmerising.

“What are you doing here?”

“I fear that Drake and Genevieve would rather be alone this evening, and, in the absence of any other familiar faces, I thought I would pay you a visit,” he smiled charmingly.

“How nice of you,” she played for time, “I was just thinking of heading over to Phil’s for a drink. Would you like to join me?” Quinn had taken two steps off the porch when she realised he had not moved.

“Are you going like that?” he indicated the sweat-pants she was wearing.

“Oh,” she laughed, “well, honestly, Phil doesn’t mind.”

“Perhaps you should change,” his eyes pierced hers and her stomach sank. Sebastian was using a small amount of his hypnotic persuasion, and to deny him would be tantamount to admitting that his vampire powers didn’t work on her. She might as well remove her wristwatch and shove her Guardian tattoo under his nose.

“Just give me a minute,” she rushed through the front door and raced up the stairs to her room, not looking back. She quickly dressed in a pair of jeans and a white tank top, covered it with a black leather jacket, and pulled on her boots, transferring the stake into the right one. Fetching a small vial of Cliffdale water from the duffel bag in her closet, she shoved it into her jacket pocket. Grabbing her purse, she made her way back downstairs.

Sebastian was still standing on the porch exactly where she had left him.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked innocently, choosing her words carefully. She could not invite him in. He said nothing, but a small frown creased his forehead. “Shall we go?” Quinn held up her arm and, after a moment's hesitation, he linked his own through hers.

The evening was a strained event, for Quinn at least. She had a lingering suspicion that Sebastian might suspect something, given that she had not asked him to wait inside her house. He was certainly charming, regaling her with stories and touching her arm frequently to emphasise some or other point he made. Although Quinn laughed at his jokes and asked the right questions, she dreaded the end of the evening, knowing that he would offer to walk her home.

They climbed the steps to the porch and Quinn turned to face him.

“Thank you,” she gushed, “for a wonderful evening.”

Sebastian tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled. Alarmed, Quinn noticed his fangs were ever so slightly extended and she lowered her eyes to the floor, which is why she didn’t see it coming. Sebastian dipped his blond head, and, at the same moment, he lifted her chin with a long, pale finger, his lips meeting hers. Quinn froze, every fibre of her being screaming for her to stop him, to pull her stake from her boot and end this madness. A vampire kissing a Guardian was sacrilege – a hideous violation.

Her stomach turned, her blood pumping faster through her body as her anger was roused. Sebastian could hear the increased beating of her heart, obviously, and mistaking it for arousal; he probed deeper into her mouth with his tongue. Quinn was vaguely aware that, if Sebastian was anything to judge by, vampires were excellent kissers - it was no wonder humans were so intoxicated by them. But Quinn was no ordinary human and she was repulsed. Pulling back, she raised her hand to her mouth, her violet eyes wide. Sebastian smirked, taking her hand and leading her to the front door.

“Let’s go inside,” he ran his hand down her cheek and neck, across her collar-bone and then still lower. Quinn sensed the persuasion radiating off him. She had no choice, she could not let him in and he would know, immediately, when she denied him entry, what she was. Smiling up at him, she pulled his head down to hers again and used the distraction of the kiss to raise her right leg and rest her foot against the front door. She dropped one hand and reached for her boot, slipping her fingers inside and groping for the blunt end of her stake. Closing her eyes she started to withdraw it slowly.

“I said, let’s go inside,” Sebastian spoke against her mouth. Quinn didn’t answer and he raised his head from hers, comprehension dawning in his colourless silver eyes.

“Sebastian!” an authorative voice called from the street. Sebastian growled, his back taut as his muscles bulged beneath Quinn’s left hand. Furiously he whirled on Drake, who stood on the front lawn, his face half-concealed by the darkness. A strange look passed between them, and finally Sebastian shrugged nonchalantly.

“I’m afraid I have to cut this party short, Quinn,” he apologised over his shoulder as he started down the steps. Turning to face her as he reached Drake he blew her a kiss. “I will see you very soon, love.”

Once inside, Quinn leaned back against the door. She threw her head back and banged it hard against the wooden surface. Fool she thought to herself. She couldn’t be sure just how much Sebastian knew but she had certainly aroused his suspicion. She pulled the stake from her boot and gripped it tightly in her right hand. She wondered briefly whether she should call Liam or one of the other Hunters to take care of Sebastian, but that would mean the Guardians would know her location and they would come for her.

Determined to stay indoors for a few nights until she could come up with a plan, Quinn once again declined Sarah’s offer to come over the following evening. Instead, she ordered a pizza for delivery and settled down on the sofa with her laptop to do some Guardian research. Information that leaked onto the internet was very valuable to the Guardians as well as to the vampires. What many humans put down to hoaxes or urban legends was actually critical information for the Guardians, if you knew what to look for. Quinn’s closest Guardian friend, Piper, bore the responsibility of scouring the internet for anything related to Summerfeld, and Quinn had no doubt that right now Piper had stumbled upon something incredible. Her heart in her throat Quinn read the article again. It was in some disreputable paper that would publish just about anything, no matter how far-fetched, but the Guardians had long since learned that these were the most credible publications when it came to the supernatural.

“Pegasus,” Quinn breathed, barely able to comprehend what she was reading. The winged horses had been one of the first species that the vampires had eradicated – whole herds had been slaughtered and devoured. Although the Greeks had taken the Pegasus for their own mythology, their recording of the legend was not entirely correct. The Ancient Greeks had fabled the Pegasus a single, pure white winged stallion who had been sired by Poseidon, God of the Sea. As usual, the truth had been lost over time. There was never only one winged horse. There were whole herds of them, much like the unicorns. King Eldon had managed to save a few of the horned horses - the unicorns - which now lived in the Silver Oaks Forest in Summerfeld, but sadly he had not been able to do the same for the winged variety, who, although blessed with the ability of flight, had been far more trusting in nature than the unicorns and had not instinctively fled from danger.

The article Quinn had found documented how a tourist claimed to have seen the Pegasus while camping in a remote section of The Sea of Trees forest at the base of Mount Fuji, in Japan. The tourist had been dubbed an “attention seeker”, but the more Quinn investigated the forest, the more it made sense. The trees were so dense that they blocked out the sound of wind and with the additional absence of any wildlife, the forest was exceptionally quiet. The Pegasus, much like the unicorns, were notoriously wild and skittish and preferred the quiet solitude of the woodlands where they would not be disturbed.

Quinn was interrupted by a gentle knock at the door and glanced up through the living-room curtains to see one of Phil’s waitresses holding a large pizza box.

“Come in,” she called, “the door’s unlocked.” Immersed in the article it took a few seconds to register the soft thud. Tossing the laptop aside, Quinn got to her feet in the same instant that Sebastian rounded the corner and stepped into the living-room.

She had invited him in, she realised, how could she have been so foolish? She hadn’t called by name and Sebastian must have been standing outside when she invited the girl in. Glancing down, she saw a dark ponytail protruding from the hall.

“What have you done to her?” Quinn demanded, not bothering to feign innocence. Sebastian knew... He knew that Quinn was aware that he was a vampire. No more pretences.

“She’ll live,” Sebastian replied, as though they were in the middle of a polite conversation. “Now, Quinn, I think you and I need to have a little chat.”

Quinn edged around the table, backing away towards the kitchen. In her pyjamas, she didn’t have a stake on her or any weapon she could use, but even a knife would be better than nothing. With Sebastian’s vampiric speed she would never reach the hidden weapons room, but she might make it to the kitchen. Throwing caution to the wind she turned and bolted. He was upon her before she had even taken two steps, grabbing her by the neck and throwing her backwards. She flew through the air and struck the railing of the stairs, hard, before dropping painfully to the floor. Stars burst in her vision and pain erupted in her head, neck and back. Her Guardian reflexes kicked in and she scrambled to her feet, her arms raised in front of her, her hands balled into fists.

Sebastian cocked his head to one side, surprised by her defensive stance. An ordinary human would have been knocked unconscious, or at the very least, would not have been able to get up.

“What are you?” he murmured, advancing slowly towards her. The thought that a Guardian would be living out here, alone, in the middle of nowhere, was so absurd that Sebastian clearly hadn’t even considered it.

“Get out of my house,” Quinn spat back. He blurred in front of her and the next instant his hand closed around her throat, lifting her into the air so that her feet dangled below her. Quinn’s hands scrabbled against his fingers, trying to prise them off so that she could draw breath. She had suspected that Sebastian was a very old vampire, and it was true, she had never encountered one so strong. A shadow crept into her peripheral vision, edging it in darkness as the oxygen levels in her body dropped drastically. Desperately, she struck out with her foot and caught Sebastian between the legs. In considerable pain, he loosened his grip for just a second, but it was all she needed.

Quinn tucked both of her legs up beneath her and then kicked them forward, connecting with Sebastian’s torso. Her own Guardian strength – a combination of years of training and the magical blood of the Summerfeld wards – did what no ordinary human’s could, and Sebastian released her, stumbling back and landing hard on the wooden floor. Quinn doubted she would get another opportunity to strike, but without a stake she was defenceless. Launching herself forward, she catapulted over Sebastian and hurtled towards the kitchen. As she reached the pantry cupboard, he grabbed her by the hair from behind and tossed her back into the living-room. She landed on the glass coffee table, the sound deafening as the glass shattered beneath her, shards embedding themselves in her back and legs. Only semi-conscious, Quinn tried to pull herself out of the wooden frame, but every movement was agony as the glass pressed deeper into her flesh. Sebastian loomed over her, but his attention was diverted and he looked towards the living-room window. Quinn turned her head, understanding why the sound of glass shattering had seemed so amplified. The living-room window had also been shattered by the tall man standing just outside the house, his face morphed into a mask of unadulterated fury. Drake.

“Invite me in,” he ordered, tearing his eyes from Sebastian to glance meaningfully across at Quinn. She opened her mouth to do as he said but Sebastian was too quick for her. He hauled her up, clamping an icy hand around her throat, his smug arrogance blinding him to the thin, lethally sharp fragment of glass she clutched in her right hand. Quinn couldn’t breathe, let alone speak, but as Sebastian turned to sneer at Drake through the window, she raised her arm and plunged the crude weapon into his neck. Blood spurted onto her face and chest as Sebastian released her, his hands reaching for his throat. Quinn dropped to the floor at his feet, coughing violently. Gasping, rubbing her neck, she looked up into Drake’s frantic green eyes and croaked, trying to get the words out.

“Come in.”

Chapter 11

Quinn’s voice was hoarse and barely more than a whisper, but it was all Drake needed. Like an animal he flew through the window, faster than her eyes could track and then he was upon Sebastian. Sebastian had been weakened and was unprepared for the viciousness of Drake’s attack. Quinn crawled past them heading for the kitchen, but then her eyes fell on something lying on the floor near their feet. A splinter of wood – a remnant of the recently demolished coffee table. It was rudimentary, but by no means less effective. Quinn grasped it in her hand and held it tightly as she got unsteadily to her feet.

Sebastian and Drake were locked in combat, duelling to the death. Neither could allow the other to live. Quinn lifted the rugged stake to shoulder height and moved as close to them as she could.

“Drake!” she yelled. Despite the fierce battle he was engaged in, his green eyes met hers, and then moved to the stake in her hands, comprehension dawning on his face. For just a second, his eyes narrowed, and Quinn wondered if she had made a mistake, had misjudged him. Threatening to kill one of his own kind was a pretty big deal. Then, without warning, he grabbed Sebastian by the shoulders and spun him around, pinning his arms to his sides and exposing his chest. Knowing she had only a second before Sebastian broke free, Quinn didn’t hesitate. In one swift movement, she lunged forward and plunged the stake through Sebastian’s chest, into his heart.

The older vampire stiffened and then slowly, his body started to turn grey. Drake dropped him to the floor and they watched as the vampire elder decomposed, until nothing remained but a pile of ash.

Quinn was till trying to recover her breath, her entire body aching and sore. There was no one point of pain, but rather an encompassing agony. She staggered slightly and Drake caught her arm, marching her across to the sofa. It had all happened so quickly that Quinn had not given any thought to her neighbour, until she heard Sarah yelling. The noise must have alerted her to trouble.

“Quinn!” Sarah raced in through the open front door, leaping over the waitress’s inert form, and skidded to a halt before them. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Quinn muttered.

“You’re not!” Sarah took in her extensive injuries. “What happened? Did you do this to her?” she rounded on Drake angrily. Drake stepped forward taking Sarah by the shoulders and forcing her to meet his eyes.

“Quinn is fine. She is not hurt. Her window was smashed by vandals. You will remember nothing else.” Sarah relaxed, her body slumping slightly in his grasp as Drake continued, “I was never here. Go home and sleep.”

It was no secret that vampires can exert a powerful hypnosis over their human victims, but watching it first-hand was nothing less than creepy. Quinn shuddered, grateful that she was impervious to their mesmerising persuasion.

Sarah nodded meekly and then turned on her heel, exiting the house without so much as a backward glance. Noticing him wincing slightly as he turned back towards her, Quinn realised Drake had sustained greater harm than she had initially thought. He sat down heavily on the sofa beside her, but Quinn couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“I will take the girl back to the bar when I leave. She will not remember,” Drake spoke first.

“Thank you.”

“You will be all right. Quinn,” he continued when she didn’t answer, “it is of the utmost importance that no-one finds out what happened here tonight.” She nodded vaguely and he reached over and jerked her arm, unbalancing her. She almost toppled off the sofa and into the large pile of ash. Steadying herself, her anger roused, she turned to glare at him.

“What was that for?”

“If anyone finds out that you know about us, you will not live to tell the tale. Fair warning.” His words were cold and hollow.

“No vampire will get to me,” she retorted haughtily.

“Ah, but you forget... I’ve been invited in.” He smiled; a cruel, calculating smirk and Quinn felt a wave of nausea pass over her. Drake may have saved her life but he was not to be trusted.

Drake whistled as he made his way home. He would not tell Genevieve what had become of her brother – let her think he had left town. Sebastian was gone, much to Drake’s pleasure. There would be no more talk of the Quest, no more hidden innuendos and polite courtesies. This was his town, and with Sebastian gone, it would remain so. Quinn was the only loose end. Surprised that she had survived Sebastian’s attack, Drake mused as to whether he should simply kill her himself. It was too great a risk to have her here in Brookfield knowing what he was.

Quinn still felt tender when her alarm went off at four a.m. the following morning, but most of her wounds had healed. The magical blood that the Guardians were imbued with gave them the ability to heal far more quickly than ordinary humans, although it certainly didn’t stop them from being killed. She didn’t know which species' blood she had to thank for this gift – possibly that of the unicorns, who seemed to possess a miraculous health. There would be no better time for her to visit the Cliffdale Cathedral. With the sighting of the Pegasus, the Guardians would mobilise in order to try and find the last survivors of the winged horses that had long been believed extinct. She might never get another opportunity like this. The Guardian in her, that she tried so hard to suppress, yearned to go and seek the animal herself – her blood crying out to join the search and ensure that the Pegasus, if it truly existed, be removed to the safety of Summerfeld – protected from the vampires who would no doubt be hunting it. They too scoured the internet for clues that would enable them to complete their Quest and destroy every supernatural being which remained. Quinn pushed the urge aside, thinking instead of Jack and Ava, and willed herself to focus on what was most important.

She dumped the black duffel bag onto the seat beside her and then backed out of the driveway. Sarah would make sure that the window was repaired. Quinn would call her when the sun came up. Heading away from Brookfield, she drove east, preparing herself for the long journey ahead.

The sun’s rays were only a half hour away when Drake turned into Ridge Road. He had changed his mind – Quinn could not be allowed to live, knowing his secret. He had never let a human learn of his true nature, not in all these years – not since Charlotte. He wasn’t about to start now. To his surprise, her car was gone. Cursing his delay, he stole in through the glassless window and moved up the stairs making no sound at all. A door to his left stood ajar and something bright caught his eye. Pushing open the door, he stared thoughtfully at the two beds with their clashing pink and blue bedspreads. Crossing to the closet, he took in the rows of clothing and the toys that lined the shelves around the room. Curiosity getting the better of him, Drake made his way back onto the landing and entered Quinn’s bedroom. He sat on the neatly made bed, his thoughts churning. Nothing made sense. Determined to get answers, he settled down to wait.

Chapter 12

While Balthazar explained the significance of the cornflower to the others, Melchior offered to make a quick supply run back to a gas station they had passed a few miles back. Jonas immediately volunteered to go with him. Anything to escape his father’s company – they had been closeted together in the Chevy for weeks.

Melchior was a man of few words and the short trip passed in mutual silence.

“I’ll get the gas. You go in and get some supplies,” Melchior growled, in his low, rumbling voice when they finally reached the gas station. He handed Jonas a few crumpled bills and Jonas unfurled his long, lanky frame as he stepped out of the car. “Essentials only,” Melchior added, as if Jonas needed to be reminded. The gypsies were always low on cash. What little they did have they had acquired thanks mainly to Rowena and a few of the other women in the camp, who offered love-potions and crystal ball readings to unsuspecting people at various fairs. It was a load of horse-shit, obviously. If gypsies could tell the future they would be a lot richer. Their fortune-telling was nothing more than a cheap trick - a simple combination of natural intuition and learning to read cues. The love potions too, were a farce, but Rowena’s other potions – which cured ailments and certain sickness, were legitimate, a gift passed down to her by her ancestor, Jasmine.

Jonas entered the store and made his way across to the minuscule bakery section in the corner, ignoring the disdainful wrinkling of the cashier’s nose. He had long gotten used to the contemptuous attitude of the people who he came into contact with. The jeans that he wore had belonged to his father, and were at least long enough, but they were two sizes too big, and he had cinched them in at the waist with an old piece of rope. His T-shirt, which must once have been black, was a dull, washed-out grey, and his shoes were so perished that a filthy, overlong toenail poked through. The cashier - a pretty, gum-cracking blonde, averted her eyes as he glanced over at her.

Grabbing four loaves of bread, Jonas turned to scan the store for milk. That’s when he spotted her; a girl, standing only a few feet away, examining a wide variety of colourful bags of crisps as though she couldn’t decide which to choose. She was only a year or two younger than he was, small and slight of frame. She might have been ordinary if it wasn’t for her hair. Fiery red, it seemed to glow as it trailed over her narrow shoulders and down her back, ending only an inch or two above her waist. She hadn’t seen him yet, but he would have to pass her to reach the milk. Suddenly he minded the state of his clothing far more than he had a second ago.

Slouching, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible, he moved towards her. Only when he was right beside her, did she become aware of him.

“I’m sorry,” she announced in a high clear voice, “am I in your way?” She turned to look up at him, a small smile playing about her lips. Jonas couldn’t believe the light, luminescent colour of her green eyes, creating a dazzling contrast to the deep red of her hair. She was not beautiful, not in the traditional sense, but Jonas thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her skin was pale and reminded him of peaches and cream, which admittedly, he had only ever tasted once, on his tenth birthday. Rowena had sneaked them to him, making him promise not to tell his father. The girl’s smile faltered under his scrutiny, and Jonas waited for the invariable disdain, but her expression didn’t change. Her kind, open gaze didn’t linger on his drab clothing as he had expected, but instead, held his own unabashedly.

“Not at all,” Jonas replied, “I can wait.” The aisle was too narrow for him to pass unless she turned her body and pressed it against the rows of shelves.

“I don’t know what I’m in the mood for,” she announced, turning back to the crisps. She gnawed the inside of her cheek, trying to decide. “Which are your favourite?”

“Salt and vinegar,” he replied instantly. They were the only ones he had ever had.

“Really? They make my tongue hurt.” She deliberated a little longer and Jonas was content simply to watch her. “I think I’ll go with cheese, just to be safe.”  She decided suddenly, snatching up a large bag and moving back along the aisle. Jonas followed, feeling ridiculously tongue-tied.

“What do you need?” she called over her shoulder as they emerged on the other end.

“Milk.” He held up a couple of half-gallon bottles as proof.

“Could you pass me two bottles of water?”

“Sure,” handing them back to her, his fingers brushed against hers.

“I’m Monique, by the way,” she smiled, tucking the bottles under her arm and extending her hand. Jonas glanced down at it – the clean, neatly shaped fingernails such a startling contrast to his own – grubby and bitten to the quick. Hastily rubbing his hand on the back of his jeans, he took hers, noticing the smooth softness of her skin, which was warm and friendly.

“Jonas,” he mumbled, embarrassed. His own hands were rough and calloused from the hardships of a life on the road. Monique didn’t seem to notice, though, and she pumped his arm enthusiastically.

Jonas suddenly found he didn’t want to leave this store – he wanted to stay and chat, like any other normal teenager. Inwardly, he seethed once more over the injustice of it all. The fact that he had no friends; that he could not go to school or lead any semblance of a normal life. Outwardly, he smiled back at the captivating girl before him, holding her hand for a little longer than was necessary.

“So, do you go to school around here?” she asked lightly.

“Jonas!” Melchior’s gruff bark came from the front of the store and Jonas cursed the older man’s impatience.

“There you are!” Another voice – feminine and slightly breathless – announced, and Monique turned to grin sheepishly at a woman standing beside Melchior, who could only be her mother. The older woman’s eyes were blue, not green, but they had the same mouth, and there were red undertones in her dark hair.

“Jonas,” Melchior repeated, his patience wearing thin.

“I’ll see you around,” Jonas muttered awkwardly, turning on his heel and making his way to the counter to pay for his purchases.

“Seventeen-thirty,” the cashier intoned hollowly, not even bothering to look up. Jonas handed over the money, his eyes boring into her forehead. Her dismissive attitude irked him, particularly since Monique and her mother had come to stand in line behind him.

“Here’s your change,” the cashier finally met his gaze and Jonas heard the sharp intake of breath. It had happened countless times before, but it irritated him far more than usual, that someone would suddenly find him more interesting because of his face. He knew he was good-looking, in a dark, brooding way, but it was hardly comforting that someone would take an interest in him when not ten minutes before she had turned up her nose at his dishevelled appearance. Monique hadn’t done that, he thought wryly. She had been nice before she had even looked up at him.

“Thanks for shopping with us,” the cashier continued, her tone far friendlier than before. Jonas heard Melchior’s derisive snort. The cashier’s eyes roamed Jonas’ face, an inviting smile playing about her lips. “Please call again,” she added.

“I’m waiting to pay,” Monique snapped irritably, drawing the teller’s attention, and Jonas grinned as he walked away.

When Jonas and Melchior arrived back at camp, Jonas felt relief that the convoy were showing all the signs of an extended stay. Cooking utensils and make-shift wash lines had been erected, and all the vehicles were parked in a circular formation, with the camp in the centre. They were not far from the road, but would not be seen by any rare traffic, hidden as they were by a rocky outcrop of boulders.

“We’ll stay here until we learn more,” Balthazar announced as Jonas took a seat beside him on the hard ground.

“Here?” Jonas questioned, surveying the harsh, dry territory.

“For now.”

“I want to go to school,” Jonas replied bluntly.

“What?” his father’s frown of confusion would have been comical if Jonas hadn't been so deadly serious.

“School,” he repeated. “If we’re going to be around here for a while, I may as well try and get some semblance of an education.” Jonas had attended a couple of schools when he was much younger, but it had got to the point where saying goodbye was too hard, and then, as he got a little older, the merciless teasing from the other kids had put paid to any further attempts. Rowena home-schooled him - she taught the few kids in their community. It was necessary, given their nomadic lifestyle, and most of the women were either teachers or healers. As if drawn by Jonas’s thoughts, Rowena appeared beside them, a small frown creasing her brow.

“It’s not you,” he murmured, worried he might have hurt her feelings. “I just need to get out of here, even if it’s only for a few hours a day.”

“Jonas,” Balthazar sounded disappointed and angry. “We have work to do here.”

“What work? What can I possible do that someone else can’t? You’re watching the roads – you don’t need me for that. Until you find whatever it is you're looking for, we're all in limbo. At least let me do something constructive with my time. I’ll take evening shifts keeping a look-out, if you want me to.”

Balthazar opened his mouth to deny his son’s wishes but Rowena silenced him with a brisk shake of her dark head, tendrils of her cloudy hair whipping free of her braid.

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” she interrupted and Jonas turned to her gratefully. “And as to your shifts – if I’m not having to prepare your lessons, I’ll have plenty of time to take them. He needs this,” she continued, casting a meaningful look at Balthazar, “and you have no valid reason for denying him.”

Jonas whooped in glee before Balthazar could say another word, getting to his feet and lifting Rowena off the ground in a bear-hug.

“You're the best!” he grinned, and she was struck once again by how like Balthazar he was. His heavy-lidded sloe-eyes were so dark it was impossible to tell where the iris ended and the pupil began, unless you looked really closely.

“You need a haircut,” she ruffled his dark curls fondly. Rowena had never had children of her own, but being with Jonas since birth she doubted she could love him any more, even if he was her own flesh and blood. She watched him saunter away, relishing his happiness, before she turned to face Balthazar.

“Don’t,” Rowena held up a hand. “If you keep pushing you’re going to lose him, Balthazar. Just like all the others. Times have changed – the younger generation do not fully understand the gravity of the search and no matter how much you wish it, Jonas will never be as committed as you are. The very least we can hope is that he remains with us. I do not want to lose my son because of your stubborn pigheadedness.”

Balthazar mused over her words. He was angry that she had granted Jonas permission against his will, but there was truth in what she said. And it always thrilled him to hear her refer to Jonas as her son. Rowena was as astute as she was sexy, and, knowing the best way to silence her lover, she climbed across his lap, shifting slightly so that they were as close as possible. Distracted, Balthazar knew he would forgive her anything when her soft, warm body pressed against his like this. Oblivious of the others milling around them, he placed his hand over the curve of her breast, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

“I’ll let him go if you marry me,” he murmured coaxingly.

“You’ll let him go because I will make it worth your while,” she replied wickedly, dropping her head and kissing him.

Chapter 13

It took two days for Quinn to make the journey to Cliffdale – an isolated, deserted place, charmed by the Fae so that humans would never venture anywhere near it. As she drove over the crest of a hill, the Cathedral came into view, nestled in the valley below her and Quinn caught her breath. Despite her ambivalent feelings, she could not help but appreciate the breathtaking view. She had forgotten how beautiful it was. Almost a thousand years old, the Cathedral had been built by King Eldon himself to house the Gateway. Taller than any man-made basilica, enchanted so that neither mankind nor vampire could find it, the Cliffdale Cathedral was so magnificent that to simply lay eyes on it was to feel the magic of the Fae. The towering, stone building sparkled in the rays of the sun. The mortar had been mixed with gemstones which carried the magic of its enchantments and protection.

As she descended the hill, the vast, stained-glass window that adorned the front of the building came into view. The riot of colour portrayed a beautiful young girl weeping at the feet of the Pegasus. King Eldon had created the image of his daughter, repentant, at the feet of one of the first mystical creatures that had been lost due to her actions. Whether or not Princess Enah had truly felt remorse or not, no-one but King Eldon himself had known, as his daughter was never seen again by anyone else once her treachery was discovered, until her death. Princess Enah had never recovered after losing Julian and she had remained in man’s realm with her father after the City was created, only to die of a broken heart.

Quinn parked her car among the trees that ran along the eastern side of the Cathedral. She did not want to alert anyone to her arrival. Making her way through the long grass she heard birds singing all around her and butterflies danced amid the blooming flowers. Although man did not come near this place, fauna were attracted to its enchantments and flora blossomed. Climbing the marble steps in her two-day-old jeans and tank top, Quinn suddenly felt ashamed. This place was sacred – the most sacred place on Earth, other than the City of Summerfeld itself. Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and pushed open the enormous wooden double door, its ornate carvings familiar – most of the Guardian’s stakes were engraved with the same symbols.

“Hello Quinn,” a soft voice sounded as she entered the atrium and the doors closed behind her. Quinn turned her head to face the tall, thin man. His eyes were liquid amber and his grey hair appeared in stark contrast to the youthfulness of his face. Isaiah had been only eighteen when King Eldon had made him a Guardian, but his hair had greyed prematurely when he was only a boy.

The tallest of all Guardians, Isaiah, like Daniel, was one of the original two. Unlike Daniel, however, Isaiah was a peaceful man and was the the keeper of the Cliffdale Cathedral, protector of the Gateway to Summerfeld. Daniel was a Hunter. He led the search for vampires in the realm of man and had killed more vampires than any other Guardian. Daniel would not be involved in the search for the Pegasus. Hunters did not seek the lost – their sole purpose was to hunt and destroy the enemies of the Summerfeld’s wards. Daniel, along with the other Hunters – Liam, Garrett and Blair would not have travelled to The Sea of Trees forest. That would no doubt have been Quinn’s father, Braddon’s, charge, along with the others – Lucas, Rourke and Tristan. Piper would be scouring the internet ready to feed them any new information. That left Quinn alone with Isaiah.

“Isaiah,” Quinn returned the greeting, inclining her head slightly out of respect.

“There are a lot of people looking for you,” he pointed out enigmatically.

“I know.”

“Fear not, I will not call them back. A Guardian may lose her way from time to time, as you have done, but I believe you will return to the fold when you are ready.”

Quinn had suspected as much - that Isaiah would not give her up to the other Guardians, which was why she had taken the risk. Isaiah was an honourable and compassionate man.

“Isaiah, you know why I am here. I need to find...” Isaiah held up his hand to silence her, the silver wristband he always wore covering his Guardian tattoo.

“Quinn, please do not mistake my intentions. While I sympathise with your plight I do not deny that it is a fool’s errand. The children are safe. They will be taken care of. Your duty is to those who remain in the City – they need you.”

“My niece and nephew need me.”

“Not as much as we do,” he smiled sadly. “There has always been discord amongst the Guardians.” Quinn refrained from mentioning that her father would disagree. “I have seen it, countless times. We are only human, after all, and it is in our nature to argue and be in conflict with one another. King Eldon may have overlooked this when he so rashly gave us the role of the protectors of the Ark.” Only Daniel and Isaiah ever referred to Summerfeld as the Ark – a direct comparison to the Ark of Christianity, which itself was a safe haven – a vessel for the remainders of all known animal species.

“I’m not asking for much, Isaiah. Just a few years... and then I will return.” He shook his head at her words.

“Sadly, young Guardian, I cannot grant them to you. You will not find the children. You should return and save yourself the disappointment of failure.”

“So you will not help me?”

“I cannot help you,” he corrected. “And neither will Piper,” he added, as though reading her thoughts.

It was nothing less than Quinn had expected, but the blow was still hard to bear. This was why she had come – to appeal to the one Guardian she had thought might help her - might be compassionate enough to understand. Isaiah never left the Cathedral and she had hoped that he would allow her to appeal to Piper, but she had been wrong. Raising her head haughtily, she pushed back her brown hair, her tanzanite eyes flashing with frustration and anger.

“Are the children in Summerfeld?”

“No.”

Her father had said the same.

“I will search the City myself, Isaiah. I don’t believe you.”

“By all means,” he ignored her blatant disrespect and stepped aside, sweeping out his arm and inviting her forward. “The City is your home as well as theirs. You will never be denied access, so long as you wear that mark,” he indicated the white S-Shaped tattoo on her wrist which was hidden beneath her wristwatch. “I assume your crystal is safe?” he continued pleasantly.

“Of course,” she conceded, bowing her head respectfully once again and regretting her earlier accusation.

The truth be told, she knew Isaiah wasn’t lying. He was noble and honourable, and he would not stoop so low as to lie to her face. The children weren’t in Summerfeld – of that she was certain, but she still needed to check. She had no other plan, and, if she was honest with herself, she wanted to visit the City. Most Guardians spent the majority of their time in Summerfeld. Quinn had not been back for two years and now that she was so close, she suddenly needed to reconnect with that life.

She walked through the atrium and her gaze slid over the council table to the left of the altar. Twelve seats for twelve Guardians; two of which had been empty for two years – hers, and Avery’s. Her seat was empty by choice, but Avery’s... Quinn shook her head, refusing to allow the sadness to consume her. As she slowly climbed the stairs to the high altar, her eyes swept over each column that she passed. On each of them words had been etched in the white marble, passages from the Sacred Book, a reminder to all Guardians of their purpose and the gravity of their task. No more supernatural blood could be spilled, no more death. The vampires hunted constantly, obsessively determined to carry out King Aleksei’s orders. They wanted every supernatural being eradicated and they would not stop. They would never give up the Quest, not in one thousand, five thousand or a hundred thousand years. The only hope that the Guardians had was to fulfil the prophecy. But the balance would never be restored, Quinn thought bitterly. The Guardians were chasing a literal fairytale.

Quinn approached the altar leaving Isaiah behind her. When she reached the top she turned on the spot, taking in the smaller stained-glass windows which bordered the vast apse. Each depicted one of the remaining supernatural beings, another reminder of what the Guardians stood for. Faery, dragon, werewolf, merman, gryphon, troll, giant, dwarf, firebird and unicorn. The ten surviving supernatural species. Technically, the vampires were the eleventh, but they were not to be protected. Behind her, directly opposite the glass portrait of Princess Enah, stood an enormous statue of King Eldon, the original Slayer, strong and powerful, his arm raised; a bloodied sword clutched in his hand. Following the line of the blade, Quinn’s eyes moved upward, to the very apex of the high-domed ceiling. It was so high that she had to squint to make out the detail etched at the top of the monumental pillars.

Dropping to a crouch beside the altar, she touched the empty circular hole carved out of the ancient stone. Above it, etched into the stone by Eldon’s own hand, was the symbol of a rose. The altar was not just the Gateway into Summerfeld, it was also the Rose Gate – the portal to the temple, into which King Eldon’s son, Wintyr, and his younger brother Xander had been sealed for a millennium, along with all the magic of the Fae. The temple had been created shortly after the City itself. Ashamed of the havoc he had wreaked, and guilt-ridden that he had taken the life of the vampire prince, Julian, Eldon had relinquished his throne to his eldest son, Wintyr. Wintyr and his younger brother, Xander, were sealed in a temple of sanctuary, hidden deep within the Cathedral of Cliffdale, for their protection – a place where no man, beast or being could get to them. Fearful that what Fae magic had done, Fae magic could undo, King Eldon had stripped the remaining Fae of their power, relying on the Guardians to protect them. The Fae magic was sealed within the Rose Temple along with his sons, to be released only when the temple was opened. For King Eldon, stripped of his magic and weakened by the loss of so many creatures, the pain of Enah’s death was unbearable and he died shortly after.

Quinn’s finger traced the rough grooves inside the circle, which depicted where each of the twelve crystals should go. In the centre, a perfect circle within the circle marked the place for the Hawkstone – the final piece of the puzzle and the key to opening the Temple.

“Only the Hawkstone can release the heir,” Quinn murmured, reciting a line from the Sacred Book.

“And the child will retrieve the stone,” Isaiah finished the passage. “You were always my favourite student, Quinn. Your knowledge of the book is second only to my own.”

“The Rose Gate will never open,” Quinn rounded on him angrily. “Wintyr and Xander are gone.” Isaiah simply smiled knowingly.

“I believe the portal will open when there is nothing left to defend the Ark but the magic of the Fae.”

“You expect Cliffdale will fall?”

“I think that everything that is happening now is a sign of a great danger coming.”

“You speak in riddles, Isaiah. How can a child possibly open that portal if the most powerful Guardians have yet to find the stone?”

“We are not meant to find it,” Isaiah stated simply, “and I don’t believe that the portal can be opened by force. It is not strength or power that is required.” A long silence followed this statement, broken only by the song of the birds outside filtering through the cavernous hall.

“Quinn, do not lose your faith. I believe you have an important role to play, one that you will only understand when the time is right. You are fighting against your destiny when you should be embracing it.”

“Like Avery did?” Quinn countered furiously.

“Avery was a loyal and disciplined Guardian and her death was a terrible tragedy, but your sister never possessed your talent or your spirit. You are a rare soul, unlike any other I have ever seen.”

Unable to bear the piercing perceptiveness in his gaze a second longer, Quinn averted her eyes and stared down at the altar, closing her eyes and uttering the words that would take her through the gateway and into the City of Summerfeld.

Chapter 14

Quinn opened her eyes and the scene around her had completely transformed. She stood in a large cobbled square, a simple stone water fountain before her. The Fountain of Youth, it was called by man, in his perpetual quest to find it; but no man ever would – King Eldon had created the fountain for the supernatural alone – so that those precious few who survived could live for eternity, safe in the protected City.

As Quinn watched, a horned stallion of shimmering white approached the fountain and dipped his head to drink. She stepped forward, placing a hand on his thick neck, and stroking his glossy coat. Taller than any ordinary horses, the unicorns stood over eighteen hands, and Quinn could just reach the top of the stallion’s back.

“Good to see you haven’t yet been ousted, Primera,” Quinn crooned, earning herself a baleful look. The unicorns, like wild horses, exist in a harem consisting of one adult male, several females, their foals and a number of immature horses of both sexes. Primera, as the dominant male, would drive out both colts and fillies when they reached sexual maturity to prevent in-breeding as well as to establish his dominance. Although there were a few smaller herds in the Silver Oaks forest that had banded together after being ejected from the main herd, Primera had obviously not yet been defeated by a younger, challenging stallion. Primera had been the herd stallion as long as Quinn had been a Guardian, and she dreaded the day that he would be bested by another and cast out of the herd. The dominant mare, Zinnia had been Primera’s primary mate for at least fifty years, although Quinn still remembered her predecessor, Dessa. Dessa had fallen ill inexplicably, and, while she had recovered, she was no longer fertile and could not conceive any new foals. Primera had shunned her from the herd and Zinnia had taken Dessa’s place. Dessa remained in the forest and had taken up with a smaller herd.

Primera raised his regal head and nudged Quinn’s shoulder gently, emitting a low, musical whinny and bringing her back to the present. So much for man’s mythology, which stated that unicorns favoured virgins, Quinn thought wryly. She had loved and lost human partners a few times in her hundred years as a Guardian, and then she had found Tristan, and she had hoped that she would never have to feel the pain of that loss again. Tristan would live as long as she would – old age would never take him from her. But she had lost him after all, and it had been far, far worse than ever before.

With one last snort into her shoulder, the white stallion turned on his heels and, with a flick of his long tail, galloped out of the courtyard. The unicorns preferred the quiet solitude of the Silver Oaks forest on the very outskirts of Summerfeld. When he had created the City, King Eldon had ensured that each species would have a natural habitat, and the quiet, eerie stillness of the Silver Oaks forest suited the spiral-horned horses far better than the City Square. While they trusted the Guardians, they were only truly comfortable with the Fae, and they would not tolerate the touch of any other supernatural creature.

Quinn walked slowly from the courtyard into the City square, home of the Faeries themselves, and the werewolves when they were in human form. She did not meet anyone along the way, although most of the inhabitants would have sensed her arrival. She stopped beside one of the smaller houses about half a mile from the fountain, surveying the sweet garden for a moment before heading for the house and knocking softly on the front door.

“Quinn,” Kellan greeted her as the door opened, before he had even laid eyes on her. Kellan was a Faery, and, like all of his kind, he was fair-skinned and tall in stature. Faeries were radiant, almost angelic creatures. Kellan’s long, white blond hair hung in a thick curtain down his back, save for two braids on either side of his face.

“Kellan, it’s good to see you,” Quinn stepped forward and the two embraced comfortably. Like all the supernaturals, the Fae had an intrinsic love for the Guardians who kept them safe, however, unlike most of the other species; they were very demonstrative with their affection.

“Where is Freya?” Quinn asked, glancing around the small living space.

“I’m here,” his wife called, emerging from one of the bedrooms. Like Kellan, Freya was tall and fair, her pale, aquamarine eyes so startlingly like her husband’s that the two could easily be mistaken for brother and sister.

Quinn’s eyes widened as she caught sight of the bulge of the Faery’s abdomen, and Freya smiled, patting her stomach fondly and nodding in affirmation. Quinn enveloped her in a bear hug.

“How long?” She practically squeaked with excitement.

“Just a few more weeks.”

The Fae were, by and large, infertile, and most couples failed to conceive. Their gestation period differed from humans – Fae women were pregnant for eighteen months. Faery babies were rare and each child born was a precious gift. Again, Quinn felt that surge in her blood – her Guardian instinct to protect this child.
“I was just heading out to Dragon’s Peak,” Kellan changed the subject abruptly and Quinn finally tore her eyes from Freya’s belly. Kellan had retrieved his bow and quiver from near the door and slung them over his shoulders. “Perhaps you would like to accompany me, Quinn?”

“Of course,” she replied, as Kellan shoved a hessian sack into the quiver, along with his arrows. The Fae were phenomenal marksmen, particularly the men, although Quinn had once seen Freya hit a moving hare from over a hundred feet away. Their bows, however, were harmless against the thick hide of a dragon and Quinn raised her brow in question.

“We are low on meat supply,” Kellan explained. “I saw a family of wild boar in the woods yesterday. We might stumble across them on our way back.”

Dragon's Peak was the tallest of Summerfeld’s mountain ranges, and, as its name implied, it was there that the few remaining dragons had made their home. Of all Summerfeld’s species, the dragons were the most worrying. Infertility did not affect them, but this did not stop them from destroying each other. Unused to living in such close proximity, the dragons constantly fought over territory, the victors taking out whole clusters of eggs. Slowly, the dragon population had started to diminish. There had been over two hundred when King Eldon had created the City, but now only a quarter of that number remained.

Kellan led Quinn around the back of the house and through a small gate which led them out of the garden and into a huge cornflower field. Quinn couldn’t help but admire the beauty of the City’s setting. Summerfeld was undoubtedly the most exquisite place on Earth.

“Kellan!” a youthful voice called, and Quinn turned to find Velkan, Kellan’s protogee, striding toward them. Velkan wore his long hair exactly the same way Kellan did, the high points of his ears clearly visible, but his hair was a deep mahogany. Like Kellan, he had a bow and quiver slung across his shoulders, and he was wearing a hunting tunic.

“Velkan,” Kellan clapped a hand on the younger mans shoulder. “I will not be needing your help today after all. Quinn will be accompanying me.” Velkan did not argue, or show any emotion. Instead, he bowed respectfully.

“It is good to see you back, Quinn,” he murmured.

“I’m not back,” Quinn quickly corrected, “but it is good to see you, Velkan.”

“We’re low on supplies,” Velkan turned back to Kellan. “Perhaps I should go out hunting?”

“Good idea. I was going to try and track the boar on our way back...”

“I’ll do it,” Velkan offered, before he had even finished speaking. This was the nature of the Fae, their willingness to help others and each other.

“Thank you,” Kellan replied gratefully. “Safe hunting.”

As Velkan walked towards the woods, Kellan smiled across at Quinn, before facing the trees on the other side of the field and emitting a high-pitched whistle.

“So, why are you heading up to Dragon’s Peak?” Quinn asked while they waited.

“The last remaining female Chumana has a cluster of eggs, but her mate was killed by an Orochian male three days ago. It’s only a matter of time before he finds her nest.” Quinn felt the pang of loss. The Chumana, the most beautiful of all the dragon species, was smaller than the others, the colour of their scales ranging from red to orange to the brightest yellow across their bellies. The Chumana had been struggling for survival for the past two hundred years, as the bigger, more vicious dragons picked them off, but the loss of the last surviving male threatened the end of their species. Quinn understood now what the hessian sack was for. The eggs needed to be protected, to ensure that the Chumana survived. Quinn’s protective instinct overtook everything else and she tapped her foot impatiently.

“There they are,” Kellan murmured, and Quinn squinted into the distance. Sure enough two unicorns had emerged from the trees edging the field and were galloping towards them, their manes and tails flying. The unicorns were faster than ordinary horses, their longer legs able to cover more ground.

They stampeded directly towards Quinn and Kellan, and, just as it seemed that they would mow the two down, they skidded to a halt only a few feet away, dropping their handsome heads and waiting expectantly. Quinn reached down and the mare beside her snorted gently into her hand before stamping her hoof on the ground, crushing a few cornflowers in the process. Unicorn mares were easier to ride, being slightly smaller than their male counterparts and having a broader back.

“Etana and Sheehan,” Kellan gestured first at the unicorn closest to her and then at his own mare. Kellan knew the calling name of almost every unicorn in the herd – he had named most of them himself.

“Hello Etana,” Quinn stroked the silky white mane of the gorgeous mare and then, in one swift movement, she grabbed a fistful and hauled herself up onto the unicorn’s back, tucking her legs into the space just in front of Etana’s powerful back legs.

“You ready?” Kellan called briskly. In answer, Quinn squeezed her legs against Etana’s powerful flank and held on tight as the mare reared up and then surged forward, Quinn’s spontaneous peal of laughter carried on the wind behind them.

They continued on in silence, the steady drumbeat of the unicorn’s hooves on the ground marking their progress. To the northwest, Quinn could see Giant’s Castle – a mountainous area nowhere near as high as Dragon’s Peak. Giant’s Castle was home to both the giants and the dwarves, the two species able to live in harmony with one another.

Quinn looked east and she could just make out Lunar Grove in the distance. Habitat of the werewolves at the full moon, Lunar Grove was a woodland sanctuary in which they could roam freely in wolf form. The werewolves, true to their wolf nature, were pack animals led by an Alpha male. Only the Alpha pair would reproduce, which, in Summerfeld, meant that there were few challengers to the Alpha’s rule, however, every now and again, a young male would rise up against his sire and take over as pack leader.

“Is Rafe still the werewolf Alpha?” Quinn called across to Kellan, the thought occurring to her. It had been two years since she had last set foot in Summerfeld, and, though she highly doubted it, things might have changed. Rafe had been the Alpha for an unprecedented seventy-four years when Quinn had left the Guardians to take care of Jack and Ava. She liked Rafe... he was very sociable and gregarious by nature, but a fair and worthy leader.

“No,” Kellan called back, startling her. “He was attacked by a newcomer called Caleb a few weeks ago. Rafe survived,” he added, and Quinn exhaled a sigh of relief. Typically, the new Alpha would kill the previous one because there was not enough territory in Summerfeld for lone wolves to exist in harmony with the pack. “He’s a lone wolf now.”

Quinn whistled in surprise. So Rafe would not be allowed back into Lunar Grove. Werewolves, like their ordinary wolf counterparts, were highly territorial. Lunar Grove was big enough for only one wolf pack and the Lunar pack occupied that territory. There had never been a lone wolf in Summerfeld, but Quinn knew that they tended to be more aggressive and far more dangerous than the average pack member.

“How will he hunt?” Quinn asked solemnly. The full moon was not too far off and a single wolf would have a difficult time bringing down a deer on his own. Kellan slowed Sheehan to a walk so they could talk and Quinn pulled Etana up beside him.

“Channon is with him,” Kellan explained, “but he’s violently angry with her.”

Quinn wasn’t surprised that Rafe would be furious with Channon. Channon was Rafe’s breed mate – his wife, for all intents and purposes. Traditionally, when a new Alpha took control of the pack, he also took possession of the existing Alpha female. Channon should be safe within the pack now, being dominated by the new Alpha – Caleb, Kellan had called him.

“What are they going to do at the full moon?” Quinn asked.

“We’re still not sure. It’s next week,” Kellan glanced skyward automatically, although only the sun was visible. “They may need to be separated during the transformation.” Quinn agreed. If Rafe was angry enough he could pose a real threat to Channon.

“Are they staying in town?” Quinn asked. After all, the wolves were only in wolf form one night a month – the rest of their time was spent as humans.

“Yes, but none of the others will speak to them.” Wolf hierarchy applied, even to their human interactions.

“I’ve never heard of Caleb,” Quinn had racked her brain but she was fairly certain that the name didn’t ring a bell.

“You wouldn’t have. He was only brought into Summerfeld a few weeks ago. Your father found him.”

Chapter 15

Quinn was astounded. Caleb was a werewolf who had been living in the realm of man. No wonder he had challenged Rafe – he was a lone wolf who had been deposited in the middle of an existing pack. And, being a loner, he would be stronger even than the pack Alpha, although far less comfortable interacting with others. It made more sense now, why Channon would have left the pack, if an aggressive, angry Alpha had taken Rafe’s place. His dominance would be merciless.

“Where did my father find him?” Quinn asked and Kellan smiled secretively.

“Quinn, you should know. You are a Guardian, after all.”

“You know why I left,” she pointed out.

“The children?” he sounded sympathetic enough, and Quinn suspected that his own impending fatherhood gave him a new perspective.

“I have to find them, Kellan. Jack and Ava need me.”

“We need you,” he replied softly, no trace of accusation in his tone.

“No harm will come to the City,” she tried to reassure him, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Quinn realised that, as their protector, the wards of Summerfeld might feel abandoned. She had, after all, chosen Jack and Ava over her duty to defend them. Pushing aside her guilt she changed the subject as the mountains came into view before them.

“Has Caleb chosen a bond mate yet?”

“No,” Kellan seemed to understand that she didn’t want to talk about the Guardians anymore, and he continued easily, “Cassandra is desperate for his attention, but he seems intent on claiming Channon for his own – as he should.”

“Channon is a person; she should have a choice.”

“Channon is a wolf – a member of the Lunar pack,” he corrected. “She has a duty and an obligation. She’s upsetting the natural order – even Rafe knows that.”

They both fell silent as they approached the mountains and Quinn glanced upward, squinting through the mist that surrounded Dragon’s Peak. As the shadow of the crag fell over them, Quinn could feel Etana quivering nervously beneath her as they skirted the edge of Lake Avalon.

“We should walk from here,” Kellan announced, sliding down from Sheehan’s back and giving her a hard pat on the rump. While the dragons would never attack the Guardians, Fae or any of the wards outside of the mountain range, they were highly territorial and would feast off the unicorns quite happily for venturing into their territory. Even Quinn and Kellan were in danger, for overstepping the boundary and coming onto dragon soil.

Starting at the base of Dragon’s Peak, Lake Avalon stretched almost a mile away from Quinn. She bent down and dipped a finger in the water, which was icy cold, nestled as the lake was in the shadow of the enormous mountain, a perfect natural habitat for the merfolk. Quinn had only ever seen a merman once, and that was before she had even become a Guardian.

As she stared at the rippling water she recalled the day clearly, since it had been her twelfth birthday. She and Avery had been living in Summerfeld almost seven years and this was the furthest they had ever ventured from their home.

“Avery!” Quinn panted, chasing after her sister. Avery laughed gaily and stepped into the cool shadow of the mountain, while Quinn, further behind, squinted against the bright sunlight.

“We’re not supposed to be out here,” Quinn whined as she reached her sister, casting a nervous glance up at the misty mountain. “The dragons...”

“Scared of the big bad dragons, are you, little sister?” Avery teased, referring to the fact that she had been born seven minutes earlier than Quinn.

“You should be too,” Quinn scolded seriously.

“Here it is,” Avery breathed. She only had eyes for the lake, and even Quinn was distracted. Lake Avalon, home of the merfolk. They had found it.

“Do you think we could call them?” Quinn whispered, and Avery gave a tinkling peal of laughter.

“Why don’t you try?” she grinned. Quinn narrowed her eyes at her sister but she stepped forward, kneeling at the water's edge, the skirt of her summer dress trailing in the lapping wetness.

“Hello,” she called softly, "is anybody there?” She half-expected a mermaid to appear before her, but Avery’s howl of mirth beside her had her back on her feet instantly, her cheeks burning. Embarrassed, she opened her mouth to yell at her sister, but a sudden shriek sounded above them and her blood ran cold in her veins.

“Dragon!” Avery screamed and Quinn lifted her head to see the dark form rushing towards her.

Frozen with fear, she saw the fire shoot from the ugly black mouth and she waited for the flames to engulf her. Cold wet hands grabbed her waist and she yelped in fear, but her cry for help was cut off abruptly as she was pulled beneath the icy surface of the lake. The cold pierced her skin like needles and she watched as the light from the surface above her became smaller and smaller as she was pulled deeper into the lake's murky depths. Struggling against her captor’s hold, she turned and froze as she came face to face with a golden-haired merman. His face was beautiful and he shook his head slowly from side to side, wordlessly warning her not to struggle.

A fiery red light lit the surface of the lake above them but Quinn barely had a moment to register that the merman had saved her life when she was suddenly streaking through the water - so fast that she had to close her eyes. She concentrated on holding her breath, her need for air becoming dangerously desperate. And then, unexpectedly, they broke the surface and Quinn gasped, drawing in a huge lungful of air. Avery was coughing and spluttering beside her, supported by a merwoman with a halo of the same golden hair as the merman. They were on the opposite side of the vast lake, right near the shore and Quinn could make out Dragon’s Peak in the distance. They had travelled a mile under the water in just a few seconds.

“Thank you,” she murmured, meeting her saviour’s onyx black eyes. He had no pupils that she could discern, just a solid black iris. He was somehow both terrifying and beautiful. As soon as she could, Avery screamed, her voice echoing across the lake. Quinn swam towards her and grabbed her arm.

“Quiet!” she hissed, and Avery closed her mouth abruptly, the sight of Quinn seeming to calm her instantly. Quinn was surprised that Avery had been the one to be so terrified. Avery had always seemed so much braver than she was.

The girls made their way to the shore and sat down in the mud, trying to slow their racing hearts.

“You should not have come here,” the merwoman spoke, her gutteral voice in stark contrast to her soft, eerie beauty. Quinn could not answer and Avery simply continued to sob piteously at her side.

“You are the daughters of Braddon?” the merman asked, in the same raspy voice.

“Yes.” Quinn cowered in new-found terror. She would rather face the dragon again than her father’s wrath when he heard of their disobedience. They had been warned never to venture too far from town, and though they had explored almost every inch of Summerfeld, this was the first time they had been caught.

“We will not tell your father of this, Guardian child,” he rasped, ignoring the sudden outburst behind him as the merwoman noisily disagreed, “but be warned, only a true Guardian can visit this place and walk away from it to tell the tale.” Without another word he sank back below the surface of the lake. The merwoman behind him remained where she was for a long moment, her cold obsidian eyes boring into Quinn’s, and then she too departed, leaving the girls wet and shivering and far from home.

“Quinn?” Kellan called softly and Quinn tore her eyes from Lake Avalon to face him. “We should get going; we don’t have much daylight left.” Nodding, Quinn followed him upwards as they started to climb.

Being nocturnal, the dragons were less likely to detect them during the day, particularly if they were quiet. On they climbed, making good progress, until Kellan stopped suddenly and crouched low on his haunches. Quinn knelt beside him, realising they had reached a small canyon, hollowed out in the mountain. Kellan pointed to an outcrop below them and Quinn stared in wonder at the cluster of burnt-orange eggs, nestled in a groove in the rocks below. She counted quickly – there were eight in total. Only eight remaining Chumana dragons. They both ducked behind a sheer rock face as a flapping noise alerted them to the return of the mother, who came to rest on a broad, flat plateau of rock about fifty feet above the egg cluster. She was beautiful; smaller than the other species, but her wondrous colouring – shades of beech leaves in the autumn – set her apart. It also made her an easy target, highly visibly against the colourless grey stone of the mountain.

“How are we going to get the eggs?” Quinn whispered. Dragon's acute night-vision made it imperative they retrieve the eggs before nightfall. That left a mere two hours.

“I was hoping she would be out hunting,” Kellan replied, “but it looks like she’s already done that.” They both eyed the remnants of a mountain ox that lay scattered around where the Chumana female had settled.

“She won’t venture far from those eggs without her mate to stand guard,” Quinn pointed out, her spirits dropping. She had to get back to the Cathedral and away from Summerfeld before the Guardians returned from their search for the Pegasus.

While they watched, the Chumana suddenly rose onto her powerful back legs, her face searching the sky. She emitted a low, threatening hiss, and, for a second, Quinn feared she had caught their scent. Then Kellan pulled her to the ground as an enormous dark form loomed out of the mist above them. Quinn stared up at the dark belly of the beast that flew overhead and held her breath. It was an Orochian – fiercest and most dangerous of all the dragons – every scale on its ugly, gnarled body as black as night.

The Orochian flew straight for the cluster of eggs, ignoring Quinn and Kellan in its desire to destroy the last remaining Chumana line. Rearing up on her hind legs, the Chumana flapped her red wings, and with a snarl of rage, rose to meet her opponent. Fire erupted from her mouth, and the Orochian veered to the left to avoid being incinerated.

“Come on!” Quinn called, rising from her position on the rocky floor and sprinting towards the eggs. She leaped over a small crevice and almost lost her footing on landing, leaning precariously over a sheer cliff face before she righted herself. Kellan grabbed her arm and pulled her forward again, as the two raced hell for leather towards their precious target. The two dragons above them hissed and roared, and more than once Quinn felt a blast of heat, like an open furnace, whoosh over her.

Distracted by the Orochian, the Chumana female had abandoned her eggs, and, for the time being, she had not noticed Quinn and Kellan, but it was only a matter of time before she did, and then she would unleash her maternal fury on them instead.

They reached the cluster and began depositing the eggs into the sack that Kellan carried over his shoulder. It didn’t take long, although they were careful, and they started to retreat, back the way they had come, only this time much more slowly. Kellan could not risk breaking the precious eggs he carried. Dragon eggs' outer shells were hard and durable – even fire-resistant - but the eggs would not survive a fall from this height. Quinn sensed the second that the Chumana realised her eggs were gone. A high-pitched squeal sounded above them, louder than any they had heard before, and Quinn raised her eyes to see the fiery red dragon bearing down on them. Quinn scoured the ground around her. Just up ahead, a small outcrop of rocks provided a way down.

“Kellan, go!” she pointed at the make-shift stairs and Kellan immediately clambered over the edge of the rocky path, dropping nimbly onto the rocks below. He lifted his arms to help her, but Quinn shook her head. “Go!” she iterated, turning on her heel and running, as fast as she could, down the original path they had taken. She had to lead the mother away; Kellan would never outrun her carrying his precious burden. Quinn sprinted, leaping over rocks and scrabbling across boulders. More than once she slipped, grazing her body painfully on the jagged surface, and all the while she realised that one wrong step and she would be flung out into the void, plummeting to her death.

She heard the hiss behind her that signalled that the Chumana was about to mow her down in a breath of fire, and, just in time, she threw herself behind a large boulder. The fire streaked around her, missing her by inches, and the boulder itself sizzled with the intensity of the heat. Knowing that the dragon would need a few moments before she could launch another attack, Quinn didn’t hesitate. She vaulted forward and kept running.

She was descending the mountain much faster than was sensible, but she didn’t slow down. Now that she was moving downhill, the Chumana had to circle around in order to attack and this was buying her some time. She prayed that Kellan had made it to safety – the path he had taken was steeper and required climbing, but it was a direct route and a much faster way to the base of the mountain.

Twice the Chumana breathed its fire at her and on both occasions she managed to avoid being burnt to a crisp. The third time the Chumana circled, Quinn realised too late that she could not hide. The dragon approached her head-on and the only escape would be to vault off the mountain. As Quinn couldn’t fly – that would be suicide. She watched in horror as the Chumana flapped her dazzling wings, bringing her closer and closer in a matter of seconds. Quinn dropped to her knees, lifting her arms to shield her face, but she could not take her eyes off the sight before her. She thought of Jack and Ava and how she had failed them. She should never have come back. In the final seconds the Chumana opened her mouth and Quinn heard the deadly hiss that signalled the fire to come.

She saw the flames burgeoning in the massive throat and, in the same instant, the Orochian hit the Chumana broadside, at full speed. The larger dragon slammed the younger female brutally into the side of the mountain. In her weakened state, and pinned as she was, the Chumana could not retaliate, and Quinn watched, frozen in horror, as the Orochian used its massive claws and jaws to tear into the smaller dragon. It was all over in a matter of seconds. The Orochian released its prey and the Chumana dropped down the side of the mountain, lifeless. The Orochian beat its black wings and turned its hideous head, its black eyes finding Quinn.

Chapter 16

Quinn bolted. She had only a few seconds before the Orochian managed to turn its body, and she shot past the place where it hovered, streaking down the mountain once again. As with the Chumana, the Orochian had to circle around to reach her, and Quinn only hoped she could evade its attack long enough to reach the bottom.

The first assault was easy enough to avoid – Quinn had anticipated the timing and she positioned herself next to a craggy mass of fallen boulders, waiting until the last second before dodging behind them. The second the fire stopped, she continued down the mountain. Quinn had been lucky until then, but abruptly her luck ran out. The front of her sneaker caught in a fissure and she crashed heavily to the ground, twisting her ankle in the process.

Cursing, Quinn lifted herself gingerly and tried to put pressure on her injured foot. A sharp pain shot up her leg and she almost collapsed. Searching the sky, she could see no sign of the Orochian, but she knew it would round the mountain any second now. Ignoring the agonising pain, she started to hop forward, putting most of her weight on her good leg. It was tedious and slow going, but she gritted her teeth determinedly and continued on. An enormous cliff face rose up beside her and she used it to steady herself as she hopped alongside it.

A bone-chilling shriek rent the air and the hair on the back of Quinn’s neck stood up. The Orochian had rounded the mountain and was diving towards her, its ugly maw open and ready to blast her with its fire. Quinn hopped forward, towards it, praying that she would find an opening in the cliff face, or a way down before it reached her. The dragon’s wings beat the air relentlessly, bringing it closer and closer, and, once again, Quinn was reminded of that fateful afternoon with Avery. There were no merfolk to save her now – no one but herself. She wouldn’t give in. Still hopping forward, she kept her eyes fixed on the gruesome beast.

Suddenly someone stepped into her line of vision, blocking out the terrifying sight of the Orochian. He grabbed her around the waist and pushed her forcefully backward. Quinn braced herself, expecting to slam into the cliff face, but instead, she was plunged into a cool, dank darkness. Kellan had come back! She sighed in relief, feeling dizzy and clung to him desperately – all her fear and emotion overwhelming her.

She felt the heat of the dragon’s fire – intended for her – blast past the entrance to the small cave, and then smiled weakly at the furious screech that followed.

“You’re okay, Quinn,” a low, melodious voice murmured in her ear, while two strong arms encircled her. Focused on the distant flapping of those great black wings, it took Quinn a moment to notice that the voice was deeper than Kellan’s, and that she would recognise it anywhere.

“Tristan!” she yelled angrily, taking a step back and away from him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Saving your life?” he retorted angrily. As Quinn’s eyes adjusted to the darkness she could just make out the line of his jaw, and his tousled, deliberately messy hair. His blue eyes looked black in the darkness.

“I thought you would be out searching for the Pegasus,” Quinn blurted out without thinking and for a second his face fell.

“We just got back..., wait a minute... you’ve been keeping tabs on us,” the indignation in his voice was understandable, “you tried to avoid me?”

“Yes,” she replied defiantly.

“Quinn, don’t do this. Please. You’re one of us.”

“What about Jack and Ava?” Quinn hissed, the disappointment in his voice stirring up feelings that she didn’t want to feel.

“What about Jack and Ava?”

“Don’t you care about them at all? Don’t you think they deserve better than what the Guardians have in store for them?”

“How would you know what the Guardians have in store for them? It’s hardly as if you ever stop to listen.” His comment caught her off guard but she quickly returned to the attack.

“Your children deserve to be loved, Tristan!”

“I do love them!” he thundered, grabbing her by her shoulders and shaking her so hard her teeth rattled in her mouth. “They are my children, Quinn. Mine! Not yours! You don’t get to decide what’s best for them.” He released her suddenly and her injured leg gave out. She dropped to the ground painfully, her thoughts a maelstrom of confusion. Tristan knelt beside her, seemingly contrite after his angry outburst.

“Quinn, I’m sorry. I just... miss her, so much,” his voice broke and Quinn’s eyes widened in surprise. She had not spoken to Tristan since Avery’s funeral, and that had only been to yell a few harsh words of accusation at him before her father had dragged her away. Tristan had not responded and Quinn had built him up to be a monster in her mind over the past two years. He had visited the children very seldom and Quinn had always made sure that she was long gone by the time he arrived, leaving her father to chaperone. She realised this was the first time she was witnessing Tristan’s reaction to Avery’s death firsthand, and he seemed genuinely distraught.

“I should never have left her,” Tristan continued, oblivious to Quinn’s epiphany. “Maybe I could have stopped them. I might have saved her,” he broke off as his emotions overwhelmed him.

“Why did you leave her?” Quinn asked, her words kinder than she had intended. The Orochian’s cries were growing fainter.

“I was told to,” it sounded so simple, “that’s how it works, they said. Avery was to return too, you know.” Quinn’s eyes bugged in her face.

“What?”

“Avery was a Guardian too – I don’t think there’s ever been a case like that. She was told that she would have to leave the children and return, and she was okay with that. She understood,” he shrugged desolately. “They gave her more time, obviously, and said she would have access to Jack and Ava, but that they would be raised by another couple who would love them like their own.” A pregnant pause followed these words until Quinn couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Who?” she demanded, a niggling suspicion coming over her. “Who were Jack and Ava to be sent to?” Tristan’s words, when they came, confirmed that her hunch was correct.

“Kellan and Freya.”

“I don’t believe you. Avery would never have allowed it,” Quinn got angrily to her feet. “She loved the twins – she would never have consented to letting them go.”

“She did,” Tristan assured her. “Don’t you see, Quinn? You have to let this go. Braddon told us that you want what Avery would have wanted for the twins. Well she wanted to protect the City. You don’t have to prove anything - if you want to fulfil Avery’s wishes, return to the Guardians.”

“I... I can’t,” Quinn shook her head. “Jack and Ava need me. It’s not their fault that both of their parents were Guardians. If you and Avery hadn’t ever...” she trailed off as the conversation took a turn into uncomfortable territory, “if you hadn’t met, they would have been born to at least one human parent and they would have been raised by that parent.”

“You’re still blaming me for falling for Avery?” he smiled bleakly.

“This has nothing to do with that,” Quinn snapped. How dare he make this about what had happened between them.

“Tell me Quinn,” Tristan changed the subject, “do you not feel the kinship? The loyalty to the inhabitants of Summerfeld?”

Quinn thought of the crippling agony she had felt when the female Chumana had been slain by the Orochian. She had felt it deeply, in her blood, in her very soul. A tearing, agonising pain over the loss of one of her wards – an animal she was sworn to protect.

“I do,” she admitted.

“Then come back. You cannot fight your instinct forever.” His words echoed Isaiah’s sentiments, angering Quinn.

“My instinct is first and foremost to protect those children,” she countered. “Once that is done, I will return.”

She couldn’t bear the stifling atmosphere that being closeted so close to Tristan induced for a moment longer and she limped out of the cave, with Tristan right behind her. The Orochian was long gone by the time they emerged and the sun had set, darkness enveloping them. The moon shone feebly in the black sky and Quinn thought idly of Rafe and Channon, and how they would fare during the next full moon.

As they headed down the mountain, Tristan supported her with his right arm, and Quinn felt the heat of his skin through her thin black tank top. She wanted to push him away, but she needed his help descending Dragon’s Peak – her ankle was healing, but still tender.

“Do you know where they are?” she asked eventually, breaking the tension that was building between them. She hoped against hope that he would know where Jack and Ava were being kept. Tristan shook his head.

“I don’t.” Despite her reservations, Quinn believed him.

“Quinn! Tristan!” Kellan called to them as soon as they were within earshot and he hurried towards them. They had reached the base of the mountain and Kellan was still clutching the laden hessian sack.

“You made it,” Quinn breathed a sigh of relief. The Chumana eggs were safe – the species would survive. Then she remembered Tristan’s words and she turned away from Kellan abruptly, unable to contain her anger as she gazed upon him.

“Tristan, why are you here?” Kellan echoed her earlier words. Quinn had forgotten all about her initial question.

“I came to deliver a message to Isaiah,” Tristan replied. “When he told me that Quinn had entered the City, I came to find her. Freya pointed me in the right direction.” Quinn was too angry to comprehend what he was saying, but Kellan grasped the significance of his words straight away.

“What message?” he asked, a frown creasing his pale, normally unlined forehead. Tristan’s reply took Quinn’s breath away.

“Rourke is dead.”

The Pegasus had not been in the Sea of Trees Forest. It was doubtful that the winged horse had ever really been there. The vampires had planted a false seed, a trail that they knew the Guardians would be unable to resist following. They had been ambushed, Tristan explained. As Quinn had suspected, no Hunters had joined the search for the Pegasus – an exploratory mission did not require it. Daniel, Liam, Blair and Garrett would not have accompanied the others. And, while ordinary Guardians are more than capable of dealing with vampires, the group had been impossibly outnumbered. It was a wonder that Rourke was the only casualty.

“My father?” Quinn gasped, but Tristan placed a reassuring hand on her arm.

“Your father is fine. Everyone made it out – everyone but Rourke.” Rourke had been a Guardian even longer than Quinn and she had always liked and admired him. His death was a great loss to the Guardianship. He was also the first Guardian to be killed since Avery and secretly the others feared his replacement would not come forward either. Would their number slowly be reduced until none remained? Again, Quinn wondered if something had gone wrong – if Eldon’s magic was fading away, or if the Guardian charm was broken.

“We should get you both back to the Cathedral,” Kellan interjected, lifting his fingers to his mouth and whistling as he had done before. “In the meantime, I can help with that,” he gestured at her injured ankle. He pulled a small leather pouch from his pocket and rubbed a healing salve directly onto her skin, leaving her with only a slight tenderness in the affected area. Even without their magic, the Faeries' knowledge of plants and natural remedies was amazing. Quinn’s own accelerated healing would do the rest.

Etana and Sheehan appeared shortly after, emerging from the dark, their horns gleaming in the pale moonlight.

“How did you get here?” Quinn asked and Tristan pointed at Etana.

“She brought me.” Etana gazed at the two of them, her liquid brown eyes seeming to hold a message that Quinn couldn’t decipher. Kellan pulled himself nimbly onto Sheehan’s back and the mare turned and trotted in the direction of the town.

“Shall we?” Tristan asked. Quinn could see no other solution, so she allowed him to help her up and then stiffened as he pulled himself up behind her, his tanned arms coming around her to grab Etana’s mane.

With a gentle kick to her flank, Tristan urged the unicorn into a canter and Quinn tried not to think about the nearness of the man who might not have betrayed her sister after all.

Chapter 17

They dismounted in the same cornflower field and Quinn stroked Etana’s muzzle fondly before patting her rump and sending her back to the Silver Oaks Forest.

“I’ll meet you at the Cathedral,” she told Tristan, “I want to speak to Kellan. Alone,” she added, as he opened his mouth to argue.

“What will you do with the eggs now?” Quinn asked as they entered Kellan’s garden through the little gate.

“I will simply keep them safe,” he replied, casting a curious glance in her direction. “Dragons’ eggs are very durable – they do not need much looking after. Once they hatch we will find a safe place for them until they can return to Dragon’s Peak. Quinn followed him into a small shed complete with fireplace. Over the years Kellan had nurtured more than his fair share of struggling hatchlings, but never before had he had to deal with a whole cluster. Also, he usually returned the injured baby to a mother who could protect it. These last remaining Chumanas had no-one, and could only be returned once fully grown and better able to defend themselves. They certainly wouldn’t fit inside this small shed for long.

“When you say safe place...?”

“One of the smaller mountain ranges, perhaps, I’m not entirely sure. Most of the City is occupied – and we need to find somewhere secluded where they won’t cause any trouble.”

“Cathedral Peak is isolated,” Quinn pointed out.

“But it’s too close to the others.” This was true. Cathedral Peak, while far from the other habitats, was only a few miles from Dragon’s Peak – the other dragons might detect the Chumana babies.

“I need to speak to Isaiah,” Kellan announced as he placed the eggs near the fireplace, “he may know of somewhere safe.”

“Will they breed?” Quinn asked. Dragons interbred all the time as their numbers dwindled, but she had never heard of sibling breeding.

“They should do. Sibling breeding is not uncommon, and, as long as the conditions are right, there should be no problem.”

“So why do you sound so concerned?” Quinn pressed. Kellan’s aquamarine eyes crinkled slightly at the corners as he smiled at her.

“I’m just worried we have eight boys here – or eight girls, for that matter.” Quinn didn’t return his smile. She was no longer worried about the dragons – the chance of all eight eggs producing one gender was practically non-existent – and she had more important matters on her mind. Kellan sighed.

“Why don’t we just get to it, then? I assume, judging by the anger radiating off you that Tristan told you that Freya and I were to be Jack and Ava’s adoptive parents?”

“Yes,” Quinn replied coldly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Quinn, I've known you a very long time. Maybe you've forgotten that Freya and I raised you and Avery during your time here in Summerfeld?”

“Of course I haven’t forgotten. It was sixteen years of my life.” Her tone implied that they were not a happy sixteen years.

“You were not happy here – with us?” Kellan probed, sincere concern on his striking face.

Quinn realised she was being monumentally unfair. Kellan and Freya had treated both her and Avery as their own children – they had had many happy memories together.

“It wasn’t you, or Freya, Kellan. I hated the confines of this place. I belonged in the human world – with my own kind.”

“I understand,” Kellan smiled sadly. “Although from my side, our time with you and Avery is one of our most cherished memories. Now, as to the matter of Jack and Ava. Yes – Freya and I offered to raise them, as we had done for you – as we have done for many Guardian progeny. As you know, until very recently, we could not have children of our own, and it was an honour to be a part of so many young lives. Avery approached us directly, shortly after the twins were born, and asked if we would be the custodians.  We agreed without hesitation.”

“Avery asked you?” Quinn interrupted – this new piece of information leaving her stunned. How had she not known all of this? Why had Avery kept her in the dark?

“Yes,” Kellan smiled. “I would hardly agree to raise someone else’s child if they were against it themselves.” Quinn shook her head, trying to make sense of it all as he continued. “Quinn, it is an honour to help the Guardians – after all you do for us. And do not forget that we are family – our blood runs in your veins.”

“It’s hard to forget,” Quinn muttered. The blood of the ten that had been imbued in her when the white tattoo had branded her skin was what made her so fiercely loyal to the inhabitants of Summerfeld. Only one thing had proved stronger – her kinship with her family – the blood of her own. And yet, each day was a struggle – to deny her instinctive urge to put Summerfeld first.  “The Guardians protect Summerfeld at great cost,” Kellan continued as though she had not spoken, “please do not think that we underestimate the sacrifices that you make. Without you, we would be lost.”

Quinn gazed at Kellan thoughtfully. Avery had wanted him and Freya to raise the twins - she had asked them personally. Quinn still believed that her sister would have preferred Jack and Ava to grow up in the realm of man, but knowing this could never happen, she had turned to the Fae couple who she loved the most.

“Would you do it now?” Quinn asked, a lump forming in her throat as she voiced the question.

“Would you take Jack and Ava? If I return to the Guardians, could they come and stay with you?” If this is what it would take to know that Jack and Ava were protected, then she could do it. If she trusted anyone other than herself to love the children, it would be the Faery before her and his gentle wife.

To her astonishment, Kellan shook his head.

“We can’t, Quinn. We’re having a baby of our own,” he held up a hand to silence her as she made to argue. “It is not what you think. There is plenty of love in our home for three children. It is the teaching that our own child will be put through that poses the problem. It is up to us to teach him or her the magic that is passed down through our generations. We cannot allow human children to witness our teachings – it would be breaking the Taboo.”

“But you have no magic!” Quinn exclaimed. King Eldon had stripped the Fae of their magic and sealed it within the Rose Temple.

“Just because it is gone doesn’t mean we have lost the knowledge,” he smiled, “our magic will return when the temple is opened.” Again, the unshakeable belief in the Book, Quinn thought sardonically. “And when that time comes, only those who have not been taught will be powerless to use it,” Kellan continued. “Fae magic is powerful and not easy to wield. It could overwhelm an untrained user and do more harm than good. Our child must learn the teachings of our kind.” Quinn thought briefly of Princess Enah who had broken with tradition all those years ago and the tragic ending to her story. “Neither the Fae nor the Guardians would allow us to house the children now,” Kellan added desolately.

Quinn entered the house and thanked Freya, hugging her warmly and wishing her all the best in the forthcoming weeks.

“Will we not see you before the baby’s birth?” Freya asked, looking perplexed. Quinn met Kellan’s eyes over her shoulder.

“No,” she replied. Freya’s face fell, but she quickly hid her hurt.

“Well, it was wonderful to see you again, Quinn,” she forced a smile.

“You too.”

Kellan walked her back to the courtyard and they stopped at the fountain.

“Quinn, could you do me a favour?”
“Anything,” she answered, meaning it.

“Could you come back at the full moon?”

“Kellan... I... I’m not going to be very welcome.” Quinn had no intention of returning to Summerfeld until she had found and secured Jack and Ava.

“That’s precisely why I’m asking,” he replied mysteriously. “I need help with Rafe and Channon’s full moon transformation. The Guardians will have enough on their plate with Rourke’s death and the new replacement. You are the only one who has free rein to do as you wish - for now, anyway. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”

“I’ll try,” Quinn couldn’t think of a valid reason to deny him, but she would not make any promises.

“Thank you,” he nodded, squeezing her arm. He released her quickly as she closed her eyes to move through the Gateway.

Quinn heard them before she opened her eyes. The Guardians were back, she had been too long. Inside the Cathedral there was chaos. Everyone was yelling and Piper was crying. Piper and Rourke had been close, Quinn remembered – it had been Rourke who had trained Piper.

“Quinn,” Tristan hurried over to her before the others even noticed she was there. Great, thought Quinn. She had tried to enter the City undetected and now the entire Guardian council was here. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she answered, heading for the door, “I need to get out of here.” She passed Isaiah who simply watched her go.

“Quinn!” Daniel’s voice was one of authority and hard to ignore. Cursing her bad luck, Quinn swivelled on the spot to face him. “Sit down,” Daniel ordered, as the remaining Guardians took their places at the council table. Daniel was the complete antithesis of Isaiah. Shorter, with a barrel chest, his arms were muscular and for good reason. Daniel was as strong as an ox and he looked like a warrior, down to the shoulder-length sandy blond hair swept off his high forehead. Averting her gaze from his naked chest, the bronzed skin the colour of caramel, Quinn focused on the circular tattoos running down the length of his arms. Daniel still wore the original Guardian garb – complete with black leather pants, greaves and arm-bracers.

Tristan eyed Quinn and Daniel with concern, but Quinn ignored him. She had a choice – she could leave now and head back to Brookfield, but she had no leads and no idea how to find Jack and Ava. She had nothing to lose by staying and hearing out the council meeting, and, if she was honest with herself, she was far more affected by Rourke’s death than she cared to admit.

She took her seat beside the vacant chair that separated her and Tristan – a poignant reminder of Avery’s absence. Across the table, tears streamed down Piper’s face. The empty chair beside her had been Rourke’s.

“Where are Lucas and Garrett?” Quinn asked, craning her neck to search the Cathedral. Lucas was an ordinary Guardian, like she was. Garrett was a Hunter.

Despite Eldon’s protective enchantments, the vampires had sworn an oath to destroy the last of the Fae and their allies, and so they searched, relentlessly. Their Quest was perpetual, their thirst for vengeance never ending. Knowing the City’s inhabitants would never truly be safe unless the vampires were eradicated, King Eldon had selected four of the twelve Guardians as Hunters and used his magic to instil in them all the skills they would require to seek and destroy vampires, his magic turning their white tattoos black. There were always twelve Guardians of whom four were Hunters, and Daniel had been leading them since the beginning.

“On Guardian business,” Daniel snapped. Lucas, was, of course, actually baby-sitting the children Quinn was so desperately searching for. Garrett was in town, just a few blocks away. Daniel had sent him away the second he had heard Quinn was in Summerfeld so that she wouldn’t suspect anything. One Guardian missing a council meeting would rouse Quinn’s suspicions, and she would probably figure out that was where the children would be.

“What happened?” Daniel got straight to business and Braddon recounted the story of their ambush.

“I think it is safe to assume that the Pegasus is well and truly lost,” Isaiah intoned when he was done. The mood at the table was sombre.

“We have more pressing matters at hand,” Daniel rerouted the conversation, “the loss of our brother Rourke,” he added, casting an unusually soft glance at Piper, who sniffed loudly, “means that a new Guardian should be on his or her way.”

“How can you be so sure?” Blair interrupted. Blair Lindberg had been a Guardian for eighty years before becoming a Hunter over four hundred years ago. Other than Daniel and Isaiah, she had lived longer than any other Guardian alive. She was a formidable adversary, her vampire kill count second only to Daniel’s. With her cropped dark hair and short, athletic body, Blair was also completely unfazed by Daniel. She treated him with the same disdain she bestowed upon all the Guardians. And yet, Quinn was acutely aware that Blair had the most maternal instinct when it came to the Summerfeld wards. She loved each and every creature that lived within the City’s walls. “This is the first Guardian loss we have suffered since Avery,” Blair continued, impervious to the sensitive nature of the topic and Avery’s loved ones who surrounded her, “Avery’s replacement was never found. How do we know Rourke’s will emerge? Is there a possibility that the Guardian charm has been compromised – that our numbers will continue to dwindle?” Quinn had been thinking the exact same thing, but hearing it spoken aloud made the possibility all too real.

“King Eldon’s magic cannot be undone,” Daniel replied, turning to Isaiah for confirmation. Daniel had been charmed by King Eldon himself as one of the original twelve, but Isaiah had explored the Sacred Book most deeply – he knew more about the Fae magic than any other Guardian. Isaiah nodded, confirming Daniel’s proclamation, and Blair sat back in her seat, satisfied.

“Quinn,” Daniel turned to address her, his hair pulled off his face in a ponytail. His crossbow was slung across his back. Blair, Liam and Garret were dressed in more modern Hunter attire –black shirts tucked into black cargo pants and heavy-duty black boots. “You are back, I assume?” His eyes flashed angrily, daring her to contradict him.

“No,” Quinn met his gaze levelly, her own tanzanite eyes gleaming.

“No?” he exclaimed, and Quinn took a deep breath.

“I appeal again to the council to be allowed a leave of absence from my duties. You all know my reasons.”

An interminable silence followed her words and all eyes at the table seemed to focus on her accusingly. Quinn sat up straight in her seat, refusing to be intimidated. Daniel’s reply was almost identical to the one he had given her two years ago.

“The Guardians need you, Quinn. You have an obligation to Summerfeld.”

“I have an obligation to my niece and nephew.” Daniel smiled at that and played his trump card.

“Tristan is their father. Tristan, what say you? Are you happy with our decision to keep the children safe?”

Quinn rounded on Tristan, her eyes beseeching him to support her – to advocate that she be allowed to raise Jack and Ava. Tristan met her eyes and a myriad of emotion passed between them. Quinn held her breath, but, as Tristan dropped his gaze, she knew what his answer would be.

“Yes,” he admitted, “I believe the children will be safe. I think Quinn should return,” his voice was stronger now although he refused to make eye contact with her.

“You son-of-a-bitch!” Quinn felt tears spring to her eyes. He had betrayed her again. She was surprised how much it hurt.

“That is enough, Quinn!” her father called angrily across the table. “Tristan just saved our lives while you sat around feeling sorry for yourself! He single-handedly brought down half a dozen vampires. He deserves your respect, if nothing else.”

Quinn did a double-take. Tristan must be exceptionally skilled to have taken down six vampires on his own, and more astonishing, he seemed to have earned even her father’s grudging respect. Tristan had always showed enormous potential – she recalled how impressed she had been when training him – and he had obviously fulfilled that potential. Nevertheless, Tristan’s prowess was not her concern and she got to her feet.

“I will not abandon them!” she yelled back, mortification making her even angrier as tears spilled unbidden from her eyes. Everything was falling apart. Desperately she cast her mind around for a reason, an excuse – anything she could use to convince them. “What about Avery’s crystal?” she snatched at the idea.

“What about it?” Daniel asked.

“If I can bring you Avery’s crystal, will you allow me this time with them?”

“Do you have the crystal?” her father demanded.

“No,” she stammered, brushing the tears angrily from her cheeks. “But I can find it. Avery left me a clue.” She glanced at Tristan, hoping to gain some hint from his expression as to whether he might know where it was. Instead, she saw an accepting smile cross his face.

“What clue?” Braddon persisted and now Quinn smiled, through her tears.

“I have no intention of telling you that.”

“Dammit, Quinn, this is important! You know how valuable that crystal is. We cannot let it fall into the wrong hands.” Her father was apoplectic with rage.

“As I said,” Quinn replied calmly, “I will find it. And when I do, I will return it to you; in exchange for the children. Do we have a deal?”

“We have a deal.” To her surprise, it was Daniel who answered – his face an inscrutable mask.

Isaiah stood abruptly.

“I believe we have company,” he announced. Everyone fell silent and in that moment, a timid tapping sounded on the Cathedral doors. Everyone except Quinn remained seated as Isaiah made his way to open them.

“Welcome,” his voice carried back to them, and even Quinn held her breath as the new Guardian stepped into the atrium, her green eyes wide with wonder.

There was a collective intake of breath as everyone at the table gaped at the child beside Isaiah. She could not be older than fifteen, her long red hair pulled back in a neat ponytail that trailed down her back.

“Monique?” Tristan’s question rang out in the deathly silence of the cavernous room.

Chapter 18

The young girl’s eyes found his face in a flash of recognition and she ran towards him.

“Uncle Tristan!” she cried, throwing herself at him and hugging him tightly.

“Uncle Tristan?” Quinn asked over her slim shoulders.

“My niece,” he explained, “my sister’s child.”

Tristan had only been a Guardian for a few years, and Quinn was well aware that he had living relatives remaining in the realm of man. What didn’t make sense was that this child had been branded a Guardian at such a young age. Isaiah had been eighteen when he was branded, the youngest ever. Daniel seemed to be thinking along the same lines, and he roused himself from the catharsis of shock, stepped forward and lifted Monique’s wrist. The white tattoo was clearly visible.

“It’s true, then,” Daniel dropped her arm.

“Of course it is,” Isaiah smiled fondly at the child.

“How did you get here?” Tristan asked. Quinn completely understood the question – how had Monique travelled to Summerfeld on her own. Monique seemed confused by the question as though the answer was obvious.

“My mom brought me,” she replied, as footsteps sounded on the flagstone outside and they all turned to watch as a white-faced, shaken, and utterly human woman stepped inside the Cliffdale Cathedral.

The only good thing to come out of a human entering this magical place, Quinn mused to herself, was the fact that everyone seemed to have forgotten the issue of her leaving to search for Avery’s crystal. Daniel was in an uproar – never in one thousand years had an ordinary human crossed the threshold of the Cathedral, unless they were a child of a fallen Guardian, such as Quinn and Avery had been. In fact, as a result of the protective enchantments, no ordinary human had been within a few miles of Cliffdale. They would never cross through the portal, which was disguised as a sheer cliff face. To step over it would be tantamount to suicide.

Monique’s mother, Camille, was understandably shaken. She was a widow; her husband had been a helicopter pilot and had been killed in a training operation when Monique was only a few years old. A few days ago, she explained, Monique had packed up her things and announced that she had a journey to make. Unbeknown to Camille, the appearance of the inexplicable tattoo on her daughter’s left wrist was not an act of teenage rebellion and coincided with Rourke’s death. Camille had forbidden Monique to leave the house, but she had not bargained on the 15-year-old’s determination. Twice, she had snuck out, and the second time Camille had tracked her down over three miles from home. When Camille mentioned therapy, Monique had reacted violently, which was so completely out of character for the kind, peaceful child that a terrified, Camille had consented to driving Monique where she wanted to go.

“We stopped to get this,” Monique announced proudly, pulling a jagged emerald fragment from the pocket of her jeans.

“Where did you...?” Tristan trailed off as Daniel shook his head. The crystal, which had been Rourke’s, now belonged to Monique and the secret of its previous location was hers alone.

“You should hide that,” Isaiah advised gently, “somewhere only you can find it.”

“What is going on?” Camille asked breathlessly. “We thought you were dead?” she eyed her brother reproachfully.

“I’m sorry, Cami.” Tristan was genuinely remorseful. He had no words to explain it to her; she was human after all, and the Guardians’ secrets were not his alone to share. It would be up Isaiah to decide just how much they would share with Camille.

“How did Monique find this place?” she continued, distraught, “I couldn’t even see it until we were practically on the doorstep and yet she knew exactly where to go.” She shuddered, recalling crossing through the portal.

“If you come with me,” Isaiah interrupted, “I will explain everything.” He indicated that they should follow him and proceeded through a side door that led to the archives room. Monique trotted along happily behind him, but Camille kept casting anxious glances over her shoulder. “If you could wait here, I will be back in a moment,” Isaiah offered Camille a chair, but she shook her head. Monique, however, collapsed casually onto a wing-backed armchair.

Isaiah returned to the others.

“That child cannot be a Guardian,” Blair, typically, addressed the elephant in the room.

“She is destined,” Isaiah contradicted, “she can, and she will be.”

“She’s only a child!” Tristan let his own shock show now that his family were out of earshot. At his words, a jolt of intuition surged through Quinn so quickly that she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, and the moment she tried to recall it, it was gone.

“She will learn; I will tutor her myself,” Isaiah soothed Tristan’s fears, but Quinn noticed that his gaze slid over her knowingly, as if he knew what had just happened.

Quinn got to her feet, deciding it was time to go. She was being dragged slowly and reluctantly back into her old way of life. Her curiosity was piqued, and she found that she wanted to stay to see how things would play out. She needed to get out of here before it got to the point that she couldn’t.

“Quinn,” Daniel halted her as she pushed back her chair, “you have one month.” Quinn nodded – it was more than she had expected.

“In the meantime,” Isaiah added, “feel free to come and go as you please. Summerfeld is your home, too.”

Quinn thanked him, feeling better now that she was not technically in hiding, although she doubted she would return to the City before her month was up. Even then, if she had not found the crystal, she had no intention of following Daniel’s orders. She would not stop until she could make the trade and get Jack and Ava back. Even if she had to run again to buy herself more time.

“Isaiah,” she called, as the grey-haired Guardian turned to head back to his new charge, “may I have a word?” He nodded and she followed him across the room and through the door to the archives. Quinn smiled briefly at Monique and Camille, and Isaiah promised them again that he would be with them in just a few moments. He led Quinn through the outer record room and into a small, cosy office behind it, gesturing to her to sit.

“What is it, Quinn?” She took a deep breath, knowing that what she was about to ask was tantamount to treason.

“I want to know if there is anything in the Sacred Book about reversing the Guardian charm.” There; she had said it. Isaiah, to his credit, remained impassive; at least on the outside, but when he spoke, his words were laden with sorrow.

“Are you saying that you want to leave us?”

“Yes,” she could not lie to the Guardian she held the most respect for. He said nothing, but his amber eyes did not leave her face. “I need to break the tie,” she explained quickly, “I am tired of fighting it, but I will, for as long as it takes. Nobody seems to understand but I have got to protect Jack and Ava. They are my blood; I refuse to put Summerfeld before them.”

“The lives of the children are but a drop in the ocean in comparison to the eternity that we will protect the City, Quinn. I have lived a very long time and I too have been tempted – wondered if my life would be better served taking care of my own. I have been where you are now – and I have come to realise that nothing is more important than protecting the surviving members of the supernatural. They are the very last of their kind and our most precious treasures. We cannot lose sight of that. Without us, they would perish and be gone forever. Jack and Ava are important to you, I understand that. But they are not in any danger. They will be cared for and loved. And in nineteen years they will be free to lead their own lives. One day you will look back on this futile mission and realise the insignificance of your undertaking.”

As passionate as his words were, Quinn refused to be swayed.

“Is there a way?” she insisted.

“No,” he answered, almost too quickly.

“Isaiah?”

“I have spent a thousand years studying the Sacred Book, Quinn. There is nothing in it that mentions a way to undo the Guardian charm.” Quinn sensed his words held both truth and lies, but he met her gaze levelly.

“I want to see the book – I want to see for myself.”

“Be my guest,” he gestured towards the antechamber where the book was kept, “but do you honestly think that you will find something in there that I haven’t?”

“Maybe you overlooked something...” Quinn faltered. The truth was, she had seen the book herself, had studied it – not as intimately as Isaiah, but certainly more than any other Guardian. And she had never come across anything that even remotely hinted at undoing the Guardian charm.

“Perhaps,” Isaiah smiled indulgently, “but I must get back to Monique and her mother. Feel free to take as much time as you need.”  With that, he stood and headed out of the door, back to Monique and her mother, leaving Quinn with the disturbing feeling that for the first time he was not being entirely honest with her.

Quinn said a very curt goodbye to the others, but she did hug Piper before she left.

“I’m so sorry... about Rourke.”

Piper smiled tearfully, pursing her lips to keep from crying. Piper had been Quinn’s closest Guardian friend after Avery, and she had turned to Piper for companionship when Avery and Tristan had started their romance. Without Piper, Quinn doubted she would have survived the first few months of their relationship. Piper had kept Quinn’s confidence – she had never enlightened Avery as to how Quinn really felt, or how serious Quinn and Tristan’s relationship had been.

“I’ve missed you,” Piper murmured and Quinn felt a stab of guilt. Piper had been there for her through her loss, and now Piper was the one who had lost someone and Quinn was deserting her. Piper, Quinn and Blair were the only female guardians and Blair was hardly someone who Piper could confide in. Maybe having Monique join the Guardians would give Piper someone to get close to. Despite her youth, Monique would grow up quickly in this world, and Piper’s sweet, sensitive nature was perfectly suited to help her adjust.

“I’m so sorry,” Quinn repeated, but this time the apology was for her own selfish actions.

“I understand,” Piper assured her, squeezing her hand.

“Piper,” Quinn tried her last hand, “the twins...?”

“I’m sorry,” Piper was apologising now, “I couldn’t tell you anything even if I wanted to. I don’t know where they are.”

“But you could trace them?”

“Maybe,” Piper admitted, “but I won’t.”

Quinn couldn’t blame her friend – her loyalty to Summerfeld came first, as it should – but her words drove home the fact that Quinn was well and truly on her own.

Tristan approached her as she reached the double doors.

“Quinn...” he trailed off and she kept her eyes on the expanse of wood. She had learned some things about Tristan over the past few hours that she hadn’t yet processed. She needed time to think. She waited a few seconds but he said nothing more, and, with one swift push, the doors flew open and she walked out into the dark night.

Daniel watched her go, a sombre expression on his tanned face. Brushing away a stray strand of sandy hair that had escaped his ponytail holder, he beckoned Liam and Blair over.

“Follow her,” he instructed, “find out what she knows. I want that crystal.”

Daniel Kaiser had lived two lives in his one thousand years. The first half had been spent with Emily – his soul mate. Emily had been a Guardian too for five hundred years until she was struck down by the vampires who had ripped her crystal from her bloodstained neck; the same crystal that had been passed to Emily’s replacement; and then to Quinn Harden.

A vampire drinking the blood of a Guardian was the most depraved, abominable sin, and every Guardian’s worst nightmare. A Guardian’s blood contained trace elements of Fae magic and, by drinking their blood, a vampire became more powerful, more deadly than ever. Until the blood had worked its way out of the vampire’s system, a Guardian would have no chance of defeating it and, worse still, a Hunter could not track a vampire with Guardian blood in its system.

Which was why it had taken so long to find Emily’s killers. They had fed on her until barely a drop of blood remained in her body, subjecting her to the most foul, degrading act of depravity and stripping away her dignity in the process. Her blood running through their veins acted as a cloak concealing them from Daniel and the other Hunters who had searched desperately, without success, until Emily’s blood had faded from their systems. It was different for the Hunters. If bitten, which was a rare feat for the vampires, they could track the vampire through their own blood. Painful, but necessary. It was one of the many skills that the Hunters possessed over the ordinary Guardians.

When Daniel and the others had found Emily’s broken body, such was the Hunters’ rage that their combined fury had culminated in a Slayer emerging. Daniel had never confided in the Guardians that it had been Isaiah who had torn that village apart, and, as the older Hunters fell, the secret had died along with them, until only Daniel and Isaiah himself knew the truth. The burden of the Slayer is hard enough for any Guardian to bear, but for one as peaceful as Isaiah it was that much worse. That night of bloodshed had been his last foray into man’s realm. Afterwards he had sought the sanctuary of the Cathedral, and Daniel had never pressed him to return. A Slayer’s instinct to destroy vampires is all-encompassing, completely overpowering every other human emotion and it would have destroyed Isaiah. Inside the Cathedral’s charmed walls Isaiah could not sense vampires at all and he could live in peace. There would never be another Slayer - not as long as Isaiah lived, but this was a secret known only to the two of them.

The second half of Daniel’s life had been far less joyful without Emily to share it with. He had, however, killed more vampires than any other Guardian. Hunting had become an obsession – no matter how many vampires he destroyed, it would never be enough. Nothing could bring Emily back, but he would not rest until every vampire on Earth had been destroyed. It was all he had to live for, now.

Chapter 19

“I absolutely refuse!” Camille stood with her hands on her hips. Tristan had joined them in the record room. A large number of dusty volumes were open on the desk. Camille’s eyes darted around the room like a cornered deer, as though searching for an escape route.

“It’s not exactly something you can turn down,” Tristan said kindly.

“Even if I believed everything that you’re telling me – which I don’t,” she clarified quickly, “Monique is far too young to get involved. I mean my God, Tristan – you’re talking about vampires. Vampires!” she gave a snort of hysterical laughter.

“All the more reason that she should stay,” Isaiah pointed out. “Understand, we cannot change what has happened. But it has happened. And Monique is not safe in the realm of man – your world,” he added as she looked confused. “She is protected here – the vampires cannot get into Summerfeld.”

“Why?”

“It is protected by powerful enchantments which have not been breached in a thousand years. This is the only way we can guarantee her safety.”

“Why would they want to hurt her? The vampires?”

“That is what they do.”

“Well then she can’t ever be allowed near them!”

“Monique will not be exposed to our enemies for a very long time,” Isaiah soothed, “she has to undergo vigorous training and has much to learn. I will tutor her myself.”

“She has school!” This was such an irrational argument that even Isaiah was at a loss how to respond.

“Mom,” Monique interrupted, giving the others an apologetic grimace, “I’m not going back to school.”

“Not going?” Camille swelled with indignation. “If you think I am letting you drop out of school, young lady...”

“Monique will be schooled here,” Isaiah finally found his voice, “if you wish, I will see to it that in addition to her Guardian training, she also gets a traditional education.”

“What, like home schooling?” Camille asked sceptically. She seemed determined to keep the conversation in safer waters – things she could understand.

“Mom, I’m a Guardian now. I’m not going to need to know things like Algebra and French.”

“Actually, French would probably come in handy,” Isaiah corrected, more for Camille’s sake than anything else. “Guardians travel all over the world and understanding the dialogue is always handy.” Camille blinked rapidly, torn between delight that Monique had been wrong and alarm that Isaiah was agreeing with her.

“Cami,” Tristan took a seat next to his sister and took her hand. They had the same clear blue eyes, but Camille’s hair was far darker than his blond. Monique came to stand beside him, facing her mother proudly. Monique had inherited her striking red hair and green eyes from her father, but the heart-shape of her face was just like her mother’s. “I know this is a lot for you to take in, but Monique has been marked. I am just as surprised as you – never before has a Guardian been so young – but it is what it is. She will not be able to leave; not because we will detain her,” he added hastily, as Camille’s head jerked up, appalled, “she won’t be able to leave because her heart won’t allow it. Being a Guardian is a calling – it’s in our blood.” Idly he lifted Monique’s hand and traced the white S-shaped tattoo. “The blood of the wards runs through her veins now... She is bound to protect them.”

Silent tears ran down Camille’s face as she gazed upon her child. Tristan would never lie to her; they had been as close as any siblings could be. She had mourned him for a very long time when she had been led to believe that he had died.

“Tristan, I...” she couldn’t continue, breaking into quiet sobs.

“I have an idea,” Isaiah murmured, stepping forward. “Perhaps it will be easier for you to accept if you see for yourself just what we are fighting for.”

Tristan’s eyes widened in shock.

“You’re going to take her inside?” he exclaimed. “Inside the City?”

“I don’t see the point of keeping her in the dark,” Isaiah replied calmly. “She has come this far.”

The Cathedral was far emptier now; most of the Guardians had passed through into the City, no doubt to visit their homes and get cleaned up. Only Piper remained, slumped at the council table, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

“Piper,” Isaiah called gently, “could you keep an eye on things for me? I won’t be long.” Isaiah seldom left the Cathedral, and he would certainly never leave it unattended. As he waited for an answer the doors swung open and Garrett, the Hunter who Daniel had ordered away came through them.

“I saw Quinn leaving,” he announced, in explanation. “I figured it was safe to return.”

“Your timing is perfect,” Isaiah agreed. “I’m takimg our new guests into the City. Please could you keep Piper company until I return?”

“Of course,” Garrett nodded, casting a curious glance at the two women. Isaiah turned back to Camille.

“May I?” he asked, holding out his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation she took it.

The second their feet touched the cobblestone in the courtyard Camille clutched her stomach. Tristan remembered the vertigo and the sensation of falling that he had felt the first few times he had passed through the Gateway.

“I’m going to be sick,” Camille croaked, “how can you stand that...” she trailed off as she gazed around, taking in the fountain and the beauty of the City square.

“Summerfeld,” Monique breathed, her face alight with excitement and wonder. She had come through the Gateway on her own, after a quick explanation from Tristan of how to do it.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Tristan muttered under his breath. Isaiah smiled.

“Monique brought her mother here as a Guardian, not a child. Her loyalty has already been established. I think it is safe to say that Camille is supposed to be here, she would never have found the Cathedral otherwise, even with Monique’s help. And don’t forget – Camille is descended from Guardians. A vestige of the blood of the ten runs in her veins, too. Many a Guardian descendent has visited the City – some, like Avery and Quinn, have even lived in it for years, despite not being Guardians at the time.” Tristan’s face crumpled for a second at the mention of Avery’s name, but he quickly regained control of his emotions and nodded that he understood.

“Can we see everything?” Monique asked, breathless with wonder, and Isaiah nodded.

“Before we continue there is something I have to say,” Camille looked pale, but resolute. “You say Monique must stay here - that she needs to live in this place?”

“Yes,” Isaiah answered, “it is essential for her training and crucial that we keep her safe. The vampires will stop at nothing to destroy the Guardians and Monique is nowhere near ready or equipped to deal with that. We do not take the safety of our own lightly.”

Camille nodded acceptingly.

“If I allow her to stay,” she announced, trying to cling to the notion that she still had a choice, “then I will stay too.” Tristan did a double-take, opening his mouth to deny the possibility, but Isaiah was too quick for him.

“Yes, I think that would be best,” he smiled accommodatingly.

“I still haven’t made up my mind,” Camille reminded them.

“Mom,” Monique groaned.

“I am certain that once you have taken the tour you will be inclined to stay.” Isaiah held out his arm invitingly, “Shall we?”

Chapter 20

Quinn was exhausted by the time she approached Brookfield the following evening. It was past midnight but she had made good time. Weary, depressed and in desperate need of a shower she looked forward to getting home. She had been vigilant and had ensured that no one had followed her back from Cliffdale. She didn’t want the Guardians to know where she was staying in case she needed more time. She was just cruising onto the Main Road a few miles from home when a dark shadow appeared directly in front of her car. With only a few yards' grace, she slammed on the brakes and the car skidded to a halt just inches from Drake, billowing smoke rising in protest from her tyres.

Quinn’s brow creased in confusion as he stared menacingly at her through the windscreen, and then she shoved open her door.

“What the hell are you doing?” she yelled, emerging onto the deserted street and slamming the door behind her. Her stake was tucked into her boot and her exhaustion only fuelled her anger and irritation. Maybe staking Drake would make her feel better – although Genevieve would have served that purpose far better, she thought wryly. Drake had saved her life, she figured she owed him.

“I could ask the same of you,” his hypnotic voice carried across the dark, and his green eyes bored into her. “Where are your children Quinn? And why are you really here?” Quinn’s righteous anger overrode her common sense.

“You’ve been inside my house?” she thundered, so irate that she made the fatal error of failing to register that he was using his hypnotic persuasion, trying to control her mind. Drake looked as though she had struck him.

“I asked you a question,” he sneered, suspicion coming over him, and too late Quinn realised her mistake.

“They’re not my children,” she answered quickly; “they’re my sister’s. They’ve been taken – kidnapped,” she corrected, “I’m here because I’m trying to find them.” This all came out in one long-winded sentence, so desperate was she to allay his suspicion.

“Who has taken them?”

“I have no idea.”

“Then why would you think they would be here?”

“I don’t. I just needed a place to hide – to research. I was... scared... I thought perhaps they might come after me next.”

“You’re lying,” the words were so softly spoken that for a minute Quinn thought she had misheard him. It was impossible – a vampire could not detect a Guardian’s deception.

“How would you know that?” she breathed and his smug smile was all the answer she needed.

“I didn’t,” his voice was silky and ominous, “but now I do.” Quinn’s eyes widened in shock and horror. “Just because I can’t read your falsehoods doesn’t mean I don’t have exceptional intuition,” he continued, taking a step towards her, and she noticed his fangs were slightly extended. He must be furious. Quinn’s brain whirred, trying to think of a way out of this mess. She had her stake, but despite everything she didn’t want to use it.

“All right!” she lifted both hands in front of her in a submissive gesture. “I’m sorry. Yes, I lied. For some reason you can’t make me tell you the truth – Jude said I was a freak of nature,” she stuck to her original story – the vampire friend who had enlightened her as to their existence. “But I really am looking for my sister’s children. And I really am hiding here in Brookfield.” She met his cruel green eyes without any hesitation.

“Where have you been the last few days?” he probed.

“I can’t tell you any more than that.”

Drake considered this. He suspected she was telling him the truth; pieces of it, anyway. He had heard rumours of humans who were impervious to vampiric suggestion; perhaps Quinn was one of these rarities. Also, for some reason he didn’t want to kill her. It didn’t sit well with him, the thought of taking her life. Her fear and concern for her sister’s children was also genuine, he suspected, and for some reason this caused him discomfort. He didn’t like the fact that she was suffering and he felt an irrational anger towards those who had hurt her. He had come to something of a crossroad. In letting her live he was risking exposure and he had become accustomed to his life here in Brookfield. He couldn’t allow her to jeopardise what he had built and Genevieve would rip Quinn’s throat out in a heartbeat if she even suspected that Quinn knew about their real identities. There was only one thing for it. Keep your enemies close, Drake thought wryly.

“I will help you,” he offered. Quinn took a visible step backward, her striking eyes widening in surprise. He could not pinpoint their exact colour, but in the dark night they shone more violet than blue.

“That’s very kind of you but I don’t need your help.”

“Put your pride in your pocket, Quinn. You said it yourself – you have no leads. One thing about vampires – we’re very resourceful.” His wicked smile showed no trace of his fangs and Quinn could only wonder in relief at how lucky she had been to escape an outright confrontation. Drake couldn’t help her – she could not give him any information about the Guardians, but she would deal with that later. For now she had escaped, unscathed. Gratefully she accepted and headed home.

Despite the lateness of the hour Quinn checked the house from top to bottom, particularly the hidden room off the kitchen, to ensure that Drake had not discovered it or disturbed anything. Finding no trace that he had even been there, she showered and changed before collapsing onto her bed.

It was past ten when she woke the next morning. Stretching, she kept her eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight streaming through the window on her face. She had been so tired last night she had forgotten to draw the curtains.

Half an hour later she descended the stairs and switched on the coffee machine. She had bought it a few days after her arrival in Brookfield. Sarah had been over the instant it arrived and the two women had drunk so much coffee they had felt ill. Then Todd had arrived later and they had done it all again. As she was thinking about Sarah she heard a knock at the door.

“Hey! I was just thinking about you,” Quinn smiled, stepping aside and letting her friend in. “Aren’t you working today?”

“It’s Saturday,” Sarah laughed, following her back into the kitchen and fetching two red striped coffee cups.

“Oh yes,” Quinn replied brightly. In truth she had no idea what day of the week it was.

“So, how was your meeting with the editor?” Quinn had fabricated a meeting in the note she had left Sarah and had mentioned she would be gone for a couple of days.

“It went well,” she grinned, handing Sarah a steaming mug, “and hey, thanks for sorting out the window.” When she had got back the previous evening, the first thing she had noticed was that her living-room window had been repaired, just as she had asked in her note.

“No problem. I can’t believe vandals did that! Brookfield is usually such a peaceful town.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t hear it,” Quinn pushed.

“I must sleep like the dead,” Sarah agreed, and Quinn sent silent thanks to Drake for his powerful persuasion.

Chapter 21

Quinn wasn’t sure when she first became aware that she had been followed, but by the third time she saw the dark sedan drive past her house through the living-room window, her Guardian senses were on high alert. Carrying the coffee mugs to the sink she smiled at Sarah.

“I’m sorry to do this, but I have a ton of stuff to do and I need to get to the store or I’ll be having coffee for dinner.”

Sarah got to her feet. “No problem – I’ll see you later?”

“Sure,” Quinn walked her to the door, standing to one side so that anyone watching the house wouldn’t see her. Thankfully she had parked her car in the garage last night.

“Hey Quinn,” Sarah called back as she reached the porch steps and Quinn cringed at the volume of her voice. “There’s always pizza,” Sarah winked.

Quinn shut the door and stood beside the recently repaired living-room window peering through the curtains. It was over fifteen minutes before she spotted the same black sedan cruising down her street. The windows were tinted, but she had a fairly good idea who was inside. Daniel had had her followed. Quinn figured they didn’t know her exact address – if they did, they wouldn’t be driving randomly around town. No doubt they were searching for her car. Quinn weighed up her options. If the Guardians knew where she was she would need to leave Brookfield, the sooner the better.

She was halfway up the stairs when she thought of Drake. If Hunters were in town they would sense him as soon as they got close. That was his problem, she tried to convince herself, but it didn’t work. She had brought them here; it would be her fault if they discovered him. Drake had saved her life and her conscience wouldn’t allow her to abandon him. Vowing that if she managed to warn him her debt would be repaid, Quinn stole out of the back door and headed for Abbey Place.

It didn’t take her long to identify Drake’s house. It fell just short of being ostentatious, which seemed to fit Genevieve’s personality perfectly, but it was the drawn curtains at every window that alerted her. She had passed the sedan only two blocks back, headed in the opposite direction, but it wouldn’t be long before the Hunters reached this street. Quinn wasn’t sure which of the four Hunters were here in town, but she doubted that Daniel would deign to babysit her. That left Liam, Garrett and Blair. She hoped that Blair had stayed behind with Daniel – she was, after all, the second most deadly Hunter they had.

“What are you doing, Quinn?” she muttered to herself as she jumped nimbly over the garden fence. Why in the hell was she going against her own kind to protect a vampire – a mortal enemy of the City she had sworn to protect? What was it about Drake that got under her skin?

She approached the back door with caution, her senses on high alert. She could hear every thud of her frantically beating heart. Without any better ideas she knocked on the back door and waited. Drake and Genevieve could hardly open the door in the middle of the day, but she listened intently, hoping to hear them call to her to come in. After about a minute she knocked again. Still nothing. Testing the doorknob, she was surprised when it opened.

Quinn entered the dark house leaving the door open behind her to let in some much-needed light. The curtains were all heavily-lined, and, even with her better-than-average eyesight, Quinn struggled to see through the murky darkness.

“Hello?” she called softly. They were here; she could sense them so they must be close. A trickle of foreboding washed over her and Quinn realised her mistake a second too late. Genevieve darted from the darkness, faster than a striking cobra and tossed her through the air as easily as a sack of potatoes. Quinn hit the opposite wall hard, but her instinct and adrenalin kicked in. Launching herself to her feet she turned to face the snarling vampire. Genevieve’s fangs were fully extended, her head bowed low as she glared at Quinn through a white blonde curtain of hair. She crouched low, plotting her next attack and Quinn mirrored her actions, raising her arms in front of her.

She was granted only a moment of satisfaction at the look of surprise on Genevieve’s face and then the vampire was upon her again, typically going for the throat. Her fangs sank briefly into Quinn’s neck, but Quinn managed to twist out of her grasp and turn, bringing her fist up into Genevieve’s ribcage. Genevieve coughed as the wind was knocked out of her and Quinn bolted for the still-open back door, trying to ignore the white hot pain of the bite.

She almost made it but Genevieve caught her around the ankles, bringing her crashing heavily to the ground. A small slither of sunlight flickered across the vampire’s left hand and she shrieked as the flesh there immediately began to sizzle. Quinn kicked out with her right leg, her heavy boot connecting with Genevieve’s face. Blood burst from the vampire’s nose and she raised her hand to stem the flow, giving a screech of frustration. Quinn kicked out again, crushing the bones in Genevieve’s right hand. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, Quinn pulled the stake from her boot as she scrambled to her feet. Genevieve gazed up at her, her momentary shock dulling her instincts. Quinn raised the stake and did the unthinkable. She hesitated.

Faster than she could comprehend, a dark form collided bodily with her and pinned her against the kitchen wall. Quinn struggled against Drake’s weight, but she could not budge him. He had her stake arm pinned above her head and his cruel, glittering green eyes were terrifying. His mouth was set in an angry snarl, his fangs only inches from her face. Quinn fought the urge to close her eyes and tried to wrest her arm free.

“I came here to help you,” she hissed furiously, “and your girlfriend tried to take a chunk out of my neck!” She could feel the warm wetness of the blood trickling down her neck and she saw Drake’s nostrils flare as the smell assailed his senses.

“Let me at her!” Genevieve appeared at Quinn’s side, her long pale fingers reaching for Quinn’s throat. To Quinn’s surprise, Drake released her, turning abruptly and shoving Genevieve halfway across the room. She landed with a thud on the wooden floor between the living room table and the sofa. The look on her face would have been priceless if Quinn had been in any position to appreciate it.

“How dare you!” Drake thundered and Genevieve seemed to shrink before his rage. “This is my house!”

“She would have killed me!”

“She could have killed you,” he corrected, and Quinn wondered how long he had been watching. Long enough to witness her hesitation, obviously. Drake knew that she had had the opportunity to stake Genevieve and that she hadn’t gone through with it.

Another thought occurred to her then. She still had her stake – and Drake knew it. Yet he had turned his back on her, giving her an opening and making himself an easy target. Quinn wasn’t sure if it was a test, but she was sure that she could not stake this vampire.

“I’ll kill her,” Genevieve threatened, spittle flying from her lips. Genevieve was a vampire she could definitely stake, Quinn thought wryly.

“Get upstairs. Now!” he roared when Genevieve made no move to leave. With one last predatory scowl at Quinn, she flew from the room.

Drake didn’t turn around immediately. He stood completely still, his back to Quinn. She made no move towards him, instead, placing her stake on the kitchen counter. Drake sighed.

“Quinn, could you please close that door?” he asked quietly. Quinn did as he asked and then turned to face him. In the blanketed dark she could just make out his silhouette. She flinched when he moved, but he only crossed the room and switched on a small lamp. After the chaos of her impromptu fight with Genevieve, Quinn had forgotten all about the Hunters but now they sprung back to her mind. She had lost valuable time.

“You’re in danger,” she spoke quickly, the words running into one another, “people are coming; they’re here now, in town.”

“What people?”

“People who want you dead.” Quinn could not give any further explanation.

“How do you know this?”

“I saw them – a few minutes ago. They were headed this way.”

Drake crossed back to the kitchen and fetched her stake, bringing it back and holding it up to the light. He examined the intricate markings, his face giving nothing away.

“Genevieve should have killed you,” he remarked idly, still examining the stake. “How did you manage to fight her off?”

“I... I did martial arts for most of my childhood. I know how to handle myself.”

“Martial arts?” It wasn’t really a question, but she nodded anyway.

“Genevieve is a very old, very powerful vampire. I don’t really think your run-of-the-mill jujitsu would be any match for her.”

“I got lucky,” Quinn insisted, “but that’s not the point. We can discuss this later – for now, you need to get out of here.”

“It's midday,” he pointed out calmly. Drake and Genevieve couldn’t go anywhere while the sun was out. “Why are you doing this?” he added.

“Doing what?”

“Warning us? Trying to save us?”

“Well, I’m only really warning you – protecting Genevieve probably isn’t going to make my to-do list any time soon. I owe you. You saved my life... twice now, actually. I’ll head them off; just lay low. And get out of here as soon as night falls.” She headed for the door, “Oh, and Drake?” He raised his brow. “I plan to do more than just try.”

Quinn sprinted, moving away from Abbey Place and in the direction in which she had last seen the sedan. They would make more than one patrol through each section of town and she only hoped they were still canvassing this area. She pulled the hood of her jacket up, covering the wound on her neck which had already started to heal and stepped out into the middle of the road.

It wasn’t long before the sedan rounded a corner heading straight for her. Quinn faced it calmly and Liam pulled the car over to the kerb. Quinn crossed over to the driver’s window.

“Hello Liam, Blair,” she smiled pleasantly at the two Hunters.

“Quinn,” Liam nodded, looking suitably contrite, but Blair gazed moodily through the front windshield.

“You’re here on Daniel’s orders, I presume?” Quinn continued.

“Yes,” Liam replied haughtily, “we need to find Avery’s crystal.”

“Well I haven’t found it yet – I’ve only been back half a day. Surely you don’t plan to spend the next month following me around?”

“We’ll do what we’re told,” Blair snapped.

“Hunter hierarchy,” Quinn shrugged. “Luckily, we lesser Guardians don’t issue instructions. We work as a team.”

“Oh yes, you’re a fantastic team-player,” Blair snorted with derision.

“Here’s the thing,” Quinn refused to rise, “if you're going to be looking over my shoulder, I'm going to leave this town and continue my search elsewhere. And you won’t find me again,” she warned. Liam and Blair couldn’t argue – Quinn was an exceptional Guardian. Now that she was aware they were tailing her she wouldn’t make the same mistake again and she could easily elude them.

“Tell Daniel that, while I appreciate his concern, I prefer to do this on my own. He knows where I am. I have one month. Until then I do not want to see any Guardians near Brookfield. In fact,” she smirked, another thought occurring to her, “I’ll tell him myself – save you the trouble. Kellan has asked me to assist him with something which requires me to return to Summerfeld. We can convoy.”

Quinn had had no intention of assisting Kellan with Rafe and Channon’s transformation, but returning to Cliffdale was the only way to ensure that Liam and Blair did too. Once there, she had a plan to get Daniel off her back for a while. The full moon was three nights away and the journey would take two days, comfortably. Telling Liam and Blair she would meet them on the outskirts of town, Quinn made her way home.

She had a lightning shower and dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a white V-necked T-shirt emblazoned with the words Never say never across the front, which seemed fitting since, only a couple of days ago, she had vowed she wouldn’t return to Summerfeld. Tossing her bag onto the passenger seat of her car she crossed the lawn into Sarah’s beautiful garden.

“Hi!” Sarah opened the door almost immediately after her gentle knock.

“You won’t believe this but the editor wants me to meet with one of his illustrators for collaboration on a new project.”

“But you just got back!” Sarah exclaimed.

“I know, it’s a pain, but it’s a good opportunity!” Quinn rambled. “Anyway, I’ll probably be gone a couple of days. Would you mind keeping an eye on the house?”

“Yeah, sure,” she nodded emphatically, her ponytail bouncing behind her. “But promise me – movie night when you get back?”

“I can’t wait,” Quinn assured her.

On the second day of their journey back Blair picked up the presence of a vampire nearby. Quinn waited at her car as the two Hunters tracked their prey, figuring they wouldn’t be needing her help. She had her stake at the ready, just in case, but she wasn’t paying much attention and she only sensed the vampire an instant before he grabbed her from behind. Quinn ducked, so that he grabbed nothing but air. Swivelling around, she brought the stake up and through his rib cage – piercing his heart. It happened in a matter of seconds, and, as Quinn withdrew her stake, the body began to turn grey. By the time the Hunters returned there was nothing but a pile of ash at her feet.

“Nice job,” Blair drawled, sporting a spectacular shiner on her right eye. Liam’s hair was standing up in all directions.

“This one managed to slip away from us.” He sounded ashamed.

“I figured,” Quinn grinned, and even Blair cracked a smile. For the first time in a long time, Quinn felt the familiar kinship with the Guardians – the sense of purpose and satisfaction that came with knowing they had rid the world of one more vampire.

Chapter 22

“We had better head back,” Tristan called “Isaiah will be waiting for you.” His niece pouted. Isaiah had begun Monique’s training the very day she arrived, and, while she enjoyed it, she would far rather spend her time exploring the wonders of the City than in the training room. Monique had spent most of the past few days exploring Summerfeld, but her desire to experience everything there was on offer seemed insatiable. Isaiah had never seen a Guardian more enamoured with the supernatural creatures, not even the petulant Blair, who displayed an uncharacteristic tenderness with the wards that belied her sullen disposition.

Monique had ridden unicorns, watched the giants - from a safe distance, although she had sulked when she realised that she couldn’t see the dwarves from so far away - and explored Lunar Grove, which was devoid of wolves without the full moon. She had even caught a brief glimpse of a firebird, a very rare sighting, as they were the most timid of all Summerfeld’s creatures. The firebirds shared the Silver Oaks forest with the unicorns. The size of a peacock, they were named for their majestic plumage, which glowed, emitting a red and orange light so bright it looked like flames trailing behind them when they flew.

Monique had pleaded with Isaiah to meet the merfolk and he had grudgingly allowed it. They had travelled to the far side of the lake so as not to come into contact with the dragons. The merfolk had not been particularly friendly but this hadn’t deterred Monique in the least. When her endless questioning had started to annoy the two young mermaids who had answered his summons, Isaiah had gently led Monique away, distracting her with the sight of a Rainia dragon returning to her nest, the deep blue-grey hue of her scales blending into the canvas of the sky.

“How many species of dragon are there?” Monique asked when the beast had settled behind a crag of rock, out of sight.

“Six. That Rainia you just saw is one of only three adults remaining, but she has a cluster of eggs that will increase their numbers. The Chumana line is down to the eggs in Kellan’s shed. The Saurean, Kazaan and Xenica breeds still have a few breeding pairs, so their futures are secure, for now.”

“That’s five,” Monique had been ticking them off on her fingers as he spoke.

“I wasn’t finished,” Isaiah chuckled. “The sixth dragon breed is the most dangerous. The Orochians are highly aggressive, and territorial. They are the only breed of dragon we don’t worry about.”

Monique was determined to return to Lunar Grove to see the werewolves in their wolf form when the full moon rose, but her mother had flatly refused and she had to be satisfied with spending an hour at Rafe’s mother, Vivienne’s, home during the course of the day. In human form, the wolves were very good company and Monique had been beaming when they had finally managed to drag her away.

Tristan had taken her to Lion’s River – a section of Summerfeld characterised by long grass and a river running through it – to see the gryphons. Monique watched, mesmerised, as the magnificent beasts used their beaks to pull fish from the river, beating their wings as they backed up the riverbank. While they had the head and wings of an eagle, the gryphon’s powerful bodies, tail and back legs resembled those of a lion. They were not dangerous, feeding solely on fish, and Monique was able to get close enough to touch a feeding female.

“Mom!” she yelled, “come and touch it!” Camille, who had accompanied Monique’s various excursions, shook her head, her hand over her heart, trying to calm her nerves.

The beauty of the City, while captivating the young Guardian, seemed to both enchant and terrify Camille. She was taking it remarkably well, considering that she had just learned that creatures of myth existed. Isaiah knew that it was easier for Camille because she was a descendent of the original twelve. Her blood, like the Guardians, was imbued with the blood of the wards, even though she had not been branded.

“They really do exist,” Camille exclaimed, over and over again like a mantra, as though trying to convince herself.

“They do,” Isaiah murmured gently. “They are our greatest treasures.”

“How can a child be entrusted to protect them?”

“She has been branded,” he replied simply. “She is destined to do so. King Eldon himself has deemed her worthy, who are we to question it?”

“He was the King of the Fae?”

“Yes. A wise and formidable ruler. Eldon’s magic is the most powerful force on earth.”

“And yet he called on humans to protect him?”

“No,” Isaiah shook his head. “Not to protect him. To protect his people.”

“If he was so powerful, why did he need to create the Guardians? Why couldn’t he just use his magic to eradicate the vampires?”

“It is not so simple. Eldon believed that with his death, Aleksei’s thirst for vengeance would be satiated – that he would cease his attack on the innocents and the war would end. That’s why he didn’t use his magic to save himself. He sacrificed himself for the rest of them.”

“It doesn’t seem to have worked out quite as he planned,” Camille remarked wryly.

“No,” Isaiah agreed. “Eldon underestimated Aleksei’s hatred. It doesn’t change the fact, though, that Eldon’s final act was one of selflessness.”

“You speak of him as a king who should be revered, but all I see is a man who forced my fifteen year old daughter into a life of servitude.”

“You don’t understand the honour of the Guardianship, Camille.”

“No,” she shook her head. “I don’t. Eldon was your king, not mine. I don’t have the same faith in him that you do.”

“Have faith in me, then,” Isaiah’s amber eyes held hers, and Camille saw the true power within shimmering just below the surface. “I will protect Monique.”

“Mom!” Monique’s voice broke the mounting tension of the moment. “I said come and touch them!”

Isaiah had even taken Monique over Highgate Bridge, the home of Zol – Summerfeld’s only troll. Monique had laughed uproariously when she heard and had proceeded to intone “Zol the troll” at the top of her lungs. Zol was hideous – over a thousand years old and he grew more cantankerous with each passing year. He would not harm the Guardians, but he preferred his isolation and they generally let him be. Zol had no mate to breed with so the line would end with him. Trolls were very strong, but unfortunately very slow and dim-witted, making them easy prey for the vampires who slaughtered them only too easily. Zol had survived his parents' vampiric slaughter and had been found as a young troll by King Eldon, in the final days before Summerfeld was sealed. King Eldon had personally escorted Zol into the City and created Highgate Bridge – an exact replica of the bridge under which he had found him.

Despite her mother’s trepidation, Monique would not be dissuaded and she trotted happily along the bridge with Isaiah, leaning over the rotting wooden railing trying to catch a glimpse of Zol. She waved happily as the gnarled, wart-encrusted troll peered up at her with bloodshot eyes. He stood about five feet high and was almost as broad as he was tall. The whites of his eyes were yellowed, and, despite his grotesque appearance, there was something pitiful about him. Camille, standing on the bank beside Tristan, gave a whimper, her hand flying to her mouth.

“He won’t hurt her,” Tristan smiled. Camille looked horrified.

“Is that moss?” Monique asked, excitedly and Isaiah nodded. There was moss growing across Zol’s shoulders and down the broad, bare expanse of his back. “Cool!” she waved again and Zol shuffled back under the bridge and out of sight.

Her curiosity would not be sated as she was guided around Summerfeld. The only creatures she had not encountered or had been allowed close to, were the dragons. Isaiah finally put his foot down. He had catered to her every whim, delighted by the natural kinship she displayed with every creature that she was now bound to protect, but he would not allow her near the dragons – they were far too dangerous.

“Come on!” Tristan called again, ignoring Monique’s pout as she stroked Etana’s mane. Isaiah hadn’t come out with them today. Piper had manned the Cathedral during his absence the previous morning when he had taken Monique to see Zol, but she had her own work to do and Isaiah didn’t like to burden anyone for too long. With one last tug on the mare’s ears, Monique obediently followed Tristan back to the fountain. “Are you coming, mom?” she held out her hand, but Camille quickly stepped back, waving her hands in front of her.

“I think I’ll stay,” she mumbled. The nausea of passing through the Gateway was not something she would ever get used to.

“How are you doing today, Monique?” Isaiah asked when the girl appeared magically before him at the altar.

“Good,” she gushed, “Tristan took me for a ride through the the Silver Oaks forest. Kellan thinks that one of the mares may be with foal.”

“Wonderful,” Isaiah smiled. “Now, are you ready to begin?”

“Aren’t we going through to the training room?”

“No,” he pulled the Sacred Book from behind his back and an astonished gasp escaped her. The gold cover gleamed, belying the time-stained pages within and was embossed with the outline of each of the supernatural species.

“May I?” Monique asked and Isaiah handed the book to her. It was heavier than she had expected, and she traced the outline of the images embossed into the precious metal – each of the supernatural species – a symbol of what they were fighting for. Monique’s finger rested on the Pegasus, their wings differentiating them from the unicorns on the opposite side of the cover.

“Are they really gone?” she murmured, her heart weighing heavily in her chest.

“We will never stop searching for survivors,” Isaiah replied, “but sadly our hope has thus far been unfounded. The Pegasus has not been seen in a thousand years. The same goes for the Phoenix,” he pointed to the bird etched at the bottom right.

Monique opened the book to a random page, the ink clearly visible on the ancient yellowed paper. The tome would stand the test of time, the words never fading, written as they were in enchanted ink.

“What is the Hawkstone?” she asked, the word jumping out at her.

“I guess that’s lesson number one,” Isaiah smiled.

“So, we’re not training today?”

“No. Today we’re studying.”

Chapter 23

“We’ve been searching for days,” Melchior’s voice sounded weary. “Perhaps it’s time to move on.”

“Not yet,” Balthazar shook his head, his black hair forming a dark halo around his head and shoulders. “It’s around here somewhere, I’m certain of it.” Balthazar had a strong feeling that their search for the City was nearing an end. He had searched all of his life, as had his parents before him, and their parents before that; centuries of following a myth. And yet, Balthazar believed that he would succeed where his ancestors had failed – that he would lead their people to the promised land to claim Summerfeld as their home. And he would finally prove to Jonas that their nomadic lifestyle had not been in vain, that the City did exist. Anything to shake his son from the dark mood he had fallen into. Jonas would start school in just a few days and Balthazar knew, all too well, how cruel children could be. It pained him that his son would no doubt endure hours of ridicule and shame, and he could not, for the life of him, figure out why Jonas would put himself through it.

“The City is concealed from the human eye,” Melchior reminded, snapping Balthazar from his reverie. “How do you suppose we are to find it if it’s invisible? We could be standing right beside it and still not see it?”

“We cannot see the City, but there are those who can. A Guardian will lead us in.”

“How do we find a Guardian?”
“We wait,” Balthazar replied enigmatically. He couldn’t say why or how, but he knew that they were close. The cornflower had been a sign, of that he was certain. Now there was nothing to do but wait. He watched Melchior make his way back to his tent, disappearing inside it and heaved a sigh. It appeared that Jonas was not the only gypsy losing faith.
“Balthazar!” Rowena’s voice called as she raced towards him, her skintight brown leather pants leaving little to the imagination, and Balthazar felt the familiar heat in his loins at the very sight of her. Breathlessly she skidded to a halt before him, her cheeks flushed, her dark curls damp with sweat.

“What is it?” he asked. She had just returned from fetching gas for the cooker and he could not imagine what might have happened that had her so wound up.

“The gas station,” she gasped, her chest heaving, “I saw... there were three of them. One man, two women.” Balthazar didn’t need to hear anymore. Checking to make sure they hadn’t been overheard, he grabbed her arm and together they hurtled back towards his truck. Guardians. They had finally found Guardians.

Oblivious to the two gypsies who watched them through the trees, Quinn, Blair and Liam pulled out of the gas station and headed west. The red Chevy followed the two cars – a black sedan and a smaller, grey hatchback - a few miles, as they ventured further and further into No-Man’s land.

“Keep a safe distance,” Rowena cautioned for what felt like the tenth time, “we can’t afford for them to see us.” Balthazar peered at the tiny specks in the distance that were the Guardians’ cars.

“We can’t afford to lose them, either,” he said, but eased his foot slightly off the gas. His excitement was overwhelming and he kept accelerating without realising it.

As the miles passed the landscape slowly transformed. At first there were only a few shrubs, and then the occasional tree, but with every minute the vegetation thickened, until they were passing heavy woodlands.

“Look!” Rowena breathed, drawing Balthazar’s attention to the clumps of cornflowers growing in and amongst the tall boughs. Sycamore leaves fluttered down around their car, drifting inncocently onto the windshield before being plucked away by the breeze. Balthazar couldn’t speak - he was too afraid that his life’s ambition, finally within his grasp, would be wrenched away if he got his hopes up. Gritting his teeth, he squinted ahead, his eyes straining as he tried to keep the vehicles in his sights.

“I think you can get closer now,” Rowena spoke softly, and Balthazar turned to find her smiling at him encouragingly. “The trees will give us cover,” she added, placing her hand on his shoulder. The foliage had certainly thickened enough that they would not be spotted instantly by their quarry, and Balthazar was grateful for the years of financial hardship and the fact that he had never been able to afford to repaint the Chevy. The red was dull and faded, making it harder to spot against the muted tones of nature’s panaroma. Pressing the gas pedal, he winced as the old engine groaned in protest. The down-side of the truck’s ill-maintenance was that it might break down at any moment. Balthazar prayed that it didn’t do so any time soon.

“What is that?’ Rowena peered through the dusty windscreen, brushing a stray lock of dark hair from her face. Ahead, the trailing sedan banked suddenly left, at a point where the tree line ended abruptly. Frantic without the vehicle in his sights, Balthazar sped up, screeching to a halt just before the shelter of the trees gave way completely. Rushing from the truck, he sprinted forward, bursting from the woods onto a dry, cracked plateau, stretching as far as the eye could see. He looked to his left, searching for the sedan, and his heart plummeted.

There was no vehicle in sight – both the black sedan and the grey hatchback were gone and before him, a canyon, as wide as three double-decker buses split the arid earth. His eyes travelled east and west but there was no bridge, no point at which the opposite ends met, and absolutely no place to cross.

“Oh my God,” Rowena had finally caught up to him. Unlike Balthazar, who had gone completely still, she whipped her head left and right, eventually turning a full circle on the spot.

“Where did they go?”

Balthazar didn’t answer. He had not come this far to have the life’s work of generations of Blackmans wrested from his grasp. And he had a pretty good idea where the Sedan had disappeared to. There was nowhere else it could have gone.

Slowly, deliberately, he walked forward, placing one foot in front of the other until he stood at the very edge of the precipice. It was so deep and dark that he couldn’t see the bottom.

“What are you doing?” Rowena’s voice quavered. “Balthazar, what are you doing?”

“I’m taking a leap of faith,” he murmured, his own legs shaking as he willed them to do the unthinkable. He closed his eyes. Too late Rowena understood what he intended to do and she reached for him, but he had already taken a step over the edge of the cliff.

A heady floral scent assailed Balthazar’s senses and he could hear the faint sounds of birds singing – so many songs sung all at once. His eyes were still closed, but he could sense the coolness in the air, so different to the baking heat of the desert he had stood in only a second ago. Opening his eyes, he found himself standing on the crest of a hill and below him, nestled in a valley more beautiful than anything he had ever seen, stood a magnificent Cathedral. It seemed to sparkle, a riotous rainbow of colour, reflected by the light of the sun. In the distance, weaving along the pebbled road he was standing on, he saw the sedan, and only a few hundred yards ahead of it, the smaller grey hatchback. Enchanted by the towering stone structure, it took a few moments before he was able to tear his gaze away, to take in the woods surrounding three sides of it and the fields of flowers that spread before it. It was the single most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

Balthazar had a sudden longing for someone to share this moment, and in that instant he remembered Rowena. Twisting violently around he saw her, slumped to the ground, her body wracked with sobs. She was so close that if he reached out he could touch her, but it was obvious that she couldn’t see him. This is the safeguard, Balthazar thought wondrously. Mankind would never find the City because it required an act of suicide to do so.

“Rowena,” he spoke her name out loud, but she did not lift her head. Stepping forward, he felt only the faintest tremor run over him, as if his whole body had been affected by pins and needles for just an instant, and then he was back in the cloying heat, the sound of Rowena’s sobs clearly audible.

She jumped as he placed his hand on her shoulder, but the instant that she recognised him, she grabbed hold of him with both hands and clung to him as though he might be wrested away from her at any moment. Balthazar was infinitely touched by the depth of her despair – Rowena seldom allowed her emotions to show.

“You found it,” she gulped, when her sobbing was under control.

“I did,” he murmured, stroking her hair. The revelation that he had finally found the City was almost too much to process. “Come,” he took her hand and helped her to her feet.

Rowena gathered herself together, took a deep breath and walked to the edge of the precipice with Balthazar by her side. Smiling reassuringly at her, Balthazar gave her hand one last squeeze before they stepped together, into oblivion.

Chapter 24

Unaware of the outsiders who stood watching from the crest of the hill, Quinn pushed open the Cathedral doors.

The Cathedral was empty, and Quinn was relieved that she didn’t have to deal with Daniel or her father, let alone Tristan. She entered the City through the cathedral gateway and walked silently up the cobbled street. She was apprehensive about whether or not Drake had heeded her warning and left town, and even more so she was worried about Genevieve’s reaction to her near-staking. Genevieve did not strike her as the type who would let something like that go – in fact, Quinn was fairly sure she would seek vengeance the first chance she got.

Drake was an altogether different matter. Quinn could not consolidate her gratitude towards him with her lifetime of hatred for the vampire race. Drake had saved her life – twice. The irony of a vampire saving a Guardian was not lost on her. Her mixed feelings were an annoying distraction and Quinn did not want to get involved in vampire problems. With any luck, by the time she returned to Brookfield, Drake and Genevieve would be gone. She had to focus on finding Avery’s crystal. Over and over again she replayed Avery’s words in her head: You will find it in the heart of my own. Quinn was still certain it had something to do with Tristan. She would help Rafe and Channon with their full moon transformation and go straight back to resume the search.

“Back so soon, Quinn?” Isaiah’s voice penetrated her musings and Quinn looked up to see the Guardian standing right in front of her, the fountain gurgling innocently behind him. Tristan and his sister were there too, and between them, Monique, a dazzling grin on her petite, pretty face. The sun had given her cheeks a rosy warmth.

“I came back with Liam and Blair,” Quinn said pointedly, glaring at Tristan.

“Daniel only wants what is best for you.” Isaiah's response was predictably prudent, but Tristan’s response surprised Quinn.

“What? What do you mean? Did Daniel have Quinn followed?” he turned on Isaiah in disbelief and anger. “Quinn is one of us!” he continued, when Isaiah’s silence confirmed the worst. “Since when do we keep tabs on one another?”

“Calm down, Tristan.” Isaiah glanced pointedly at Monique, who was rubber-necking between them. Camille, on the other hand, looked excited for the first time since she had arrived. Dragons and trolls she had a problem with, but apparently family drama was something she could understand.

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Isaiah. After everything we sacrifice, all the risks we take to keep the Gateway safe – how dare you treat any of us like common criminals? Surely we have earned your trust?”

Quinn’s eyes were as wide as Monique’s. Never would she have expected Tristan to defend her actions or come to her defence. She wholeheartedly agreed with everything he was saying, but she had always followed a slightly different path. Even as a dedicated Guardian, she had questioned their beliefs, the old ways. It was comforting to know that she wasn’t alone. And Tristan’s indignation on her behalf cheered her immensely.

“Of course you have earned the Guardians' trust,” Isaiah insisted. “I did not say that I agreed with Daniel’s course of action, only that I understood it.”

Much to Quinn’s chagrin, they followed her to Kellan and Freya’s, Monique still firing questions at Isaiah about everything, from the City itself to the latest section she had read of the Sacred Book. Isaiah answered her with the same infinite patience he had displayed when Quinn had joined the Guardianship, although her questions had only ever been about the book. Even now, Quinn racked her brain, trying to recall anything that might break the Guardian spell.

Isaiah would not allow Monique to witness Rafe and Channon’s transformation, more for the werewolves' benefit than anything else. The wolves would not harm the Guardians, even in wolf form, but their changing was both painful and shaming and was certainly not a source of entertainment. Rafe and Channon were outcasts, trying to adjust to a new way of life, and having strangers around would not ease their transition. Isaiah did, however, consent to allowing Monique to view the Chumana eggs that Kellan had deposited in his shed.

“When will they hatch?” Monique asked and Kellan smiled.

“In a few months, as far as I can tell.”

“How will you care for them?”

“I’ll feed them until they get too big for the shed, and then I’ll find somewhere safe for them to grow. I’ve been meaning to ask you about that, Isaiah,” he added. “I’m not really sure where they would be safe?”

“Giant’s Castle,” Isaiah responded immediately. “The mountains are their natural habitat and Giant’s Castle will be safe for them until they are old enough to return to Dragon’s Peak.”

“What about the giants and the dwarves?” Quinn interrupted. Giant’s Castle was a mountain named for the giants that dwelled on its slopes.

“I doubt these hatchlings will show any aggression towards either,” Isaiah replied, “so long as we keep them well-fed.”

“Can they fly when they hatch?” Monique brought the conversation back to the source of her fascination.

“No,” Kellan sat down on the floor beside her, “their wings are very fragile as newborns and not proportionate to their heavy bodies. They will be ready to fly when they are about a year old.”

“What if they burn down the shed when they come out?” Monique sounded more curious than concerned, as if she hoped the hatchlings might do just that.

“Dragons can’t breathe proper fire until they are fully matured, around the same time they learn to fly. Before that, their flames are manageable.”

“So they’re harmless for the first year?” she looked thoughtful.

“Essentially, yes. Their aggression is directly related to their ability to breathe fire.”

“Awesome.” Monique finally fell silent, but she obviously had great plans to make pets out of the eight Chumana babies. Quinn was fairly certain Camille would far rather her daughter have a puppy. She was also acutely conscious of Tristan’s eyes on her, but she refused to look at him.

“We should go,” Kellan murmured, appearing at her side and Quinn nodded, grateful for the respite. Leaving the others with Freya, Quinn half-expected Tristan would insist on coming with them, but thankfully, he stayed with his family.

Rafe and Channon lived on the opposite side of town from Kellan’s house, and they walked along in companionable silence.

“Kellan, Quinn,” Rafe greeted them as he opened the door. Quinn was shocked by the werewolf’s appearance – Rafe had always glowed with good health and his pride had bordered on the verge of arrogance. Now, his brown hair stuck up like a hedgehog's prickles – not deliberately tousled like Tristan’s, but rather dishevelled and unkempt. The growth of hair on his face proved he had not shaved for at least a week, and his eyes were hollow; haunted even. Channon was sitting at the kitchen table staring into space as they all took a seat.

“How are you coping?” Quinn asked gently and Channon’s eyes came to rest on her. Channon, too, looked as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders. Her usually glossy black hair was lacklustre, hanging in dirty, lifeless strands down her face. Her amber eyes were dull and there was an air of despair about her that frightened Quinn.

“Okay,” she answered, glancing quickly at Rafe, who stared back at her with ill-concealed resentment.

“She shouldn’t be here,” he barked roughly. “Her place is with the pack. Caleb has forbidden anyone to speak to me.”

“I told you, I’m not going,” Channon hissed, “I don’t belong to him. I don’t belong to anyone.”

“You have a duty!” Rafe retorted and Quinn was reminded painfully of her father. It seemed she and Channon had a lot in common and Quinn sympathised with the werewolf, but she could also see what Channon could not. Rafe’s words might seem harsh and callous, but they were borne out of concern for his mate.

“It seems as though Channon has made her choice,” Quinn interrupted, trying to diffuse the tension between them.

“It is not her choice to make!” Rafe argued. “Pack law dictates that the dominant male and his chosen mate are required to mate. Caleb has chosen Channon and, in refusing him, she jeopardises the pack hierarchy and puts them all at risk. Caleb is unstable - living alone for so many years has unhinged him and he could easily take his anger out on the others.”

“I can’t,” Channon was almost pleading, “I can’t just switch off my feelings, Rafe! You are my Alpha...”

“I am not!” Rafe’s eyes were wild, and Quinn understood that, with the full moon so close, his emotions were not entirely under control. “I am not the Alpha; not anymore. I am nothing.”

Channon half stood, determined to comfort him, before shaking herself and sitting back down again.

“Let’s just get you through this night,” Kellan spoke for the first time, “we can deal with the rest later.”

Rafe grunted, and then nodded reluctantly.

An hour before nightfall there was a firm rapping on the front door. Rafe and Channon were down to their underwear, drenched in sweat, the heat a typical symptom of their transformation. Kellan rose to his feet to answer the door but before Quinn could even register the sudden noise a short, stocky man erupted into the kitchen.

His hair was a tawny gold mane that fell to his shoulders and his eyes a deep brown, flecked with gold. He was attractive, in a dangerous, cruel way. For a second, the cold glint in his eyes reminded Quinn of Drake.

“Channon,” he called, his voice rasping and gravelly, “the full moon is upon us. You will accompany me to Lunar Grove. Now,” he added authoratively. “I have indulged you enough.” Quinn noticed how he ignored Rafe completely – as though the older wolf was not even present. Rafe did not react, keeping his eyes fixed on the table before him, but Quinn noticed a muscle going in his jaw.

Channon lifted her face, her eyes flashing defiantly.

“I will not,” she exclaimed haughtily. Caleb growled, a low, intimidating sound that started deep in his chest. His eyes were already changing – the brown lightening to an unnatural yellow, the pupils shrinking. Glancing at the others, Quinn noticed that their eyes were also morphing. The transition was not far off.

“You belong to me now,” Caleb growled.

“I belong to no-one!” Channon insisted, getting to her feet. “I’m a wolf one night of the month! I’m human the rest. I will not let the smallest part of me dictate my path.” Quinn sensed where she was headed and she stood too, realising the damage it would cause, but she was too late. “Rafe is my mate,” Channon snarled, “I will not leave him.”

The words had barely left her mouth when Caleb launched himself across the room, flying at Rafe in a frenzy of loathing. Channon’s words were the trigger – she had belittled the new Alpha in front of the very wolf whose place he had won. It was the ultimate insult and Caleb could not allow it. Quinn and Kellan charged forward, pulling at Caleb, trying to get him off Rafe, who was lying prostrate on the floor. It broke Quinn’s heart that he never once tried to defend himself; that he willingly submitted to the new Alpha’s dominance, as was their way. Channon was screaming, sounding part-human, part-wolf as her shrieks morphed into a howl.

Quinn had had enough. Pushing Kellan aside for his own safety, she grabbed Caleb under his arms and in one fluid movement she pulled him off Rafe and threw him aside. Caleb’s head connected painfully with the leg of Kellan’s discarded chair, and he leapt to his feet, a low growl emanating from his lips, which were pulled back in an ugly snarl. Quinn was not intimated and, ignoring Kellan’s cry of warning, she stepped between the two werewolves, lifting her arms and preparing to defend her friend. Channon flew to Rafe’s side, weeping, but determined, her top lip curled in anger.

“You are interfering in pack business, Guardian,” Caleb warned Quinn.

“It is my duty to protect the inhabitants of Summerfeld,” she retorted, “all of them. I do not want to hurt you, but I cannot allow this.” It struck her that Caleb was new to the City and that he had not spent his life being protected by the Guardians – he did not automatically trust them as the other werewolves did. In fact, it occurred to her that the way Caleb was looking at her – an expression of loathing and disgust in his yellow eyes – that not only did he not trust her, he didn’t like her either. Quinn recoiled; she had never come across a supernatural creature who showed such animosity for the Guardians.

“I should have killed him,” Caleb sneered, referring to the fight that had made him Alpha. “It was a mistake to let him live.”

“Well, you didn’t,” Quinn pointed out archly, “and I think it's time for you to go.” She glanced towards the still-open door. Dusk was falling – they didn’t have long.

“I want her,” Caleb nodded at Channon, who was still kneeling at Rafe’s side. The older werewolf was starting to stir, his face bloody and bruised. The leering look Caleb bestowed upon Channon made Quinn’s blood run cold. It was primal and shameless - he wanted to possess Channon, to control her and dominate her entirely. Unlike the other werewolves that Quinn knew, Caleb was driven entirely by his animal instinct.

“You need to go,” she repeated, ready to force him if necessary. “You have only a few minutes before sunset – we can resolve this tomorrow.” He seemed set to argue, and then a sadistic smile settled over his hard face.

“If he hunts, I’ll kill him,” he warned, and then he flew through the open door and disappeared from sight.

Chapter 25

Caleb’s meaning was clear – if Rafe ventured out in wolf form, Caleb would hunt him and finish what he had started. Channon should not have defied him, she had started a feud between the two men that Quinn feared would only end in death. She turned to reproach the female werewolf, but Channon had already started panting, her back arched in pain. Rafe was not much better, and he yelped as his body convulsed. The werewolves were shifting.

Quinn and Kellan quickly moved the table and chairs into the living-room, giving the two room, and then locked the doors and windows, barricading them in. Rafe was still in human form when Quinn returned to his side. The hair on his face was growing thicker and his yellow eyes seemed to look through her, but she knew that he could hear her.

“Rafe, you cannot go outside. Do you understand me? You need to fight your hunting instinct and stay inside until the morning. Your life depends on it... Channon’s life depends on it.” At the last, his eyes left her face and found Channon’s, and a glimmer of understanding passed between them. Quinn stood and backed up, slowly, until she reached the living-room. It was going to be a long night.

Quinn knew that the wolves would not harm her or Kellan, so when Rafe and Channon trotted out of the kitchen a few minutes later in full wolf form she remained seated. Rafe whined, his yellow eyes meeting hers, and Channon pawed the ground, her sharp nails gouging grooves in the wooden floor. Rafe was big for a wolf and his pelt was a gorgeous grey and white – he had always been a beautiful specimen. Both his and Channon’s fur was longer than normal, and Channon, in particular, looked thinner. Channon was smaller than Rafe, but no less beautiful - her pure ebony coat glinting in the lamplight. She scratched the floor again and then threw back her head and howled – a sorrowful, piercing sound. Rafe did not join her, but he did make a whining noise and flattened his ears. Quinn’s heart broke for their obvious distress.

“They need to feed,” she murmured to Kellan, keeping a wary eye on the wolves, as Channon nudged Rafe, trying to get his attention. She hoped that Rafe would not retaliate and hurt her. Food would distract and hopefully settle them, as they fought their instinct to hunt.

“I brought some over earlier today,” Kellan nodded and headed for the back door. Rafe circled the room warily, and Channon followed, her yellow eyes flitting every now and then to Quinn. Twice, she gave Quinn a cautionary growl, but Quinn made no move to interfere with them, sitting perfectly still on the sofa.

Kellan returned after just a few minutes, depositing what looked like a deer carcass on the floor of the kitchen. The dark stain just below the animal’s shoulder marked the place where his arrow had shot straight and true. Quinn grimaced as blood seeped onto the hardwood floor. The wolves approached the deer, sniffing curiously and Quinn held her breath. Rafe nosed the carcass, but then turned away and continued his relentless pacing. Quinn heaved a sigh of disappointment.

“He will eat, eventually,” Kellan soothed beside her, “and he will not leave the house. I thought they would put up more of a struggle, but it seems they are just as fearful of going outside as we are for them.”

Without warning, the front door burst open. Rafe darted forward, ready to attack, but stopped almost immediately. Tristan stood in the doorway, his eyes wild.

“Tristan?” Quinn was on her feet in a heartbeat, “What is it?”

“It’s Monique,” his face was ashen, “she’s gone!” Quinn hesitated for the space of a heartbeat.

“Go,” Kellan ushered her out, “I told you – they are not going to leave the house; I can manage on my own. The Guardians need you Quinn. Go!”

Closing the front door behind her, she set her hands on Tristan’s shaking shoulders.

“What do you mean, Monique is gone?” she asked frantically, as Camille and Isaiah rushed up the front lawn to join them.

“I’m warning you, Tristan,” Camille shrieked, her face red and ravaged with fear, “if anything’s happened to her I’ll...”

“Where could she be?” Quinn interrupted, not understanding any of it. “And how could anyone abduct Monique from inside the City – it’s not possible.” Camille gave a hysterical snort of derision.

“Nobody’s taken her,” she hissed, “I know my child – the stubborn, insistent little brat!” Quinn could clearly make out the desperate concern beneath her harsh words. Camille was terrified for her child. Perplexed, Quinn turned to Isaiah, the only one calm enough to give her any details.

“We think she’s gone to Dragon's Peak,” he explained, “we didn’t want to intrude, but you are the only other Guardian in Summerfeld right now and we need your help. Piper is guarding the Cathedral in my absence.”

“Of course,” Quinn understood immediately. Monique had gone to see the dragons despite their warnings. She was in very real danger and they had to stop her. Sprinting back down the street, Quinn heard the high-pitched whistling behind her. Isaiah was calling ahead for the unicorns.

Quinn and Tristan burst into the cornflower field behind Kellan’s house at the same time, narrowly avoiding being trampled by the stampeding beasts approaching from the opposite direction. Etana and Sheehan were there and Quinn jumped onto Etana’s back, racing towards Dragon’s Peak. Tristan, on Sheehan, was right beside her. She could hear Isaiah yelling, telling Camille she needed to stay, and the fainter cries of Camille’s vehement disagreement, but then they entered the trees and all she could hear was the thundering of the unicorn’s hooves beneath her and the distant howling of the wolf pack.

Quinn slid off Etana’s back as she reared up in the air. Quinn had brought her much closer to the mountain than before, and the mare quivered in distress at being this close to the dragons. Glancing up at the mist looming above her, Quinn shivered herself. She had barely survived her own encounter with the dragons so recently, and now a 15-year-old girl was up there, alone and completely unprepared for what she was walking into. The other creatures of Summerfeld were charming, or at the very least, placid enough to tolerate the Guardians, but the dragons were vicious and posed a great danger when the Guardians were in their territory. Tristan was already sprinting up the steep path and Quinn was torn between following him and waiting for Isaiah, who had dismounted and was now kneeling at the edge of Lake Avalon, calling for the merfolk. The merfolk might have seen Monique, and which direction she had headed in, but Quinn did not stay to find out. She made her decision and tore up the mountain after Tristan.

Quinn had been a Guardian a lot longer than Tristan and it didn’t take her long to catch up to him. She was fitter and stronger; years of training had given her amazing endurance and made her lethal in combat, but even she would not take on a dragon.

“Tristan!” she grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. His eyes were frantic, darting everywhere.

“I have to find her Quinn!”

“Shhhhh!” she whispered urgently, “we will, but we have to be quiet.”

“Camille will never forgive me,” his face crumpled again and Quinn understood his fierce filial loyalty – she had felt exactly the same devotion for Avery.

“Monique is going to be fine,” she promised, just as Isaiah caught up with them.

“You two need to stay here, I’ll go up,” he instructed. Unsurprisingly, Tristan immediately started arguing, raucously.

“I have more experience with the dragons,” Isaiah rationalised, “you might just anger them and they will only become more agitated. Just give me half an hour... if I’m not back by then by all means continue with the search.” He didn’t need to add that if he didn’t return he would most likely be dead. Isaiah left then, with a cautionary look at Quinn, and she nodded her understanding. She needed to keep Tristan here.

Tristan didn’t give up easily, but eventually Quinn calmed him enough that he agreed to wait half an hour and not a moment longer. They stood in restless silence as the minutes ticked by. Tristan could not stay still and kept casting hopeful glances up the mountain at the slightest sound. Quinn wished she could offer words of comfort, but she had a terrible foreboding that things were going to end badly.

She saw Isaiah first. He came tearing through the mist above them, his white face a mask of shock. Tristan noticed him a second later and an anguished cry burst from his lips. Then Quinn heard the high-pitched screaming and her legs almost caved in beneath her.

“Tristan, no!” she yelled, reaching for him as he took off towards the sound, heading straight for Isaiah who was approaching from the opposite direction. Quinn watched him go, dazed for a second as something pricked at her conscience. As Isaiah got closer, she realised that his face, although shocked, was also expressing a different emotion... Wonder. The penny dropped in the same instant that Tristan spun on his heels, his face morphing from pure panic to shocked comprehension. Monique wasn’t screaming. She was laughing.

The dragon that swooped from the mist above their heads was the colour of burnt umber, with a pale plum underbelly. Quinn recognised the enormous massive beast as a Saurean – one of the least hostile species that dwelled on Dragon's Peak.

The logical part of her brain registered these facts as she watched the dragon soar above her, completing a full circle before flapping her enormous wings and heading back towards the mountain. The other part of her brain, which urged her to believe what she was seeing despite it being impossible, registered that Monique was riding on the Saurean’s back.

Chapter 26

As the first rays of the sun filtered softly through the glass window, Kellan heaved a sigh that the worst was over. He could hear Freya moving around in the bedroom, but she would not emerge until he called her, letting her know that it was safe. Quinn had not returned, and he hoped that Monique had been found, unharmed. He knew that Quinn would not have left him to deal with the wolves on his own if it weren’t important. It had been a long night and his body ached from sitting for so long, but he would rest soon.

“How do you feel,” Kellan asked gently, throwing a blanket over Rafe’s body as he lay shivering and sweating on the floor.

“I’m fine,” Rafe replied through clenched teeth. Nearby, Channon, who was also back in human form, whimpered pitifully. Rafe rolled onto his side, checking that she was all right, before he slumped onto his back again, pressing his hands over his eyes. Kellan left them while he made a pot of tea which would warm them from the inside and hopefully stop the shivering. The transformation wreaked havoc on their bodies for a few hours after resuming human form.

“Thank you,” Rafe croaked, lifting himself into a sitting position as Kellan handed him a steaming mug. Kellan passed a mug to Channon who seemed to be recovering faster than her mate.

“What are we going to do?” Channon sounded so defeatist and Kellan understood the predicament. Werewolves were not meant to be shut inside like domestic dogs. They needed to hunt during the full moon; they needed to run and to mate. It was their most primal instinct, and to deny it could have dire consequences. And yet, Caleb would kill Rafe if he ventured outside in wolf form.

“We have a month to think about it...” Kellan trailed off. As if the very thought had summoned him, the door burst open and the new Alpha stood before them, glaring down at Rafe with ill-concealed disdain. As his gaze moved to Channon, Kellan saw again the desire to dominate her reflected in his gold-flecked eyes.

“Now is not the time, Caleb,” Kellan said, but the angry young man ignored him, shouldering his way into the room. Kellan only noticed Cassandra when she barged in behind him.

Cassandra was an exotic-looking woman, with sallow olive skin and heavy-set, dark eyes. Her hair was cut in a short bob, with bangs hiding a long forehead. She looked both angry and satisfied, and the way she mirrored Caleb’s movements, and stayed as close to him as possible, hinted that perhaps she had finally gotten her way last night and mated with the new Alpha. She did not look happy that Caleb had come here, to the place where Channon was.

“I have come to issue a warning,” Caleb threatened Rafe, “you are no longer permitted in town.”

“You do not have the authority to ban him from the street,” Kellan protested, “you are not in wolf form now. This is a civilised community!” A half-snarl emanated from Caleb’s open mouth and Kellan stepped back as though he had been struck. No werewolf had ever challenged the Fae, not since the beginning of time. Kellan eyed his bow, resting in the corner of the room, but pushed the though aside immediately. He could not harm one of the wards, regardless of his behaviour.

“Channon,” Caleb continued, heedless of Kellan’s words, “are you ready to join me?” Cassandra let out an inhuman sound, part-growl, part-whimper and her dark eyes narrowed at Channon.

“What does she matter to you?” she hissed.

“She is my rightful mate,” Caleb replied coldly and Cassandra’s eyes widened in shock. “You help pass the time, my young pup, but you are no match for an Alpha.”

“Enough!” Kellan roared, stepping forward to comfort the young wolf. Cassandra pushed him away ungratefully. “You are new to Summerfeld,” Kellan continued, “and you have much to learn. The werewolves and the Fae have always been brethren – we are, after all, the only humanoid species that reside within the City. You won your pack’s loyalty when you defeated Rafe; there is no need for this feud to continue.”

“Channon?” Caleb barked. Kellan may as well have been speaking to himself for all the notice the Alpha took.

“Never,” Channon hissed, moving closer to Rafe.

“So be it,” Caleb smirked evilly. “You are both banished – do not let me catch either of you outside.” And with that, he turned on his heel and walked out. Cassandra threw Channon one last dark look, and then she followed him, slamming the door behind her.

“I’m going to take this to the council,” Kellan stepped towards the door, but Rafe moved to stand against it.

“This is not Guardian business,” he murmured.

“Threatening the lives of any of the Summerfeld wards is exactly Guardian business!”

“No,” Rafe shook his head, his gaze falling on Channon, who backed away, looking suddenly afraid. “This is my problem. And it ends now.”

“What do you presume to do, Rafe?’ Freya’s gentle voice carried over to them. Intuitively she approached Channon and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders, eying Rafe meditatively. Kellan knew that look. Freya, while as peaceful as most Fae woman, also had a fiercely protective nature, and right now, she sensed Channon’s fear. She held herself upright, taller than Rafe, her rounded belly accentuated by the long dress she wore. Rafe dropped his eyes first.

“Did you hear all of it?” Kellan asked.

“Most,” Freya nodded. “It seems that we have a problem on our hands.”

“A problem?” Rafe gasped. “A problem? That’s what you call this? I think it’s slightly more than a problem. There’s only one solution... Channon, you must return to the pack.”

“I can’t!” Channon cried, her face crumpling. “I can’t be with that... that... monster! How can you ask that of me?”

“What makes you think I want that?” Rafe replied, his voice breaking. “Do you think I want to see my best friend... my wife, with that bastard? Of course I don’t! But we don’t have a choice. I won’t let you risk your life. Unhappy is better than dead!”

“And what will you do?” Freya interrupted.

“I’ll challenge him. He’s going to kill me anyway, I may as well go down fighting.”

Channon succumbed to her tears and slid to the floor in an inconsolable heap.

“You will lose,” Freya pointed out gently. She sensed that his cruelty toward his mate stemmed more from a deep need to keep her safe than any true anger at her actions.

“I know.” The reply was hollow. Raising his eyes back to meet Freya’s, he saw the kindness and the compassion reflected in them. “But there’s nothing else I can do.” His anguish was nothing in comparison to the shame. He had failed Channon – the person he loved most in this world. He had lost and condemned her to death, or a lifetime of servitude to a cruel, powerful wolf. He didn’t know if he could live with the failure.

“You are being a coward,” Freya murmured, as though she could read his thoughts. “Death is an easy alternative.” Lifting Channon by the arm, she placed both hands over her cheeks, “So are you,” she added, “I need to speak to you, in private.”

“I can’t do it,” Channon shook her head when Freya had finished outlining her plan. The two women sat in the small, modest bedroom, with the door closed so that the men wouldn’t overhear them.

“Channon, I know you don’t want to, but your actions are the reason that Rafe is in so much trouble. It is your law – a law that Rafe himself upheld as Alpha. You believed in it, then. By not returning to the pack, you are angering Caleb. I believe we are seeing the very worst of him because you are humiliating him in front of a pack he controls. He cannot allow it.”

“I don’t think we’ve seen the worst of him, yet,” Channon whispered, “or even half of what he is capable of. I’m afraid of him, Freya.”

“I understand. But he is a wolf, Channon, there is nothing to be afraid of. I have known wolves my whole life. Alphas are strong and relentless, yes, but they are also incredibly protective of their pack. You know that.” Channon nodded, but her eyes told a different story. “If you return, you will be safe; sheltered within the pack,” Freya continued. “You have a month before the next full moon to assess whether you feel your life is in danger. If you are still fearful by then, come and tell me. I will make sure you are kept here, safe from harm.”

“I don’t want you involved in this. Not in your condition...”

Freya laughed.

“I’m stronger than you think, young wolf.”

“I know. I’ve seen you with your bow.”  Channon gave a watery smile. “What about Rafe? Even if I go back to the pack Caleb isn’t just going to let him go.”

“No,” Freya acknowledged, “but it will cool his heels for a time. We need breathing room to come up with a long-term solution. And I have a plan to keep Rafe out of harm’s way while accomplishing something far more important in the process.”

Channon followed her from the room and Freya gestured Rafe forward. She placed Channon’s small hand in his. “Stay here, comfort her. Your time together is precious.”

“Where are you going?” Kellan asked as his wife headed for the door.

“I have an idea,” Freya replied, consoling him with a small smile.

She returned after a short time.

“Monique is fine,” she announced as she stepped through the door. Kellan heaved a sigh of relief and even the wolves felt their hearts lift. “She’s a dragon rider,” Freya continued, and their eyes widened in surprise. “Although, if her mother has anything to do with it, she won’t be doing it again any time soon. Now,” she continued briskly, facing the wolves, “as to your predicament, I believe I have come up with a solution.”

Chapter 27

“How is it possible?” Tristan was still struggling to reconcile what he had seen last night with what he knew to be true. He, Quinn and Isaiah were standing in the cornflower field, having bid farewell to the unicorns that had brought them back. A few yards away Camille’s furious voice was taking an elated Monique to task.

“A dragon rider?’ Quinn interrupted, also looking to Isaiah for answers. She had heard of it before, decades ago, but she had never seen anything like it. Tristan, who had been a Guardian less than a tenth of the time she had, had not heard of it at all.

“Yes,” Isaiah watched Monique reverently. “She must be a descendant of Alain – he was the first dragon rider.” Alain, like Isaiah and Daniel, had been one of the original twelve Guardians.

“But... if she’s a descendant of Alain, then so is...” Quinn gaped at Tristan.

“Tristan,” Isaiah nodded, “yes, he must be.” Although the descendants of all Guardian families were kept track of, nobody remembered who was descended from whom. It was only important that the families of any living Guardians were traceable.

“Can you...?” Quinn raised her brow incredulously at Tristan.

“No,” he shook his head, “I’m pretty sure I can’t ride them. Not that I’ve ever been close enough to try – I generally run in the opposite direction when they start hurling fire at me.” Now that Monique was safe all the tension had left him. Quinn smiled, marvelling at his resilience and how quickly he had recovered. Tristan smiled back, and a moment passed between them that Quinn was not sure she entirely understood. Something flashed in his eyes, an emotion she had not seen in a very long time and certainly not directed at her – not since Avery had unwittingly come between them.

“A dragon will not breathe its fire at a rider,” Isaiah pointed out, which answered Quinn’s question. Tristan was no dragon rider.

“She’s letting her get into her stride,” Tristan mused, as the sound of Camille’s voice grew louder and more agitated. “You’ve got to agree and apologise quickly or she gains momentum. I better go and save her,” he added, loping off in the direction of his niece and irate sister.

“The girl has the most natural affinity for our precious creatures of any Guardian I have ever seen,” Isaiah mused thoughtfully.

“What does it mean?” Quinn asked, sensing there was more to his words.

“Possibly that my time as a Guardian is coming to an end.” His answer was so candid that Quinn flinched.

“What?”

He turned to face her, his face perfectly tranquil.

“Amongst the Guardians there have always been those with a certain natural affinity – they find their place immediately – their niche, you could call it. Daniel and his Hunters were born to pursue the enemies of the wards, although Blair is more nurturing than most. Other Guardians serve only to protect. I have always been closest to the inhabitants of Summerfeld and they have trusted me above all others. Now it seems that Monique has surpassed me in that respect.” Quinn did not answer. The thought of the guardianship without Isaiah was too awful to bear thinking about.

“What am I, then?” she murmured, wondering about her own place within the Guardian council. Her guilt at leaving was, in this moment, stronger than ever before.

“You will find your niche, Quinn. You question and you challenge – more so than anyone ever has. You have lost your way and you have a great journey ahead of you, but I am confident that you will find your way back. I think you will bring about a great change.”

“What kind of change?”

“I have no idea,” he smiled, “but I sincerely hope that I am around to witness it.”

Slowly, they were eating away at her resolve, without even being aware of it. Quinn could feel her resistance crumbling, the lure of her Guardian life calling, almost too powerful to resist.

“I must go,” she announced, as they made their way toward the fountain. Nobody said a word, but a dark glance passed between Isaiah and Tristan. Isaiah nodded his head discreetly and Tristan followed her through the Gateway and into the Cathedral.

“Quinn, please stay.” Tristan finally spoke, as they reached her car. The sunlight danced off the golden streaks in his hair. His blue eyes held her own, pleading with her to reconsider.

“I have to find Avery’s crystal,” she insisted. “I need to make sure that Jack and Ava are safe.”

“They would have been safe with Kellan and Freya.” She could hear the underlying message in his voice. Tristan wanted her to forgive him for his and Avery’s decision to allow the Faery couple to adopt their children. In truth, Quinn had grudgingly accepted that being raised by Kellan and Freya would not have been the worst thing that could have happened to Jack and Ava. They would have been loved and well-cared for, and she could have visited them often. In the absence of that option, though, Quinn had to revert to her previous plan. She would find Avery’s crystal and barter for their safe return, and the time that she needed to raise them in the realm of man.

“You think I don’t care for them, don’t you?” It was not really a question, and he continued quickly, “Quinn, I don’t for one second think that the Guardians would let any harm come to Jack and Ava. If I did, do you honestly think I wouldn’t have sought them out myself?”

“It’s not just about keeping them safe,” she countered, “it's about them being loved and being with family – with people who would die to protect them.”

“The Guardians would die to protect them.”

“Perhaps. But they would not love them as a mother would.”

“Would you?” he asked cryptically, “would you love Avery’s and my children as if they were your own? After everything that happened?” Never before had they spoken about what had transpired between them before Tristan met Avery. It was as though it had never happened. Quinn’s eyes widened in surprise at his boldness in bringing it up now. Lifting her chin she met his gaze defiantly, daring him to contradict her.

“I do love them like my own, Tristan. What the hell do you think I’m doing all of this for?”

“For Avery?” he murmured, stepping closer to her. Quinn nodded, unable to speak. “For me?” he crooned; his voice low and heavy with meaning. She wanted to lash out at him, to deny that she would ever do anything for him after all he had put her through, but she couldn’t find the words. Blinking, she nodded again.

Tristan seemed to grow in stature as he inhaled deeply, comprehension dawning on his astonished face. He lifted his hand towards her cheek and Quinn almost closed her eyes in anticipation of his touch. Almost. Her tanzanite eyes flew open a second before he reached her, and she stepped away from him.

“I’ll see you around, Tristan,” she yanked open the car door and got inside, starting the engine and pulling away before he could utter a single word.

Tristan stood dumbfounded, in the exact same spot, watching the car until it disappeared over the crest of the hill. For just a second Quinn had shown him something; a vulnerability he would never have believed of her if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. He lifted his hand and stared at it, fascinated. He had almost touched her – he had wanted to touch her. Tristan had loved Quinn; he had thought he would never feel that way again until he had met Avery. Avery had captivated and enchanted him from the moment they met; it was as if all his feelings for Quinn had been redirected and amplified a thousand fold.

In the euphoria of his newfound bliss he had initially not grasped the gravity of his betrayal and the extent of the pain that he had caused her, but, as the years had gone by, the hollow look in Quinn’s eyes had begun to haunt him. She was so brave and so fearless, and she had stepped aside at great personal cost so that he and Avery could be happy. Tristan had tried to treat her with kindness, but every act had seemed to hurt her even more and her beautiful bruised eyes caused him pain. And then... Avery had died. And the sorrow in Quinn’s eyes had been replaced by a black hatred, so intense that he could barely stand it. In the end, he had simply stopped talking to her, stopped looking at her. She had disappeared shortly after and he had turned his focus to his Guardian duties – throwing himself into his work.

He had been completely unprepared when Isaiah had told him that Quinn had returned to Summerfeld. He had followed her and Kellan to Dragon’s Peak with the intention of putting the past behind them, but he had found Quinn in danger and he could not allow anything to happen to her. He had been even more unprepared for the physical reaction he had experienced holding her in his arms in that cave in the mountain. Since then he had watched her closely. Quinn had changed – she was harder, more unyielding, more determined. She had always been stronger than Avery, not on the surface, but deep down where it mattered. He had just never seen it before.

It took a few miles of driving before Quinn could get her breathing back to normal. How dare he, she thought to herself. How dare he dredge up old memories... memories that she had spent years trying to repress. She would not let Tristan get under her skin again, there was too much at stake.

Chapter 28

“Why are we moving camp?” Jonas asked, as Balthazar packed up the Chevy.

“There are woods, not far from here,” his father replied curtly, “and a freshwater stream. It’s only about an hour’s drive.” Jonas nodded, satisfied. At least they weren’t leaving the area and their current living arrangement was hardly comfortable, with nothing to shelter them from the baking sun.

Balthazar had picked a campsite miles from the portal to Summerfeld, and deep within the trees. He did not want any of his people stumbling upon the canyon, or any of the Guardians stumbling across them.

“Don’t you think you should tell him?” Rowena murmured, approaching silently.

“Not yet.” Balthazar shook his head. He didn’t want to start a riot. Many of the gypsies had also been searching for generations and he couldn’t be certain that they wouldn’t flock to the City in pandemonium. He had to find a way to tell them, but only once he could contain them.

“Jonas starts school tomorrow.” This reminder was met with a surly frown. “It might be good for him,” she persisted, “to meet some people his own age.”

“You know exactly what is going to happen at that school,” Balthazar would not be convinced. It pained him to think of the cruel treatment his son would endure.

“You never know,” Rowena sighed, but secretly, she knew Balthazar was right. “Anyway,” she shook her head, changing the subject, “there’s a market fair coming up. It’s a decent-size town so hopefully we’ll have a good turn-out.”

Balthazar softened, reaching for her and planting a kiss on her smooth forehead. Rowena and her girls were the only reason that they had managed to survive for so long. They made more money at the fairs than the gypsies made by any other means, although the men were constantly on the lookout for odd jobs. People had become more cynical over the years and they no longer wanted to employ drifters. The gypsies' path was not an easy one.

“What would I do without you?” he murmured into her hair.

“You would be lost,” she admitted teasingly.

“Rowena,” a feminine voice called, and Rowena stepped away from Balthazar.

“Yes, Cara?” The woman’s dirty blonde hair hung in wispy tendrils around her face, caked with sweat and dust. Nearby, her husband, Zebulon, was loading the final boxes into the back of his station wagon.

“We’re ready,” Cara replied, forcing a stilted smile. The two women had a love-hate relationship. Cara’s ancestor had been Jasmine’s best friend, and the women in both families had remained close through the generations. Rowena and Cara had grown up inseparable, sharing everything with one another. Two mischievous imps, they had, on more than one occasion, seen the tanned hide of their fathers’ belts, but this only served to bring them closer together. Blossoming into womanhood, their contrasting beauty – Rowena’s dark wantoness paired with Cara’s fair indifference – earned them the adoration of many of the youths in the camp. Both girls, however, had eyes for only one. Balthazar Blackman. Cara was more aggressive in her pursuit of their leader’s handsome son, but in the end, it was an outsider who caught Balthazar’s attention. During an extended stay near a thriving market fair, Balthazar had met a local farm girl. Plain, but kind, Rose had captured Balthazar’s heart, and despite his parents’ protests that he should marry within their community, he had taken her for his wife. Her own parents did not mind in the least, only thankful that someone had deigned to marry her, and Rose was unhampered in her desire to join the travelling community.

Conceding defeat gracefully, Rowena had embraced the girl and befriended her. Cara, green with envy, and far harder by nature, refused to even acknowledge Rose, and slowly, this caused a rift in her friendship with Rowena. Cara had gone on to marry Zebulon - a friend of Balthazar’s, and she had enjoyed a happy, although barren marriage. Rowena had never married, but she remained close with Rose, and, when Jonas was born, she doted on the boy. She had never intended to steal Balthazar’s heart after the death of her friend, only to help him with the baby, Jonas, but invariably her love for Jonas had eased Balthazar’s pain and he had begun to see her in a new light.

In the wake of Rose’s death, Rowena and Cara had rekindled their friendship. They were never again as close as they had been as children, but both women were grateful to have one another.

“Rowena?” Cara’s voice sounded again and Rowena gave a small shake of her head.

“Thank you,” she replied, finally, smiling at her old friend. “I guess its time to go.”

As the convoy trundled along, Rowena spotted a few more cornflowers along the roadside. Like before, they defied logic; single plants growing through the dry cracked earth. Rowena could scarcely comprehend the gravity of Balthazar’s discovery. He had been right about the sign. She had always known that he would find the lost city, but now that he had – now that they had finally fulfilled their destiny, she had no idea what would happen next.

The girl sitting beside her in the passenger seat of the truck shifted, hoisting her heavy skirt off her legs in an effort to cool herself.

“It won’t be long,” Rowena soothed. Cosima was one of her charges, a young girl of nineteen who Rowena protected from the lecherous advances of the men in camp. Cosima bore a physical resemblance to Cara – she had the same lank blonde hair and pretty green eyes, but that was where the similarities ended. While Cara was outspoken and confident, Cosima shied away from anyone who got too close to her. Her fear and insecurity stemmed from a horrific past. The gypsies could be barbaric, and Cosima had been victimised by the worst of their kind. Rowena was determined to protect her from ever having to go through anything like that again.

The entire community was delighted with their new campsite. They manoeuvred carefully through the trees to the clearing that Balthazar had picked out. The surrounding trees provided much-needed shade and they could hear the gurgling water of the nearby stream even from the campsite. Birds chirped in the trees and the soft grass was far friendlier than the hard, compacted earth.

Rowena stopped the truck with a creak of the protesting chassis and climbed out.

“They seem happy,” Balthazar remarked as he came to stand beside her.

“You made the right choice,” she replied. “We couldn’t have stayed out there for much longer.” She watched as the gypsies bounded around, their spirits buoyed. “They will be happy here.”

“There is another advantage to this particular location,” Balthazar murmured, an undercurrent in his voice. Rowena raised a dark brow and he smiled.

“Privacy.”

Leaving the others to delight in their new environment and unpack, Balthazar spirited Rowena into the trees, his need for her far outweighing his satisfaction that his people were rejuvenated.

Chapter 29

Quinn reached Brookfield the following afternoon, and, after letting herself in, she headed straight upstairs to crash on her bed, physically and emotionally exhausted. It seemed as if she had only just closed her eyes when she woke with a start, and a cold hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her scream.

“It’s me,” Drake murmured in the darkness and Quinn stopped struggling. She could just make him out, sitting on the edge of her bed, silhouetted against the pale moonlit curtains behind him. Quinn reached for her bedside lamp and switched it on, blinking as the warm light bathed the room.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she grumbled, sitting up and pulling the covers around her waist.

Drake eyed her T-shirt with mild curiosity, no doubt wondering why she had gone to bed fully clothed, then leaned over and calmly, and deliberately, pulled a long silver stake from her boot, which was lying beside the bed. Quinn stiffened, her heart-rate increasing. He had seen her stake back at his house, but there had been no time to discuss it. The leisurely way he was staring at this one indicated that they now they had all the time in the world.

“I think you and I need to have a little talk, Quinn.” He stood abruptly, making his way to her bedroom door, the stake still in his hand. “I’ll give you a few minutes to,” he paused, his eyes glinting, “freshen up.”

Quinn had no intention of doing anything while Drake was in the house and she followed him down the stairs. He did not turn back. Either he trusted her not to attack him from behind, or he was confident that she would not be successful if she tried. Neither thought was particularly comforting.

They sat in the living-room. Quinn slumped onto the cream sofa and, to her surprise, Drake took a seat right beside her. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke a word.

“Those people that were after us... you managed to lead them away?” he asked eventually, breaking the silence.

“Yes, for now, but they may come back. Why didn’t you leave town?” she added. Her instructions had been clear enough.

“This is my home,” he replied simply, but she noticed the emphasis on the ‘my’. He obviously felt he had more right to be here in Brookfield than she did. Quinn didn’t dare ask about Genevieve – she preferred not to remind him about their last encounter – but she felt a cold dread settling over her. If Drake was still here, it stood to reason that Genevieve would be too.

“Where have you been?”

“Trying to find my niece and nephew,” she replied, dead-pan. She was acutely aware that he still held her silver stake. Slightly heavier and more cumbersome than a wooden one, it required more force to drive it through a vampire’s heart, but it was less likely to break, and more effective if used correctly.

“And I take it, from the empty bedroom upstairs, that you were unsuccessful?” Quinn nodded, her sense of unease growing. Irked by her silence, he sighed dramatically.

“Is there something you would like to tell me?”

She shook her head.

“I’ll go first then, shall I? I’d like you to tell me how you managed to best Genevieve in that struggle,” he prompted, and Quinn felt a small surge of persuasion flow through her. She was impervious, of course, but he knew that. She suspected it was more out of habit than a genuine attempt to try and manipulate her.

“I told you – I got lucky. I know what you both are, and I carry those,” she gestured casually at the stake he was holding, “just in case. I’m not an idiot – I know that not all vampires are as nice as my friend Jude. I prefer to be prepared.”

“So you walk around with stakes tucked into your boots?”

“Yes,” she was resolute. Drake leaned back against the cushion of the sofa, facing the stairs, so Quinn could see only his left profile.

“Do you know what I think, Quinn,” he mused lightly, as he fingered the point of her stake, twisting it around in his hand. A drop of blood appeared on his finger. “I think that you defeated Genevieve because you have been trained to fight vampires. I think it is your very purpose.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she retorted. “Have you ever heard of a vampire-defence program? I must have missed that class at college.”

“Actually, I have,” he replied coolly, ignoring her sarcasm. “And I think you have too.”

“I have no time for your riddles, Drake.”

“Well then, let me make my point.” He turned to face her, leaning in closer, and she froze at the heat in his gaze. His eyes seemed to look right through her as he handed her back her stake. Quinn took it with a trembling hand. “I believe that there is a place where people are taught to fight vampires. Taught to hunt and kill them. I believe that you know the place I am referring to, because you have been there – trained there. I believe that this is the reason I cannot manipulate you. Yes, Quinn,” he smiled evilly, as her eyes widened in dismay and dread, “I know about Summerfeld. So tell me,” he added, his hand closing over her own, keeping her stake pressed into her lap. The point dug painfully into her thigh, but she refused to show her discomfort as he continued, “how long have you been a Guardian?”

All the air seemed to drain from Quinn’s body as his words registered. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would contradict him, so instead, she jerked free of his grasp, her hand clutched around her stake and fled in the direction of the back door. Drake grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms at her sides. Quinn’s training kicked in and she twisted her body, at the same time crouching down so that his grip on her eased, and then she swept out her leg, connecting with his legs and unbalancing him.

Drake crashed to the ground and Quinn leaped onto his chest, holding her stake in both hands, just over his heart.

“Do it,” he whispered, his hypnotic green eyes daring her. Quinn’s breathing was laboured; fear and fury setting her adrenalin pumping and she gripped the stake more tightly in her sweat-dampened hands. The pointed edge pressed down harder on his chest and a small flower of blood appeared through his shirt. “Do it,” he repeated, malevolently. Quinn could feel her face growing red as she waged a battle in her mind. Drake lay perfectly still beneath her, not even attempting to struggle and, as she faltered, his mouth turned up in a spiteful smirk.

Realising she could not bring herself to kill him she tossed the stake aside and, in one swift movement, got to her feet. Drake did the same and the two regarded each other hostilely in the dimly-lit room.

“Please leave,” Quinn whispered. “If you mean to kill me then do it, but if not, I beg of you – please leave.” Drake made a small movement towards her and then halted abruptly.

“We cannot coexist like this, Quinn. You should leave Brookfield.”

“I will leave when I am ready.” She set her jaw defiantly.

“I do not want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t.” The words resonated around the room, louder than she had intended. Shaken, she continued, “I will leave you alone. I will not betray your secret. And soon enough I will be gone from this place, never to return. All I ask is that you do the same – leave me be and let me finish what I need to do.”

“How long?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“How do I know I can trust you? You are a Guardian of Summerfeld; I am a vampire. You know the threat I pose, now that I know your secret.”

“Do you seek the City?” she asked, already doubting her decision to let him live.

“No.” The words rang with truth.

“Then please, Drake. Just go.”

She didn’t think for a second that he would, but she was mistaken. He left her then, a gentle breeze lifting her hair from her face as he passed. Quinn lowered herself to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest and covering her face with her hands. She had betrayed them. She had betrayed the Guardians, the City and all the surviving wards that she was sworn to protect. She had allowed a vampire who knew her secret to live, endangering her crystal. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks and after a few moments became great, shuddering sobs that hurt her chest and wracked her whole body as she remembered Isaiah’s words and his promise that she would find her way.

Outside the house, under the cover of blackness, Drake listened. He didn’t like to hear her cry, it made him uncomfortable. Making his way around the front of the house, he leaned back against the cold bricks, resuming his solitary vigil over her house. He had been here since she got back – watching over her – until the temptation had grown too great and he had woken her to confront her about the Guardians. He had known what she was as soon as he had watched her fight. Genevieve had not yet pieced it together, but she hated Quinn for besting her and would not be dissuaded – she was intent on killing the girl. His fangs extended in his mouth as the thought of Quinn’s Guardian blood made him heady, but he fought the sudden overwhelming urge to go back inside and drink his fill. The effort of resisting caused him physical pain and he considered leaving, but he could not think of any other way to keep her safe. And so he waited and watched, and tried to block out the sounds of her tears.

Chapter 30

The morning after Quinn’s return, Annie arrived. With everything that had happened Quinn had completely forgotten that it was cleaning day, and her arrival put paid to Quinn’s idea of spending the morning working in her secret room. She was too restless to sit idly by while Annie scrubbed and cleaned, so she went for a run to clear her head and then took a slow drive to the store. Neither of these activities served their purpose of taking her mind off the previous evening’s events. Quinn could scarcely believe she had let Drake walk out of her house now that he knew her secret. A vampire, a sworn mortal enemy of Summerfeld knowing her identity was incomprehensible. He could bring an army down on her at any moment, and worse, he could find her crystal. Perhaps she should move it somewhere safe – somewhere far from the house in Brookfield. Somewhere that no-one but her successor would ever think to look.

And yet, Drake had let her live too. He had had the opportunity to kill her, had been in her bedroom while she slept and he had not acted. She clung to that fact as proof she would be safe.

By the time she returned, Annie had left and the small house was spotless. Quinn dropped her keys on the small shelf beside the front door and carried her parcels through to the kitchen. It took only a few minutes to unpack, then she headed for the secret room, settling down at her desk. She withdrew Avery’s letter from the drawer.

You will find it in the heart of my own.

But what did it mean? She had always thought that it had something to do with Tristan. Think, Quinn, think! Deciding to reverse the roles, Quinn tried to determine what she would do with her own crystal if she suspected trouble. I would give it to Avery, the thought came quickly.

“Oh!” Quinn breathed. Maybe she had been going about this all wrong. She and Avery had been twins – they had been closer than any two people could be. Quinn had always thought of herself and Avery as being two parts of the same whole – was it possible that Avery had thought the same. What if she had loved Quinn more than she had loved Tristan? And if she had – she would have hidden the crystal somewhere she knew that only Quinn could find it, if her successor didn’t.

Energised by this new idea, Quinn scrambled to her feet, crossing the room and pulling an album from a pile in the corner. She flipped past the pages of Avery and herself as children, only stopping when she reached page 32. She traced the lines of a photograph taken at their first and only home together. They had only lived there for a few short months, but in those months, everything had been perfect. They had had high hopes and dreams and an uncertain future that thrilled and excited them. They had never been happier than when they had been released from Summerfeld on their 21st birthdays, ready to start their own lives.

Quinn stared at the small cottage behind them in the photograph. They had found it through the local paper – an elderly couple had converted an unused garage into a small flatlet and rented it out for additional income without the faintest clue as to what market prices were. Quinn and Avery had gotten it for a steal. Could Avery have hidden the crystal there? Without any other leads Quinn figured there was only one way to find out.

Idly she flipped through the album, each image evoking memories of when the pictures had been captured. Avery and Quinn had not had long together in the human world before their Guardian tattoos had appeared. Two Guardians had been trapped by a coven of vampires and they had been killed. Twenty-four hours later, Quinn and Avery had both woken in the middle of the night crying out in pain as their wrists burned with the magical branding. Quinn could scarcely believe their bad luck, but dutifully the sisters had reported to Cliffdale to be inducted into the Guardianship. At some point during the course of her training, her attitude had shifted, and a fierce allegiance to the inhabitants of Summerfeld had consumed her. Quinn was a damn fine Guardian – one of the best – and she had dedicated her life to protecting the creatures she loved. Until Avery’s death she had never once faltered in her path.

Sighing, she set the album back on the pile and got wearily to her feet. The cottage was almost a week’s drive from here; she had better start packing. Walking past the living-room on her way to the stairs, a shadow fell across the partially-drawn curtain and Quinn tensed. Moving towards the window, she peered out of it, but could not see anyone. There was no need to draw her stake in the middle of the day – whoever was outside of her house was no vampire – but she still felt a trickle of apprehension down her spine. On high alert for danger, she made her way to the front door and peered through the peephole. The figures she saw standing on the other side of her door shocked and terrified her.

“Tristan, Rafe!” she quickly opened the door and ushered them inside. “What are you both doing here? And what are you doing out of Summerfeld?” she turned on the werewolf. “You know it’s not safe for you to be out of the City’s protective wards? Tell me you didn’t bring him out,” she added, whirling on Tristan. The inhabitants of Summerfeld could not leave the City without a Guardian to open the Gateway, and, since the City’s creation, no ward had ever left its enchanted protection.

“Isaiah,” Rafe reassured her. “He got me out and then Tristan brought me here. Isaiah said if I had to leave it was better that I remain with a Guardian.” Isaiah had not mentioned that it was actually’s Freya’s idea to send Rafe to Quinn, in the hope that by keeping him safe she would be inclined to remember her loyalty to Summerfeld.

“I can’t protect you out here,” Quinn berated, “not on my own!” The fact that she still had to find Avery’s crystal and Rafe would hinder her progress was nothing compared to her fear that something might happen to him.

“Isaiah sent me to help,” Tristan explained.

“What? No way... you can’t stay here!”

“Believe me, Quinn, I tried to talk them out of it. There was no other solution.”

Tristan had known full well that Quinn would not agree with the plan that Isaiah and Daniel had proposed, but it was not for him to question it. Even so, he had asked that they allow him to take care of Rafe alone, but his request had been denied. Quinn did not doubt Tristan’s sincerity but she felt angry anyway. The Guardians knew that she could not bring herself to turn Rafe away, not when it meant leaving him at the mercy of the vampires who hunted his kind. Isaiah and Daniel were using this as yet another opportunity to draw her back to her duty.

“I cannot go back to Summerfeld.” Rafe’s resigned acceptance was soul-destroying. “As long as I am there it will only fuel Caleb’s anger, and sooner or later someone is going to get hurt.”

“What about Channon?” Quinn asked.

“Channon is where she should be.” His tone indicated that he did not want to discuss it and Tristan shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Despite the seriousness of the conversation, he couldn’t help but cast a furtive glance around Quinn’s neat home, the place where she now spent her time. The absence of personal belongings tugged at his heart in a way that made him feel both pity and the burden of responsibility.

“Channon will not stay in Summerfeld without you,” Quinn pointed out, casting a quizzical glance at Tristan. His interest in his surroundings had not escaped her.

“She cannot leave without a Guardian’s help.” The note of finality in Rafe’s voice was impossible to miss. The truth was that, without a Guardian to take her through the gateway, Channon was trapped within the City’s magical boundaries, although if Quinn knew Channon it wasn’t going to be quite as simple as that.

“If you think that Channon will...”

“This is not Channon’s decision!” Rafe roared, losing his fragile grip over his emotions. “She has forgotten her place. Pack law dictates that the new Alpha chooses his mate. Caleb has chosen Channon. She belongs to him now.”

“She doesn’t belong to anyone!” Quinn protested vehemently, “She’s a grown woman, not a possession.”

“Quinn,” Tristan rebuked gently as Rafe squared his shoulders to retort. “We are simply the protectors; we have no right to interfere with pack law.” It was not his words that silenced Quinn, but the defeated look on Rafe’s face. He was suffering, far more than he was prepared to let on and Tristan was right. Quinn might not understand the laws that govern the inhabitants of the City, but it was not her place to question them.

“I’m sorry,” she conceded, meeting Rafe’s gaze and he nodded, resigned. “Of course you are welcome to stay here, at least until we can find somewhere more suitable.” Some place that doesn’t involve two vampires living just up the street, Quinn thought wildly.

“Thank you.”

“You’ll find the spare room upstairs, please make yourself at home.” Without a word, he climbed the stairs, with the lithe agility that characterised the wolves, leaving Tristan and Quinn facing off in the centre of the living-room.

“Where should I...” Tristan began, but Quinn cut him off.

“You can’t stay here.”

“Quinn,” he paused, sounding weary, “I don’t think we have a choice. Besides, I can be of use to you. You want to find Avery’s crystal, right?”

“You know I do,” Quinn sneered.

“Well, it’s not like you can do that and keep an eye on Rafe at the same time. I can help.” He was right, again, of course. Finding Avery’s crystal would hardly be an easy feat, yet leaving Rafe unattended was incomprehensible. Quinn’s safe haven was rapidly becoming an extension of Summerfeld – teeming with Guardians, and now a member of the City. Desperately, she tried, and failed to come up with a better solution.

“Fine,” she snapped, after a pregnant pause. “You can share the spare room with Rafe. There are twin beds,” she added spitefully, making reference to the children he seemed to have forgotten.

Chapter 31

That night Quinn left the house on the pretext of visiting with Todd and Sarah. Mindful that Tristan was watching through the partial opening in the curtains in the hall, she knocked on Sarah’s door and stepped inside the minute it opened.

“We didn’t have plans for tonight, did we?” Sarah asked vaguely, her blonde hair piled on the very top of her head in a tangled mess.

“We didn’t,” Quinn apologised, grinning at her friend. “But I have some people staying over and I wanted an excuse to get out of the house.”

“I would be the excuse, then?” Sarah smiled back.

“You would indeed! Mind if I slip out the back door?”

“Not at all,” Sarah followed her through the house. As she passed through the kitchen, Quinn noticed the stack of papers on the table.

“Reports?” she asked sympathetically.

“Yeah,” Sarah groaned. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to put enough information into a few short lines to appease parents' desperate need for detail? What they really want is a play-by-play of every single day of their little darling’s semester.”

“I can imagine,” Quinn agreed, thinking of Ava and Jack, and how she would be exactly the same when they went to kindergarten. “Well, good luck,” she added, as she reached for the back door handle.

“Hey, who’s staying with you?” Sarah asked, as an icy breeze blew through the kitchen, setting the papers fluttering. Sarah quickly slapped her palm down on top, holding them in place.

“Just an old friend and his associate,” Quinn replied lightly.

“How long are they staying?”

“I’m not sure. A few weeks maybe.”

“Well in that case invite them around for games night.” Quinn had almost forgotten that tomorrow night was their weekly game evening.

“I can’t make it this week, or next,” she apologised, wondering if this situation could get any more complicated than it already was. “But I promise we’ll definitely make it one evening before they leave. See you later,” she called softly as she pulled the door closed behind her.

Quinn couldn’t bring herself to approach Drake’s house, not while there was a very likely possibility that Genevieve was inside. She had no doubt that, despite what Drake might believe, Genevieve would kill her at the very first opportunity that presented itself. Quinn blew into her hands, trying to warm them. The night was colder than any she had experienced since arriving in Brookfield.

“What the hell am I doing?” she murmured, pondering the lunacy in standing across the street from a house inhabited by two vampires.

“I was just going to ask you that exact question,” a low voice murmured beside her and Quinn leapt away before she had fully registered Drake’s voice.

“How did you know...?”

“I followed you,” he replied swiftly, before she had even finished her question. Shaking his head disparagingly, he continued without compunction. “Apparently you were looking for me, so I hardly see the problem.” Again, Quinn felt the unease that he was so good at masking his true nature, that she had been unable to sense him tailing her, but it would do no good to bring it up, and she hardly expected Drake to apologise.

“We have a problem,” she began, but he was only half-paying attention. Cocking his head to the left, in the direction of the house, he suddenly held up a hand to halt her.

“Not here,” he cautioned, and, without warning, he bent at the knee, sweeping her up. Quinn didn’t have even a second to protest, when he moved, streaking away into the night, so fast that the wind whipped the half-spoken words from her mouth.

“Phil’s?” she asked, when he lowered her gently to her feet mere seconds later, surprised by his choice of venue.

“It’s rowdy,” he offered, by way of explanation. “We won’t be overheard.”

They made their way to one of the tables at the far end of the small pub, Drake waving over at Phil as they did, signalling his order. Phil gave him the thumbs-up, and almost immediately as they sat down, two drinks appeared on the table before them.

“Anything to eat?” the waitress asked, smiling politely.

“No, thank you,” Drake replied, not bothering to ask Quinn if she wanted anything. Quinn didn’t mind – it wasn’t as if she and Drake were friends so the normal rules of etiquette didn’t apply, and besides, she wasn’t hungry. Her stomach was tied up in knots at the thought of exposing Rafe to a vampire, even if this particular vampire was quite unlike any other she had ever encountered. The fact remained that vampires were sworn enemies of the inhabitants of Summerfeld, and Rafe was one of those inhabitants.

“Well?” Drake opened his arms, feigning great expectation. Quinn steeled herself to tell him about Rafe, but first, there was another favour she needed to ask of him.

“You said that you would help me find my niece and nephew...” she began, and he nodded in agreement. “Before you do that, I want you to help me find the vampire who murdered their mother.”

“Your sister was killed by a vampire? How do you know?”

“I know,” Quinn stated bluntly. Avery’s body had been a ravaged, bloody mess. The thought alone made Quinn want to stake Drake right here in the dimly-lit tavern.

“Ah,” Drake leaned back, a knowing glint in his eye. “You seek revenge.” Lacing his long fingers together, a cold, hard look came over him. “You want me to turn over the name of one of my own people?” he sounded furious, and Quinn could hardly blame him.

“Yes.”

“And what makes you think I could track down a vampire who murdered some insignificant girl? It’s hardly as if we keep track.” Quinn flinched at the callous, unfeeling way he spoke of his victims.

“My sister wasn’t some insignificant girl,” she bit out through clenched teeth, her cheeks flushing with ill-concealed anger.

“Well, of course not - not to you. Forgive me, I did not mean to make light of your loss. I only mean that among the many faceless, nameless victims we prey upon, it is unlikely that your sister would be remembered.”

“She would be,” Quinn assured him, the anger settling to a dull fury in the pit of her stomach. Raising her head defiantly she spoke with ill-concealed pride, “My sister was a Guardian.”

At these words Drake sat back as though she had struck him and Quinn felt a sense of sadistic pleasure. She was not surprised by his reaction. The killing of a Guardian was the ultimate feat for a vampire and would be exploited voraciously. In one thousand years, only a handful of Guardians had been discovered and destroyed by the vampire community. It would not be difficult for Drake to discover the details of Avery’s murderer. Quinn filled the silence by ordering another round of drinks. Drake drained his in one slug and set the empty glass down on the table between them, his green eyes boring into her own. Quinn could feel the tension building between them, but she did not speak, waiting for him to reach his decision.

Drake had many thoughts running through his head as he stared at Quinn, but first and foremost was the fact that he had never heard of her sister’s death. This was inconceivable – the death of a Guardian would usually spread through the vampire community like wildfire. Unless, finally, the elders had learned from their mistakes and were keeping all information relating to the Quest under wraps. Drake had made it very clear that he was no longer interested in finding the City, but the fact that they had withheld information from him infuriated him. He was also well aware that Genevieve was fiercely loyal to the cause which meant that she would have been privy to this information. And she had kept it from him. Drake’s anger at her disobedience and her betrayal made his fangs extend slightly, and a low growl emanated from within his chest.

Quinn’s eyes were drawn to the sharp points of his fangs. His hand looked as though it had turned to stone around his glass. He was gripping it so tightly she was surprised it hadn’t shattered.

“Drake?” she prompted. He was staring right at her, but she doubted he could see her, or even hear her, which was why his next words surprised her.

“Fine. I will find out what I can.”

“Thank you,” she sighed. She hadn’t realised she had been holding her breath. Quinn didn’t know why this had only occurred to her now, but meeting Drake and developing an ‘understanding’ with him had given her access to information that she had never imagined possible. For the first time there was the possibility that she would find Avery’s killer. And Drake was absolutely right about one thing, she did want revenge.

“Well, if that’s all?” Drake withdrew his wallet and pulled out a few notes, tossing them on the table.

“Actually...”

“Seriously?” he growled, his patience wearing thin. “There’s more?”

“I wanted to tell you that there is another Guardian in town,” Quinn announced.

“I thought you got rid of them,” he hissed.

“I did. This is a new Guardian. He is not here for you, or me for that matter, but he will be staying at my house for a few weeks. I thought I should warn you. You need to make sure that he doesn’t catch wind of you, or Genevieve,” Quinn added generously.

“Genevieve is out of town,” he replied automatically.

“There is something else,” Quinn persisted, refusing to be diverted. “But first I need to know that I can trust you.”

“You saved my life,” Drake reminded her begrudgingly. “You will come to no harm from me, I can promise you that. Although I owe your Guardian friend nothing. I think it would be best if you asked him to leave.”

“I can’t do that; believe me, if I could, I would.”

“I believe you,” he replied seriously, sensing the longing in her words.

“There is a ward of Summerfeld in Brookfield.”

Drake sucked in an astonished intake of breath.

“A wolf,” Quinn continued, the gleam in his eye terrifying her. “He has been shunned by the pack and he will die if he remains in the City.”

“He will die here,” Drake pointed out with an icy calm.

“No, he won’t. You owe me, Drake.”

“I didn’t say that I would kill this wolf,” he retorted dryly. “But you know as well as I that my people will find him... will destroy him, as they did all the others.”

“That is not going to happen.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you are the only vampire in the world who can get in,” Quinn explained. “And I need your word that you will not harm him.”

Drake considered this for a moment, his long fingers drumming the brandy snifter in his hand. His cold eyes bored into Quinn, his mouth curled in a disdainful line. Eventually, when she could no longer bear the silence, he nodded curtly.

“I will leave him alone,” he promised, “but I cannot speak for Genevieve or any others.”

“Genevieve owes me too; I let her live!” Quinn snapped, and a short, harsh bark of derisive laughter escaped him.

“I doubt that she will see it that way.”

“Well then, make her.”

“I am not Genevieve’s master!” he bit out cuttingly, “nor are you mine. You have asked me a favour, young Guardian, and I have agreed, despite my better judgement. Do not test me.”

Quinn had become so accustomed to Drake that she had lost sight of the fact that he was her enemy. Nodding, she lifted her beer, draining its contents and getting abruptly to her feet.

“Thank you. I understand.” Setting her bottle down on the table she turned on her heel, waving stiltedly at Phil as she passed the bar counter. She had done all that she could. She believed Drake – he would pose no threat to Rafe. Genevieve, on the other hand, was another matter altogether, but for now, Quinn was content.

After all, Genevieve hadn’t been invited in.

Chapter 32

“You’re not to leave the house,” Quinn instructed when she let herself back inside. Rafe was slouched on the sofa; his shoulders slumped as though he carried the weight of the world upon them.

“Where would I go?’ he asked hollowly, and Quinn noticed the black circles under his eyes and the fact that he still hadn’t shaved. He looked wild and desperate.

“Why don’t you get yourself cleaned up?” she asked gently.

“What for?”

“You look terrible, Rafe. Take a shower, have a shave and then go and get some sleep.”

“What are you, my mother?”

“No, actually... your mother is in Summerfeld, along with the rest of your people, as you well know.”

“They’re not my people, anymore,” he muttered desolately, heaving himself off the sofa just as Quinn noticed Tristan standing quietly at the foot of the stairs. Rafe barely seemed to notice him as he passed by on his way up.

“What was that about his mother?’ Tristan asked eventually, stepping into the room. Tristan had only been a Guardian for a few years - eight to be exact - and he didn’t know much about pack history. Quinn had spent hours with Isaiah learning the background of all the species that resided within the City. The wolves in particular, had always fascinated her, and she had learned as much as she possibly could about their pack behaviour.

“It all happened before I became a Guardian,” she explained, taking a seat on the sofa that Rafe had so recently vacated. Tristan sat down beside her, their knees practically touching and Quinn stared down at his leg, trying not to be affected by his sudden nearness.

“But you know her... Rafe’s mother?” Tristan prompted, as Quinn had fallen silent.

“Yes,” she nodded, snapping back to the moment. “And so do you. Vivienne is Rafe’s mother.” Tristan frowned as he tried to recall.

“The old Omega female?”

“That’s the one. Rafe’s father was her original Alpha.”

“Her original Alpha?”

“Are you going to repeat everything I say as a question?’ Quinn snapped, irritated, before the wounded look on his face registered. “I’m sorry,” she shook her head. “It’s just been a rough few days.” She proceeded to tell him the story.

Rafe’s father had been the pack Alpha until he had been ousted by an ambitious younger wolf named Grayson. Grayson selected Vivienne as his mate and Vivienne fulfilled her duty as dictated by pack law, shifting her allegiance to the new Alpha, although it was not without great personal sacrifice. Her son, Rafe, had grown up a strong man and an even stronger wolf, but he had never thought to challenge Grayson for the Alpha position until his closest childhood friend had come of age and caught Grayson’s eye. The werewolves were not permitted to drink from the fountain of youth until they came of age. The fountain kept them young, slowing their aging remarkably, but Vivienne had lived a very long life and she was no longer the desirable wolf she once was. Grayson, having found a new, more attractive female, spurned Vivienne and insisted that, at the next full moon, the younger, beautiful raven-haired wolf become his mate. Faced with his mother’s humiliation and the thought of his friend being forced into a life of servitude, Rafe finally challenged Grayson and, under the light of a full moon, he had defeated him, becoming the new Alpha.

“And the young female?” Tristan asked when Quinn had finished.

“Channon,” Quinn confirmed quietly. It was only natural that Channon had become Rafe’s mate, their relationship borne not out of law, but out of love. Channon and Rafe had been together ever since... until now. Now she was once again facing the threat of a forced union - only this time, Rafe had failed to protect her.

“That’s why he’s taking it so badly,” Tristan murmured, a sense of true empathy radiating off him. “He really loves her.” His sky-blue eyes lingered on Quinn’s face as he said it, and a moment passed between them that made Quinn’s heart beat more quickly in her chest.

“You must understand that they are only wolves one night of the month. The rest of their time is spent as humans and they feel just as deeply as we do. Rafe and Channon are not just pack mates, they are husband and wife in the truest sense of the word. How would you like it if Avery had been forced to leave you because someone else was better at fighting?”

“She was,” Tristan whispered, his breath catching in his throat. Quinn immediately regretted her words. It was true, Avery had been taken from him because she had not been able to defeat the vampire that attacked her... and Tristan had not been there to save her. For the first time Quinn understood the guilt that must eat at him every day and she realised that she didn’t want him to live with that burden, crucifying him every time he thought of her.

“I’m sorry, Tristan; for taking my grief out on you. I know you loved her just as much as I did.” His tormented gaze fixed on her, but he seemed to grow in stature as if the burden had eased ever so slightly.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much it means to me to hear you say that.” He paused and then his eyes glazed over as if he was putting an invisible wall in place. “But it was my fault. I should have been there. She might still be alive today...”

“Or you might both be dead,” Quinn pointed out. “You have no idea how many vampires were in the house that night. You were a very new Guardian. If Avery fell to their assault you probably would have too.” Quinn was not trying to insult Tristan, but it was a fact. Avery had been a very skilled Guardian, her talents surpassed only by Isaiah, Daniel and Quinn herself.

Tristan nodded morosely, but Quinn caught a defiant look in his eye.

“Look, I have to go away for a few days. Do you think you can keep an eye on Rafe?” she changed the subject.

“Where are you ..?” Tristan began, but then he stopped abruptly, as if remembering he had no right to question her. “Of course, no problem.”

“You will make sure he doesn’t leave the house?”

“Sure,” he shrugged, “but I don’t think there is any threat of being discovered out here in the middle of nowhere.”

Quinn, unfortunately, knew just how wrong he was.

“You can’t be too careful,” she cautioned. “You haven’t lived in man’s realm since you became a Guardian.” Again, something flashed in his blue eyes, something she couldn’t put her finger on, but when he looked at her, he conceded.

“I’ll keep him inside,” Tristan promised. “But please, Quinn... be safe.”

It warmed her more than she cared to admit to have someone worrying about her. Someone who cared whether she lived or died, who would be waiting for her safe return. She had been alone for so long she had forgotten how it felt to be needed. It felt good.

Chapter 33

Drake knocked lazily on the heavy wooden door, leaning against the cold stone while he waited.

The door was opened by a sallow-skinned, shaven-haired vampire looking mildly curious, before he clapped eyes on Drake and all curiosity vanished, replaced by alarm. Drake wedged his foot into the door as the broader man tried to slam it closed.

“Hello Nicholai,” he drawled, shoving the door open so hard that it ricocheted off the wall behind it.

“Drake,” Nicholai stammered, his eyes wild. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see Lenora,” Drake explained politely, “if that’s all right with you, of course?”

“And what if it’s not?” A high voice called from the top of the stairs and Drake grinned up at his former mistress. “Don’t even think about answering that question,” Lenora snapped at Nicholai as she swept down the stairs. “Just because I tolerate you in the bedroom doesn’t mean your opinion matters.” She winked discreetly at Drake as Nicholai averted his eyes, trying to keep his temper in check. Despite the cool weather, Lenora was dressed, as always, in the smallest slip of a dress, with a modest neckline, but exposing a long, bare expanse of thigh.

Drake had had a brief fling with Lenora many years ago, before Charlotte, and then again briefly after. Lenora had gotten him through the worst of Charlotte’s defection, her natural good spirits keeping him sane and preventing him from giving in to the depression that had threatened to overwhelm him. If it weren’t for Lenora, Drake doubted he would have ever been able to get over his guilt at having turned Charlotte.

“Lenora,” he said now, greeting her fondly, opening his arms as she sashayed into his embrace.

“Drake,” her husky voice murmured seductively in his ear. “It has been far too long.” She planted a kiss full on his mouth, her tongue flitting across his bottom lip before she nipped it playfully. Drake smiled into her mischievous green eyes, a few shades darker than his own.

Ignoring Nicholai, Lenora linked her arm through Drake’s and walked him down the porch steps.

“I have something to show you,” she said, as they reached the massive garage which housed Lenora’s many expensive cars. Drake suspected what was coming but he waited for the doors to open completely before passing comment.

“You didn’t!” he laughed as he caught sight of her latest acquisition – a glossy red Lamborghini which held pride of place in the centre of the immaculate, tiled garage.

“I couldn’t resist,” she replied airily, “it’s so pretty.”

“Only you would call that pretty,” he groaned, moving closer to admiring the supercar. “This probably cost more than your house. Why do you need so many cars? You can’t even drive.”

“I can drive,” she pouted, “I just prefer other people to do it for me.”

“You are such a snob.”

“So, to what do I owe the honour of this visit?’ Lenora changed the subject.

“Can’t I simply visit an old friend?”

“If that were true, I’d be delighted,” she remarked drily, “but we both know you want something.” Drake made a dramatically pained face, but he didn’t get to the reason he was there and she rolled her eyes.

“How is Genevieve?” she asked politely. He would get to his point when he was good and ready, and not a moment sooner.

“I am not sure – she’s been away.”

“Good riddance,” Lenora stated baldly. “Although how she can risk leaving you unattended is beyond me.”

Drake chuckled. Lenora had never liked Genevieve, not since the moment she had laid eyes on her – and the feeling was mutual. The two women detested each other.

“I see that Nicholai is still in your favour,” he mused.

“For now,” she sighed. “At least until something better comes along. You wouldn’t like to stay, would you?” she arched her perfectly shaped brows suggestively.

“No,” he declined respectfully. “I am afraid not; although the offer is tempting.”

“Well, in that case, I guess he will have to do. So, to what do I owe the honour?’ she repeated. “You didn’t come all the way down here just to turn me down. Again.”

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “I’m looking for information.”

“So of course you came to me,” she shook her head haughtily. Drake noticed that her brown hair was the exact same colour as Quinn’s, a rich, earthy brown.

“Do you know anything about the death of a Guardian a couple of years back?” Drake asked.

Lenora frowned.

“Drake,” she cautioned, her husky voice dropping even lower. “This sounds like Quest business.” Lenora was the only other vampire Drake knew who detested the Quest. She preferred to indulge in life’s simple pleasures, although with her power and influence, she would have made a great asset to the search. Lenora had been around a very, very long time and even Drake, who knew her better than most, did not know why she was so against it.

“It’s not; not really,” he replied. “I’m trying to help a friend.”

“A friend?” she tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail against her bare thigh. “And what does your friend want to know?”

“Who killed her sister.”

Lenora’s composure slipped for just an instant as comprehension dawned on her.

“Are you insane? You can’t be friends with a Guardian, Drake... she’ll kill you.”

“She won’t.”

“She’s a Guardian, for God's sakes!”

“Lenora,” he lowered his own voice menacingly. “You’re going to have to trust me on this one. We’ve been friends a long time.”

“We won’t be friends much longer if you don’t end this.”

“You want me to kill her?”

“I can see by your face that’s not going to happen; but you need to stay as far away from her as you can.”

“Your concern is noted,” he drawled, making it clear that the topic was closed. “Now... do you have the information I’m looking for?”

Lenora curled her lip. Drake was the only man on the planet who dared speak to her like that – he had never been afraid of her – it was one of the reasons she was so fond of him. Of all the lovers she had taken over the years, Drake had always stood out as the one she respected the most. When he had left her, she had never asked him to stay, although she would have preferred it. He had grieved deeply over Charlotte and Lenora had done what she could to ease his heartache, but he had not been ready to settle down. Lenora doubted he ever would be. His long relationship with Genevieve had surprised her, even sparked a flare of envy that she hadn’t felt in years, but she believed it was a relationship borne of convenience rather than real emotion.

“You never did listen,” she scolded, shaking her head, “but to answer your question, no... I never heard anything about a Guardian’s death around that time. Although there was one a few weeks ago - a male. As far as I know the vamps that killed him didn’t live to tell the tale.”

“And yet you know about it,” Drake remarked wryly.

“I know everything,” Lenora grinned, showing her fangs. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

There was not much more she could tell him, but Lenora promised to let him know if she heard anything. Outwardly, she agreed half-heartedly to see what she could find out, but inside she knew she would move heaven and earth to help him. As she watched him walk away, she remembered the first time she had ever laid eyes on him. She had known Lucian for years, and he had asked her to look out for Drake if ever something were to happen to him. Lenora had taken one look at Drake and announced that she would do so happily. Lucian, who had been like a father to Drake, had not taken kindly to her suggestive comment, but Lenora had not heeded his silent warning. Drake was the most attractive man she had ever laid eyes on, both human and vampire included, and she had enjoyed a brief fling with him behind Lucian’s back. Lucian was blissfully unaware that Lenora and Drake had even met.

Then, Lucian had been killed and Drake had been so angry, so bitter that he had joined the Quest, and, despite Lenora’s best efforts, he would not be swayed from his course. She had lost track of him for a long time; her guilt that she had failed in her promise to her old friend eating her up inside, until the day that Drake arrived on her doorstep, a broken shadow of his former self. He had finally left Charlotte; his guilt that he had turned her into a monster crippling him. Slowly, Lenora had helped him to heal. They had a strong emotional connection and a brief physical attraction, but she had helped him through his darkest time. It eased her conscience somewhat when she finally convinced him to abandon the Quest.

“What did he want?” Nicholai demanded when she re-entered the house.

“That’s none of your business,” Lenora scolded, shutting the door and dropping the slip of a dress to the floor at her feet. Nicholai’s pupils dilated as he watched it slither over her smooth skin. “You are here for my pleasure,” Lenora reminded him, and Nicholai darted forward, eager to please.

Chapter 34

Quinn checked in regularly with Tristan during the two weeks that she was gone. Rafe had not left the house and Quinn consoled herself that, even if he wanted to, Tristan would not discover her hidden room while Rafe was there watching him.

The trip to the cottage proved futile – the crystal was not there, although Quinn searched everywhere – in every nook and cranny, missing nothing. The cottage was empty, as was the main house and Quinn was sad to learn from a neighbour that the elderly couple had passed away last spring. With no known relatives, the house had been vacant ever since.

The dusty cottage dredged up painful memories of the year that she and Avery had spent there. It had been one of the happiest times of Quinn’s life, but to remember it grieved her. After two full days of searching had unearthed nothing but cobwebs and disappointment, Quinn conceded defeat and headed back towards Brookfield, making a few stops on the way, as she searched any location she could think of that was remotely tied to Avery.

Arriving home after ten in the evening she was surprised to find a light still on, shining through the downstairs window. Opening the front door she tiptoed through the hall and, rounding the corner, she spotted Tristan on the sofa, staring unseeingly at the TV.

“Hey,” he whispered, switching the TV off. “You’re back.”

“I am,” she shrugged out of her coat and threw it over the back of the sofa, before collapsing beside him.

“How’d it go?” Tristan asked.

“No joy,” she admitted, feeling exhausted. She had accomplished nothing and the clock was ticking. She had just over a week before her month was up. “There are still a few places I want to check, but I had to come back.”

“Why?”

“Rafe,” she answered, without thinking. She didn’t notice his face fall. “The next full moon is just over a week away. We need a plan.”

“What do you suggest we do?”

“We can’t keep him here – it’s too risky with Sarah right next door. I think we should take him out of town – somewhere remote. We can spend the night in the woods.”

“A camp-out. Sounds like fun,” he tried to make light of it but Quinn didn’t respond. “You okay?” he prompted after a long moment of silence.

“I’ll be fine,” she sighed. “I’m just tired.” Heaving herself off the sofa, she made her way to the stairs. “Goodnight, Tristan.”

Quinn took one look at Rafe the following morning as he shuffled down the stairs and her eyes widened in horror. Rafe looked even worse than before, the stubble of his beard flecked with grey. Rounding on him, her concern only fuelled her anger.

“Enough!” she thundered, so loudly that Tristan came sprinting down the stairs, a stake appearing in his hands as as if summoned from thin air. Quinn was so wound up she couldn’t appreciate his dexterity.

“What?” Rafe’s eyes darted around, sensing the cause of her aggravation.

“You look like crap,” Quinn stated bluntly. “Have you even had a shower since I’ve been gone?” Tristan visibly relaxed, stowing the stake into the back of his tracksuit pants. Quinn averted her eyes from his bare chest, staring at Rafe expectantly.

“I...” he stopped, his eyes narrowed in thought.

“The fact that you don’t remember is answer enough,” Quinn snapped.

“Why would I bother?” Rafe replied with far more attitude. “It’s hardly as if I have anyone to impress. I can’t even leave this blasted house!” Ignoring the blight against her home, Quinn rubbed her temples. Tristan shook his head at her, warning her to leave well alone, but she couldn’t bear to see Rafe so unhappy. An idea occurred to her, one that she would ordinarily have dismissed, but she knew that if they kept him cooped up much longer, Rafe would snap. He was a wolf, after all, and wolves couldn’t be caged.

Picking up her phone, before she could lose her nerve, she dialled Sarah’s number.

“Hey, you’re back!” Sarah’s permanently sunny disposition shone through in her voice, a stark contrast to the melancholic mood in Quinn’s house.

“I am. And I was wondering if we were still on for Wednesday?”

“Games night? Absolutely!”

“Fabulous. Do you mind if I bring my house guests?”

“They’re still there?” Sarah was surprised. “I haven’t seen anyone since you left.”

“You must have missed them. So, do you mind?”

“Of course not. The more the merrier. I’ll tell Todd to get some more beer.”

“You are a saint,” Quinn offered. “See you then.”

“We’re going out?” Tristan mused when she had hung up. Rafe tried to appear nonchalant, but Quinn could see the glimmer of hope in his eyes. He must be desperate to be looking forward to something as mundane as spending an evening with strangers.

“Yes,” she nodded, meeting Rafe’s gaze. “But you’re going to clean up before you’re allowed anywhere.”

“Okay,” he nodded, relenting.

On Wednesday night, true to his word, Rafe appeared in the living room looking like a different man. He had shaved, probably that morning, so only a dark shadow remained where a barbaric beard had been before. His hair was still wild, clearly not brushed, but at least it was clean, and his clothes were only slightly creased from being inside his suitcase for so long.

“No, we’ll all go,” Quinn replied to Tristan’s proposal that she only take Rafe along to Sarah’s for games night. There was no way she was leaving Tristan alone in her house for a few hours. Tristan was a Guardian, after all, and with Rafe not around he might well discover her hidden room.

“Hey!” Sarah opened the door and smiled at the three of them. She had a brown smudge under her left eye and blonde strands were escaping her ponytail. Quinn noticed the way her forehead creased slightly as her gaze fell upon Rafe. He may look a million times better than he had yesterday, but his eyes were hollow and his hair looked as though it hadn’t been brushed for weeks; which, of course, it hadn’t. Sarah then gave Tristan a very approving once over and Quinn fought the urge to roll her eyes. Tristan had always been too good-looking for his own good.

“This is my friend, Tristan,” Quinn introduced quickly, “and this is Rafe.” Sarah extended her hand politely to both of them before ushering them all back into the house.

“I made dessert,” Sarah called as she led the way to the living-room.

“I can see that,” Quinn smiled, indicating the chocolate mousse smeared across her face.

“Oh! Whoops!” Sarah quickly rubbed at her cheek, laughing infectiously.

Todd eased himself off the sofa, shaking hands with Tristan and Rafe, while Sarah pulled Quinn into the kitchen.

“You could have mentioned your friend was young and marvellous-looking,” she scolded, rounding on Quinn, “I didn’t even brush my hair!” She frowned suddenly, the thought reminding her of Rafe’s dishevelled appearance and opened her mouth to question Quinn about it

“You look fantastic,” Quinn said quickly, heading her off. It was a fact though. Sarah was adorable, no matter what she wore.

“You’re looking pretty glamorous yourself tonight,” Sarah eyed her speculatively. “You’re actually wearing make-up! Is there something you want to tell me?” she waggled her brows suggestively.

“Don’t even go there,” Quinn grinned. “It’s not like that.”

“It should be,” Sarah sighed dreamily.

“Should be what?” Todd’s voice from the doorway made them both jump.

“Nothing,” Sarah blushed scarlet.

“Sure,” Todd grinned, rubbing the back of his head so that his black hair stood up on end. “What are you girls doing in here anyway? We have a game to win!” he grabbed Sarah by the waist and pulled her against him. She emitted a soft “oomph” as she collided with his chest, but giggled as he planted a kiss full on her mouth.

“If you two don’t mind...” Quinn drawled, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot. Todd grinned at her over the top of Sarah’s head.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, taking Sarah’s hand and leading her back to the living-room. “Let the games begin!”

Chapter 35

“Geronimo!” Sarah yelled triumphantly and Todd fist-punched the air. Tristan met Quinn’s eye across the room, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Sarah and Todd’s good spirits were infectious - even Rafe seemed to have been roused from his usual melancholy, and was participating as best he could. Despite having three people on their team, they were losing badly.

“One of the downfalls of being a Guardian,” Tristan mumbled through a mouth full of potato crisps when Sarah and Todd went to fetch the dessert. “You don’t get to watch a lot of movies.”

“Try never watching any, ever,” Rafe countered, and Tristan looked horrified.

“I understand now why you left Summerfeld, Quinn,” Rafe continued, “you spent the last two years living like a normal person.”

“Raising two kids doesn’t exactly leave you much free time,” Quinn pointed out, without malice. The alcohol was warming her from the inside.

“It sucks to be us,” Rafe grumbled woefully, lifting his beer and examining its contents, while Quinn and Tristan tried to hide their amusement. The werewolf was very obviously drunk, and had become calmer, but infinitely more retrospective for it. “We should definitely have beer in Summer...”

“Let me help you with that!” Tristan interrupted, distracting Sarah who had just re-entered the room, carrying a tray of steaming coffee mugs. Quinn breathed a sigh of relief at his quick thinking, and shook her head at Rafe, who seemed oblivious to his near slip-up.

“Thank you,” Sarah breathed shyly, lowering her eyes as Tristan smiled down at her. Typical, Quinn thought. It takes him only one evening to utterly charm my closest friend. Briefly, her thoughts flitted to Piper from whom she had drifted so far apart. Piper was very like Sarah in so many ways and Quinn wondered idly if that was part of the reason she was so fond of her young neighbour. She would make it up to Piper, Quinn thought. After all, when she returned to the Guardians, she would probably never see Sarah again. The thought pained her, but it was the way of her world. Quinn had never had any human friends before – human lives were fleeting, and Quinn could think of nothing worse than watching those you cared about age and die.

“You guys ready to be annihilated?” Todd called confidently as he backed into the room, balancing two trays of plates laden with chocolate mousse on his arms.

“You haven’t won yet,” Quinn quipped, stepping forward and taking one of the trays from him.

“Oh, but we will,” he promised, winking at her.

And, of course, they did. Rafe was too drunk to even hazard a guess, and neither Tristan nor Quinn could make any sense of the titles they selected over the next few rounds. Todd and Sarah, on the other hand, operated like a finely-tuned machine, practically reading each other's minds.

“Annihilated,” Todd confirmed, nudging Quinn in the ribs as Sarah unnecessarily tallied up their scores.

“We won!” she announced, as though it surprised her, and Quinn laughed.

“I demand a recount,” she grinned. Meeting Tristan’s eyes, her smile slowly faded. Tristan was looking at her in a way that he hadn’t for years – in a way that she never dreamed he would look at her again. Her heart flip-flopped in her chest.

“I think we should take him home,” Quinn mumbled, turning her attention to Rafe in an effort to distract herself. Rafe was snoring quietly on the sofa in an upright position, his head drooping onto his chest. Sarah, who had been looking between Quinn and Tristan, immediately agreed.

“Why don’t you help Tristan, Todd?” she suggested, “Quinn, will you help me take these trays back to the kitchen.”

“Sure,” Quinn replied, puzzled. Sarah was no master of discretion, and it was apparent to everyone that she wanted to talk to Quinn in private. “What’s up?” she asked, the second they were out of earshot.

“Oh my God,” Sarah gushed, “did you see that?”

“See what?”

“Oh please, like you don’t know!” she scolded. “The way he was looking at you!” the gushing, simpering way that she said it made Quinn laugh, but she couldn’t deny it.

“We have a history,” she admitted.

“I knew it!” Sarah seized on this new piece of information with gusto. “He likes you, Quinn. You know that, right? Any fool could see that he’s into you.”

“He’s kind of out of bounds,” Quinn scraped the remnants of the tray she was holding into the bin. “It’s complicated; it can’t happen.”

“But you like him?” Sarah pressed, a small frown line appearing between her eyes.

“I...” Quinn paused, not sure how to answer the question. She had tried not to think about it.

“Quinn?” Todd’s voice in the hall was a welcome relief. “They’re home, safe and sound. Tristan said he’d see you there, and he said to thank you for a wonderful evening,” he added, speaking to Sarah.

“I better go,” Quinn dropped the tray back onto the counter and grabbed her purse. As much as she was nervous to face him after the look they had shared, it was even more important that he was not left alone in her house. “Thank you both so much. I’m heading out of town on Thursday,” she added, giving Sarah a quick squeeze. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be away, but I’ll call you.”

“Where are you going this time?” Sarah asked, but Quinn was already heading for the hall.

“I’ll call you!” she called over her shoulder.

The house was dark as she approached and the porch steps creaked as she climbed them. Quinn couldn’t explain why, but she was a bundle of nerves. Something had changed tonight between her and Tristan. The way he had looked at her had made her feel things she didn’t want to feel, things she had suppressed a long time ago, for the sake of her sister’s happiness.

“Avery would have wanted you to be happy,” Tristan had said. Was that true? Quinn couldn’t be sure, but a part of her suddenly desperately wanted to believe it. Letting herself into the house she locked the front door behind her and then leaned back against it, letting the hard wood against her spine steady her.

She knew he was there, only a few feet away. She could sense him, even though there was no light and he didn’t make a sound. He just stood, facing her, less than four yards away. Quinn took a few calming breaths, her eyes fixed on his silhouette. Neither of them spoke, but the more time that passed, the harder Quinn’s heart seemed to drum in her chest. She felt dizzy and guilty and exhilarated all at once.

“Quinn,” his low voice finally broke the silence, but Quinn didn’t hesitate, or give him a chance to say anything else. Determined, she took three strides towards him, stopping only when she was almost on top of him, and then she threw caution to the wind and her arms around his neck. As her mouth met his, Tristan needed no further invitation. His warm hands found her waist, and then moved in unison up her sides, eliciting a shiver that coursed through her whole body as they continued up and under her shirt. Quinn lifted her arms as his hands roamed higher, and Tristan kept moving, lifting her shirt up and over her head, and above her arms, dropping it the second it came clear of her body.

Running his hands back down her arms, Quinn squirmed as his fingertips brushed the soft hollow beneath her arms and then grazed only the outermost curve of her breasts before settling on her waist. Remarkably steady, he slipped his right hand around her waist and, in one swift movement, he pulled her even closer, their bodies pressed together as closely as possible and yet nowhere near close enough. Through it all he didn’t stop kissing her – exploring her mouth, playfully at first, and then more intimately, until she thought she might faint with longing.

“Where’s Rafe,” she gasped, her voice the huskiest of whispers.

“Upstairs, sound asleep,” he assured her. His touch was exactly as she remembered; only now he was stronger and more confident. He had grown up; the boyish protector had become a fully-fledged Guardian. He was also far more controlled. The younger Tristan had loved to rough and tumble, but this new Tristan was keeping the situation tightly reined in. Quinn could sense the enormous restraint he was exerting and it made her heady. Wantonly, she tangled her hand in his thick, messy hair and tugged, hard enough to hurt, trying to elicit a physical response from him. Tristan chuckled against her mouth and then kissed her, more deeply than before, his tongue harder and more invasive.

Still holding her waist, he pushed her backward, steadying her as they backed up together. Only when Quinn’s back hit the front door did he stop, raising his head and gazing at her. Quinn’s eyes were slowly adjusting to the light and she could make out the contours of his face and the dark pools of his eyes which she knew, by heart, were the most exquisite shade of blue. Quinn groaned, resting her head back against the door, closing her eyes and exposing her throat. Tristan obliged her, lowering his handsome head and kissing the hollow of her throat before tracing a line down to the swell of flesh above the lace of her bra. Lifting both her hands, he trapped them above her head with his left hand, and Quinn sighed, keeping her eyes closed.

She felt his warm thumb on her lip, tracing the cupid bow of her mouth. Opening her eyes, she found him gazing at her with love and longing. And in the instant that she registered the agonising adoration in his gaze, it occurred to her that she was, after all, Avery’s twin.

Painfully, Quinn yanked her hands from his grasp, the sudden movement taking him by surprise. He stepped away from her automatically, uncertain of her abrupt change of heart.

“Quinn?” his voice was still thick with passion, but through it she could hear the genuine concern.

“I’m sorry,” she shook her head, moving past him and switching on the lamp on the hall table. In the soft golden glow of light, he looked hurt and bewildered. Glancing down at her bare flesh, embarrassed, she quickly retrieved her shirt from the floor and pulled it over her head. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, making eye contact with him. Things had spiralled out of control so quickly she wasn’t even sure how she had let it get this far. Her head swam; Tristan, Avery, lust and guilt all merging into one painful, throbbing headache. “It’s just that...” and suddenly, she found that she didn’t want to tell him. It was humiliating and hurtful enough that he had left her once for her own sister, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit that her biggest fear was that he might be doing this because it was the closest he could get to Avery, and not because he felt anything for Quinn herself. Looking into his compassionate blue eyes, Quinn cringed, mortified. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again, before fleeing the room.

Chapter 36

The next few days passed without incident. Tristan’s easy-going nature could not be curbed for long, and he was soon back to his old self, their awkward moment seemingly forgotten, although Quinn caught him watching her often when he thought she wasn’t looking. The full moon came more quickly than seemed possible and the three set out for the woods beside the town’s abandoned train station. Quinn hadn’t seen Drake since her return, which bothered her, though she would never admit it. She assumed that he was keeping his distance because of Rafe and Trsitan’s presence, but she wished he had made contact. She would have liked his assurance that Genevieve wouldn’t present a problem now that Rafe was out in the open. He knew that the full moon would require them to take Rafe outside. She guessed she would just have to trust him.

“Fun?” Quinn huffed, breathlessly, as she once again pushed the heavy wolf back towards the fire. They had been standing vigil over Rafe for hours and every muscle in her body protested painfully. “You did say a camp-out would be fun, right?”

“You’re not having fun?” Tristan hissed back, his muscles straining as he added his strength. Rafe was trying to remain in control, but every now and again he would pick up a scent, his hackles would rise and he would start to move away from their small campsite.

“Here,” Tristan opened the trunk of his SUV, which was bigger than Quinn's hatchback. “Let’s get him inside, he’s going to make a run for it soon.”

Quinn had to agree. Rafe was not coping well and it wouldn’t be long before he couldn’t fight his instinct anymore. He had not hunted for two months and the abundance of wildlife around them must be driving him crazy.

Heaving and panting they finally got Rafe into the trunk and slammed it closed. Immediately he let out a howl of anguish, so loud that Quinn could feel the reverberations through the glass of the windshield she was leaning back against.

“I need to find him something to eat,” Tristan said, grabbing Quinn’s crossbow off the back seat.

“I can do it,” Quinn offered.

“I’m a better shot,” he reminded her, amused. He had always been better with a bow than she was, his skill rivalling that of even the Fae.

Tristan had only been gone a few minutes when it happened. A deer picked its way into the clearing, no doubt drawn by the flickering camp-fire. It happened so quickly that Quinn had barely turned, horrified, in the direction of the SUV, when Rafe burst through the glass, knocking her to the ground and bolting after the now-fleeing deer.

Quinn groaned as she pulled herself to her feet. She winced at the burning pain in her side and glanced down to see four deep lacerations where Rafe’s claws had grazed her as he passed, tearing through the fabric of her coat.

“Shit,” Quinn winced again as she pressed her hand down on the seeping wounds.

Drake fought the urge to go to her. He could smell her blood even from here, in the shadows, but he focused on what was more important. Quinn would want him to save the ward – the foolish wolf - who had streaked passed him just seconds before. To his relief and dismay, he heard the male Guardian approaching quickly - crashing through the trees. Tristan would make sure Quinn was okay. Silently, Drake turned and raced after Rafe.

“Quinn!” Tristan dropped the crossbow as he skidded to a halt beside her. Assessing her injury, he insisted she sit. Quinn allowed him only five minutes to fret over her and then she pushed him away. “Tristan,” she instructed. “Rafe is out there... go.”

“I’ll find him,” he promised, while Quinn’s heart raced frantically at the thought of Rafe alone in man’s realm. Just as Tristan was reaching for the bow, they heard a low growl behind them.

“Thank God,” Quinn could have wept in relief as the familiar grey and white wolf came into view, pulling the deer carcass along the ground behind him.

Content, Rafe settled down with his prey, his yellow eyes casting wary looks at them.

“I’m fine,” Quinn repeated, as Tristan fussed over her. It was barely more than a scratch. Satisfied, Tristan let her be.

“The worst is over,” Quinn mused a few hours later. Rafe had eaten his full and was now lying on his side, slitty-eyed, as he lingered between sleep and wakefulness. “Only a few more hours and the sun will be up.”

“Then what?” Tristan asked.

“Then I keep looking for that crystal.”

Tristan mulled over her words.

“Do you think we’ll ever get Jack and Ava back?”

“I don’t know,” Quinn admitted, her heart constricting painfully at the thought of her niece and nephew. She missed them so badly it hurt. “But I won’t stop trying to find them,” she promised, her jaw set stubbornly, “no matter how many obstacles the Guardians throw in my way.”

“Is that what Rafe and I are? Obstacles?” As if in agreement, Rafe let out a wolfish snarl.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know. I never thanked you, Quinn... for taking care of them... for putting them first. For loving them.”

“What’s not to love?” Quinn smiled sadly, the last image she had of the children blossoming in her mind. Jack curled around Ava and Ava clutching her pink bedtime bear.

“They captured my heart,” she whispered.

And just like that, in a moment of pure clarity, Quinn knew, finally and without a doubt, where Avery’s crystal was hidden.

“Oh my God!” In her excitement she leapt up off the soft ground.

“What is it?” Tristan was on his feet too, on high alert for any danger.

“I know where it is,” she said, her eyes meeting his. Laughing, she threw her arms around him, barely feeling the tweak in her side. “I know where Avery’s crystal is!” she squealed, squeezing him tightly and bouncing in his arms. She could not contain her excitement and hardly noticed as his strong, tanned arms closed around her.

Drake watched from the shadows as the scene unfolded before him. They had not seemed to notice that the deer the wolf had dragged into the clearing had a broken hind leg. Drake had caught and wounded the deer to ensure the werewolf would catch it and head back to them – he didn’t want Quinn wandering around in the woods, injured as she was.

Mindful to stay just beyond where they would sense him, his acute hearing missed nothing. It appeared that Quinn had discovered the location of her sister’s crystal. That was a very interesting development, but what bothered Drake more was the fanatical look in the male Guardian’s eyes as he held her close to him. Tristan, she had called him. Drake had been watching people for a very long time, and the tender way Tristan held Quinn in his arms, as if she were a piece of very rare, delicate china that might break any second, irked him.

Unable to watch any longer, he turned his attention to where the wolf had settled in for the night, oblivious of the joyous revelation occurring a few feet away. The wild, musky smell of his blood assaulted Drake’s senses, making him heady. To withstand the call of the blood of one of the ten was no easy feat, but Drake had made Quinn a promise.

He was infinitely grateful that Genevieve was out of town. She had gone in search of Sebastian who she believed had left without saying goodbye. Convinced that only a major breakthrough involving the Quest would incite her brother to do such a thing, Genevieve had gone to see the elders. Drake had not been pleased, not least because she would realise her brother had, in fact, vanished, but also because it only further highlighted Genevieve’s fierce loyalty to the Quest. The row had escalated violently, ending in blood and sex, which seemed to be the only two things they had in common anymore.

Genevieve would be away for a few weeks and Drake could only hope that by the time she returned, the wolf would be gone, because Genevieve would rip him limb from limb if she caught wind of him.

A movement in the firelight caught his eye, and he watched, with a sickening masochism, as the handsome Guardian lowered his head, covering Quinn’s mouth with his own. Turning abruptly on his heel, Drake moved like a ghost through the trees, away from temptation, wondering how the sworn protector of his mortal enemies had gotten so under his skin.

Chapter 37

Quinn was so caught up in the moment that, when her eyes met Tristan’s and he dropped his head, his warm mouth touching hers, she forgot to be outraged, forgot all the reservations she had had the other night. Tristan’s lips were familiar and welcoming, his breath as sweet as she remembered. Her euphoria at figuring out where Avery’s crystal was hidden was overshadowed by a searing heat that seemed to burgeon outward from her very core, and when his tongue slipped between her teeth she gasped against his mouth, her stomach contracting.

In the instant that she regained control of her senses, Tristan released her, pushing her away as if she were hot enough to burn him.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, his eyes wild. Quinn placed her fingers over her mouth, the taste of him still lingering there, words of indignant outrage dying on her lips. Tristan turned his back on her, running his fingers through his already tousled hair, and then dropping his hands limply to his sides. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice thick with emotion.

“It’s okay,” Quinn stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It's fine, Tristan, really.” Sensing his need to be alone, she moved past him towards the SUV.

“Where is it?” he asked suddenly, as though it was only occurring to him now. Quinn had also forgotten the crystal in the heat of the moment.

“It’s safe,” she replied, turning to face him. His eyes searched her face for answers, or forgiveness, she couldn’t tell.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Tristan continued.

“I’ll need to speak to Daniel directly to negotiate my terms. But first, I want to ask you something. It’s important.”

“Anything.”

“Camille will stay in Summerfeld now, won’t she?”

“Yes,” he nodded, confusion etched on his brow. “She would never leave Monique. Why?”

“How would you feel about Camille as a custodian for Jack and Ava?” The question was obviously not what he had expected, but it took only the briefest of moments for him to consider it and then a broad grin split his face.

“She’s their aunt, too,” he remarked wryly, grasping the significance. If Camille were to raise Jack and Ava they would stay within the City’s boundaries, and would be accessible to them any time they wanted. They would grow up safe and happy, and, better still, raised by their own blood – their father’s sister. Quinn smiled back at him, but as she turned away he broke the happy silence.

“Quinn?”

“Mmm?” Quinn glanced back over her shoulder.

“Does this mean you’re coming back?” He couldn’t contain the elation in his voice. Quinn’s own smile was firmly in place.

“I’m coming back,” she confirmed, opening the back door of the SUV and climbing in to get some rest.

It had occurred to her shortly after meeting Camille and Monique that Camille would be the perfect guardian for the twins, but it was only when Rafe had arrived on her doorstep that Quinn had realised that her Guardian instincts could no longer be suppressed.  She had fought her calling for a long time in order to take care of the children, even convinced herself that the Guardianship was a curse - a bond that she was determined to break, but being back in Summerfeld and seeing Rafe out here in the realm of man, defenceless and in desperate need of her protection, had reminded her that what she fought for was worth it. She could defy the Guardianship all she liked, but the fact remained that she was bonded to Summerfeld’s wards by a bond stronger even than blood and she wanted to protect them. She needed to protect them.

The second the sun crested the horizon and Rafe resumed his human form, they drove back to the house. Tristan helped Rafe inside, giving Quinn her privacy. Pulling her secret phone from her pocket – the one only she and Avery knew about - Quinn walked slowly around the side of the house and called Daniel. Now that the Guardians knew where she was, she might as well use it. Besides, no-one else would be calling the number now that Avery was gone. She could not contact Isaiah – the charm that protected the City being discovered by humans also made it immune to their means of contact. Besides, it was Daniel she had to convince – Daniel, who had never liked her. Quinn had studied Guardian history and she was well aware that the amber crystal that had been bestowed upon her had once belonged to Emily – Daniel’s great love. As warped as it was, she could understand why Daniel found it hard to accept someone who would not be around in the first place if Emily had lived. Quinn had worked her ass off to prove herself, earning the respect of every other Guardian. Only Daniel had never acknowledged her efforts.

She sat on the peeling bench in the back garden, mindful of Alice’s meticulous presence in the house. The char might be in her fifties but she could hear a pin drop and Quinn couldn’t afford to be overheard. Alice had taken the arrival of Tristan and Rafe, who Quinn had simply introduced as her cousin and a friend, in her stride, although her lips had puckered disapprovingly at the fresh mud-stains on the carpet in the hall.

The line clicked open after three short rings but Daniel did not say a word.

“It’s me,” she stated plainly, knowing that he would not speak until he was certain of who was on the other end. He would not recognise this number.

“What is it, Quinn?” he sounded harried.

“I found it.” Quinn heard his astonished intake of breath at her words and she quickly continued, “I’m coming back.”

“No, not yet. I'm travelling, I can’t get back to the City before the week is out.” Guardian phones were virtually untraceable, but even so, they did not give away any detail that might be interpreted by anyone listening in. Daniel, though, took lack of detail to a whole new level. Quinn assumed it was because, being the oldest Guardian, he had never quite felt comfortable with technology. “I assume it will be safe until then?”

“Yes, but...”

“No buts.”

“Surely this is more important than...”

“Actually, it is, but I must finish what I came here to do. I will see you at the end of the week.” And with that, he cut the call.

“He must have found a coven,” Tristan soothed, as Quinn paced the kitchen. “It’s the only thing that would keep him away.” The Hunters spent most of their time seeking and destroying vampires, but it was very rare that they discovered an entire coven. Made up of families or unrelated vampires living together, a large coven could have anything up to thirty vampires in its residence. Covens drew more attention than smaller groups or isolated vampires, both from humans and the Guardians who hunted them, and, as a result, they moved around a lot. If the Hunters had come across a group that size, Daniel would not leave until the coven was destroyed.

“It’s just so frustrating,” Quinn groaned, finally taking a seat in the living room. The children were finally within her grasp and now she had nothing to do but wait. “I can’t sit around and do nothing!”

“I could think of some ways to pass the time,” Tristan murmured provocatively, his hand stroking her cheek. Quinn slapped his arm away without thinking. The hurt expression on his face only fuelled her irritation.

“I’m doing this for Jack and Ava. I can’t just forget about them,” she reproached, and was relieved to hear that she sounded calm and matter-of-fact rather than accusatory. She no longer blamed Tristan – in fact, she wondered if she ever really had, or if it had simply been easier to hate him than to deal with Avery’s death. Tristan had done what every other male Guardian had done since the beginning. It was simply the Guardian way.

“Implying that I have?” he retaliated, his voice low and furious. She didn’t answer. He was so far from the truth that she couldn’t find the words to contradict him, but Tristan took her silence as confirmation and his temper boiled over.

“Jack and Ava?” he asked, sounding harder than she expected. He gave a short, harsh bark of laughter and then ran his hands through his hair. When he spoke again, there was an infinite sorrow in his voice that Quinn had never heard before. “Did you ever stop to think about the consequences of your own actions, Quinn? About the fact that your refusal to return resulted in the Guardians hiding my children, so that even I can’t see them... can’t visit them. And yet,” he shook his head, “I don’t blame you. I know that you only wanted to protect them, and that you did what you thought was best. I-don’t-blame-you,” he echoed, each word impregnated with meaning.

Quinn didn’t reply, her mind seemed to have gone completely blank. She could only stare at him in wonder, letting the words sink in slowly and trying to process what they meant.

“I’m going to get some sleep,” he sighed. “You should too, it’s been a...” he trailed off, gazing at her again in the same way he had at Sarah’s. “Well, anyway, get some rest.” Without waiting for a reply, he left the room.

Quinn slumped onto the sofa, pulling one of the cushions against her chest, trying to assuage the pain that had settled there, deep inside her. Tristan may have been an absent father most of the time, but, to his credit, he had always visited his children, certainly more than her own father had visited her, and probably more than any other male Guardian ever had. And Quinn’s own actions had resulted in the children being removed, taken where neither of them could have access to them. Why had it never occurred to her before? Because he never made you feel responsible, a small voice answered in her head. Because, just like he said, he had never blamed her. Quinn didn’t think she had ever felt so awful in her life. She had blamed him for everything – held it against him like a weapon she could use to shield her own heart. Tristan was selfless and forgiving. Far more than she had ever been. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

Chapter 38

Surfacing from a restless sleep late that afternoon Quinn discovered Tristan was gone.

“He said he had some stuff to take care of up north,” Rafe informed her casually. “He left about an hour ago; said he may as well head straight for Summerfeld when he was done and that he’d meet us there.”

Quinn nodded, forcing a smile.

“How do you feel?”

“Okay,” he replied. “I’m glad it’s over.”

“Me too,” she replied without thinking. Rafe blinked, concern coming over him.

“I didn’t... I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Quinn was saved from having to lie to him by the sound of the doorbell.

“I thought I’d bring you some cake,” Sarah announced, dumping half a vanilla round on the kitchen counter.

“Thanks, saves me cooking. Do you want any?”

“No, I’ve had,” Sarah took a seat at one of the high stools as Quinn took out a huge slice of cake for Rafe. “Where’s Tristan?” Sarah asked as soon as she returned.

“He left,” Quinn sat opposite her friend, spearing a piece of sponge with her fork. She suddenly found she had no appetite. Her initial shock that Tristan would leave Rafe here with only her as protection was tempered by the fact that Tristan had no knowledge of the vampires residing in Brookfield.

“Left? When?” Sarah continued, oblivious.

“Early this morning.”

“Where did he go?”

“I have no idea.” Her curt answers did not dissuade Sarah’s questioning in the slightest.

“Did something happen?” she probed. Quinn dropped her fork with a clatter.

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” she murmured.

She could see Sarah itching for more information, but she surrendered to Quinn’s need for privacy and changed the subject.

“So, where are you off to tomorrow?”

“Meyerton,” Quinn answered automatically, picking a city at random. “I have a few clients out that way who I need to touch base with before they forget who I am.”

“When will you be back?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied evasively, but when she met Sarah’s gaze she realised that Sarah knew. She knew that Quinn was not being truthful – possibly realised that she might not be coming back.

“Okay,” Sarah relented, pushing back her stool. “Well, travel safely, and I’ll see you when... when you get back.” Quinn followed her to the door wanting to say something, but not sure how. This is why Guardians don’t become friendly with humans she thought angrily. It hurts too much to say goodbye.

“I’ll see you,” she said as they faced each other at the doorway.

Sarah’s smile didn’t reach her eyes, but she visibly pulled herself together and said, with a wry grin, “Probably sooner than you think – I’ll stop by after dinner to fetch my dish.”

Quinn laughed.

“Okay, I’ll see you later then.”

“Bye, Rafe!” Sarah called and a muted reply emanated from the living-room.

“Bye,” she smiled, gazing at Quinn, and then, suddenly, she leaned forward and hugged her tightly, before skipping down the porch steps and disappearing around the side of the house.

Quinn closed the door just as Rafe emerged from the living-room.

“Time to pack up,” she said. They would leave in the morning. She couldn’t wait any longer. She owed Tristan an apology.

Rafe sauntered around, throwing his belongings, which were strewn all over the house, into a bag. Permanently packed, ready to leave at a moment’s notice, Quinn found herself moving from room to room, straightening cushions and wiping down surfaces as she waited for Rafe to go to bed. Only then could she safely access the hidden room. She hadn’t decided yet if she would bring her crystal back with her to Summerfeld. If she left it behind, she would have a reason to come back – to return to Brookfield and the people she was leaving behind. But Guardians avoided ties with the inhabitants of man’s realm at all costs, so why was she even considering it?

“You are going to get square eyes,” she muttered as she passed Rafe watching TV.

“What does that even mean?” he asked, gazing at her, bewildered.

“It’s just something my mom used to say. I’m going to put that cake in the fridge before Sarah comes to fetch her dish.” As she stepped into the kitchen she heard the doorbell.

“Too late,” Rafe called, and she heard the sofa creak as he got up to let Sarah in.

Quinn froze when she heard Drake’s voice. Hurtling from the kitchen, dropping the last of the cake on the tiles in the process, she careened into the hall. Rafe may have been depressed and unperceptive over the past few days, but he was still a natural protector, and one look at her ashen face told him all he needed to know. Turning back towards the door, he snarled – a low, guttural sound that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

She quickly assessed the situation – Rafe bristling with aggression, while Drake stood calmly in the doorway, making no move to enter. He looked only mildly amused by the scene unfolding before him, and, as Rafe turned to check on Quinn, Drake gave her a lazy smile. Rafe would not know, nor could he sense Drake’s vampirism – he would not suspect Drake to be a threat - he was simply reacting to Quinn’s obvious anxiety. Rafe was weakened and would be no match for the vampire – Quinn knew she had to diffuse the situation. Forcing a smile, which felt more like a grimace, she smoothed down her shirt.

“Drake!” she feigned pleasant surprise, “I wasn’t expecting you!”

“Apparently,” he drawled sardonically.

“You know him?” Rafe asked, his voice still far too low to be entirely human. “Yes,” Quinn assured him, deliberately holding his gaze longer than she needed to, trying to convey a hidden message. Rafe didn’t need to know that Drake was a vampire, but he did need to get out of here, now. She could hardly believe Drake’s restraint, coming to face-to-face with a ward of Summerfeld. The incredible self-control he must be exerting would not go without great personal sacrifice. He must be hurting.  Rafe regarded her steadily for a moment, then, with an imperceptible nod of her head, she gestured towards the living-room. Showing the natural respect the wards have for the Guardians, Rafe complied, throwing one last filthy look over his shoulder at Drake before he disappeared around the corner. Quinn slumped against the doorframe, her knees weak.

“It’s a good thing you’re the type of woman who keeps her head in a crisis,” Drake teased. Quinn wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

“What are you doing here?”

“I needed to speak to you. It seemed only logical to knock.” He seemed perfectly calm, but Quinn’s Guardian instinct was on high alert and she couldn’t even attempt to relax while he was in such close proximity to Rafe.

“Rafe, I’m just stepping out!” she called out in his general direction, moving out onto the porch and shutting the front door firmly behind her. Drake followed her down the porch steps and onto the neat front lawn, away from the lights of the house.

“Where is the male Guardian?” Drake asked. He could not sense Tristan anywhere inside the house.

“Not here,” Quinn replied curtly.

“Do you ever go anywhere without that thing?” he mused, and she followed his gaze downward, to her right boot.

“No,” she confirmed. “Never.” A Guardian without a stake wouldn’t be much of a Guardian.

“I’m leaving tonight,” Drake got straight to the point. “I’m going to see a coven I know not far from here. They may have information regarding your sister. I thought you might like to know.”

“I’m leaving too.” It suddenly occurred to Quinn that once she returned to Summerfeld, Drake would have no means of contacting her. If he did uncover any information about Avery’s murder, Quinn needed to know about it. “Let me give you my number.” She couldn’t think of any other way to stay in contact with him, but the thought of giving him her number – giving a vampire a means to contact a Guardian – filled her with apprehension. Drake pulled a black phone from the pocket of his jeans, a remarkably human gesture, and Quinn couldn’t hide a small smile, despite the fact that her stomach was tied up in knots.

“What is it?” he asked, and Quinn recited her number carefully. He punched it into his phone and then pocketed it again.

Quinn gnawed her lip, wondering how on earth she had gotten into this mess.

“What’s wrong?” he mused, sensing her distress.

“It’s just surreal. This is so messed up.”

“What is?”

“This!” she laughed hysterically. “You know, just a few weeks ago my life was perfectly ordinary. I was just another face in the crowd raising two children. Now, I’m trying to protect a werewolf outside of the City and I’m colluding with vampires. Vampires!” she snorted hysterically. “I’m a Guardian, for God’s sake!”

“That doesn’t define you,” he spoke, the words surprisingly candid. “And you’re colluding with one vampire... only one.”

“You know what I mean,” she countered.

“I know what you mean,” his teeth gleamed in the darkness as he smiled at her. “Oh, and Quinn,” he added, his green eyes boring into hers, “I doubt you could ever be just another face in the crowd.”

Quinn didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t even know if he was insulting her or meant it as a compliment, but he didn’t give her the opportunity to ask.

“I’ll be in touch,” he promised, and, with only a slight breeze marking his departure, he disappeared into the gloomy night.

Quinn stared at the place where he had stood for a long moment, praying she had done the right thing, when her phone rang abruptly in her pocket. The sudden noise, in stark contrast to the quiet stillness of the front garden, made her jump. Her first thought was that Drake was testing the number she had given him, but then she saw her father’s number on the screen.

“Yes?” she answered. Daniel must have given her number to the Guardians.

“Is Rafe still with you?” her father asked.

“Yes.”

“You need to get back to the City immediately. Bring him with you.”

“We’re leaving first thing in the morning.”

“Leave now,” he instructed and then, “Channon was attacked.”

“Oh God... is she okay? Who...”

“We’ll talk about it when you get here. Just hurry – and don’t tell Rafe anything, Isaiah wants to do it.”

“I can’t keep it from him!” Quinn protested loudly, and then, casting a quick glance over her shoulder at the house, she lowered her voice. “He needs to know.”

“His mother is dead, Quinn.”

“What?” Quinn couldn’t believe it. “What happened?”

“The new Alpha happened.” Her father’s grim tone suggested he was as affected as she was. Vivienne had been much loved and admired by all the Guardians. She had been a kind and surprisingly gentle soul for a wolf, and even without the blood allegiance they would have protected her.

“How is Raina?” Raina was Vivienne’s daughter, sired by Grayson, who had ousted Rafe’s father. While technically half-siblings, Rafe and Raina had no relationship to speak of, but the fact remained that they had both just lost their mother. Selfishly, considering the circumstances, Quinn wondered if this tragedy might serve as a catalyst to bring them together as a family.

“Not good,” Braddon admitted.

“I have to tell Rafe,” Quinn murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

“Let Isaiah deal with it. That’s an order.”

“You know you can’t really give me orders, right?” Quinn had surpassed her father’s skill years ago, and even if she hadn’t, no one Guardian has authority over any other. Daniel and Isaiah were obeyed out of respect, not custom, and big decisions were always put to a vote.

“Isaiah has asked you not to mention it.”

Knowing Isaiah would have good reason for asking, Quinn relented.

“We’ll be on the road in under an hour. I’ll see you in two days.” She snapped the phone shut and shoved it into her pocket.

Quinn couldn’t go inside, not yet. An image blossomed in her mind, of a younger Vivienne teaching her and Avery how to make pancakes. Vivienne had treated the girls with infinite kindness when they had first become Guardians, encouraging them to enjoy the simple pleasures of life despite the burdens they carried. She had gone a long way to filling the void that their mother’s death had left in their hearts. Quinn’s blood burned with the loss of one of Summerfeld’s most treasured members, as well as the agony of losing a dear friend. Unbidden, tears welled in her eyes and she sank to the ground, weeping.

Covering her face with her hands, she tried to pull herself together. She wasn’t entirely sure when she became aware of him, but slowly it dawned on her that she wasn’t alone. Raising her tear-streaked face, her eyes met Drake’s. He was standing only a few feet away regarding her intently.

“What do you want?” she croaked. He made no move towards her, but there was a softness in his glacial eyes that she hadn’t seen before.

“You lost a ward,” he stated simply, and Quinn wondered just how long he had been lurking in the shadows, and how much of her conversation he had overheard. Steeling herself, she got awkwardly to her feet.

“You must be thrilled,” she bit out, embarrassed and angry. “One less life to worry about.”

He moved so quickly that in the space it took her to blink he was standing before her.

“I take no pleasure in your pain, young Guardian. And your anger is misdirected. It was no vampire who killed your friend.” She heard the words, but she could not understand them. No vampire should care about her grief.

“No,” she admitted, “it was another of the wards.” Dragons, giants and even the wolves killed one another, but never had a wolf killed for any other reason than to challenge an existing Alpha, and the females were never attacked. The Fae and the werewolves were the most human, and therefore the most civilised of Summerfeld’s inhabitants, and they lived in harmony. Caleb, Quinn thought furiously. Caleb was new to the City and he was behaving worse than any animal. Killing in cold blood was unacceptable.

“I am sorry for your loss.” He noticed her eyes looked more violet than blue in the pale moonlight.

“Really? You really expect me to believe that you’re sorry that there is one less werewolf in the world.”

Drake sighed wearily.

“I don’t mourn the loss of my enemy. Does that make me a monster?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell me this. Do you mourn the killing of one of my kind?”

That brought her up short. He had very cleverly turned the tables on her. The truth was she relished destroying the enemies of Summerfeld.

“That’s what I thought,” he mused, raising his brows knowingly. “The fact is we are on opposite sides of the same war. You cannot expect me to sympathise with your plight, when you yourself could never sympathise with mine. We are neither right, nor wrong – we are simply different.”

“Would you kill a ward if you had the opportunity?” Quinn asked, already knowing the answer. Drake surprised her by answering her question with one of his own.

“Would you kill a vampire, if you had the opportunity?”

“Point taken,” she sighed, rubbing at her temples.

“The thing is, despite who we are, and what we are sworn to do, I don’t have any desire to hurt you.” Quinn knew exactly how he felt. She didn’t want any harm to come to him either, which is why she had led the Guardians away from him in the first place. “I don’t think I could kill you,” he concluded quietly.

“Well, that’s comforting,” Quinn laughed, without mirth.

“Quinn?” Rafe’s voice called from the top of the porch and Quinn turned to see him peering around the front door. “You okay?” he asked and Quinn was grateful for the lack of light so that he would not see her tear-stained face.

“I’m fine,” she called softly. “I’ll be in in a sec. Change of plans, though... we’re heading back tonight. Get your stuff together.” Rafe looked about to question this new arrangement, but then seemed to think better of it and retreated back inside, pulling the door shut behind him.

Turning back to Drake, Quinn opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it.

“Safe journey, Guardian,” he murmured. “I’ll let you know if I find out anything about your sister.”

Quinn nodded and turned wearily back to the house.

Chapter 39

“Why are we leaving now?” Rafe demanded. He had obeyed Quinn’s instruction and his belongings were packed in a duffel bag in the hall but of course the question was inevitable. Rafe trusted Quinn implicitly, as he would any Guardian, but he was no fool and knew that something was wrong. Quinn couldn’t even deny it – she would not lie to Rafe – but she could keep the truth to herself.

“Isaiah has instructed us to return. Please Rafe,” she added, as he opened his mouth to question her further, "just wait in the car, I’ll be out soon.”

He had left then, shouldering his pack and stalking outside, and a moment later she heard her car door slam. Satisfied, she hastily opened the secret room. The air was musty and a fine layer of dust had already settled over the desk. Powering off her computer, Quinn grabbed the photograph of Avery and the twins and stuffed it into her bag, before reaching for the amber crystal. She turned it over in her hand, weighing up her choices. She could take the crystal with her – keep it on her person and hope that she came to no harm, allowing it to fall into the wrong hands. Or, she could leave it here, in the relative safety of this house – a house into which a vampire had been invited. It came down to whether or not she really trusted Drake.

The crystal, despite its gemlike quality, was warm in her hand and Quinn gazed down at it, still not sure what to do. Leaving it here would allow her to return, at some point, because Quinn could not deny the fact that she was returning to Summerfeld permanently to resume her Guardian duties. If Daniel consented to the plan she planned to propose, Jack and Ava would be safe and both she and Tristan would have full access to them. It was the best she could hope for. She loved the twins with all her heart, but she had come to realise that the Summerfeld wards needed her just as much as her niece and nephew did. The crystal was the only thing connecting her to Brookfield – to the friends she had made. If she left it behind she would have a reason to return, to see Sarah and Todd again - to see Drake again. Drake was a vampire, but he had saved her life. He had protected her from Sebastian and again from Genevieve. He had not harmed Rafe, he had kept his word, and he had promised to help her find her sister’s killer. He had also told her that he had no desire to hurt her. Despite everything she had known to be true her whole life, despite knowing that vampires were evil, hateful beings; Quinn believed him.

Quinn deposited the crystal back on the dusty shelf beside the remaining frame – the photograph of herself, Avery and Tristan, and then, picking up her bag, she emerged from the room, punching in the digital code that would seal it and sliding back the shelf so that the door was hidden once more.

Two days later Quinn and Rafe arrived at the Cathedral. The journey had not been a pleasant one. Rafe was an irascible travel companion, knowing that Quinn was withholding information, but to his credit, he had not pestered her. Quinn barely noticed the beauty of their surroundings as they climbed the massive stone steps, she was too concerned about what would happen when Rafe learned the truth about his mother, and her own grief over Vivienne’s loss still weighed heavily on her heart.

Isaiah pulled open the great doors as they reached the top, his wise face creased in an expression of infinite sadness.

“Thank you for coming so quickly, Quinn.”

“What’s going on, Isaiah?” Rafe asked immediately.

“Come inside.” Isaiah ushered him into the great hall and Quinn trailed behind, not wanting to witness the heartbreak that was sure to follow Isaiah’s revelation.

Surprisingly, the Cathedral was empty, save for Piper, who sat alone at the council table, her eyes red-rimmed, as though she had only recently stopped crying. Quinn made her way quickly towards her old friend, enveloping her in a hug. Not only was Piper her dearest Guardian friend, but Quinn suspected that the young Guardian was experiencing a lot of guilt. Piper was no doubt the Guardian who had found Caleb in the first place. She monitored the internet and searched for clues that might lead them to lost members of the magical races. One look at Piper’s woebegone face and Quinn’s suspicions were confirmed.

“You couldn’t have known,” she murmured, squeezing Piper’s hand. Piper blinked, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket.

“I know,” she nodded, “but that doesn’t mean I feel any better about it.”

“Please, sit,” Isaiah offered Rafe a chair.

“I’d rather stand.” Quinn watched from the far end of the room as he visibly braced himself for the worst.

“I asked Quinn not to tell you what happened in your absence,” Isaiah began gently, “because I thought you should hear it from me.

“It’s Channon, isn’t it?” Rafe interrupted, his voice breaking on her name.

“Channon is going to be fine,” Isaiah reassured him, “although yes, she was attacked. Her injuries were substantial but she lives.” Quinn’s hand flew to her mouth. She hadn’t known about Channon.

“Where is she?” Rafe’s voice had taken on the low timbre that characterised the wolves when their emotions were heightened – a half-growl, deep and ominous.

“She is here, you can see her shortly,” Isaiah promised, “but first it is my duty to tell you that your mother did not survive the attack.”

“My mother?” Rafe’s yellow eyes opened even wider; shock and confusion reflected in the golden orbs. “Why would my mother be...?”

“Your mother was attacked by the new Alpha. We do not yet understand why, but I think it is safe to say that it was an act of vengeance. Caleb was not pleased when he heard we had escorted you out of the City. In an attempt to draw you out he waited until the full moon to attack your mother. Kellan contacted me immediately, but sadly I could not get there in time to save her.”
“My mother is dead?” Rafe intoned hollowly.

“I am so sorry for your loss,” Isaiah stepped forward, wanting to comfort Rafe, but Rafe stepped back, raising his arms and keeping Isaiah at bay. His hands were trembling. Isaiah continued quickly, trying to get the rest of the story out before Rafe’s anger overwhelmed him. “Channon tried to defend your mother – she came to her aid and stood between them.”

“So he attacked Channon too?” Rafe’s entire body was now trembling, and his voice was so low that Quinn could barely hear the words.

“Actually, Caleb simply cast her aside. He wounded her, but not badly. It was Cassandra who attacked her in her weakened state.”

Rafe let out a howl of rage and despair which echoed through the cavernous halls of the Cathedral.

Quinn started with surprise and disgust. She was well aware that Cassandra had been jealous of Channon, but Channon was by far the stronger wolf. She stepped forward, the question bursting from her lips.

“Cassandra beat Channon?”

Isaiah shook his head, his eyes never leaving Rafe’s face.

“Cassandra is dead,” he explained. “Channon killed her. Caleb was furious; he would have turned on her next. I arrived just in time and I brought Channon back here. She was badly hurt, but she will make a full recovery.”

Piper let out a small whimper at the table, lifting her hands to cover her face. Quinn could empathise with her despair. The loss of any of Summerfeld’s inhabitants caused the Guardians great pain, and to lose them through such violent means was truly horrifying. Alphas had been killed before, through challenge, but this was acceptable – the wolves fought bravely for their dominance and sometimes the animal instinct was just too strong. This was an acceptable loss – a natural order. But what Caleb had done was nothing short of savage, vindictive cruelty. To target an old, weak female for the sole purpose of causing Rafe grief was unforgiveable.

“This is my fault,” Rafe grimaced. “If I had stayed they wouldn’t have been hurt; my mother would still be alive.”

“You can’t know that, Rafe...” Quinn interjected.

“Actually, Rafe is right.” Isaiah replied.

“What?”

“We should never have taken you out of the City,” Isaiah explained. “We have never done it before; it is not our place to interfere with pack law. And it is certainly not our place to remove a ward of Summerfeld from its protective enchantments. Freya suggested this solution with the best intentions because she believed, as I did, that Caleb was like you. That he would care for the pack, as Alphas have for centuries. But we were wrong. We put your life in great danger and accomplished nothing. Two wolves are dead,” Isaiah turned to Quinn who had opened her mouth to retort. “And Channon lies in a hospital bed.”

“It should have been me.” Rafe confirmed submissively.

“No!” Quinn snapped, stepping forward. “I don’t accept that. Our duty is to protect the lives of every single person or being that resides in the City,” she turned on Isaiah. “Every single one. That includes Rafe.”

“Our duty is to protect the wards from the vampires who hunt them,” Isaiah corrected. “Not to protect them from one another.”

“You’re manipulating the text,” Quinn spat. “We have never dealt with a situation like this before – there is no precedent. It is up to us to decide what is right and what is wrong, and I, personally, plan to defend what is right.”

“I want to see her,” Rafe asked Isaiah, completely ignoring Quinn’s outburst. “I want to see my wife.” The fact that he called Channon by that title sobered Quinn more than anything.

“She’s in the infirmary,” Isaiah gestured towards a corridor beyond him, and Rafe stalked off in that direction, his whole body stooped with acceptance.

Rafe found Channon at the end of the hall, in a small, narrow room. Her skin was pale, almost the same colour as the white sheet that was drawn over her, and dark shadows had formed beneath her eyes. Her black hair hung limply over her shoulders. She looked terrible, but it was the four deep lacerations on her left cheek that drew Rafe’s gaze. Her hands, too, were bloody and bruised, and there were two fingernails missing on her right hand. Rafe was too terrified to lift the sheet and assess the damage to the rest of her body.

She opened her eyes as he sat gently on the edge of the bed. Being Channon, she didn’t throw herself into his arms, or grab hold of him, or beseech him to never leave her again. Instead, she smiled sadly, wincing slightly as the skin on her left cheek pulled taut.

“Where’ve you been, stranger?” she croaked sleepily.

“Out of town,” he joked back, his heart constricting with love.

“I’m so sorry about your mom.” Her amber eyes searched his and Rafe tried not to betray the depth of his emotion.

“Thank you for defending her.”

“I didn’t. I failed her.”

“You tried, Channon. You shouldn’t have, but you did, and I will be grateful to you forever.”

“Rafe,” Channon swallowed, her mouth bone dry. “You should know.... Raina... she...”

“I don’t want to talk about my sister,” he growled, then immediately regretting the harsh reaction, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

“Are you leaving again?” she asked, trying to make light of it, but he could hear the tremor in her voice.

“No. I’ll never leave you again,” he promised.

“You’re going to challenge him, aren’t you?”

“I have to.”

“You won’t win, Rafe. He’s too strong.”

“Then I won’t win,” he shrugged acceptingly, “but I have to try.”

“I know.” She closed her eyes, but, as he watched, a tear slipped through her long sooty lashes and made its way slowly down her cheek. Rafe took her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing her palm and then resting it against his cheek. They both fell silent and soon Channon’s breathing deepened as she fell into a restless slumber, oblivious to the argument raging outside.

Chapter 40

Jonas walked back to the camp seething with anger. School was as bad as he remembered and it hadn’t taken long for the other kids to pick on him – his clothing, the fact that he didn’t have a cell phone or even a wallet, for that matter. They mocked his rough accent, and worse, there was a letter in his faded, torn satchel from the deputy-head regarding an incident in the cafeteria that would no doubt raise his father’s ire. In all fairness, Jonas hadn’t started the fight – it had been a burly, thick-set boy who had, in a moment of pure teenage stereotype, tripped Jonas up and sent him hurtling face-first across the cafeteria floor. Jonas had retaliated and the boy had been sent to the school nurse with a bleeding lip. He could tell by the way the deputy had gazed down his long nose at Jonas that he had already assigned blame without even questioning the other students. Not that any of them would have come to Jonas’s defence anyway.

Balthazar would not take this well, but Jonas would die before he admitted he had made a mistake. The only reason he had insisted on going in the first place had been to find Monique. He had been so sure that she would be there, but he had searched for her everywhere, his heart skipping a beat every time he spotted a long, dark red ponytail... only to be disappointed when it wasn’t her.

“How was school?” Rowena called as he approached through the trees. She and Balthazar were alone in the woods on the outskirts of camp. Balthazar glanced up from where he sat a few yards away, pouring over his textbooks. His father had been withdrawn for the past few days, as though he had a secret that he wasn’t ready to share. Jonas didn’t care about Balthazar’s secrets, but at least it kept his dad’s mind off Jonas and he hadn’t noticed that his son was even more sullen than usual.

“What happened?’ Rowena asked, perceptive as ever.

“This,” Jonas handed her the note, his eyes pleading. He cast furtive looks across at Balthazar as her dark eyes scanned the page, a small frown creasing her smooth brow.

“I’m assuming you didn’t start it?” she asked quietly when she had finished. Jonas gave her a pointed look and she nodded. “That’s what I thought. You got a pen?” Jonas fished one out of his bag and Rowena signed off the form, stuffing it quickly back into his hands.

“Thank you,” he murmured, and then, wanting to change the subject, “what’s dad up to?”

“Just the usual research,” she answered, a little too quickly.

Balthazar had sworn Rowena to secrecy after they had discovered the portal at the canyon. Rowena understood his reasoning. If they disclosed its location, not even Balthazar’s informal authority would stop their entire community rushing through it, and it was imperative that the Guardians did not learn of the discovery, not until Balthazar had figured out what to do next.

“Why do you want to go to that school anyway?” she asked, distracting Jonas. “And don’t give me that bullshit you fed your father about leading a normal life and getting an education. I know you despise it there.”

“I don’t!” he exclaimed, but Rowena fixed him with a knowing look. “Okay, maybe I do.” Jonas had always been able to confide in Rowena far more than he ever could his father. She didn’t judge him and she never made him feel guilty for having an interest in something other than the search. “I met a girl,” he confessed, dropping his voice to barely more than a whisper. “I thought she might be there.”

“And I take it from your delightful mood that she’s not?” Rowena smiled.

“I don’t think so. She might be – it’s a big campus.” Jonas still held out hope that he might find Monique at school. She could be in different classes or might have been off sick. Either way, he refused to give up until he was absolutely certain she wasn’t there. Until then, he would have to endure it.

“Where did you see her?” Rowena asked as an afterthought.

“At the gas station, a few weeks ago.”

“Well, I hope you find her – although she’s probably not good enough for you,” Rowena nudged him with her shoulder.

“Probably,” he agreed half-heartedly. “I better go and do my homework.” He headed towards the tent he shared with Balthazar when his father wasn’t ensconced in the flatbed of Rowena’s truck. Gypsy women were extremely promiscuous, but Rowena and Balthazar had a very rare relationship – a monogamous relationship out of wedlock.

“Jonas,” she called, and he cringed at the volume of her voice. “If you do find her,” Rowena continued, “maybe you could bring her here for the bonfire.” Once a month the gypsies lit a bonfire, dancing and singing through the night. It was their way of celebrating - the gypsy equivalent of a party. Nodding, Jonas continued on towards his tent. If he did ever find her, he doubted Monique would be impressed with the gypsy idea of revelry, but he was so desperate to see her he would probably ask her anyway.

“Our people need answers,” Rowena spoke, watching Jonas’s hulking departure. She and Balthazar had visited the portal again while the boy was at school. It was hard to keep him away – it was as if he needed constant reassurance that their discovery had been real – that they had indeed finally found the lost City. “We can’t keep them here much longer without an explanation,” she persisted.

The gypsies had stayed in one place this long before, but always with reasonable explanations – clues, that had invariably turned out to be nothing. Never before had Balthazar withheld information and the lack of communication was starting to cause discord among the gypsies. Melchior, in particular, wanted to press on, insisting that the presence of a single cornflower was not enough to warrant a lengthy stay. Rowena had never liked Melchior – he had hurt a few of her girls in the past and he had a vicious streak in him that Balthazar refused to see.

“The Guardians will mow us down if they feel there is any threat to the City,” Balthazar intoned hollowly. “We cannot make a move until we know for sure what awaits us.”

“Twelve Guardians await!” Rowena snapped. “What else is there to know? That is not going to change so I don’t understand why we are procrastinating.”

“That is not true,” Balthazar pointed out. “We have seen that the Guardians come and go. I want to track their movements – it may so happen that we can enter when there are only very few remaining.” Seeing her dark scowl, he continued more gently. “Rowena, we have waited a lifetime for this opportunity. What’s a few more weeks? Surely we should take the time to gather more information before we rush blindly in?”

“Fine,” she sighed, “but you better start thinking of something to tell the others before they simply move on without us.”

They sat in silence. Balthazar loathed the distance growing between them and he placed a hand on Rowena’s thigh. Dutifully she spread her legs, lifting her heavy skirt, but Balthazar pulled away in disgust. He hated it when she treated him like the others. Their relationship meant more to him than that.

By the time they returned to the camp, Balthazar’s mood had darkened considerably. Rowena and the other women had a local fair to attend, and, as he watched her truck lumber out of the clearing, laden with herbs and gypsy potions that would be sold to unsuspecting humans, he spat at the ground near his feet.

“Trouble in paradise?” Melchior observed drily, watching Balthazar as he stared after the departing truck.

“That woman will be the death of me," Balthazar replied.

“Perhaps I could teach her some manners for you,” Melchior grinned lasciviously. “You have spoilt her, brother. She should be reminded of her place.” It was not uncommon for the gypsy men to share their single women, but the thought of Melchior’s meaty hands on Rowena’s soft, pliant body filled Balthazar with rage.

“You will not lay a finger on her, Melchior,” he warned menacingly.

“She refuses to marry you,” Melchior reminded arrogantly, “you have no claim on her.”

“Well, unless she seeks out your services, I suggest you leave her be,” Balthazar spat back.

He cursed Rowena’s fiery nature. This, coupled with her refusal to marry him and thus place herself out of bounds for the other men in camp, only fuelled the other gypsies’ lust. Balthazar longed for her hand in marriage, not only so that she would belong to him completely, but also to protect her from the primal ways of their people. The gypsies lived harsh lives and they were a physical community. Drink also added fire to the flames, and, on more than one occasion, women had been hurt after a particularly festive bonfire.

The women themselves were wild and often asked for trouble – stripping down to their bare flesh and dancing suggestively. The competition for male attention was fierce, and some of the women had been known to physically attack the others, when vying for a particular male’s affections. Rowena had always steered clear of this custom – she was dedicated to Balthazar and Jonas and behaved accordingly, but she spoke out against the viciousness of the men when things got out of hand, and there was certainly more than one man in camp who longed to give her a good lashing.

Knowing the sun would not set for a few more hours; Balthazar followed the path the truck had taken only a few moments before. He had never been to a fair – it was the women’s job – but he wanted to see Rowena. Arriving at the fairground, he watched, unnoticed, as the gypsy women set up their wares, along with a small tent at the far back, which had a red sash tied to a post beside it, which he assumed was where the card-reading took place.

The gypsies’ apportioned plot was at the very edge of the fairground, a short distance away from everything else, to ensure that no young children visited their stall unattended. They made the most of their money at these fairs and they only wanted customers with long purse strings. He marvelled at how organised the women were – how they worked in unison, setting up tables and positioning everything on display. His heart leapt as he spotted Rowena, moving gracefully between the others, checking everything and offering words of encouragement. Her long black skirt swished around her ankles as she moved, her bare feet leaving indentations in the soft grass. He noticed that she had slipped a flower behind her ear and her lips were painted red. He had never seen her with make-up on – she always washed it off before she returned. Balthazar didn’t like the black, heavy charcoal surrounding her dark eyes. She looked incredibly beautiful, but he preferred her the way she looked first thing in the morning – before the sun had even risen – her hair a dark, tousled mess and her eyes still heavy with sleep.

Seeing Rowena calmed him more than anything, and, feeling better, he strolled around the market place, his curiosity piqued. The fairground was alive with colour, sound and scent. Balloons for the children, flea-bitten ponies that swished their tails lethargically as they waited for their next rider, and every conceivable art and craft lined the trestle tables. The smell of popcorn was heavy in the air and made Balthazar’s stomach rumble. He had not eaten anything since breakfast. Passing the vendor he bought two large boxes of popcorn and headed back towards the gypsies' allocated plot.

Mindful of the customers queuing before the tables, he moved around to the far end of the plot, approaching the tent. He could not see Rowena anywhere. The other women were preoccupied with the loud, demanding customers and Balthazar frowned as he glanced around. He checked the back of the truck but she was not there either. As he emerged, one of Rowena’s friends spotted him and gave a gasp of fright, dropping the small bottle she was holding. Her reaction sent a flash of alarm through Balthazar and he followed her gaze to the tent, only a few yards away. As he ran towards it, he prayed that Rowena was performing a card-reading, but the terror-stricken look on the young girl’s face made him doubt it.

As he got nearer, he heard the unmistakeable grunting that could only be male, and his chest constricted so badly he stumbled. Jerking back the tent flap his worst fears were confirmed. Rowena lay on her back, fully clothed save for her black skirt, which was lying in a crumpled heap at the tent entrance, staring up at the canvas ceiling. She looked almost bored, but her legs were wrapped tightly around the waist of a portly, balding man and she was bucking her hips erotically up against him, whispering dirty, suggestive words that Balthazar had never heard her utter before.

As her dark eyes swept towards his, Balthazar thought he might black out. Oblivious to the unexpected witness, the man on top of her gave an enormous groan of satisfaction into her neck and collapsed on top of her, groping for her breasts in the process. The glint of gold around his ring finger was too much for Balthazar, who finally regained control of his senses. Rowena was already trying to scramble out from underneath the now-limp man, but Balthazar was too quick for her. Grabbing him around the neck, Balthazar yanked him to his feet, the revolting squelching sound making him sick to the stomach.

“Balthazar, no!” Rowena yelled, over the man’s startled gasp of shock. Balthazar did not pay heed – drawing back his fist he let it fly, slamming into the man’s face with as much force as he could muster. Rowena cried again, reaching for him, but Balthazar pushed her away in revulsion, so hard that she hit her head on a small wooden chair that sat in the corner of the tent. Smashing his fist again and again into the man’s face, Balthazar could see nothing but an ugly red haze.

“Balthazar! That’s enough!” Rowena finally managed to get a good grip on his arm and despite feeling dizzy from hitting her head, she pulled him off the bloodied, beaten man. He was whimpering desolately, his pants still around his knees and Rowena averted her eyes as two of the other gypsy women entered the tent and helped him dress. Balthazar stood as still as a statue, staring at her as if she was a complete stranger, his entire body shaking. Only when the women had helped the stranger outside, did she speak again.

“He’ll go to the police. We need to get out of here, now.”

“He won’t go anywhere,” Balthazar barked, “He’s married, Rowena, or did you miss the ring on his finger while he was fucking you?” she flinched at the uncharacteristic vulgarity. “He’s hardly going to admit to his wife what he’s been up to,” Balthazar continued, his chest heaving.

This much was true, Rowena thought thankfully. With any luck the man would simply claim he had been robbed and beaten by an unidentifiable assailant.  She opened her mouth to speak but Balthazar beat her to it.

“How could you?” he asked desolately, his eyes wild with desperation. “How could you do this?”

“Balthazar, I...”

“You’re a whore,” he spat, not giving her a chance to explain. “A vile, filthy whore.”

“Where do you think the money comes from?” she retorted furiously, guilt making her even more acerbic, when all she wanted to do was grab hold of him and never let go. “In all your pig-headed ignorance, did you never stop to wonder how much this search has cost? Selling a few potions and doing a couple of card-readings was never, ever going to cover it!”

“So you resorted to this?” he roared. “My God, did you think I would ever agree to this?”

“No! Of course I didn’t! And that’s exactly why you never knew. Because if I didn’t do this your search would have ended long ago and you wouldn’t have been able to deal with that. I did what I had to do.”

“We would have found another way.”

“No, we wouldn’t have. And you would have been miserable and without purpose,” she sneered. “You live to find the City. I do what I do to ensure that we all live.” Balthazar was still shaking, incandescent with rage and Rowena’s cheeks were flushed, her dark eyes stormy.

“We’re done,” he snarled, snatching up her skirt and hurling it at her. “Don’t come near me, don’t even look at me.” Rowena glared at him defiantly, covering herself with the crumpled skirt. “From this moment on, you are dead to me,” he finished hatefully.

Only once she was certain he was gone did she collapse to the ground, her body wracked with sobs.

Chapter 41

“That’s bullshit, Isaiah, and you know it!” Quinn was fast losing her fragile grip on her temper. She couldn’t believe that Isaiah would allow Rafe back into the City when he so clearly had a death sentence over his head.

“Quinn!” Piper attempted once more to diffuse the escalating conflict.

“We made a mistake,” Isaiah repeated. “Rafe should never have been taken out. I am to blame for that and it is a decision I regret deeply. All I can do now is to try to repair the damage that I have done.”

“You tried to save him and you did! Rafe deserves our protection. He’s ten times the wolf Caleb could ever be.”

Rafe had won his pack's allegiance through physical prowess as well as social efforts and building alliances throughout the pack. He had been a popular and capable leader. Caleb struck Quinn as nothing but cruel and vicious – a power-hungry wolf who would rule through fear and intimidation.

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Isaiah consented, “but we are protectors, not Gods. We don’t get to decide.”

“We could,” Quinn countered, the thought occurring to her. “We could exile Caleb – send him back to man’s realm. We brought him here; surely we are responsible for his actions? Why can’t we just send him back where he came from? We could reinstate Rafe and... ”

“We cannot send Caleb back,” Isaiah intoned. “Caleb is everything you say he is, but he is our responsibility, not just within the walls of the Ark, but for every action he commits outside of it, too.” That brought Quinn up short as she realised what he was implying.

“Goddammit!” she cursed, a feeling of helplessness washing over her.

“If Caleb is capable of such intolerable cruelty within the City’s boundaries, just imagine the bloodshed if we return him – angry and humiliated – back to man’s world. Any lives that he may take outside of Summerfeld will be on our hands.”

Quinn shook her head angrily.

“Then we kill him,” she announced suddenly. Piper gave a gasp of shocked disbelief, but Isaiah simply smiled in understanding.

“We cannot take the life of a ward, Quinn. No matter how deserving that ward may be,” he added sympathetically. Of course he was right. The very second the thought had occurred to her, Quinn had dismissed it. No Guardian could bring themselves to kill a ward. Their very blood refused it. “Unless of course you know of someone who might do it for us?” Isaiah jested. The very thought was ludicrous given that the Guardians were the only ones who knew of the City’s existence. Except of course, the vampires - any one of whom would be more than willing to murder a ward of Summerfeld but no Guardian would ever be on speaking terms with a vampire. No Guardian but Quinn.

The thought of Drake disappeared as quickly as it had come. Isaiah was right – this was Guardian business. And, as much as she despised him, Caleb was a werewolf, and werewolves belonged in the Lunar Grove.

“He has to be punished, at least,” Quinn persevered. “Surely he has to be taught that his actions are not without consequences. If not, what will stop him from slaughtering half the pack every time he doesn’t get his way?”

“Daniel will be back tomorrow and we will make a decision... together.” The mention of Daniel’s name reminded Quinn of why she was here in the first place.

“Isaiah, Avery’s crystal... ”

“I know,” he smiled. “You’ve figured out its location – Daniel sent word.”

“I have. Well, I think I have. And I want to negotiate... ” Isaiah silenced her with a wave of his hand.

“Let’s wait for the others, Quinn. We will discuss everything tomorrow at a full meeting of the council.” It was no less than she expected – Isaiah would not be able to accede to anything without the others anyway.

“Well, in that case, I’m going in,” Quinn fetched her trusty duffel from where she had dropped it near the far wall. “Will Rafe be okay?”

“For now. He’ll stay here with Channon until she’s fully recovered. But he will have to return to the City before the next full moon. They both will.” Quinn sighed. “You know Rafe is going to challenge him?”

“Yes,” Isaiah nodded sagely. “And I also know that he has no hope of winning.”

“So we’re just going to let him die.”

“We’re going to do what we should have done from the beginning. We’re going to let the wolves resolve this their own way.” Quinn bit down hard on her tongue to keep from passing a sarcastic, hateful comment.

“You coming, Piper?” she called, and, grateful for the inclusion, Piper got to her feet.

“One more thing,” Quinn turned back to Isaiah, “is Tristan...?” She let the question hang between them.
“Tristan is in Summerfeld,” Isaiah replied knowingly, a small smile playing about his lips. Inhaling deeply, Quinn met Piper’s gaze over the altar and, in unison, they closed their eyes and moved through the Gateway to enter the City.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Piper said, when they were finally alone; the fountain gurgling and splashing beside them. “You are back, aren’t you?” she added when Quinn didn’t respond.

“I think so. We’ll see what tomorrow brings. And I’m glad to be back too. I missed you. Really.”

“You had to do what you had to do,” Piper replied magnanimously.

They walked together through the small village, parting only when Quinn took a left turn towards her old quarters. Every Guardian had their own place in the town, interspersed amongst the Fae and Werewolf homes. It was, after all, the place they spent most of their time as Guardians, except for the Hunters, who were travelling more often than they were home.

Quinn made her way to Rourke’s old house – a house that would now belong to his successor – Tristan’s niece, Monique. Rapping on the door she heard a young voice call, “I’ll get it!” It was such an ordinary, human response that Quinn was still smiling when Monique yanked open the door.

“Quinn!” she cried excitedly, “you’re back!”

“I’m back,” Quinn grinned, “can I come in?”

“Sure,” Monique turned back into the house, her long red braid falling almost to her waist. “Mom!” she yelled unnecessarily, given that the entire house consisted of only four rooms – kitchen, living-room, bed and bath. Every Guardian had their own place and the small homes were intended for only one person. Monique and Camille must be sharing the tiny bedroom.

Camille emerged from the bathroom, drying her hands on a small cream towel that she must have brought with her – it looked far too synthetic to have been made in Summerfeld.

“Hello Quinn,” she spoke in a soft, shy voice that was in complete contrast to her daughter’s. “It’s good to see you again.” Quinn wondered if that was entirely true. The last time she had seen Camille, she had not been coping well with Monique’s induction into the Guardianship. Quinn was fairly certain that had it not been for her fear of the unknown, and the inexplicable white tattoo that had appeared on Monique’s wrist, Camille would have whisked Monique away the first opportunity she had.

“I actually wanted to speak to you about something,” Quinn ventured. “It has to do with Tristan. And my sister, Avery.”

“Oh,” Camille did not look at all surprised. “You’re here about the children.”

“You know?”

“Tristan told me,” she admitted. “And he asked me if I would care for them. He said that they would be sent away otherwise?” Camille was seeking confirmation and Quinn nodded quickly.

“Yes. There is no one else to care for them here. If you cannot take them they will have to stay outside, in man’s realm.”

“Man’s realm?” Camille frowned.

“The real world,” Monique explained, rolling her eyes at her mother’s ignorance.

“Oh, right. Yes, he mentioned that. Well, these are my brother’s children we are talking about, so I can’t very well say no.”

“But?” Quinn sensed it coming.

“Well, I have a few concerns. First, Monique is going through a lot right now,” understatement of the century, Quinn thought wryly, “and she needs me,” Camille continued. “Secondly, I fear that we may not be here for too much longer. I would hate to give the children a home only to have it wrested from them again.” This did not concern Quinn in the least. Monique would never leave Summerfeld so Camille would never leave either, but Quinn did not want to make light of her discomfort so she nodded sympathetically.

“If you were to leave, would you consider taking the children with you? You would be compensated, of course.”

“Compensated!” Camille squeaked indignantly. “These are children we are talking about. I will take them because they are family, not because I want something out of it!”

“I’m sorry,” Quinn hastened to appease her, “I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant that neither you nor Monique would have to suffer as a result of raising them.

“Well then, yes, to answer your question, I would want them to come with us. I cannot bond with the children if the arrangement is not permanent.”

“Perfect,” Quinn agreed. “Well then you have my word that if you leave the City, the children will stay with you wherever you live.” Camille seemed flustered by the ease of Quinn’s confirmation. “Do you have any other concerns?” Quinn asked politely. Camille reddened slightly under her gaze and Monique chuckled.

“Tell her the third thing, mom.”

Camille glared at Monique who was sprawled across the sofa. “Well,” Camille turned back to Quinn, “I’m not being ungrateful, and I am perfectly content with the simpler things in life, but I am a little concerned about the space...”

“She wants a bigger house,” Monique stated bluntly, cutting her mother short. Quinn actually laughed out loud at that.

“Of course you would have a bigger home,” she confirmed. “You could hardly raise three children here! In fact, it’s too small even for you and Monique. I’ll ask Kellan to get you set up in something more suitable immediately.”

“That is very kind, thank you,” Camille looked relieved. “And Quinn,” she added, as Quinn turned to leave, “I would have taken them even in this tiny bed-sit, you know. They’re my blood. You don’t abandon your blood.” Her tone was fiercely protective and Quinn knew she had made the right decision asking Camille to be Jack and Ava’s foster-mother. In fact, she mused to herself as she made her way back up the cobbled street, it seemed that, while Guardians pride themselves on being infinitely wiser than ordinary men, they could certainly learn a thing or two from their human counterparts about the importance of family.

Chapter 42

Quinn had lived in Summerfeld for almost a century before Avery’s death, but she hadn’t been back to her home in the City since she had taken Jack and Ava on as her own, almost two years ago. She opened the door, which had no lock, much like every other abode within the City’s boundary. There were no secrets in Summerfeld, only a deep love and trust of one another. Common courtesy was observed without question and no-one had entered Quinn’s house since she had left. Taking in the dust trailing across every surface, Quinn sighed, thinking wistfully of Alice, her Brookfield char. With nothing else to do she set about cleaning, starting with the kitchen. She meticulously wiped everything down and mopped the floor, emptying bucket upon bucket of dirty brown water down the stone sink. Water, supplied directly from the same river that flowed through the fountain, was fed through to every residence in town.

Slowly the room transformed. Standing on a high chair, Quinn unclipped the netted curtains, and submerged them in a sinkful of soapy water. The Fae made everything that they needed to survive from natural sources – soaps infused with lavender, lamps fuelled by natural oils, linen made from the cotton plants, exotic fruit, vegetables and legumes that, when coupled with the deer and boar the Fae hunted, provided a balanced food source. Everything was stored and the stock was permanently replenished, so that the City's inhabitants could simply help themselves. There was no currency, no method of payment and nothing ever ran out – Eldon’s magic had ensured an abundance of every conceivable resource they would ever require. Kellan and other members of the Fae oversaw all the farming within the community.

When the curtains had been washed and rinsed to her satisfaction, Quinn made her way outside. She was just hanging them over a hawthorn hedge and mourning the loss of human luxuries, such as her dryer, when she heard a lilting voice calling her name. Hastening back inside she found Freya standing on her doorstep holding a covered basket. The sight of Freya’s swollen belly filled Quinn with a renewed sense of awe.

“Hi Freya!” she smiled. “Please come in. I’m sorry about the mess,” she added, grimacing at the amount of work she still had to do. She had spent all morning just cleaning the kitchen.

“I would have kept it clean for you,” Freya lisped softly, “but I didn’t want to just invade your home.”

“It’s okay,” Quinn eased her concerns. “It’s my mess, I’ll sort it out.”

“I’d like to help,” Freya insisted. “I need something to keep my mind off of things.” Quinn realised, with a flash, that Freya was harbouring the guilt of having sent Channon back to the wolves.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said quickly. “None of us could have known that Caleb was capable of this.” Freya smiled indulgently, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“I brought you something to eat,” she changed the subject, holding up the basket she carried. Quinn caught a whiff of freshly baked bread. Her mouth watered.

“Thank you,” she accepted gratefully, taking the proffered basket and setting it down on the now gleaming kitchen counter. Freya didn’t want to talk about the wolves and she wouldn’t press her. “How are you feeling? Is the pregnancy going well?”

“It is. The baby is kicking a lot. She’s very active – definitely her father’s child.”

“She?” Quinn raised her brows in surprise.

“It’s just a guess,” Freya quickly corrected.

“So, it’s any day now, right?”

“Yes. I’m starting to feel the pain in my back that I am told signals impending labour.”

“It’s so wonderful,” Quinn’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

“That’s actually another reason I came by,” Freya smiled shyly. “Kellan and I would like you to be present at the birth... if you’re still here, that is.”

“Me?” Quinn squeaked, taken by surprise. “Why?”

“Because,” Freya explained, as if it were obvious, “you dedicate your life to protecting us. I think it’s only fitting that you are there to experience a new life coming into our world. After all, if it weren’t for the Guardians, none of us would be here. She is here because of you,” she rubbed her belly fondly, “and because you’re family – you’re like a daughter to us.”

Quinn was so touched that she had to take a moment to compose herself. Freya waited patiently for her answer, completely at ease.

“Yes,” Quinn replied eventually, breaking the silence. “I would be honoured. Truly honoured.” Freya smiled then - a dazzling beam that lit up her ethereally pretty face.

“I’m so pleased,” she said, and Quinn could tell she really meant it. “Kellan will send for you when the time comes. Now,” she glanced around at the small living-room, “how about I help you get the rest of this place cleaned up?”

Despite Quinn’s insistence that Freya was too heavily pregnant to be doing manual labour, the Faery wouldn’t take no for an answer. Eventually, realising she could not deter Freya and that she was simply getting in the way, Quinn moved into her small bedroom to change the sheets and sweep the hardwood floors. Thankfully, the inside of her cupboards seemed to have escaped the blanket of dust and her clothes were fine to be worn, although they smelled a little musty.

The sun was low on the horizon when Freya finally left, having insisted Quinn eat before she did. Feeling filthy, Quinn ran a small bath, with water that was only just tepid, thanks to a natural geyser below the City. Dressed in one of her older pairs of jeans and a pale mauve polo-neck jersey, she went in search of Tristan. Apologising to him had been the first thing on her mind when she had come through the portal, but her nerves had set in and she had put it off all day, using Freya’s visit and the ceaseless cleaning to distract her. Now, though, there was nothing left to postpone the inevitable, and Quinn didn’t want their first encounter to be at the council table tomorrow, surrounded by nine other Guardians.

As it was, she didn’t have to go very far. Tristan’s house, a mirror image of her own, was only a few doors down, and she could tell by the soft light emanating from the window that he was at home.

Quinn knocked at the front door, trying not to think about the fact that the last time she had visited this house she and Tristan had been dating. After Avery’s return, Tristan and Avery had spent most of their time inside Summerfeld at Avery’s house, and soon after learning of Avery’s pregnancy, they had moved out into the realm of man. Tristan had returned almost immediately to the Guardianship and Avery had stayed behind with the children. It was a rare occurrence that female Guardians had children of their own, given the amount of time and dedication that the Guardianship required. Usually, the male Guardians developed relationships with human girls and children were borne of these relationships. The Guardian fathers continued with their duties as normal, seldom visiting their children, although they were always kept track of. Tristan and Avery’s situation had been unique and Avery had been allowed to raise Jack and Ava herself, or so Quinn had believed, but Tristan had been made to return. The council could not allow two Guardians to be absent for such an extended period of time. As it turned out, Avery had never intended to raise the children herself and provisional plans had been made with Kellan and Freya.

“Quinn?” Tristan’s voice roused Quinn from her reverie, and she shook her head, clearing her thoughts.

“Hi,” she smiled shyly. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” he opened the door, allowing her to pass. His house looked exactly the same as the last time she had been here, the only thing that had changed was the picture above the fireplace. Quinn remembered the painting of the Unicorn Glade that had hung there before, a panorama of beauty. Now, in its place, hung a portrait of Avery, so lifelike that Quinn held her breath as she gazed upon it. Forgetting Tristan, she stepped towards it, taking in the soft lines of Avery’s face and the dark mass of hair that tumbled down over her left shoulder.

“Freya did it for me, shortly after... after Avery passed away,” Tristan murmured from behind her.

“She was so beautiful,” Quinn swallowed down the lump in her throat.

“That’s pretty ironic,” he said, and Quinn turned to find him smiling at her, “seeing as you look exactly the same.”

Quinn had never thought of herself as beautiful. She had always held Avery on a pedestal and acknowledged that her sister had been stunning, but for some reason she had never thought of herself in the same way, despite the fact that their features were identical. Perhaps it was the fact that Avery had been soft, much softer than Quinn had ever been. She was kind and sweet, and she had always known just what to say to make people feel comfortable and better about themselves. Facing Tristan now, Quinn wished she had Avery’s knack for finding the right words to convey what she was feeling.

“I came to apologise,” she blurted out. “I never thought about it before, but you were right. I am the reason you lost contact with the children. And if the truth be told, you weren’t a terrible father...”

“Thanks,” he chuckled, not sure whether she was insulting or complimenting him.

“The point is, I’ve been selfish and I know I can’t change what’s happened, but I promise you, I am going to do everything in my power to make sure that Ava and Jack are brought back here... so that you can see them anytime you want.”

“You’re going to bargain with Avery’s crystal?” he mused thoughtfully.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not done. I’m also sorry about the other night. I’m sorry that I made you feel that you had to leave so suddenly.”

“You didn’t,” he muttered, comprehension dawning on his handsome face.

“I didn’t? But you left... you didn’t even say goodbye.”

“I left because it was easier to go than to stay, Quinn. I left because it was too hard to be so close to you and yet so far. I know it’s wrong... God help me, I know,” he glanced up at Avery’s portrait with a pained expression, “but I can’t help how I feel. And I’m no fool. I can see the way you look at me. I know that I remind you of her, and for that reason I have to stay away from you. It’s not easy, but it’s the least you deserve.”

“What are you saying, Tristan?” Quinn was struggling to make sense of his words.

“I’m saying that I loved your sister. I will always love her. But I think I made a mistake six years ago.”

Quinn stiffened. Six years ago Tristan had met Avery and he had left Quinn to be with her.

“I saw the way you looked at her. If Avery were still here you would never be saying these things.”

“Maybe not,” he shrugged; looking even more bewildered than Quinn was feeling. “That’s why I left. I honestly don’t know and I can’t give you a straight answer.”

“You never felt for me the way you did for my sister,” Quinn repeated.

“Then how do you explain the fact that when I look at that,” he gestured at the portrait, “I do not see my wife?” His voice rose dangerously and Quinn’s heart seemed to drop into her stomach as she anticipated his next words before he even opened his mouth, “I only see you.”

Chapter 43

Quinn turned on her heel and fled, unable to deal with the emotion that threatened to drown her. Tristan - her friend, her lover, her past. Tristan - Avery’s husband, father of Avery’s children, Guardian, betrayer, man. She had loved him deeply, so very deeply, and when he had left her she had never known pain like it. She had hardened her heart in order to protect herself - to protect the fragile heart that he had wounded so badly. She had built walls around herself so high that she wondered if she would ever be able to take them down. And in the space of a few short words Tristan had obliterated those walls, exposing the vulnerability that lay beneath and releasing all the feelings she had suppressed in order to be able to feel truly happy for her sister. Her love for Avery had kept her going, while her love for Tristan had never died. It had simply manifested for a time, in anger.

Quinn reached the cornflower field and emitted a high whistle. As if sensing her desperation, Dessa burst from the treeline almost immediately, galloping towards her in full flight. The unicorn slowed as she drew level with Quinn, but did not come to a complete stop, and Quinn grabbed a handful of her mane, hauling herself up onto the mare’s broad back. Like kindred spirits they raced back towards the unicorn glade, the sinking sun casting a long shadow beside them. Dessa too, had been shunned by Primera when Zinnia had come along. Just as Vivienne had been cast aside when Rafe’s predecessor had laid eyes on Channon. Just like Quinn had been when Tristan and Avery locked gazes for the first time. Dessa’s silver mane streaked towards Quinn’s face and Quinn knotted her hands through it even more tightly as they hurtled onwards at breakneck pace.

They reached the unicorn glade faster than Quinn had expected and Dessa slowed to a boisterous canter, tossing her head and stamping the ground, her delighted snorting interspersed with the heaving of her flanks. Quinn glanced around and took in her surroundings. They were skirting the edge of the riverbank opposite the waterfall where the main herd came to drink. That was Primera’s land and only his herd could gather there. Dessa’s smaller herd, and others like them, were relegated to the opposite side of the river, drinking from the smaller tributaries that ran through the glade. Dessa had once reigned beneath the shadow of the waterfall, before her infertility, when she had held pride of place at Primera’s side.

Quinn dismounted, stroking Dessa’s thick neck and feeling the muscle rippling beneath her hand. Dessa’s head came up, suddenly, and her nostrils flared as her big black eyes fixed on something in the distance. Quinn watched as Primera emerged from behind a rocky outcrop on the opposite bank, proud and majestic, his spiralled horn dazzling against the darkening night. Dessa’s tail twitched and she let out a low mournful whinny.

“You and me both, girl,” Quinn soothed, pulling at her ear as she dropped her head onto Quinn’s shoulder.

But Quinn was being offered a second chance at happiness. Tristan had admitted that he might have made a mistake choosing Avery, and, while Quinn should be angry on her sister’s behalf, his admission had instead made her feel warm and desirable. He had not said it without contrition, in fact, Quinn suspected that his guilt was eating him alive and, above all, she didn’t want him to feel that way.

“Avery would’ve wanted us to be happy,” she murmured into Dessa’s neck, echoing the same words Tristan had uttered just a few weeks ago. Had he known then that this might happen? Did he already have feelings for her? Had his conscience already plagued him so that, in a fit of despair, he had consoled himself with those very words?

Quinn watched the opposite bank as, one by one, the main herd emerged behind Primera, white statues in the dying light. Zinnia appeared last, her coat so dazzling it looked pure silver. Dessa gave another low, mournful whinny and, even across the distance between them, Quinn saw Zinnia’s head jerk up at the sound and then her front legs reared up, kicking out at the air before her, as she tossed her head haughtily. Beside Quinn, Dessa’s ears flattened against her head and her body trembled with hostility.

“Easy, girl,” Quinn soothed, figuring it was probably time to go. Grabbing hold of Dessa’s mane, Quinn pulled herself up, and with the gentlest squeeze of her thighs, the receptive mare broke once again into a gallop, the ground flying beneath them in a blur.

Windswept and flushed, Quinn dropped to the ground, crushing cornflowers under her boots. Thanking Dessa with a final tug of her white ears, Quinn patted the mare’s rump and Dessa trotted off, her tail swishing behind her. Quinn’s mind refused to shut down and so, instead of heading home, she made her way across town and back to the fountain, crossing the Gateway into the Cathedral. The second she felt the cool, draughty air of the Cathedral, she turned and walked past the council table, deliberately not looking at it. Passing the infirmary, where Channon was probably asleep, with Rafe watching over her, she proceeded right to the back of the Cathedral, entering a dark narrow tunnel. Making her way through a labyrinth of twists and turns, she finally reached the training-room, the place where she had learned how to fight vampires.

Desperately craving the mindless physical exertion that would block out the thoughts running riot through her head, Quinn flicked the light switch. The Cathedral, though enchanted to make it undetectable to humans, was still technically within the realm of man, and as such, had power, run off generators under the ground. The Guardians had installed heating and lighting in the Cathedral building in the mid-1900s, but remained “off the grid” so to speak. Quinn still held out the hope that one day they might figure out how to extend the power supply into the City itself, but she doubted they would ever be able to transport a generator through the portal, and besides, with the amount of magic that permeated the City, it probably wouldn’t work even if they did.

Quinn stripped off her mauve sweater, revealing a tight black tank top underneath and dropped it on the floor near the door. Moving over to the shelf that housed the training stakes, she selected a heavy silver stake she had always favoured, the weight making its impact far more deadly. Moving along to the padded dummies, Quinn immediately launched into a series of lethal thrusts, the metal impaling the foam, leaving deep gouges wherever she struck. Eventually, dropping the stake, she practised kicking and punching, the automatic rebound of the dummy making it as life-like as possible.

Over and over she lunged toward it, taking out all of her frustration and energy. Her body gleamed with sweat and dark patches blossomed over the front and back of her top. Quinn ignored the burn that started in her muscles and slowly worked its way through her entire body. Her hands ached and two of her knuckles had split, but still she attacked, her sole frustration being that the dummy could not fight back.

Only when she neared the point of complete collapse did she finally stop, ending her session with one last kick to what would be the dummy’s abdomen. Gasping for breath, she tossed the stake back on the pile carelessly and turned towards the door.

“Impressive as always,” Isaiah spoke from the shadows near the door where he stood watching. “I see that you have not been idle in your absence, but then you have always taken your training more seriously than any other new Guardian,” Quinn knew that by ‘new’ he meant all the other Guardians except Daniel and himself. He held out her sweater as she approached and Quinn used it to mop the sweat from her face and neck.

“It’s been a rough day,” she replied sardonically, not in the mood for Isaiah’s preaching.

“Well then, I can only hope that tomorrow will be a better one.”

Quinn thought of Jack and Ava and the fact that there was hope she might see them both again soon, and her spirits lifted considerably.

“How is Channon?” she asked softly.

“Much better for Rafe being here. He gives her strength.”

“Not for long. The full moon is in less than a month. Caleb will attack him as soon as he turns. If you really intend to return Rafe to Summerfeld, his days are numbered.”

“We have no choice, Quinn,” he reminded her. “And besides, Rafe wants to go back. He knows that Caleb will continue to wreak his fury on innocent members of the pack until he returns.”

“I still think Caleb should be removed.”

“If only it were that simple, but, as I have told you, Caleb poses a greater threat outside the City than he does within its boundaries. We can at least exercise a modicum of control while he is here.”

“Tell that to Vivienne.”

“Vivienne’s death is proof that we need to send Rafe back. We cannot afford for any more innocents to fall.”

Quinn could understand the logic but that didn’t mean she had to like it. Isaiah seemed to sense that she did not want to talk about it any further, and he stepped aside, away from the doorway.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Quinn murmured as she passed. Of all the Guardians, Isaiah was the one she most respected, and deep down she knew that he was simply the messenger. He did not want to see Rafe hurt any more than she did. He alone had gone to Channon’s rescue and stood against the Alpha in order to bring her back to safety. Isaiah was a brave and wise Guardian and Quinn had to accept that his proposal was in the best interests of everyone concerned.

“Quinn,” Isaiah called as she moved further down the corridor, “everything will work out, whether you choose to believe it or not.”

“I hope so,” she smiled sadly, and then continued on without looking back.

Chapter 44

Quinn woke early the next morning, dressing quickly and heading straight for the fountain. To her surprise, Tristan was already there, waiting for her.

“I wanted to see you before the meeting,” he admitted as soon as she reached him, “just to make sure that we’re okay.” Quinn searched his face and saw only concern and apprehension mirrored in his eyes.

“We’re okay,” she confirmed, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. “We’ll figure it out.” He squeezed back, gently, relief coursing over him. “For now let’s focus on Jack and Ava. Together,” she added.

They crossed through the portal and the sound of activity reached them immediately. Daniel and the other Hunters were back. Blair had a bandage wrapped around her right shoulder and Garrett was sporting a spectacular black eye, but Daniel and Liam appeared unscathed. They were in the middle of a conversation with Isaiah and seemed not to have noticed her arrival.

“Bitten?” Isaiah exclaimed, turning to Liam, who subconsciously rubbed at his neck.

“We took care of it,” Daniel reassured quickly, and a relieved look replaced the concern on Isaiah’s face. Quinn released a deep sigh of relief herself. While a Guardian’s blood did nothing but strengthen a vampire, cloaking them until it had worked its way through their system, and the blood of the Slayer would kill them, a Hunter’s blood supposedly worked differently. If ingested, a blood-bond formed between the Hunter and the vampire who had bitten him or her.

The bond was extremely painful, allowing a telepathic linking of the two minds, which made it easier for the Hunter to track his attacker. The bond could be dangerous if the vampire survived, but the Hunters were hard targets, and, in the rare event that one was bitten, they worked together to destroy the vampire who had bitten their own.

“The bond may be a myth,” Daniel continued, “given that we have never actually seen proof of its existence.”

“You have never allowed a vampire to live once they have fed off a Hunter,” Isaiah pointed out, but Daniel didn’t reply. He had finally noticed Quinn. He opened his mouth to speak to her, but her father beat him to it.

“Quinn,” Braddon approached her directly, a stern expression on his face. “Daniel tells me you have located Avery’s crystal.”

“Braddon!” Daniel barked, drowning out Quinn’s answer, “There is much to discuss. Take a seat.” Quinn sent up a silent prayer of thanks for Daniel’s intervention. It irked her when her father treated her like a child. The Guardians were equal, in every respect, and Braddon being her biological father gave him absolutely no authority over Quinn. Daniel had just reminded Braddon of that fact and put him in his place.

Everyone took their seats; Avery’s place between Tristan and Quinn still glaringly empty. A scuffle at the altar drew everyone’s attention and they turned to see Camille arguing with Isaiah.

“I am sorry, Camille,” Isaiah apologised, “but the council meeting is for Guardians only. Monique is required to be here but you will have to return, or, if you prefer, you may wait outside.” Quinn admired Camille’s resolve. She must have grabbed hold of Isaiah as he came through the portal.

“She is only fifteen!” Camille retorted furiously. “She’s not an adult and I am her mother. I think I have a right to know what’s going on.”

Quinn got to her feet, taking a different approach.

“Camille,” she shepherded her away from the other.

“I have a right, Quinn. You have to tell them...”

“As a mother you have a right to know that your daughter is safe,” Quinn corrected gently, “but as a human, you have no right to witness Guardian business. As to the first point,” she continued quickly when Camille opened her mouth to protest, “I can give you my word that Monique is in no danger. There is nothing that will be discussed here today that has to do directly with her. It is about the children, Tristan’s children,” she added meaningfully. “And another issue that only has to do with my sister. Monique will not be exposed to anything untoward and I promise you that I will relay any information regarding her Guardianship to you.”

Camille eyed her daughter with a pained expression on her face. Monique was only fifteen but she had a maturity about her that had come along with the white tattoo adorning her wrist. The sense of responsibility that came with Eldon’s branding made new Guardians grow up quickly, becoming wise beyond their years. Isaiah was the perfect example. He was the wisest of them all, despite having been only eighteen when Eldon had chosen him as one of the original twelve.

“Camille,” Quinn pressed, holding the older woman’s gaze, “you have my word.” Camille lingered a while still, her face showing every emotion, every reservation and, above all, a deep-seated fear for Monique’s safety.

“Fine,” she relented eventually. “But I swear, Quinn, if anything happens to her... I’m holding you personally responsible.”

“Between you and me,”Quinn murmured, with a conviction that eased Camille’s fears, “we will keep all three of the children safe.”

A silent understanding passed between the two of them, Camille grasping the hidden message in Quinn’s words. She would not allow Monique to be placed in any danger, just as she had fought for her niece and nephew. Appeased, Camille nodded.

“I’ll take you back.”

Quinn took her hand and transported her through the Gateway. Her intention was to return straight away, but Camille held fast to her hand, gripping it tightly.

“Why can’t I do it myself?” she asked, her blue eyes so like Tristan’s it made Quinn’s heart hurt.“Go through it?” She gestured at the fountain.

“Because the fountain is not the Gateway,” she spoke without hesitation. Camille might not be privy to all the Guardian’s secrets but Quinn was determined to tell her as much as she possibly could. Camille was right about one thing – she had a right to know and Quinn trusted her. “And neither is the altar. The Cliffdale Cathedral is merely the location that Eldon selected and it is the only way that we can access the City, but it’s not the Gateway itself.”

“So, what is...?” Camille trailed off in confusion.

“We are,” Quinn replied simply, “the Guardians are the Gateway.”

King Eldon had worked his magic well when he had created the City. It was not enough to find the portal to Summerfeld – you needed a Guardian to take you through it. It was an ingenious charm, because no Guardian would ever allow an enemy of the wards through the Gateway. They would die first.

“I have to go,” Quinn smiled, and Camille finally released her hand. “I know that this is hard for you, but Monique will not survive without us. She is in danger out there, Camille. Now that she has been branded it’s not safe for her to return to your world. She has a target on her head and she needs to learn how to fight – how to defend herself.”

“She’s only a child!” Camille’s eyes welled with tears. “If she’s in that much danger how could you possibly let her out of the City, ever?”

“We will not let her out until she’s ready. Isaiah wouldn’t dream of it. He will prepare her. She will be more than capable of protecting herself.”

“Against the vampires?” she choked on the word.

“Yes,” Quinn replied grimly, “but she’s not a Hunter. That may not seem important, but it is. Ordinary Guardians like me and Monique rarely come into contact with vampires. And when we do, it’s the vampire who should be more afraid.”

“What about your sister?” she posed the question reluctantly, as though it were pulled from her lips against her will. Quinn stiffened; the memory of Avery’s attack never failed to arouse her angst, but she had known Camille would bring it up and she was prepared.

“My sister lived over a hundred years. Twenty-one as a human and almost a hundred as a Guardian. My father has survived three hundred years and Isaiah and Daniel a millennium. Longevity is the last thing you should be worrying about.”

This seemed to calm Camille, who breathed in a shaky breath and exhaled slowly.

“My fifteen-year-old daughter is going to be pitted against vampires,” she murmured, looking set to collapse at the mere thought.

“She’s been pitted against vampires her whole life,” Quinn pointed out wryly. “You both have... you just never knew it. They feed off humans, remember? At least now if Monique ever encounters one it won’t get the better of her.” She could sense that Camille had many more questions but it had been too long already and she needed to get back.

“We can talk more later,” she promised, “I’ll come by as soon as it’s over.”

“Okay,” Camille smiled and Quinn closed her eyes, muttering something incomprehensible under her breath. “Thank you,” Camille added, but she wasn’t sure Quinn heard her, as she vanished, leaving Camille standing in the cobbled courtyard, alone.

The Cathedral was absolutely silent when Quinn returned, and ten faces turned to face her expectantly as she took her seat once more.

“It’s all sorted,” she announced.

“Where is the crystal?” Typically, Daniel got straight to the point.

“Before I tell you that, I have a request.”

“Quinn,” her father’s low warning was so expected that Quinn fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“I made a mistake,” Quinn snapped, finally getting Daniel’s undivided attention.

Quinn had given it a lot of thought and she had reluctantly accepted that she might have been wrong. The idea of Kellan and Freya raising Jack and Ava would not have been the worst thing that could happen to the children and she would at least have been able to visit them frequently. Her actions however, had put paid to that, and now, with the impending arrival of the Faery couple’s child, it was no longer an option.

“I should have confided in you... all of you,” she added, with a meaningful look at Tristan. “But I didn’t. I was wrong. I realise that now. And I want to ask all of you to consider allowing the children to return to Summerfeld to be raised within the City. I know it’s not customary, but these are extreme circumstances.”

“That is true,” Isaiah spoke kindly, his eyes searching Quinn’s face. “But I am sorry, Quinn – Kellan and Freya are no longer in a position to... ”

“I know,” Quinn interrupted. “They can’t take them. I know. And I understand. But I wasn’t referring to Kellan and Freya.”

“You cannot raise them yourself,” Braddon interjected irascibly. “Even inside Summerfeld. Every Guardian has a duty to the wards. Including you.”

“Let me finish,” Quinn retorted coldly, before turning back to Daniel, who she knew would have the most influence over the others. “Camille,” she explained, “Camille will take them. She is their biological aunt, just as I am. She is also confined to the City for an indefinite period of time. And,” she added, playing her trump card, “it would give her something to take her mind off Monique’s initiation.”

An absolute silence followed this announcement. Out of the corner of her eye Quinn could see her father trying to formulate an argument despite the soundness of her proposal, and Tristan’s ill-hidden excitement, but she kept her gaze fixed on Daniel. Daniel was the only person who really needed convincing. His hard expression did not change as he mulled over her words and one by one every head at the table turned to look at him. When he finally spoke, Quinn knew the battle was won.

“You will retrieve Avery’s crystal?” he prompted, and Quinn nodded solemnly. “And we have your word that if the children are permitted to be raised here, in Summerfeld, that you will return to your full duties?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then so be it.” Quinn felt the tension drain from her body at his words.

“Thank you,” she nodded stiffly, trying not to betray the depth of her emotion. Beside her Tristan had no such qualms and he shot her a look of pure, unadulterated euphoria.

“Where is the crystal?” Daniel returned immediately to business. There was no point in hiding the crystal’s location – Daniel was a noble man and he would not go back on his word.

“It’s with them,” she replied. “It’s with Jack and Ava.” Tristan exhaled heavily beside her but Daniel simply nodded.

“They will be here by morning,” he promised.

Chapter 45

Quinn paced the length of the great hall, passing Tristan at every turn, their soft footfalls echoing through the vast arch of the Cathedral. Isaiah sat quietly at a table nearby, seemingly unaffected by their impatience. Daniel had sent for Lucas to bring back the twins, but the time was passing painfully slowly. When the sound of a car finally drew up outside, Quinn dashed for the doors, flinging them wide and scampering down the stone steps in her haste to see her niece and nephew, with Tristan right behind her.

Lucas was opening the back door when Quinn skidded to a halt beside the black SUV. Every fear that she had had that the twins might have forgotten her in the months that had passed since she last saw them was eradicated as Ava threw herself into Quinn’s arms. Quinn held on to her warm body, breathing in the sweet scent that she held so dear. She noticed with a pang of regret that Ava was taller and her rounded belly flatter. The twins were almost three and growing up too quickly.

Jack wailed at being left out and Quinn scooped him up in her other arm, showering them both with kisses. She could not stem the tears that pricked at her eyes, and when she met Tristan’s gaze over the twins' heads, she saw her tears reflected in his eyes.

Tentatively, Tristan stepped forward, wary of his reception.

“Look who’s here,” Quinn murmured, jostling the children so that they turned to look at him. Tristan held out his arms but the twins shied away, burying their faces in Quinn’s neck. Her heart broke for Tristan and the genuine disappointment on his face pained her.

“Give it time,” she murmured reassuringly, and then she dropped her head between the twins’, whispering endearments into their ears.

Terrified of being abandoned again, Jack and Ava refused to be set down and they clung frantically to Quinn, despite her best efforts to reassure them that she wasn’t going anywhere. By the time she re-entered the Cathedral, Daniel stood beside Isaiah.

“Not now,” she shook her head. “It’s with her,” she inclined her head at Ava, who was hoisted on her right hip. “It will traumatise her if I take it now.” Everyone’s eyes dropped to the pink bear clutched tightly in Ava’s hand and Isaiah smiled, deducing the crystal’s location and the problem it presented to simply wrest it from the terrified child’s grasp.

“Take your time,” he nodded sagely, and even Daniel’s hard features seemed to soften as he too nodded.

Quinn had the children close their eyes while she took them through the Gateway and into the City. Tristan stayed close, unable to tear himself away from his son and daughter, and Quinn was moved by the genuine love shining in his blue eyes. Tristan looked as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, one that he hadn’t even realised he had carried with him for so long.

“Remember the story about the unicorn?” Quinn asked, moving towards the cornflower field. Jack didn’t respond, but Ava lifted her head long enough to nod. The second she clapped eyes on Tristan, she tucked it straight back into Quinn’s shoulder.

After a moment’s thought, Quinn jerked her head back towards the fountain. Trusting her judgement, Tristan followed her cue and moved away, giving them some space. Slowly, Quinn lowered the twins to the ground, kneeling before them so that they only had to look at her face.

“Did you miss me?” she asked, and Jack and Ava nodded. “I missed you guys too. I’m sorry I left you, but I had to go away for a while.” There was no point in scaring them with the truth - that they had been taken from her without her consent. “Were the people looking after you nice to you?”

“No,” Ava announced promptly and Quinn’s spirits plummeted. “He made us eat peas.” Knowing how Ava loathed peas, Quinn suppressed a smile.

“Well, you don’t have to eat any more peas,” she promised solemnly. “Do you know who that man is?” she added, pointing back at Tristan now that they were not hiding themselves in her chest. Ava shook her head, but surprisingly, Jack stared for a long moment without answering. Tristan had visited the twins a few times while they lived with Quinn, but these fleeting visits had faded in the time between.

“That’s your daddy,” Quinn explained gently. Ava’s eyes widened, but Jack’s expression didn’t change. Quinn wondered if he remembered Tristan after all. “You want him to show you something awesome?”

“I want to stay with you,” Ava sounded panicked.

“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m coming with you.” Quinn took them each by the hand and gestured to Tristan to follow.

The enormous field of flowers proved too much for the children and they finally broke free of Quinn, scampering around with shrieks of delight.

“I can’t believe they’re here.” Tristan’s voice was incredulous. “And it’s all thanks to you,” he added. Quinn didn’t pull away when he took her hand. The gesture was natural and the dry warmth of his hand felt natural and comforting.

They stood side by side, simply watching, for the longest time.

“I have an idea,” Quinn said eventually, releasing his hand. Her own felt empty.

“Jack! Ava!” she got the children’s attention and beckoned them over. “Your daddy has a surprise for you. Call them,” she added, and Tristan grinned. He let out a high, musical whistle and they all fell silent.

“What?” Ava chirruped, when nothing happened immediately.

“Shhh, watch,” Quinn dropped to her haunches and pointed to the trees nearest them. She had spotted the silvery sheen moving through the tree trunks.

When the two female unicorns emerged, Ava let out a veritable cry of uncontained glee.

“Horsey!” she yelled, bouncing up and down on the spot. Jack moved a little closer to Tristan who was nearest.

“They won’t hurt you, boy,” Tristan bent down and scooped Jack up, so that he could reach up and touch the mare’s nose as she approached.

“Wanna ride horsey!” Ava insisted.

“Daddy will help you,” Quinn offered, seizing the opportunity. The lure of the unicorns was too much for Ava, who promptly opened her chubby arms to Tristan, demanding to be picked up too.

“Give Beebee to Quinn,” Quinn said, “you can’t ride the horsey with Beebee.”

All too willingly, Ava thrust the soft bear at her and then turned her attention back to the dazzling white duo.

Quinn retreated, settling down on the grass and giving Tristan space to bond with his children. She squeezed the bear in her hands, from head to toe, and up and down the arms and legs, finally feeling something hard between her fingertips. She sized it up by touch and felt a flood of relief. She had been right. She had found Avery’s crystal. And yet, she did not feel the satisfaction she had thought she would. Instead, a sense of unease settled over her, as though her body was trying to warn her of something dark and foreboding coming. Shaking herself, Quinn dismissed it. Jack and Ava were safe and she was a Guardian again. Everything was exactly as it should be.

“In the heart of your own,” she whispered, casting her eyes heavenward. “But did you have to make it so damn difficult, Avery?”

End of Book 1...

About The Author

Melissa Delport graduated from the University of South Africa with a degree in English Literature and now lives with her husband and three children in Hillcrest, KwaZulu-Natal. She is the author of The Legacy Trilogy, The Traveler and Rainfall.

For more information visit www.melissadelport.com

The story continues in

The Fight of the Fallen

Book 2 of The Guardians of Summerfeld Series

For more information visit

www.melissadelport.com