Warrior Betrayed: The Sons of the Zodiac 3 (10 page)

“Yes.”

“There are,” the woman’s voice cut in over Quinn’s. “I need to remove each piece one by one, so I’m going to need you to stay very still.”

“Each piece? How many are there?”

“Thirteen.”

Callie’s eyes shifted to the book she had open, laid next to where she kneeled on the floor. The large book was one of her healing manuals, part of the collection of works they maintained in their library.

Quinn had insisted long ago that they needed to arm themselves with new technology as much as old. The wisdom of the ancients held rituals and spells that, although long forgotten by most, could still be conjured to do unspeakable harm.

His brothers had agreed and each had contributed in their own way.

Brody owned anything relating to the ancients and their religions and tools. Grey owned the histories of cultures and the underworld that ran each and every one of them. Even Max, their mysterious Capricorn, had contributed over the years. His intense fascination with space and science had ensured a series of texts on the development of air travel and cellular technology.

Hell, the man had even managed to get his hands on a series of da Vinci’s works on flight.

Each and every one of them donated something to their shared collection of knowledge. Thirteen parts of one fighting unit, appointed by Themis to protect man. To leverage their individual gifts, interests and talents into one strong, united whole.

They were lucky, Quinn knew. Of the twelve contingents appointed by Themis in her Great Agreement with Zeus, only one other was still fully intact. Kane had joined their band late, so technically they weren’t their original thirteen, but they still held an entire contingent of Warriors, representing each and every sign of the zodiac.

Even their twins, Pierce and Kieran, were still a pair. Opposites in every way, but productive, active members of their team.

“There are thirteen pieces in my back?” Montana’s horrified whisper penetrated Quinn’s thoughts. “Pieces of what?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Callie said gently.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Quinn heard the harsh tone of his own voice and forced himself to calm down to avoid further upsetting Montana. “It’s glass or something, right?”

Callie turned her attention toward him. “I’m sorry, but I need to concentrate.”

“Of course.” Leaning in, Quinn pressed his lips to Montana’s head. “Shhh, now. Let Callie do her work and then we’ll figure out what’s going on.”

What was going on?
The page Callie had left open spoke of a spell from the time of Hercules and his Twelve Labors. Although much of the lore was lost, winning each of his labors hadn’t been nearly as easy as the stories told and the hero had tried numerous approaches to each task before settling on the one that had worked.

Callie had opened to the page on Hercules’s defeat of the Nemean lion. The difficulty in the task—aside from killing an enormous lion—was the fact that the lion’s fur was impenetrable.

Hercules had tried several approaches, including a modified knife that would come apart when he threw it at his opponent, scattering into lethal pieces.

The trick hadn’t worked, the varied pieces of the knife bouncing against the lion.

But clearly the technology had survived.

Quinn stared at Montana’s back again, another layer of realization dawning. Only an idiot would ignore the fact that there were thirteen barbs in her skin.

Just like there were thirteen Warriors for each of Themis’s contingents.

Quinn reached for Montana’s hand, holding on to her as Callie began the tedious process of carefully removing each barb. Other than a sharp intake of breath each time one of the spikes was removed, Montana said nothing.

Five agonizing minutes later, a small metal bowl of thirteen wicked-looking metal shards in varying sizes sat next to the open book on the floor. Callie taped gauze over Montana’s back. “You can sit up now. We’ve got something for you to put on. I’ve got a light bandage on the wound now and I’m going to go make a poultice to cover it before I put the final one on.”

“Okay,” Montana whispered. Quinn heard the relief in that one word and cursed himself for his inability to keep her safe.

Kissing her in front of the Plaza. What the
hell
was he thinking? But the truth was, he wasn’t thinking. She’d managed to get under his skin and he was fucking up royally because of it.

Ilsa came forward with a robe. Quinn turned his back to offer her privacy, but not before he had the satisfaction of noting how the layer of pain that had covered Montana’s face had dimmed. The white pall of her cheeks had faded, her skin was quickly regaining its rose-colored hue and her lips no longer trembled with the pain.

Once he heard her resettled on the couch, Quinn turned around.

Realization flashed far too late. Montana was pointing toward the open book on the floor, where she could clearly see the details spelled out an ancient healing ritual performed by the Greek gods for use of a weapon that burst into pieces.

“This has something to do with Themis, doesn’t it?”

“She doesn’t know?” Montana heard Ilsa whisper those words before being dragged from the room by the other woman named Callie.

Quinn’s
girlfriend-slash-lover-slash-potential-wife
, Callie.

Damn it, why did that news hurt so much?

And whatever else she didn’t know, she had a suspicious feeling it would make the news that Quinn had a woman in his life feel like child’s play.

Even if she felt every inch the scorned woman on that score.

Shielding herself in her legendary Grant armor, she stared up at Quinn. “No, I clearly don’t know. Lots of things, apparently. Care to enlighten me?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Well, I’m obviously not going anywhere for the moment. And based on what just happened to me, I have a right to know.”

Quinn nodded and uttered a soft, “You do.” Other than that, he didn’t say anything more. Instead, he reached down and picked up the book, walking it over to a large cherry table that stood in the corner by an impossibly high shelf of books.

In fact, now that she looked around, she could see the entire room was covered in books. “Is this really your home?”

“Yes.” Quinn stood before the shelves, scanning for something as he moved down the rows.

“Why did you bring me here instead of a hospital? And how did we get here? I know I was out, but I couldn’t have been out for that long.”

“I’m getting there.”

Montana mentally shrugged and stopped asking questions. He was looking for something and it was obvious he wasn’t going to be persuaded to talk until he found whatever it was.

Shifting gently to avoid rubbing the bandage, Montana laid her head against the couch cushion and closed her eyes.

How had she gotten here?

Was this some outgrowth of poor decisions on the part of her parents? Because no matter how she sliced it, she couldn’t come up with any memory—any past dealing, any past action, heck, even any past relationship—that would explain why she had been targeted in such a personal manner.

What did she really know about them? The person her mother was now certainly wasn’t the glamorous woman who had married Jack Grant and graced all the magazines and newspapers of the time.

And her father.

For all his supposed pain after her mother left, it wasn’t something she’d had much experience with. He’d always kept himself very closeted and alone. When she was younger, their relationship was confined to rare occasions—holidays, birthdays, social functions—that he either trotted her out for or felt some responsibility to acknowledge her with some of his time.

That all changed when she was a senior in high school and exhibited an interest in the business. He’d taken on a more nurturing role, encouraging her to learn the business and what it meant to run a global company.

Thinking back on it, he’d been loving in his own way but very, very distant. As if he believed business instruction and time spent in boardrooms somehow equaled love.

Before Montana could continue her musings, Quinn settled himself next to her. She felt the depression of his large frame where his body pressed into the couch cushions, smelled the masculine scent of fresh air and the subtle hint of sandalwood.

God help her, she wanted him. Even though he was in a relationship. Even though she’d been attacked twice in his presence. Even though he clearly harbored an agenda he wasn’t sharing.

Good Lord, what did that say about her?

“Montana.” His voice was gentle. “I’d like you to look at something.”

She opened her eyes to find a small volume in his hands. The bindings were old and worn, the leather pulling away at various points. She reached for it, her touch gentle as she took full possession of the book.

Turning it over, she saw the dulled imprint on the spine, the colored paint that had once filled it to denote the title and author long since faded.

A book by the Greek writer Hesiod.

“What is this?”

“You’ve heard of Hesiod. The Greek poet?” As she nodded, he added, “This is one of his works. Long forgotten and seldom printed.”

“So how do you have it? Are you a collector of ancient texts?”

“We thought it wise to translate it into usable form several hundred years ago.”

Usable form? Hundreds of years ago? What was he talking about? “Quinn. I’m sorry. You’ve lost me. Who is we?”

“My brothers and I.”

“Your brothers? How many do you have?”

“Brothers is actually a figurative term. We’re not biologically related. We fight together. Have fought together for a very long time.”

“So you help one another out like brothers in arms? And the men who arrived in the park today? The ones who looked like they stepped out of a men’s fashion magazine?”

He smiled but didn’t say anything.

“They’re your fighting buddies?”

“I’m not sure we’ve ever been called buddies, but yes, the men who showed up are my Warrior brothers.”

She turned to look at him, a sinking feeling pulling at her stomach. The leather couch cushions that molded to her body suddenly felt like a trap she couldn’t get out of.

What could he possibly be talking about? And even more disturbing, did he really believe what he was saying?

“You’re not much older than me. Look at you. You’re in the prime of your life. How could you have fought for a very long time?”

“I’m perpetually in the prime of my life.”

Montana shook her head and tried to scoot herself forward, some insane urge to run propelling her limbs. The adrenaline that had pumped through her system only minutes before when dealing with the pain of her attack spiked once again in the urge to flee. “Whatever you’re trying to tell me, it can’t possibly be true.”

“Montana, you said you wanted answers.”

“Yes. I want the truth. Preferably something that makes any sort of rational sense.” She edged farther to the end of the couch cushion, her feet finding purchase on the floor as her heart pounded a rhythm in double-time. “The real truth about why you think I’m being attacked.”

“You’re the one who’s been asking about Themis. About all the things your mother has been saying.”

“Yes. The troubled words of a woman who isn’t in her right mind.”

His dark eyes turned stormy and deep lines crinkled his forehead. For some reason she couldn’t define, the look was oddly sexy. Scholarly.

Oh man, she seriously needed to get a grip.

Those crinkles deepened even further as he spoke. “Don’t go soft on me now, Montana. You know—somewhere deep down inside—you know.”

“No, I don’t
know
.” She stood up and moved a few steps away, casting a glance toward the door. “I don’t know anything beyond the fact that you’re really starting to scare me.”

“Themis. Me. This—” He flung a hand around the room. “Even what is happening to you. It’s not of this world.”

“What are you talking about?”

Quinn reached for the book in her hands as if it were a standard paperback, his fingers deft on the pages, uncaring about the book’s age. He flipped through several until settling on whatever it was he was looking for.

“Here.” He thrust the book back at her. “Read this. Then we’ll talk.”

With that he stood and began to pace the far side of the room.

To give her some breathing room?

She glanced at his retreating back, surprised again that the panic had receded and all she felt was desire. Need.

Want.

But the fear? Even as she tried to analyze that feeling, she knew anything she felt wasn’t because of the large man across the room.

With a tentative glance toward the open book in her hands, Montana read the header of the chapter, the ink still dark enough to read clearly, despite the book’s age.

THE GREAT AGREEMENT BETWEEN THEMIS AND ZEUS
.

With gentle movements, she resettled herself on the couch. It was time to find out what was going on.

Quinn shot Callie a text as he paced the far side of the library. He didn’t dare leave Montana behind and he wasn’t ready to bring anyone back in the room, either.

PULL WHATEVER FILES YOU CAN FROM MY DESK ON EIRENE GRANT
.

The slight vibration thirty seconds later let him know the request had been received.

SURE
.

Quinn slammed the device back in his pocket and watched Montana’s form where she bent slightly over the book. Her back had to be killing her, yet she never even mentioned it.

But her eyes.

Those liquid crystal-blue eyes.

He had seen the doubt there. The wild speculation. The fear.

And he’d been responsible for putting it there.

Fuck it. What else could he do? He now had no doubt she was the victim in all that was happening. His senses had been off from the beginning and after millennia of trusting his gut more often than his head, it had troubled him from the start that the pieces didn’t fit.

The attack today was the final bit of proof he needed to just trust his instincts and fuck the rest of it.

Which meant that whoever was behind the dirty, underhanded parts of Grant Shipping didn’t want Montana at the helm.

But what about the Themis stuff? And Eirene? And the fact that somewhere in Eirene’s mad ramblings, she had mentioned that he was a Taurus Warrior.

On a frustrated sigh, he ran his hand through his hair. None of this made any sense.

If the attack came from internal sources, it was a human problem.

If the attack was external, it was an immortal problem.

So why the hell did it feel like the two were related?

Callie caught his attention from outside the far door of the library. With a last glance at Montana, he stepped into the hallway and took in Callie’s serious gaze.

“I have the files you wanted.”

“Thanks.” Quinn reached for them, but Callie stepped back.

“Her mother is Eirene Grant?” Before he could even nod, Callie continued, her small frame quivering.”
The
Eirene Grant?”

“Callie. Yeah. Geez.
The
Eirene Grant. What’s wrong with you?”

She threw the folder at his chest. “I swear, you and the rest of them.” She tossed a hand over her shoulder, Quinn supposed, to suggest the rest of the household. “Do you pay any fucking attention? Ever?”

“What has gotten into you?”

“Eirene?”

When he didn’t say anything else, Callie grabbed the folder back and flipped to a photo of Eirene as a young woman, smiling up with love and adoration into Jack Grant’s equally loving gaze.

“Long, flame-red hair. Thin, elegant frame.”

She flipped to another picture, one where the young woman stared back up at them. “Blue eyes. Remind you of anyone?”

“Montana?” The photos looked so like the woman he was protecting he couldn’t see anything else. He certainly couldn’t see whatever it was Callie wanted him to. “All I see when I look at that is a carbon copy of Montana.”

“What about your boss, fuckwit? Do you see her in the flame-red hair, the thin elegant frame and sky-blue eyes?”

Quinn turned his gaze toward the other room, his eyes roaming over Montana’s bent head.

And the flaming red hair at her crown.

Quinn threw up his hands in a move oddly reminiscent of Callie’s. “Come on, Cal. I’m not up for one of your riddles or your annoyance about years of history I’ve long since forgotten.”

Callie shook her head and held out the picture again. “Themis and Zeus had several children. The Fates are the most well-known now in modern times, but they had others.”

Quinn knew he should know what she was talking about, but he’d long since given up keeping track of the abundant fertility of the gods and goddesses who occupied Mount Olympus. Rogan had that duty and the Sagittarius didn’t make it his business to give them all genealogy lessons on a regular basis. “So tell me what I’m missing.”

“Themis had another set of triplets. The Horae.”

“Okay. Right, the peacekeepers. What do they have to do with this?”

“One of them fell, oh, about forty years ago.”

“And you think that fallen Horae is Montana’s mother?” Quinn probed. “That Themis is Montana’s
grandmother
?”

“Think it? Quinn. Look at the facts.” Callie waved the photo once more for good measure. “The woman in this picture. The woman sitting on our couch. They belong to Themis.”

Montana tried to understand the words on the page—tried to understand what it all meant—but it just felt like the jumbled-up words of an ancient story. An interesting story. But a story, all the same.

There was no way Quinn could really
believe
all this.

She’d reread about the Great Agreement twice. How Zeus indulged his ex-wife, Themis, the great goddess of justice, and allowed her to create a race of warriors.

Zodiac Warriors.

Quinn had used the term “Warrior” and her mother had rambled on and on about Quinn being the Taurus Warrior.

But really?

Even if she could wrap her head around the idea that something bigger—something supernatural—was happening to her.

This?

It was just too fantastical.

Astrology and zodiac signs were for newspaper columns and pickup lines. It was the early twenty-first century, for God’s sake. Astrology as a legitimate discipline had gone out of style centuries ago.

Even as she tried desperately to come up with some other answer, the desperation—the raw, focused belief—she’d seen in her mother’s eyes the previous night couldn’t be ignored.

“What do you think?” Quinn had stopped at the end of the couch, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“I’m not sure.”

The corner of his lips turned up slightly. “I suppose that’s better than a flat-out no.”

“I suppose.”

He settled himself at the end of the couch, careful to keep his distance, as if she were a skittish animal who’d run off at any moment.

At least her heart had stopped racing like a frightened rabbit.

Whatever else she felt—whatever else she’d discover on this weird journey of enlightenment—she
knew
she didn’t need to fear Quinn.