Dark Angel; The Chosen; Soulmate (37 page)

She coughed a little, shaken by what had just happened. That other place, with the light—it still seemed more real than the hard shiny boards of the floor underneath her and the white
walls of the room. But it also seemed encased in its own reality. Like a dream. She didn't know if they would ever be able to get back there again.

“Quinn?” He was Quinn again. Not John.

“Yes.”

“Do you know what happened? I mean, do you understand it?”

“I think,” he said, and his voice was gentle and precise, “that sharing blood can strengthen a telepathic bond. I've always been able to block it out when I fed before, but…” He didn't finish.

“But it happened that other time. Or something like it happened. When I first met you.”

“Yes. Well. Well, I think it's… there's something called…” He gave up and resorted to nonverbal communication.
There's something called the soulmate principle. I've never believed in it. I've laughed at people who talked about it. I would have bet my life that—

“What
is
it, Quinn?” Rashel had heard of it, too, especially recently. But it wasn't something from her world, and she wanted a Night Person to explain.

It's the idea that everyone has one and just one soulmate in the world, and that if you find them, you recognize them immediately. And… well, that's that.

“But it's not supposed to happen between humans and Night People. Right?”

There are some people who think that it is happening—now—for some reason—especially between humans and Night People. The Redferns seem to be getting it in particular.
There was a pause, then Quinn said aloud, “I should probably apologize to some of them, actually.” He sounded bemused.

Rashel sat up, which was difficult. She didn't want to let go of Quinn. He kept hold of her fingers, which helped a little.

He looked more mussed than he had down near the wharf, his neat hair disordered, his eyes large and dark and dazed. She met his gaze directly. “You think we're soulmates?”

“Well.” He blinked. “Do you have a better explanation?”

“No.” She took a breath. “Do you still want to make me a vampire?”

He stared at her, and something flamed and then fell in pain in his eyes. For an instant he looked as if she'd hit him—then all she could see was regret.

“Oh, Rashel.” In one motion he caught her and held her. His face was pressed to her hair. She could feel him breathing like some stricken creature—and then she felt him regain control, grabbing discipline from somewhere, wrapping himself in it. He rested his chin on her head. “I'm sorry you have to ask that, but I understand. I don't want to make you a vampire. I want—”
I want you to be what you were two minutes ago. That happy, that idealistic….

He sounded as if it were something that had been lost forever.

But Rashel felt a new happiness, and a new confidence. He had changed. She could sense how much he had changed already. They were in the real world, and he wasn't raving about needing to kill her, or her needing to kill him.

“I just wanted to be sure,” she said. She tightened her own arms around him. “I don't know what's going to happen—but as long as we're right together, I think I can face it.”

I think we live or die together from now on,
Quinn said simply.

Yes, Rashel thought. She could still feel lingering sadness in Quinn, and confusion in herself, but they
were
right together. She didn't need to doubt him anymore.

They trusted each other.

“We have to do something about the people downstairs,” she said.

“Yes.”

“But we can't kill them.”

“No. There's been enough killing. It has to stop.” Quinn sounded like a swimmer who'd been tumbling in a riptide, and whose feet had finally found solid ground.

Rashel sat up to look at him. “But we can't just let them walk out of here. What if they try it again? I mean, whoever set this bloodfeast up…” She suddenly realized that she had asked everybody else, but not him. “Quinn, who
did
set this up?”

He smiled, a faint echo of his old savage smile. Now it was grim and self-mocking. “I don't know.”

“You don't
know
?”

“Some vampire who wanted to get the made vampires together. But I've never met him. Lily was the go-between, but I'm not sure she knows either. She only spoke to him on the phone. Neither of us asked a lot of questions. We were doing it for the money.” He said it flatly, not sparing himself.

And to be rebellious, Rashel thought. To be as bad and as damned as possible, because you figured you might as well. She said, “Whoever it is might just go somewhere else and find somebody else to get his slaves for him. Those seven guys could be having a new bloodfeast next month.”

“That has to be stopped, too,” Quinn said. “How to stop it without violence, that's the question.” His fingers were still tight on Rashel's, but he was staring into the distance, lost in grim and competent thought.

It was a new side of Quinn. Rashel had seen him in almost every mood from despairing to manic, but she had never
worked
with him before. Now she realized that he was going to make a strong and resourceful ally.

Suddenly Quinn seemed to focus.

“I've got it,” he said. He smiled suddenly, mocking but without the bitterness. “When violence won't work, there's no other choice but to try persuasion.”

“That's not funny.”

“It's not meant to be.”

“You're going to say, ‘Please don't kill any more young girls'?”

“I'm going to say, ‘Please don't kill any more young girls or I'll report you to the Joint Council.' Listen, Rashel.” He took her by the arms, his eyes flashing with excitement. “I have some authority in the Night World—I'm the Redfern heir. And Hunter Redfern has more. Between us, we can make all kinds of trouble for these made vampires.”

“But Fayth—a friend of mine—said they were all so powerful.” In the intensity of the moment, Rashel almost missed the fact that she'd just called Fayth her friend.

Quinn was shaking his head. “No, you have to understand. These aren't rogues, they're Night World citizens. And what they're doing is completely illegal. You can't just kill a bunch of girls from one area without permission. Slavery's illegal, bloodfeasts are illegal. And no matter how powerful they are, they can't stand up against the Night World Council.”

“But—”

“We threaten them with exposure to the Council. With exposure to Hunter Redfern—and to the lamia. The lamia will go crazy at the thought of made vampires getting together in some kind of alliance. They'll take it as a threat of civil war.”

It might work, Rashel was thinking. The made vampires were just individuals—they'd be up against whole lamia families. Especially against the Redfern family, the oldest and most respected clan of vampires.

“Everybody's scared of Hunter Redfern,” she said slowly.

“He's got tremendous influence. He practically owns the
Council. He could run them out of the Night World if he wanted. I think they'll listen.”

“You really do think of him as a father, don't you?” Rashel said, her voice soft. She searched Quinn's eyes. “Whatever you say about hating him—you respect him.”

“He's not as bad as most. He has… honor, I guess. Usually.”

And he's a New Englander, Rashel thought. That means he's against vice. She considered another moment, then she nodded. Her heart was beating fast, but she could feel a smile breaking on her face. “Let's try persuasion.”

They stood—and then they paused a moment, looking at each other. We're strong, Rashel thought. We've got unity. If anyone can do this, we can.

She picked up her knife almost absentmindedly. It was a piece of art, a valued possession, and she didn't want to lose it.

They walked down the stairs side by side. Music was still blasting from the gathering room at the end of the hall. It hadn't been that long, Rashel realized. The whole world had changed since she'd been in this hallway—but somehow it had all happened in minutes.

Now,
Quinn said silently before they went in.
There shouldn't be any danger—I don't think they'll be stupid enough to attack me—but be alert anyway.

Rashel nodded. She felt cool and businesslike, and she thought she was perfectly rational. It was only later that she realized they had walked into the room like little lambs into
the tiger's lair, still dizzy and reeling from the discovery of love.

Quinn went in first and she could hear voices stop as he did. Then she was walking through the door, into that ruddy flickering room with shadows dancing on the walls.

And there they were again, those handsome young guys who looked like a TV-series ensemble. They were looking at Quinn with various expressions of interest and surprise. When they saw her, the expressions sharpened to pleasure and inquiry.

“Hey, Quinn!”

“Hi there, Quinn.”

“So you've arrived at last. You've kept us waiting long enough.” That from the dark one who was looking at his watch.

Quinn said, “Turn off the music.”

Someone went to a built-in mahogany cabinet and turned off an expensive stereo.

Quinn was looking around the room, as if to appraise each of them. “Campbell,” he said, nodding slightly. “Radhu. Azarius. Max.”

“So you're the one who brought us here,” Campbell said. He had rusty hair and a sleepy smile. “We've all been dying to find out.”

“Who's that?” someone else added, peering at Rashel. “The first course?”

Quinn smiled fractionally, with a look that made the guy who'd asked step backward. “No, she's not the first course,” he said softly. “In fact, unfortunately, all the courses have disappeared.”

There was a silence. Everyone stared at him. Then the guy with the silver-blond hair said,
“What?”

“They've all—
fsst
—disappeared.” Quinn made an expressive gesture. “Escaped. Vanished.”

Another silence. Rashel didn't like this one. She was beginning to get an odd impression from the group, as if she were in a room, not with people, but with animals that had been kept past their feeding time.

“What the hell are you talking about?” the dark one, the one Quinn had called Azarius, said tightly.

“What kind of joke is this?” Campbell added.

“It's not a joke. The girls who were brought for the bloodfeast are gone,” Quinn said slowly and distinctly, just in case anybody hadn't gotten it yet. Then he said, “And as a matter of fact, it's a good thing.”

“A
good
thing? Quinn, we're starving.”

“They can't have gone
too
far,” the silver blond said. “After all, it's an island. Let's go and—”

“Nobody's going anywhere,” Quinn said. Rashel moved closer to him. She was still nervous. These guys were on the edge of getting out of control.

But she trusted Quinn, and she could tell they were afraid
of him. And, she told herself, they'll be even more afraid in a minute.

“Look, Quinn, if you brought us here to—”

“I didn't bring you here. In fact, I don't know
who
brought you here, but it doesn't matter. I've got the same thing to say to all of you. There isn't going to be any bloodfeast, now or ever. And anybody who objects to that can take their problem to the Council.”

That shut everyone up. They simply stared at Quinn. It was clearly the last thing they expected.

“In fact, if you don't want the Council to hear about this, I'd advise everybody to go home quietly and pretend it never happened. And to have a headache the next time anybody asks you to a bloodfeast.”

This
silence was broken by somebody muttering, “You dirty…”

Meanwhile, Rashel's mind had begun to tick. Just
how
were these guys going to go home quietly? There weren't any boats. Unless the host brought one when he came—
if
he came. And where was he, anyway? And where was Lily?

“Quinn,” she said softly.

But somebody else was speaking. “You'd tell the Council?” a lean tough-looking guy with brown hair asked.

“No, I'd let Hunter Redfern tell the Council,” Quinn said. “And I don't really think you want that. He might put it in a bad light. Raise your hands everybody who thinks Hunter Redfern would approve of this little party.”

“Do I get a vote?”

The voice came from the doorway. It was deeper than the voices of the young guys in the room. Rashel recognized the sound of danger instinctively, and turned. And later it seemed to her that even before she turned, she knew what she would see.

A tall man standing easily, with a girl and a child behind him in the shadows. He was colored by the flickering ruby light of the fire, but Rashel could still see that his hair was red as blood. And his eyes were golden.

Golden like hawk's eyes, like amber. Like Lily Redfern's eyes. Why hadn't she realized that before?

The face was a face she would never forget. It came to her every night in her dreams. It was the man who'd killed her mother. The man who'd chased her through the climbing structure, promising her ice cream.

All at once, Rashel was five years old again, weak and helpless and terrified.

“Hello, Quinn,” Hunter Redfern said.

Quinn was absolutely still beside Rashel. She had the feeling that he couldn't even think. And she understood why. She'd seen into his mind; she knew what Hunter represented to him. Stern necessity, even ruthlessness, but honor, too. And he was just now finding out that that was all a lie.

“Don't look so upset,” Hunter said. He stepped forward with an amiable smile. His golden eyes were fixed on Quinn; he hadn't even glanced at Rashel yet. “There's a reason for all
this.” He gestured to the vampires in the room, and his voice was gentle, rational. “We need allies in the Council; the lamia are getting too lax. Once I've explained it all to you, you'll understand.”