“You look exhausted.”
Quinn shot him a glare. “That’s probably because I am. It’s the end of the cycle,” she reminded him. “I’ll be okay.”
“Why didn’t you recharge?” He toed off his boots, the action serving to add casualness to the question. “Isn’t that part of Sam’s job?”
“No,” she snapped. “It’s not.”
Nick didn’t move, but Quinn swore his entire body had tightened. “Since when?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Why won’t you answer me?”
Both their tones remained mild, but undercurrents surged. Quinn couldn’t face this now, not after last night’s emotional turmoil and today’s revelations.
“It’s none of your business, Nick.”
He drew in a breath. “Yeah, you’re right.” With a groan, he stretched until his fingers scraped the low ceiling. “I’m beat. You mind if I head to bed?”
“No, go ahead. You know where things are.”
“Yeah.”
She flipped a page, skimmed the list, and made a couple more notes. Nick didn’t leave. She waited, but he just stood, the air heavy with everything he didn’t say.
Finally, he moved away. “Good night, Quinn.”
“Night, Nick.”
When he closed the office door, she laid the roster on her desk and drew a deep breath of her own.
She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but Alana’s response rattled her as much as everything else tonight. Maybe more. The leech threat was general, and even the “Nick is rogue” thing wasn’t about her. But Quinn was used to being in the midst of everything the Society did. Barbara Valiant, the president—who Quinn suspected was over a hundred years old—often consulted with her to get the “younger generation’s perspective.” Quinn had served on a dozen national committees since she’d turned twenty-one, ran the Ohio chapter for four years, and was finishing her second term on the board. When she went to meetings in Boston, she always had dinner with Alana, whom she’d thought was a friend. Her abrupt dismissal didn’t compute.
Unless they’d not only heard Nick had gone rogue, they believed it.
And they thought Quinn was involved.
Chapter Three
Fear and ignorance have always put Society members in danger. This reality spawned the Protectorate, an ancient organization of bodyguards, discrete from the Society, self-governed and autonomous and funded by a centuries-old wealth managed in trust. Any goddess away from the source of her power who may be a target of those who want to do harm will be assigned a protector.
—The Society for Goddess Education and Defense, New Member Brochure
…
Quinn tried, but despite her exhaustion, she couldn’t sleep very long. There had never been any question that they would try to stop this guy. Nick hadn’t bothered to suggest they hole up so he could bar the door and keep her safe. Sam had automatically gone into investigative mode. She knew their priority was still keeping the leech away from her, but none of them wanted anyone else to be harmed.
Every time she started to doze, her brain woke her with a new angle, so finally she got up and returned to the computer. She spent hours doing research, both online and in some of the historical archives on the Society website, trying to figure out what “rogue” meant in the context of either goddesses or protectors. There wasn’t much about rogue goddesses. They documented the birth and progress of every known goddess and, since one was born an average of once every year and a half, it wasn’t difficult to do. Lineages made it unlikely that a new goddess would escape the notice of the Society. If a goddess was unable to pay her Society dues, a sustenance fund covered it.
Quinn knew a few goddesses who disdained the politics of the organization, and a few more who preferred a freer existence, but they all still maintained minimum levels of membership to stay part of the Society’s community. In the last hundred years, three goddesses who had problems with the Society had been labeled rogue. Only one had gone on to do things that went against their general moral code.
Quinn supposed that would be hard for regular people to believe. Goddesses were all about power, after all, and power corrupts. But as far back as goddess history went, the abilities that came with their heritage had been accompanied by compassion and wisdom. Goddesses were rare; goddesses doing harm even more so, and those that did were quickly taken care of. Gods were nonexistent. Some claimed men hadn’t learned the lessons of corruption and therefore eliminated their line of descent long ago. Quinn didn’t quite believe that. Goddesses were still human, and there were plenty