The Flame Game (Magical Romantic Comedies #12) - R.J. Blain Page 0,65
mercy for him to be infected. He straddles two worlds without being welcome in either.”
Damn it. No wonder he had looked annoyed. The poor man likely wanted what we had, a caring family and a sense of belonging. “The chances he’s allied with Morrison? There are pictures of him with his father and Quinn’s ex-wife.”
“His hatred for his father is an equal for your love for your husband, I suspect.”
Huh. “Damn. He’d light him on fire while still alive and screaming, and he’d take his time about it while roasting marshmallows, then.”
My husband snickered. “I love you, too, Bailey.”
“I can help him with the fire part. I’m really good at making fire, and my father said I need to transform several times a week to keep the babies happy and healthy.”
“Your father?” Thomas asked. “Surely not that Gardener man?”
Sam laughed. “No. Ra. Her other father. She’s the daughter of a quartet. It might be worth informing the hives that her divine parents are very protective. Her mother is Menily, a moon goddess. A guardian divine from a tribe somewhere in the western United States, from the little I know about her.”
“I will pass the word. Her father being Ra explains much, especially about her willingness to engage in challenges for whelps. It is her nature.”
“She does like conquering. Mostly me, though. Oh, well. So much tragedy.”
Thomas laughed. “Continue your conquests without fear, Lady Quinn.”
“Oh, look. He thinks I’m a lady. Boy, do I have him fooled.”
My husband snickered. “What can you tell me about the Chicago vampires?”
“Ernesto Saven.”
With a low groan, Quinn took one of his hands off the wheel and rubbed his temple. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“I’m sorry, Samuel. I know you dislike when you must deal with him.”
“Do you know what happened the last time I had to talk to him?”
“I believe he asked if you would work his brothel for a few weeks, to overcome the grief of your divorce from that woman. He sent you flowers and a succubus, although he did not request the succubus seduce you, from my understanding of the situation.”
“She hugged me, because Ernesto is convinced there are no circumstances in which I would strike a woman, so I had to deal with accepting his affection. The succubus loved tormenting me. She left without doing anything nefarious beyond insisting she hug me every other damned minute. Making up for my ex-wife’s lack of affection, in her words.”
I burst into laughter, as I could easily imagine my husband being grumpy a succubus was attempting to comfort him. “Sam? At a brothel? He’d die of mortification before he made it through the door. He’s an angel, Thomas. A real one. He’s just a little naughty sometimes. And anyway, his snakes get nippy, so they’d have a lot of bodies at the brothel, and that wouldn’t work well at all.”
“A little naughty?” the gorgon asked, his tone a mixture of amused and astonished.
“It’s the black wings. They suit him. He’s shy, so he doesn’t pose as often as I’d like. But those snakes of his are nippy, randy little bastards.”
“She processes their toxin in a unique and fully beneficial—for her—fashion,” my husband muttered.
If Thomas kept laughing so hard, I worried the gorgon would perish. Even his snakes joined in, hissing a storm.
“Let me guess. They are a stimulant for her.”
“Of a variety,” my husband replied in his most dignified tone. “Saven is really the vampire?”
“He is. Do you think other vampires would be so willing to take in such a danger?”
Quinn heaved a sigh. “No. You’re right. I’ll call him. I have his number unless he changed it on me again.”
“I will leave you to that, and I will begin calling around other hives for more information, especially in terms of seeking out others who were infected with gorgon dust. Hautlin is the only known propagator, although she is not the only victim.”
“Talk to my grandfather about the victims. It will help him feel useful in his retirement, and it’s an effort he can get behind. I’ll deal with Saven and see about integrating that poor woman with some hives and at least have her be able to visit with others.”
“On it.” Thomas hung up.
Quinn grunted. “Call Ernesto Saven.”
The phone rang three times before an amused voice answered, “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Police Chief Quinn. It has been a long time since you have graced me with your company.”
My husband rolled his eyes. “Mrs. Police Chief Quinn is with me,