To Surprise A Seer Read online

  To Surprise A Seer

  Southern Sanctuary – Book Ten

  Jane Cousins

  Copyright©2017 All rights reserved by the author. Do not copy or re-distribute.

  This is a work of fiction.

  Front cover design; Fiona Jayde

  I never thought there would be a book one, let alone ten. So this one is for the readers who have tagged along on the journey. The ones who believe in love and laughter. Here’s wishing you both in your lives.

  Prologue

  “I’m not going.”

  “Well, I’m not going up there!”

  “There’s not enough money in the world. No way I’m going.”

  The squabble had been going on for ten minutes now. Beginning the moment Quinn had sat down at the table with birthday girl, Eli, her sister - Fraser, Darcy, Berry, Gigi and Riya, who currently had her head down on the table, her spill of black hair covering her face.

  “Where are all the melds?” Fraser asked, looking around what they had all agreed was a very nice bar.

  “Probably still in bed with their mates.” Groused Darcy. “Inconsiderate bitches.”

  “They’re just running late.” Quinn mediated. “We could wait until one of them arrives.”

  “Need… drink… now.” Riya’s words were muffled but still audible.

  “What’s her problem?” Darcy glanced down at her cousin, collapsed face first on the table.

  “Don’t…” Riya’s plea was ignored by Gigi.

  “It’s Gaia…”

  “Where?” Both Berry and Riya, who abruptly sat up, frantically looked around the room.

  Gigi laughed. “Goddess, chill you two.”

  “Yeah.” Eli broke in. “She’s not coming anyway. Something about refusing to sit in a bar where alcohol is being served because it might prove harmful to the baby.”

  “She’s pregnant?” Berry visibly relaxed, whilst several of the others expressed their surprise and relief.

  “No.” Eli shook her head regretfully. “She was talking about the pre-foetus.”

  “What the hell is a pre-foetus?” Quinn frowned, brushing the end of her long dark blonde ponytail back over her shoulder. As a trained psychiatrist and licensed doctor, she was baffled by the terminology.

  “It means she’s still not pregnant.” Eli supplied.

  Both Berry and Riya moaned audibly.

  “I get Berry’s problem.” Darcy frowned, tucking a lock of black bobbed hair behind one delicate ear. “But I don’t get why you’re freaked?” She directed her question at Riya.

  “She wants me to make her an outfit.” Riya shot a longing glance from hazel green eyes at the bar and the row upon row of bottles of alcohol displayed behind it, so near, yet so far.

  “An outfit for what?” Fraser enquired.

  “To get pregnant in.” Riya admitted with a wince.

  The whole table groaned in a combination of disbelief and sympathy.

  Riya’s magic was particularly specialised. The intermingling of her psychic powers and her talented dress-making skills meant that as a Fate Weaver, she was able to create the perfect outfit for life changing events; job interviews, leading troops into battle, or the dreaded meeting of the parents for the first time.

  No order was usually placed. Riya’s magic didn’t work like that. Invariably what happened was a passer-by would glance in the window of Riya’s exclusive boutique and there, on the mannequin, would be the exact outfit they needed, perfect for facing a looming threat or embracing a new opportunity.

  Riya visibly shuddered. “Gaia keeps bringing me sketches of what she wants me to make. Take my word on it when I say there is a lot of cleavage involved. I really need a drink.” She admitted mournfully.

  “Well, I can’t go up.” Darcy stated. “I’m just as likely to kill one of them. Eli will never get served. Berry’s been hurt. Quinn can’t afford to touch one of them. Riya’s a wreck. Fraser will probably incite a riot and Gigi can’t be trusted.”

  “Hey.” Gigi protested, dark purple eyes flashing.

  “Oh, get over yourself. One slip from you and all the alcohol will turn into something we’ll need to call a hazmat team in to dispose of. Or are you forgetting the Christmas Eve drinks disaster of two years ago?” Darcy’s icy blue eyes were full of amusement as she spoke.

  “Isn’t Riordan supposed to be working here?” Berry asked, looking around, careful not to jolt her recently injured arm. “Maybe she’ll take our order?”

  “She helps serve food, not drinks.” Eli supplied with a shrug. Pushing back a lock of burnished golden blonde hair that had fallen across her eyes.

  “I’m surprised those brothers of hers let her work here.” Mused Fraser.

  “None of this chatter is getting the drinks here any time soon.” Riya muttered under her breath in a bitter tone.

  “We’ll have to wait for one of the melds. Nell should be here soon, or Hadleigh.” Eli looked towards the front door in vain hope.

  “I’ll go.” Quinn stood up. This was supposed to be Eli’s birthday, and her cousin had even more problems with interacting with people than she did. The least she could do was perform a simple task like walk up to the bar and order drinks for the table.

  “Are you sure?” Gigi looked horrified for a moment.

  “They’re just men… okay yes, I grant you, young, single, gorgeous - potentially pawns in one of Great-Aunt Alma’s match making schemes - men, but I’m tired of living in fear. Aren’t you guys? We’re better than this. So who’s with me?” Quinn looked around the table, then rolled her eyes. “You’re such wusses.”

  “Happily single wusses.” Darcy amended.

  “Fine, you scaredy cats, stay here.” Quinn pushed her chair in.

  “Just water for me.” Berry held up a hand to get her cousin’s attention.

  “No, champagne all round. It’s my party, so my treat. Put this behind the bar. And whatever you do, don’t touch either of them.” Eli warned as Quinn snapped up the offered credit card.

  “What? Suddenly I’m an amateur?” Quinn held up her hands, displaying the fingerless gloves she wore. They were made of supple black leather, an excellent material to shield her from accidental skin to skin contact with strangers or any of her numerous, extended family members.

  The consequences of physical contact, even when Quinn’s mental shields were up, could be… unsettling, or not. If she was lucky, she would be forced to endure nothing more than a few innocuous recent memories. If she was unlucky, she might be hit with the highlight reel; the person’s highest and lowest moments so to speak.

  Or, in the very worse case scenario, she would be slammed with their entire life story; the good, the bad, the boring, and the ugly.

  As a result, Quinn had a plethora of other peoples’ memories swimming around in her head, potentially eating away at her sanity. Her magic forcing her to act as an unwilling witness and storage facility for too many deep, dark secrets. As if she didn’t have enough of her own secrets to deal with. Hence the protective gloves.

  She’d come directly from work today, so the fingerless gloves matched the black leather fitted skirt she had on, the hemline skimming below her knees, paired with black ankle boots and a tailored white blouse with a wide collar.

  Quinn suppressed a sigh as she glanced down to check all her armour was in place. Damn, she must have been fiddling with the button on her blouse again and it had come off. So, no big deal, she was in a bar, at a party, revealing a tiny amount of cleavage was not a crime.

  Besides, it wasn’t like she was some sort of sexpot, even if her friends did often tease her of sporting the executive dominatrix look. Which was a bunch of crap. Quinn dressed to project a professional image, no more, no less. Also her
reasoning for colouring her hair. Her natural platinum blonde hair was too showy, too flashy. The dark blonde hair she was currently sporting back in a simple high ponytail was much more her speed. It didn’t attract attention or rate a second look.

  Exactly the way Quinn liked her life, low-key.

  Of course stepping outside of her comfort zone occasionally was important for her mental health. Testing herself in a safe environment, pushing her boundaries, it was vital for her well-being that she face her fears periodically. Managing her fears rather than letting them manage her.

  Volunteering to get the drinks was a necessary evil. She could do this, head up, shoulders back. All she was doing was approaching a bar to order a round of drinks. A perfectly normal, practically inane activity.

  The interaction at the bar should take barely three minutes out of her carefully orchestrated life. All she had to do was keep the tips of her bare digits to herself and everything would be fine.

  The Southern Sanctuary might be protected by a magical grid fuelled by the friction and feedback between all the meld couples linked to it. But the inhabitants of the Sanctuary were fuelled by the very active, very switched on, gossip grapevine.

  Quinn would have had to have been living in Schrodinger’s box not to hear all the rumours doing the rounds regarding the owners of the Five Alarm Bar, the Yanez brothers.

  Argentinian, in their early thirties, with a mysterious past. The duo had arrived in town shortly after Hadleigh’s official meld party and promptly bought and set about renovating the long abandoned fire station located on the main street thoroughfare of Haven Bay, renaming it the Five Alarm Bar.

  Business had reportedly been slow since their Grand Opening. Not that there was anything wrong with the place. The new owners had kept the red brick walls, and the old fire pole, installing a long, dark mahogany bar and adding dark wood floors. Behind the bar a series of ornate glass bottles lined the higher shelves, their red liquid contents swirling, backlit artistically. And the rear wall of the fire station had been replaced with floor to ceiling folding glass doors, providing an unobstructed view of the outdoor seating area and the beach beyond.

  Given the bar was a novelty factor, and had only been open a few months, business should have been booming. But the Yanez brothers couldn’t have possibly factored in the Great-Aunt Alma bad ju-ju that clung to the place like a noxious smell.

  Alma was the dreaded family match maker, recently returned to the Sanctuary after a twenty-two year sabbatical. The Sherman Tank, being the politest nickname the family used to describe her. Mainly because Alma had all the finesse of one when she plotted her matches.

  Since Alma’s return, Quinn’s cousins, Hadleigh, Nell, Charisse and Locke, had all fallen prey to her wily machinations. So when two gorgeous single men arrived in Haven Bay and set up a bar, the female singletons in town scattered. Placing the bar under an indefinite black-listed moratorium.

  Heavens, none of them would even be in here today except poor Berry had been shot by some madman and the protective new Chief of Police had insisted that they hold Eli’s birthday celebrations some place readily defendable. A place with limited access and good lines of sight from the front and rear exit points where Berry’s protective detail currently sat guarding them.

  High heels clicking loudly over the wood floors, Quinn took a deep cleansing breath. She could do this. Word had spread that Nico, the older of the two brothers, was a lovely man; polite, friendly, nice on the eyes. This interaction would require nothing more from her than an exchange of minimal chit chat and keeping her bare fingertips to herself. So easy a small child could have performed the simple act… well, except for the being served alcohol part of the equation.

  That thought had Quinn smiling as she came to a halt at the bar, her gaze locking on the man standing behind it, scowling intently at her. Gulp… dark toffee coloured eyes bored into her, making the breath catch in the back of her throat. A shiver of trepidation raced down Quinn’s spine, as if she had come face to face with a deadly predator and should seriously think about backing away slowly.

  No! She was not a coward. She faced threats daily. Scoffed at fear and defied it head on. Lifting her chin slightly, Quinn met and held his gaze. This had to be the other brother, Matias. The one everyone said was a gruff, mono-syllabic, growly asshole.

  Of course no one had thought to mention that the man was also seriously gorgeous.

  Those dark toffee, sinful eyes, framed by ridiculously long black eyelashes. His cheekbones prominent as if cut by razor blades, offsetting his long, narrow nose. His jaw was rugged and clean shaven, all the better to show off those sensual lips and the two grooves framing them that might have been from laughing but were more likely as a result of all the frowning the man did. Seriously? He could have won gold for glaring at the Olympics.

  Yet that defiant look only seemed to make him hotter. It must be all that Latin blood in his veins. His tanned skin glowing, except for the starburst white scar on his right temple, just visible through the mop of messy dark brown curls that fell down around his ears and over his forehead. Damn, he reminded Quinn of too many Argentinian polo players she had sighed and crushed over during her younger years.

  Though if possible, this man was even fitter and more capable looking than any of those elite sportsmen. Despite the fact he was merely wearing faded blue jeans that clung to his solid thighs and a cream coloured shirt, held together by only three buttons, the sleeves rolled up displaying his tanned, muscular arms.

  Matias Yanez appeared to be a few inches over the six-foot mark in height and from the way he stood, alert, ready, he would have looked more at home facing off against a threat or… standing on the bow of a boat, defying the elements.

  A boat? That was a strangely fanciful thought but Quinn didn’t ignore it. She was a trained professional. Body language, the slightest change in someone’s stance, the smallest hitch in a breath – it was all meaningful and could provide her with insight. This gorgeous man was definitely hoarding a dark past and an array of no doubt even darker secrets.

  Crap, that made him nuclear waste off limits. Quinn had more than enough secrets in her life to deal with… but what if he needed help? What if he were troubled? Needed professional guidance? Maybe just a friendly ear and someone to talk to? Damn, she was a soft touch.

  Perhaps if she just gave him the smallest bit of encouragement he’d open up. With that in mind, she smiled at him warmly.

  Dark eyebrows dipped lower, his scowl deepening. “Well?” His voice was low, curt, and faintly accented.

  “Hi…” Quinn continued to smile. The first step was always the hardest she reminded herself. She just needed to be receptive and open. Winning a person’s trust, making them feel safe, it was just the first step on a long road.

  “You want something?”

  “Um… er.” Okay, he was a little abrupt, bordering on being surly. But Latino men were notorious for their stubborn pride.

  “Look lady, this is a bar, order something or move along.”

  “Oh, yes.” Quinn felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

  “Because I have other things I could be doing than standing here whilst you waste my time.”

  She was such a ninny. The man wasn’t wounded, he really was just an asshole. Slapping Eli’s credit card down on the bar, Quinn whipped her hand back smartly. No way was she going to chance making skin contact with this gruff, rude individual.

  “I want to open a tab, for that table over there. Right now I need two bottles of champagne, in ice buckets and twelve glasses.”

  Matias Yanez went about filling her order, moving fast and efficiently. No doubt eager to get back to his solitary brooding. Huh, to think she, or anyone, would ever fall for this man and his scowling arrogant ways? Great-Aunt Alma must have big match making plans for his older brother.

  Standing there waiting, Quinn was disturbed to note that she couldn’t seem to shift her gaze from the man’s tanned forearms, several interesti
ng faded white scars slashed across the backs of his hands. Hmm… what would cause scars like that? Had he been in an accident? That would explain the starburst scar on his temple.

  Not that it was any concern of hers she told herself, jumping slightly as he thumped down first one ice bucket and then a second in front of her. In each bucket he’d nestled a bottle of champagne and stacked six champagne flutes around the edges.

  Good, that should make it relatively easy for her to get her order back to the table.

  “Is that everything?” Matias Yanez spat the words out like a dare.

  Quinn was tempted for a brief fleeting second to order a complicated girlie frou-frou drink as a small measure of payback for the surly customer service. But those type of games were beneath her, she was a highly educated professional.

  But if that were the case, why did she find herself suddenly staring at his chest? Of course it was the glint of the gold coin dangling from a leather cord tied around his neck that had caught her attention, not all that warm, bare, caramel flesh on display. Honestly, the man should learn to button up a shirt correctly.

  Mentally, Quinn kicked herself. You’re still looking at his chest… necklace, ninny! Oh, she tore her gaze upwards. Those melting toffee coloured eyes clashed with hers. The man was glaring daggers at her as if she had done something wrong.

  “You’re still here.”

  Oh, Goddess. How long had she zoned out staring at the man’s chest? Too long. Hot colour flooded back into her cheeks. Flustered? Her? Deep breath. Calm. Seek balance. Damn, her heart was still thumping wildly and her heated cheeks felt about ready to explode. Distance… that’s what she needed. Lots and lots of distance from this gruff, rude… asshole.

  Grrr. Quinn’s far from calm exhale sounded more like an irritated sigh as she hurriedly wrapped an arm around each of the champagne buckets.

  “What? No thank you?”

  He did not just say that? Accusing her of being the rude one? “You…” Quinn bit back on the stream of words that threatened to explode out of her. She tossed her head, ponytail whipping outwards and attempted to storm off but the ice bucket in her left arm slipped ever so slightly in her hold. Ice and glasses threatening to cascade over the side.