He dropped his arms, fingers fisting the sheets.
Pounding started again, but this time it came from outside his aching head. He focused on the sound.
Someone was banging on the door.
What door? Why didn’t he know where he was? He knew how to access anything in a mind, especially his.
Reaching deep inside, he searched for the center of his control and found it ravaged. A wasteland of scattered thoughts and mental shields that had once been his safe zone.
What had happened to him?
“Quinn!”
Had to open his eyes, but they felt glued shut. His lids quivered and strained, but he forced each one open.
Darkness.
Bloody hell.
“Open up, Quinn!”shouted at him from behind a door in another room . . . in his hotel suite. All at once, memory flooded into empty pockets.
Tzader was yelling at him.
Quinn rolled over and dropped his feet to the floor, sitting up on the edge of his king-size bed. Mistake of ginormous proportions. He grabbed his stomach and covered his mouth to stem the nausea.
Tzader couldn’t come in because . . .
Quinn had hung one of his Celtic Triquetra blades on the hall entrance door to his suite.
A Triquetra he’d had warded to block entry, even from someone with Tzader’s powers.
Lifting a hand that shook, Quinn kinetically flipped the Triquetra off to the side.
The banging noise disappeared, replaced by the sound of his door being shoved open.
Why did his head still ache? He could swear he’d slept soundly for a while. That should have taken the edge off.
Pushing himself onto wobbly feet, he reached instinctively for the belt on his . . . robe? What was he doing in his robe? He’d been in his dress clothes when he’d stretched out on the mattress with no intention of staying long.
The lights in the room flashed on, blinding him. He threw his hands in front of his face, but not before seeing Tzader barrel in.
“What’s going on, Quinn?”
“Turn. Off. Those. Lights.”
The room fell dark again with just a haze of light seeping in from the windows.
“Quinn? You okay?”
A question he couldn’t answer yet. “I will be. Why are you here?” He hadn’t intended for that to come out surly, but his head and stomach threatened to unhinge what stability he had.
Tzader said, “Been trying to reach you telepathically for the past half hour. Were you blocking me?”
“No.” Quinn didn’t think so, anyway. “What time is it?”
“Going on ten thirty.”
“Atnight?” When he didn’t get an answer, Quinn said, “I assume by your lack of response that I’ve lost quite a bit of time.”
