A Kiss of Blood: A Vamp City Novel (10 page)

His lips left her mouth, trailing slowly over her cheek to lay sweet kisses along her cheekbone and the corner of her eye, her earlobe and the curve of her jaw. Each savored, each caressed, each pulled at that place inside her that had lain empty and untouched for so very long.

His hands roamed her back, one moving into her hair as he claimed her mouth again, deepening the kiss, making her heart race with pleasure and excitement. His body was growing tense, his erection growing thick between them. And in his mouth, she felt his fangs elongating.

A chill skated down her spine, then evaporated in the memory of the last time they’d made love and the ecstasy she’d known from his bite. Passion hazed her thoughts, her mind drugged by his taste, his kiss.

Slowly, he pulled back, kissing her lips, then tipping his forehead to hers, his flesh now as warm, his breath as ragged, as her own. But though his hands continued to curl against her back and in her hair, he made no move to resume the kiss or to take it further. Instead, he released her, cupped her face with his hands to settle one more soft kiss upon her mouth, then moved to the door.

When he turned back to face her, she saw that his pupils were white with hunger. But those eyes watched her only with softness.

“Sleep,
bella.
Come morning, we will ride for Tarellia’s.”

Quinn pulled in a ragged breath. “Ride?” Until a couple of weeks ago, she’d never been on a horse in her life, and she still wasn’t sure she liked them.

Slowly, his pupils slid back to black. “The Jeep draws too much attention. It yells, ‘Arturo Mazza,’ when I would prefer to slip through the shadows unseen.”

“Then I guess we ride.”

He gave her a small smile. “Good night, Quinn.”

Then he turned and left, leaving her staring at the empty doorway, bemused. He’d swept the rug out from under her, then made no attempt whatsoever to get her into bed. And she wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t have succeeded. Was this a new game he’d decided to play? She didn’t think so. But she was too tired, and too worried about Zack, to think straight.

Wiping the last of the tears off her cheeks, she sank down on her bed, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders once more. Zack was so much more than just her little brother. He was all she had, all she’d ever had. And she would risk everything and anything to keep him safe.

What scared her so badly was that everything she had might not, in the end, be enough.

Chapter Nine

A
rturo strode up the front walk of Cristoff’s castle just before sunrise, or what would be sunrise in the real world. The veil between the worlds was thin today, the crisp, cool Vamp City breeze interspersed with slightly warmer air vaguely scented with diesel, sunshine, and the occasional whiff of greenery and coffeehouse.

He climbed the wide brick steps, tension radiating down his spine as he prepared, once again, to lie through his teeth. He was adept at lying, had in fact made a career out of it thanks to his gift of
persuasion,
the ability to exert low levels of mind control on others, even other vampires.

But he’d rarely lied to his master, and it had never set well with him. At one time, Cristoff had been almost as close a friend as Kassius or Micah or Bram. Many a time, the two of them had played chess, or hunted together, or discussed human and vampire politics for hours on end. They’d hit it off from the beginning, soon after he, Kassius, and Bram arrived at the Gonzaga kovena looking for a new start, a new family after their previous master’s death. That other Gonzaga Castle, of three centuries ago, was where they’d met Micah, one of Cristoff’s progeny.

It was Arturo who’d quickly become Cristoff’s favorite; Arturo whom Cristoff had treated as the son he’d never had; Arturo who’d found in Cristoff the father he’d longed for growing up a bastard.

But Micah was right. The Cristoff of old was gone, changed over the years, most markedly in the past two. And all he could offer the Cristoff of today were lies.

The front doors of Gonzaga Castle opened. “Arturo,” the guards said in unison, nodding to him with deference as they stood back to admit him. “Cristoff is in the pool.”

Arturo acknowledged them and strode into the mansion’s ivory marble foyer. As usual, vampires lounged, played, and fucked on every available chaise and surface, if slightly less boisterously than the last time he was here. Were they finally beginning to realize their immortal lives were in danger? Despite the magic’s failing, few vampires truly believed they’d die. No immortal believed in his own death until it came for him.

As he strode through the gaming room, dodging the poker and billiards tables, regret washed through him for all that had changed and all that had been lost. Most of all, he regretted that his once-beloved friend and master had become the enemy, though Cristoff could never know.

Above all, Quinn must be protected. She was the sorceress who must save their world and with it the lives of some of his very best friends. But his need to protect her went deeper. Far deeper. From the moment he’d first come upon her, she’d confounded him. He’d been drawn to her from the start, ensnared by her beauty and her courage even as he’d tried to tell himself she was simply a means to an end and meant nothing to him. For a time, he’d believed that. Ultimately, her safety was all that had mattered. She was sunshine and light, strength and vulnerability. And she’d begun to awaken his dormant honor, igniting within him emotions he hadn’t even realized had died, and a craving for a softness that had long eluded him—her smile, the touch of her hand, the sweet music of her quiet and all-too-rare laughter.

He thought constantly of taking her into his arms, of laying her down and sinking into her lovely body. But he refused to cajole or seduce this time. She’d changed since he saw her last. She’d become more sure of herself, more wise to the ways of his world. And too wise to his own ways to trust him easily again. If ever.

But she’d changed him, too. He no longer felt like the male he’d been before. Perhaps, as Micah believed, she’d merely reawakened his conscience.

Arturo stepped through the open doors onto the deck, stopping beside the pool, where Cristoff swam laps. On his next turn, Cristoff spied him. Two laps later, his master pulled himself from the water and took the towel a female Slava rushed into his hands. Cristoff’s shoulder-length bleached hair was slicked back from a strong-boned face, the small black beard that fell from his chin, like a duck’s tail, dripped with water.

Pale blue eyes pinned Arturo. “Have you found her, my snake?”

“No, Master.” The lies ran easily from his tongue. “But I am following a lead. Ivan has escaped with her into the real world and hidden her well, but I will find her. I vow it.”

“The equinox nears.” Cristoff turned and snapped, “Monroe! Morgenstern! Attend me now.” A moment later, two guards came running, one from inside the house, the other from the yard beyond the pool. Both, Arturo knew, had been loyal to the deceased Ivan. “Kneel before me,” Cristoff growled, wrapping the towel around his waist.

The two guards fell to their knees, their faces betraying their confusion.

“Where is Ivan?” The question was quietly spoken, but Cristoff’s tone and eyes were hard.

“I do not know, Master,” Monroe stated. Morgenstern echoed his compatriot. And Arturo knew they told the truth.

Cristoff’s mouth compressed into an ugly line and he reached for them both, pressing his palms to their foreheads.

As one, the two guards gasped, then began to scream.

Arturo stared, stunned. Cristoff was using his mind blast, one of the most powerful weapons known to vampires, one gifted to very few—the ability to slowly pulverize his opponent’s brain with a simple touch of his hand.

“I don’t know, Master!” Morgenstern cried. Blood began to leak from his ears.

“I haven’t seen or heard a word from him since the sorceress disappeared,” Monroe swore.

His face a mask of fury, Cristoff pulled away from them and the pair slumped, gasping for air.

“Go,” Cristoff snapped. “Get out of my sight. If I discover you’ve lied to me, I will kill you.”

The two guards struggled to their feet and hurried away as the other vampires around the pool stared in stunned silence. In all the centuries Arturo had known him, Cristoff had never used his mind blast against one of his own. The old Cristoff never would have, not unless the vampire had directly challenged him.

But the attack had not quelled Cristoff’s fury. He grabbed the Slava who’d handed him the towel, threw her down onto the hard pool deck, lifted his foot, and brought it down hard.

“Where is that bitch? Someone find me the sorceress!”

The crack of ribs accompanied the woman’s agonized screams.

“
Where is she?
”

Slavas would heal most injuries quickly enough. The words Arturo had told himself a hundred times flowed through his head, but this time found no purchase. There was no excusing such barbarity, such cruelty against not only an innocent, but one of his own.

Arturo clenched his fist against the need to do
something,
and struggled to keep his face a mask of indifference. How had he remained complacent in the face of Cristoff’s brutality for so long?

His pulse thundered in his ears. It was Quinn whom Cristoff attacked in absentia, Quinn who would suffer his rage if he ever got his hands on her again.

“Find her,” Cristoff said, turning to Arturo, his voice more plea than demand. “If anyone can, it will be you, my snake. You’ll find her, and you’ll return her to me. You’ve never failed me, my loyal one. Never.”

For a moment, Arturo saw the echo of the friend Cristoff used to be behind the mask of the monster he’d become. Could he be saved? Was the old Cristoff still in there?

He prayed, for all their sakes, it was so.

“I will not fail you, Master.” And he wouldn’t. Quinn would renew the magic of Vamp City, saving them all. Then she’d disappear back into the real world before Cristoff discovered that his snake was also his traitor.

“Go.” Cristoff waved him off with a casual motion, and Arturo strode from the pool deck and the castle.

As Arturo passed through the great wrought-iron gates, he felt sick at his stomach at what he’d witnessed and stunned that such a display would not have fazed him even a couple of weeks ago. He’d felt nothing before. Nothing.

Micah was right. His conscience really had been in hibernation. But it was no more. Quinn had changed him, he was certain of it, with her kiss and the sunshine that seeped inside him, warming his flesh, every time.
That
was magic, the same magic that would renew Vamp City.

Assuming he found a way to free it for her.

He must.

And Cristoff must never find out.

Q
uinn woke after a restless night. Or maybe it was just a few hours. It was impossible to know without the morning sun shining in a window. Or a bedside clock. She fumbled for the lighter, flicking it, then glanced at her watch in the light of the small flame. Eight thirty. In the morning, she assumed.

Climbing out of bed, she padded across the hall and quietly opened Zack’s door to find him sound asleep, hanging off the small bed in three different directions as he snored softly. Closing his door again, she stood still and listened, hearing voices in the distant rooms, and a short burst of laughter. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly, easing the tension from her shoulders. Safety and welcome pervaded this place.

Grabbing her jeans, a cotton sweater, and clean underwear, she took a quick shower, then dressed. When she’d donned her boots and armed herself, she followed the smell of coffee and food back into the room with the conference table, where they’d gathered last night.

Neo, Mukdalla, and a male Quinn hadn’t seen before sat at one end, empty plates in front of them, steaming coffee mugs in hand. Neo looked up at her with surprise, and no recognition, shooting to his feet in a move that was distinctly threatening. In a vampire flash, he was across the room, his hand around her neck.

“Who are you?”

“Quinn,” she choked, reaching for her stake.

His eyes narrowed, then lit with sudden understanding. He released her and stepped back as she pulled the stake clear of her jacket pocket, ready to wield it.

“My apologies, sorceress. Your glamour’s worn off.”

Quinn’s heart was about to leap out of her chest as she stared at him, shaken from the sudden attack and the reminder that weapons only worked against vampires who weren’t expecting them.

“Are you okay, Quinn?” Mukdalla asked worriedly.

“I’m fine.” Neo hadn’t hurt her, he’d just startled her half to death. “On the plus side, I’m now fully awake.”

Neo smiled, but his expression remained apologetic. “I saw a stranger in our midst and thought we’d suffered a breach. I forgot you’d been glamoured.” He motioned to the table. “Come. Fill a plate and join us as we adjust ourselves to the real you.”

As her pulse slowly calmed, Quinn served herself from warming dishes filled with scrambled eggs, sausage, and hash browns. Behind her, the others returned to their discussion, tossing about names, arguing whether their first concern should be the mom with the three kids or the young man whose ailing mother was dependent upon him for support. Quinn assumed they were deciding whom to include in their next escape attempt and was glad the decision wasn’t up to her.

As she approached the table, Neo rose and pulled out the chair to his right for her. She sat, wondering if the gentlemanly manners were the norm with vampires or with males in general who’d been born before a certain time.

“How did you sleep?” Mukdalla asked cheerily, claiming the seat across from her, her eyes bright with warmth as if Quinn, whom she barely knew, was her favorite person in the world. And maybe she was. After all, it was Quinn who they believed would save their world.

It was odd to have so much weighing on her shoulders. The hopes of a world she still wasn’t convinced should be saved.

“I slept well,” she told the other woman. “Zack’s still asleep.”

Mukdalla placed her hand on the arm of the male beside her. “This is my husband, Rinaldo.”

The male nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Quinn.”

“You, too.”

Rinaldo wasn’t a handsome man, not by any stretch of the imagination—his face was too long, his mouth too small. But he was no Trader, which was interesting. And his eyes, when he glanced at his wife, shone with love.

“He’s a vampire,” Mukdalla said, answering Quinn’s unspoken question. “We’ve been married for over four hundred years.

Quinn’s eyebrows shot up. “Congratulations?”

Neo chuckled. “Immortality takes some getting used to. It’s rare to find a mate one wishes to share eternity with.”

Mukdalla’s expression turned serious. “Rinaldo and Neo are both trapped by the failing magic. I don’t have to tell you how thrilled I am that you’re here, that you’re going to renew the magic.”

“I’ll do whatever I can.” Quinn hated to keep reminding them she had no idea if she’d be able to call the power she’d need to do it. And she couldn’t give voice to the nagging question of whether she even should. The more vampires she met, the more confused that question became because she was beginning to suspect there really was such a thing as a good vampire. Fortunately, that wasn’t a decision she had to make. As long as Zack’s life was entwined with V.C.’s magic, she would do everything she could to renew it.

At least two vampires would survive either way.

“Where’s Arturo?” she asked, cutting a bite of sausage. “And Micah.”

Neo answered her. “Micah is upstairs, keeping watch. Precaution only. We take turns. Arturo had to run an errand.”

An errand. “Cristoff.” Her appetite fled at the thought.

“Yes.”

“Cristoff doesn’t know about this place, does he?”

“Absolutely not.” Neo looked horrified at the thought. “Only those you’ve met know about us, and a handful of others, both vampires and Traders.”

She glanced at Mukdalla who was sipping her coffee. “I’m curious about something.”

Mukdalla smiled. “You can ask anything.”

“What are Traders?”

“Ah.” Mukdalla set her mug down. “We’ve been called by many names. The most common being
demon.
”

Quinn’s eyes widened, her jaw dropping before she snapped it closed.

Mukdalla’s smile widened. “Precisely why we prefer the term Traders.”

Rinaldo covered Mukdalla’s hand. “True demons are nothing like your popular culture, or your religious texts, portray. They are no more inherently evil than humans; nor do they reside in any subterranean sauna. Like vampires, they are immortal though not indestructible. Unlike us, they are born, not made.”