A Kiss of Blood: A Vamp City Novel (13 page)

“They obviously hated one another.”

“Levenach had stabbed the Black Wizard with a blade empowered to kill him. With the Black Wizard’s dying breath, he swore that none of Levenach’s heirs would ever again have access to their magic.”

“How is a curse like that lifted?”

“It isn’t. Only the one who performed the curse can lift it.”

“And the Black Wizard died moments after uttering it.”

“Yes.”

She could almost imagine that she felt the curse twisting around her organs, choking them. A curse that she was stuck with for life, for it could never be lifted. But perhaps it didn’t matter. Not as long as she was able to access her Blackstone magic.

“So if we can reach Vintry in time and get him to disentangle my two magics, I should be able to renew Vamp City and, hopefully, free Zack from its effects. Will it be enough to keep my battling magics from triggering the crumbling again?”

“I do not know. Once you have renewed the magic, you must leave D.C. regardless. You’ll never be safe from Cristoff. Never.”

As they rode, the cool breeze caressed her cheeks and lifted strands of her hair. But her mind was in turmoil, questions darting every which way. Unfortunately, most were questions Arturo had no better answers to than she did. Who had her Levenach ancestor been? How powerful might she be if not for the curse?

If only there were someone to ask, some relative still living from that side of her family. But her mom had been an only child and had lost her parents at nineteen. Then she’d died herself when Quinn was only two. If any of them had possessed magic, Quinn had no way to know.

“What did Tarellia mean when she said Vintry is aging?” she asked aloud, one question Arturo should be able to answer.

“The fae are not entirely immortal. They live two to three millennia before they begin to grow old. But once the aging begins, it happens very quickly. Within weeks of its onslaught, the fae will wither and die.”

That was sad, in a way, and yet perfect, too. Who wouldn’t love to live for lifetimes, retaining their youthful appearance and strength right up until their last days?

Arturo coaxed his horse into a canter, urging her to give it a try. For a short while, the increased speed kept her mind engaged on the riding and off the questions.

Suddenly, Arturo pulled up, muttering something low and short in Italian. Then, “
Cara.
”

She managed to bring her horse to a stop, though she suspected her mount of reacting more to Arturo’s than her own inexperienced attempts at control.

“What’s the matter?” Quinn asked quietly. But she knew the moment she saw the dark forms beginning to slink out from behind the trees a short distance ahead, more than a dozen of them. Huge, pelted, four-legged forms. Wolves.

Werewolves.

A
rturo eyed the wolves with dismay, his muscles tensing for the fight that was almost certain to come. The werewolves snarled, circling them, sliding out from behind the trees.

Mio dio,
this was not good. The wolves were hungry, and while they might attack him, it was sweet human flesh they craved. Quinn’s flesh.

His muscles tensed. They would not get it. He would not let them harm her.

His horse nickered with fear. Quinn’s mount began to shy, and he urged his own closer, grabbing her reins to keep hers from throwing her.

Options ran through his mind, lightning fast. Diplomacy? His power of
persuasion
almost never worked on werewolf minds, not when they were in their animal forms. His only real option was to grab Quinn and run.

Trust me,
cara
.

Snatching her off of her mount and into his arms would be easy. But the wolves, while not as fast as he was, had an uncanny ability to track a vampire’s movements. Breaking through the line that now surrounded them would not be easy at all.

“No,” she said quietly, her voice tight with strain. “Don’t touch me.” The telltale glow of power leaped into her eyes even as she pulled and cocked her gun. “Where should I aim?”

“The head. It will slow them down the fastest.”

“But not kill them?” She was shaking from her struggle to keep hold of the power.

“Not necessarily.”

Tension knotted his muscles as the need to snatch her away warred with the certainty that he must do everything possible to aid her in maintaining control. He prepared, as she did, for the only other option.

Fight.

The ground began to quake. A crack of thunder rolled across the skies. Sunbeams burst through in the distance, at least three that he could see.

Quinn’s gaze flew to his, her eyes widening. Wild. She was losing control. “I did that,” she gasped, clutching the reins with one hand while the gun in her other vibrated badly. She’d never be able to hit anything like that.

Hold on to the power,
cara
. We stand a better chance if you remain mounted and in control.

“I’m trying.”

As the wolves slowly closed in, saliva dripping between jagged teeth, Arturo drew his knives. Somehow, he had to keep them from her. All of them.

If his heart could still race, it would be racing now. If the sweat could still roll from his brow, it would be rolling.

Then lose control hard, Quinn. Send them flying and make your escape.

“What about you?”

I shall follow.
Because she’d never get away from this hungry pack, not without help.

The blast happened suddenly, hitting him like an eighteen-wheeler. He went flying off his horse even as his mount stumbled and pranced, barely missing him. As his mount shied from the encroaching wolves, Arturo leaped to his feet and flew toward Quinn.

But so did the wolves.

Quinn lifted her gun and fired, but the sound spooked her already skittish horse, and it reared. Somehow, Quinn managed to hold on, but her control of the animal was negligible at best.

As Arturo started for her, a second power blast sent him tumbling back into the wolves. And this time when he rose, he was cut off. Twelve beasts stood between him and Quinn, half snarling at him, the other half circling her as if ready to pounce.

Quinn fired another shot. And another.

His head began to pound, his muscles tensing as he drew his sword and attacked the closest wolf. “She is the only one who can save Vamp City. Do not harm her!”

But the wolves reacted with only more relish, and his stomach twisted with the certainty that they’d heard . . . and likely believed . . . the old wives’ tale that consuming the flesh of a sorcerer would convey the power to the one who ate him. A wolf with a sorcerer’s power would have no reason to fear the demise of Vamp City. He would, presumably, walk away unscathed.

It was a foolish belief. And one that could get Quinn killed.

Hacking at the wolf in front of him, killing him, he pushed his way toward her, but two more leaped at him in wolf form. He fought them, too, crazed with fear that the beasts would begin to tear at Quinn’s flesh before he could reach her.

More shots rang out. He had no idea how full her magazine was when she started, but sooner or later, she would empty it.

Her emotions blasted him—fear, anger, determination. So far none of them included pain.

A second wolf’s blood spilled beneath his blade, and a third. But there were too many of them!

Once more, Quinn fired, but when her mount reared this time she lost her precarious hold.

Arturo went berserk as she fell, as he watched the wolves leap at her. He roared with fury, but as he attempted to fly to her, wolves tackled him from all sides, dragging him to the ground. As he fought them, one tore a chunk out of his leg, making him howl with pain and frustration. He swung his sword, finding flesh and fur before sharp teeth tore through the wrist of his sword hand. He moved to shift his sword to his left hand, but another huge furry body plowed into him, knocking him flat.

Before he could fight his way free, a chain slipped over his head, tightening around his neck.

Silver.
The one thing that could render a vampire all but powerless.
Mio dio.
It didn’t burn him, didn’t physically hurt him. But already he could feel the strength flowing out of him and feel his senses dulling.

Quinn!
he shouted telepathically.
Fight them off. Find your power and save yourself. Run. You must run!

Instead, she fired another shot.

“We come in peace,” he said out loud, his voice low and hypnotic.

“Gag him,” a rough voice said nearby. “Silence his
persuasion.
”

A gag was forced into his mouth by a were now in human form, snagging on his fangs. Arturo tried to fight free, but with the silver around his neck, he was now powerless against the far greater strength of his captors. Several more of his attackers shifted into human form and began trussing him up like a lamb for slaughter.

Pain exploded in his head . . .
Quinn’s pain . . .
driving him mad in his need to reach her. A moment later, her emotion flickered out as she fell unconscious. He went feral, struggling against his bonds, to no avail.

Out of the corner of his eye, Arturo saw one of the now-human weres rise, flinging Quinn’s limp form over his shoulder. To his desperate eyes, she appeared whole. Unharmed.

His vampire heart began to beat again.

Several of the weres shifted human. “Let us eat her here!” one cried. “If we take her back, there won’t be enough to go around.”

“The alpha alone will decide her fate.” The one carrying her, the largest of the group, glanced at Arturo. “If you need a bite, take it from that one. Just don’t kill him. Yet.”

Arturo, too, was lifted and slung over a shoulder. His breath had returned with the evidence of Quinn’s survival, but his mind remained awash with disbelief. Never in six hundred years had he let himself be captured by werewolves.

But he’d been more concerned with Quinn’s safety than his own.

He still was.

Chapter Twelve

“T
here you are.”

At the sound of Jazlyn’s voice, Lily looked up from scrubbing the floor in one of the castle’s many bathrooms.

“Come on, girl. The vamps want all the freshies in the master’s hall right now. You don’t want to be the last human wandering around up here.”

No, she didn’t. Lily dropped the scrub brush in the bucket of soapy water and set the bucket under the sink, where no one would trip over it.

“Thanks, Jaz. What do they want?”

Jazlyn bit her lower lip. “I don’t know, but it can’t be good. Group gatherings aren’t ever a good thing.”

The two girls hurried downstairs, slipping into the gathering in the master’s hall along with half a dozen other stragglers.

The master’s hall looked much as the real Smithsonian Castle’s west wing did in the real world, with its high, vaulted ceiling and intricate woodwork. But the red sandstone walls were now brown with smoke, the once-lovely windows boarded over against errant sunbeams. Chaises covered in stained floral silks and worn brocades lined the walls upon which sat more than two dozen hungry vampires.

Lily’s pulse raced, as she knew the other female slaves’ did. She could almost smell the fear, and knew the vampires, at least those who were fear-feeders, could taste it. And most of the vampires at Castle Smithson, along with their master, Lazzarus Nica, were fear-feeders. From what she’d heard, fear-feeders were the most common of the emotion-feeding vampires. Lazzarus, thank Heaven, apparently disliked the taste of pain. And while he enjoyed pleasure immensely, he was a male who preferred other males. From what she’d been told, new male slaves were sent either to the yards to work, or to the hall, to be prepared to pleasure the master.

The females were put to work as house slaves and blood donors though the hetero male vamps were free to use them at will.

“Many of you are new to Vamp City,” a feminine voice rang out, and Lily had to peer around Jazlyn’s shoulder to get a glimpse of the woman speaking, a vampire by the name of Marguerite.

On the dais at the end of the hall, the vampire master, Lazzarus, lounged on a chaise, surrounded by the three well-built, half-naked males who seemed to accompany him everywhere. Other males, fully naked, sat or lay upon pillows around his feet, most with the phosphorescent hair of Slavas.

“Some of you came to us through the slave auction, many of you did not. For those who are not familiar with the auction, let me explain. Because within the next couple of days, half of you will be transported back there.”

Gasps and small cries sounded throughout the gathering, one girl breaking into sobs. Most of the slaves, Lily included, merely looked at each other with wariness and trepidation. It was clear who’d come through the auction and who hadn’t.

Marguerite continued. “Within Castle Smithson, you have known relative safety. In the slave auction, you will not. You will be enthralled or knocked unconscious, then shackled to the other slaves at the ankle. In recent months, it’s become customary to kill a slave or two in front of the others to feed the gathering vampires.”

Behind her, one of the girls whispered in a broken voice, “It’s really like that. It’s just like that.”

Lily’s head began to pound at the description of the violence. She knew Vamp City was bad, but she’d never seen anything so barbaric in Castle Smithson.

“When the vampires’ hunger has been satiated, the shackled slaves are led to the auction dais where, one by one, their finest attributes are displayed for the bidding horde, whether that means breasts or buttocks, courage or screams. You’ll be sold to the highest bidder to be used for food, labor, sex, or simply to be tortured and killed for your master’s feeding pleasure.”

Lily’s stomach began to quiver badly enough that she thought she might be sick. Why were they telling them this? But a quick glance around the room told her. The vampires all appeared to be in the throes of incredible pleasure.

Lazzarus and his vamps fed on fear. And the hall was now wild with it.

Was it possible this gathering was just a setup to create the fear? Or were many of them really doomed to experience the slave auction firsthand?

“Over the next few days, we will be deciding which of you to sell and which to keep. Work hard, cooperate with your masters to the fullest, and you’ll remain a Smithson slave. Do not, and I guarantee you will find yourself wishing you had. Now, go!” She clapped her hands. “Return to your duties.”

The women rushed from the hall, scattering in all directions as they ran to prove themselves worthy of remaining. Lily mimicked them—the worst thing to do in such a case was to stand out, especially as one who didn’t believe what they’d been told. But the fact was, she didn’t. Oh, she believed they’d sell slaves to the auctions. That part was true. But not those who weren’t working hard enough. Hard work wasn’t something the vampires particularly prized, from her estimation.

No, what Lazzarus and his vampires prized most was fear.

Hurrying back up to the bathroom where she’d been working, she pulled out her bucket and resumed her scrubbing.

Most of the female slaves in that hall today had come into the kovena within days of Lily. A new wave of terrified captives. The only two that Lily knew had been here for a while were perpetually terrified creatures. But over the past few weeks, most of the new wave had settled in. And settled down. Many had become enamored of their vampire hosts, eager for their attention. Over the past weeks, most of them had all but lost their fear. Until today. The threat of the slave auction had stirred their anxiety, but that would only last so long. Soon, they would all be sold. Lily was sure of it.

She didn’t intend to be here when that happened. Which meant she had to plan her escape. And fast.

She’d heard rumors. Not all of the girls had been new to Vamp City when they were brought here. Some had escaped other masters and been caught again. They’d shared stories of slaves escaping through the sunbeams, and stories of a man called the Guardian who protected slaves and helped them escape Vamp City altogether.

Lily figured she could decide whether or not to seek the Guardian once she was on her own. And she could get out of there, she was almost positive. The trouble was Jazlyn. The girl wasn’t small, quick, or quiet. Trying to get them both away without the vampires’ noticing might well reduce her chance of success from one in ten to one in ten thousand.

Lily took a deep breath, dipping her brush back into the soapy water as she exhaled slowly, with a heavy sigh.

She and Jazlyn were in this together, now, whether that meant escaping in unison or suffering the slave auction hand in hand.

Lily couldn’t . . .
wouldn’t . . .
leave her friend behind.

Q
uinn woke with a groan, her arms at once numb and in pain, as if they’d been pulled out of their sockets. Her mouth ached where a cloth gag bit into the corners. She felt herself hanging, her wrists caught tight in . . .
manacles
. But her feet were dragging the floor.

Stumbling, she righted herself, pushing herself to her feet, easing the pressure on her wrists, which were, apparently, chained to the stone wall behind her. If only she could as easily relieve the pounding in her head.

The last thing she remembered was . . .
wolves.

Her heart began to race as it all came back, how the wolves had surrounded them, attacked them. How, for once, she’d managed to use her power for defense, but she’d been unable to keep Arturo from getting caught in it, too. How impossible it had been to hit the wolves with her bullets even at close range. Or, if she had hit them and didn’t know it, how impossible they’d been to kill. Only one had gone down, and he hadn’t stayed there for long.

Ultimately, none of it had been enough. One of them had shifted into a man and slammed his fist into her jaw. Lights out.

Had Arturo gotten away?

Blinking, she found herself deep in the shadows, ribbons of light teasing the dirt floor beneath her feet as a torch flickered outside the bars of her prison cell, just out of sight.

Why would they chain her up inside a prison cell? Talk about redundant. Then again, they knew she was a sorceress. Maybe they thought this would keep her power in check. Wouldn’t they be in for a surprise? She doubted chaining her would stop anything. Anything but her ability to escape.

Rolling her shoulders eased the ache in her arms as she listened to the faint rumble of voices in the distance. Above her, the ceiling appeared to be nothing but rock, as if she were deep beneath the ground.

A prisoner of werewolves.

Hell.

Tipping her throbbing head carefully against the rock, she sighed, her heart rate slowly returning to normal, which under the circumstances, it probably shouldn’t. If they had an ounce of sense, they’d realize she was the only one who might be able to save Vamp City. They’d be fools to hurt her.

“Vampire?” she called softly, but no reply met her ears. Her heart clutched as it occurred to her that he might not have survived.

The thought stunned her. He
had
to have survived. Arturo Mazza could not be gone. Not after six hundred years. Not like this.

No, he wasn’t dead. She refused to believe it. But if he were free, she wouldn’t still be in this cell. He was probably chained up, too, somewhere.

Well, one of them was going to have to get them out of here. It might as well be her.

The manacles were tight around her wrists—too tight to pull her hands through—so she tried yanking the chains free from the wall behind her. That didn’t work. Not the human way, at least. Closing her eyes, she concentrated, imagining the manacles popping open, imagining the chains flying free and not . . . thank you very much . . . knocking her out in the process. Still nothing.

Arturo?

No reply, of course. He’d never been able to hear her thoughts. And all she heard in return was her stomach growling with hunger.

Tipping her head back, she railed at her sorcerer’s power to be of some use, dammit.

Suddenly, she heard something. The creak of hinges nearby.

She went still, her pulse accelerating. At the sound of footsteps, her mind sighed with relief even as her muscles tensed, and her heart began to race.

A shadow appeared on the ground outside her cage, and grew, followed closely by the appearance of a man—a big, heavily muscled, and thoroughly naked man with broad shoulders, a bushy mop of light brown hair, and a beard to match. Though incredibly well built, he was not a particularly good-looking male, his mouth too narrow, his eyes the color of cement and just as hard.

He wasn’t alone. Two other naked males followed behind him, neither quite as big, or hairy, but both as well built. Werewolves, no doubt. One, a young man with peach fuzz across his upper lip, came to stand beside the bearded were, but the other, a bald male, hung back.

“Find the key,” the bearded one said. He eyed her with excitement and a hunger that made her flesh want to crawl right off her bones. And suddenly Quinn thought she understood the reason for the redundancy in her imprisonment. Her chains were to keep her and her magic in. The cage was to keep the werewolves out.

Quinn felt the power buzz beneath her flesh.
Finally.

Peach Fuzz began searching.

“Gunroth . . .” the bald man said disapprovingly. “You’ll be banished for this.”

“Who cares? We’ll be stronger than all of them put together. And when the city’s magic fails, we alone will be safe. We’ll be free.”

“It’s not here,” Peach Fuzz grumbled.

Gunroth’s mouth turned as hard as his eyes. “The alpha must have it. We’ll just have to find another way in.” He pushed out of the doorway, rooting around in what sounded like a metal box or locker, then returned with what looked like . . .
lock picks.

Hell. Come on, power.

The bald one threw a look of disgust ceilingward and walked away.

“Are we going to fuck her before we eat her?” Peach Fuzz asked far too eagerly.

Eat her?

Quinn’s magic began to spark and spit beneath her skin. There had to be a way to turn this energy into something more useful than power blasts although a power blast might be welcome in a few minutes if they got that door open. The energy began to quake inside her.

“We won’t have time,” Gunroth said as he began digging at the lock. He glanced back, realizing his second companion was gone. “Fuck.” He stepped up his efforts, his movements growing increasingly frantic.

Quinn heard the telltale click of the lock. Terror flared. Her heart pounded. They were going to shift into their animals, rip into her with their fangs, and
eat her.

Like hell.

Gunroth swung the door of her cage wide open, grinning even as he shifted into wolf form, his teeth sharp and gleaming.

As she stared at the vicious animal, Quinn willed the power to fly, to throw him back. Beneath her, the ground began to shake.

As Gunroth stalked her, Peach Fuzz shifted into a smaller wolf behind him and followed him into her cell. Two vicious animals intent on killing her.

She embraced the terror rising inside of her, focused it, drawing it in to feed her power.
They’re going to kill me, they’re going to kill me, they’re going to kill me.

Finally, the energy burst free, sending both wolves flying—Peach Fuzz out through the door of her cage, Gunroth into the inner bars. But two seconds later, they were on their feet, coming back for more. And with the energy dissipated, she didn’t have any more to give.

Shit, shit, shit.

In the hallway just outside, she heard the low, vicious growl of yet another wolf, and her heart sank. She was so dead.

But to her astonishment, the smaller wolf, Peach Fuzz, sank to the floor, whimpering in supplication. The larger, Gunroth, tensed as if suddenly torn. But he made his decision quickly enough. He leaped at her, mouth open wide as if ready to take the biggest chunk out of her he could get.