A Kiss of Blood: A Vamp City Novel (18 page)

Quinn nodded. “All right. But I’m not leaving until Vintry frees my magic.”

Arturo eyed her thoughtfully, then nodded. As they neared the gates, he glanced at her. “Are you ready?”

Quinn swallowed. “Sure. What can go wrong?”

Their gazes met, the knowledge leaping between them with chilling resonance.

Anything.
Everything.

Chapter Sixteen

A
s Quinn and Arturo rode closer to the stone wall, to the stronghold of yet another vampire master, Quinn’s tension mounted, and the shiver that went through her had little to do with the cool temperature of the air. Fabian Neptune was a pleasure-feeder, not a pain-feeder like Cristoff, though she wasn’t sure that was much comfort. Especially given the fact that Arturo hadn’t wanted her anywhere near this place.

She glanced at Arturo. “Do none of you feed on happiness? On love or joy?”

“Some do, but it makes them no kinder,
cara.
I knew a vampire once who required the joy of children. She hid in the shadows feeding from their giggling laughter, then snatched them up and sucked the blood from their bodies.”

“All of it?” Quinn asked, horrified.

“Too much for them to survive.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Yes. She was a vampire with no heart and little conscience. A monster, no matter how she fed. Feeding on joy did not make her good any more than Bram’s need for pain makes him a monster.”

She’d met Bram on her first visit to Gonzaga Castle. A good friend of Arturo’s, he’d spent most of his time in the real D.C. as an emergency-room surgeon, healing humans even as he fed from their agony. He’d been visiting V.C. the night Blackstone’s trap sprung and was now trapped, unable to return to his job or to the life he desired. He’d been a man in torment when she’d met him, forced to feed on the torture his master, Cristoff, preferred.

“This place is in the middle of nowhere,” she murmured. “Northeast D.C.?”

“Yes.”

They grew silent as they rode up the dirt track to the huge wall where two guards stood, dressed in black, armed with what appeared to be semiautomatic assault weapons. For the werewolves or other vampires?

“Arturo Mazza requests an audience with Fabian Neptune,” Arturo said formally, pulling up two dozen feet away from the armed men.

Quinn pulled up behind him like the good little Slava she was pretending to be. The walls of this place had to be thirty feet high. Maybe forty. Atop stood two more armed vamps.

“State your business,” one of the guards called down.

“Diplomatic in nature,” Arturo replied. “I have news of the sorceress.”

No one replied, but a quick look up revealed that the one who’d asked the question was no longer there. For several minutes, nothing happened. And there was no peering in. The two wide gates within the rock walls appeared to be solid steel.

One of those gates began to swing open. The guard from the wall stood in the opening and motioned them in. “Fabian wishes to see you.”

As they knew he would.

Arturo’s horse moved forward without any visible signal on Arturo’s part. Quinn’s horse followed. As they cleared the gates, she stared at the structure rising before her. As big as Gonzaga Castle, it looked like a freaking wedding cake. The curved walls were white stucco, the levels in three distinct tiers, smaller as they rose. Each of the upper floors was ringed in intricate and swirling banisters lit by the torches standing in regular intervals around the whole.

The windows, instead of glass, appeared to be cut crystal. Even the front door appeared made with crystal panels. It must weigh a ton. Then again, a vampire could probably lift a ton.

“Wow,” Quinn breathed.

“Fabian enjoys the finer things,” Arturo replied quietly.

That was one way to put it.

At the base of the steps, Arturo dismounted, and Quinn followed. A Slava ran toward them to take their horses, and the guard led them up what appeared to be cut-crystal steps and into a foyer that was a fairyland of sparkling light. The foyer’s massive chandelier supported no fewer than five dozen lit candles.

The floor, mosaic tiles in whites and golds, depicted . . . Quinn’s eyes widened . . . a thoroughly pornographic scene. She cocked her head, trying to see it from a better angle. Was that position even possible? Tearing her gaze away, she admired the walls covered in gold-leafed flowering vines.

A wide stair rose from the foyer, fanning out as it went up, the steps crystal, the railings pure gold draped in filmy white ribbons. On either side sat beautiful fountains tinkling with water. Though the room certainly didn’t run to her personal tastes, she could not deny it was a feast for the eyes.

The guard led them through the archway to the right and into a room of color and beauty. Yards and yards of white silk draped the windows and walls, which, considering the likelihood of spilled blood, didn’t seem like the wisest decorating choice for a nest of vampires. But she didn’t see any stains. The fixtures here, as in the foyer, were all crystal and gold. Flickering candles sat in hurricane glasses lining a shelf that ran around the entire room, some eight feet high. Large silk chaises in bright pastel prints lined every wall though most remained empty. There were flowers everywhere, filling vases, scattered on the chaises and the floors, their fragrance perfuming the air.

A bright blue mat covered the floor in the large pit in the center of the room, reminding her of the kind of springy mat she used to spar on in her Tae Kwon Do dojo. Behind the mat, the room rose several steps to a chaise that appeared to be made of pure gold, covered in black velvet. And on that chaise, lounged a man.

“Fabian,” Arturo said by way of greeting.

The vampire master appeared to be in his early forties though she knew he must be far, far older. He had a pinched face and a bald pate around which hung, like a fringe, thin salt-and-pepper hair. But his eyes were sharp and assessing, gleaming with intelligence and power, and Quinn had little doubt he was a very dangerous male despite the uninspiring appearance.

Wearing only a pair of bright blue pajama pants, Fabian held a tumbler of amber liquid in one hand as he fondled the bare breast of one of the six Slava females who surrounded him. The women wore long, skimpy dresses of sheer, bright color that revealed far more than they hid. And every one of them had her hands on Fabian somewhere. While one ran her fingers through his hair, two massaged his bare feet, two caressed his arms and bare chest from either side. And one had her hand down the front of his pants almost certainly playing with, or stroking, his jewels.

Clearly, the pleasure-feeder enjoyed his own pleasure.

“Come in, come in,” Fabian said. “Join me, Arturo Mazza.”

Arturo stepped forward without giving Quinn any signal or apparent thought, but they’d discussed this on the ride, how she must act. Arturo had warned her to always follow him, to stand behind him when he sat, to remain silent, and to keep her eyes downcast at all times. Apparently, looking a vampire in the eye was a good way to catch his attention. Something few Slavas did willingly. And while she supposedly belonged to Arturo, the last thing they wanted was for Arturo to have to wage a battle over her.

Quinn followed Arturo up the steps. When he took a seat on the yellow chaise at Fabian’s right, she moved to stand behind him, her hands folded in front of her, her eyes downcast.

“Your drink of choice?” Fabian asked Arturo. “I have a fine whiskey. An excellent Macallan.”

“A man after my own heart,” Arturo said warmly, his voice and attitude embracing his diplomatic role. “You have always had the best whiskey, Fabian.”

Two Slavas darted from Fabian’s side, one pouring a splash of whiskey into a tumbler while a voluptuous blonde with breasts spilling out of her gown made a beeline directly for Arturo. She knelt on the chaise beside him and began to run her fingers through his hair, and over his face and neck, as the other handed him the tumbler.

Quinn clenched her teeth with annoyance.

Fabian’s eyelids lowered to half-staff, a small smile lifting his mouth, then dying as his eyes opened with disappointment. “No pleasure, Mazza? And why is this? Have you taken a liking to men?” He lifted his hand as if to call one.

“No, Fabian. I simply have more pressing concerns.”

“Nonsense. I’ve felt your pleasure before, my friend, and fed well from it. I would do so again.”

Quinn felt the vamp master’s curious gaze turn on her.

“Your Slava is quite attractive, Mazza. Perhaps it is her touch you enjoy?” When Arturo said nothing, Fabian pressed. “What is your name, lovely?”

“She is Jillian,” Arturo answered for her.

“Touch him, Jillian. I would know if it’s your touch he seeks these days.”

Keep your touch light,
cara, Arturo’s voice whispered in her head.
As impersonal as possible. And think of unpleasant things. Your fear would be welcome, now, if you can keep it from triggering your magic. Your fear sours my stomach.

Quinn swallowed hard, remembering Micah’s warning. The passion that rose between her and Arturo was strong and heady. One Fabian should not experience. That shouldn’t be too much of a problem. She doubted she could forget her surroundings or her audience long enough to feel true desire here, no matter who she touched.

Sliding her hands across Arturo’s shoulders, the black silk of his shirt molded to his muscular form. He felt good,
smelled
good. But while she enjoyed the feel of him, nothing crazy stirred inside of her. Not with everyone watching. She could do this.

“Come now!” Fabian chastised. “Remove your shirt, Mazza. What is this false modesty? Do you intentionally try me?”

“Of course not, Fabian,” Arturo said smoothly, unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off, revealing his beautiful male back and a fine set of shoulders dusted in Mediterranean sunshine.

Quinn slid her hands over that cool, gorgeous skin, struggling to cling to her indifference, but as Arturo settled back, as her cheek brushed against the soft springiness of his hair, as his intoxicating scent filled her lungs, her blood began to heat. He affected her too strongly and always had, and it was clear her body didn’t care that they had an audience.

“That’s better. Still . . .” Fabian waved his hand at his Slavas. “Fetch the elixir! They will both drink.”

Arturo’s shoulders stiffened. Quinn stilled as she watched two of Fabian’s Slavas rise and snatch a pitcher of bright green liquid and two glasses from a table against the wall.

“Elixir?” Quinn whispered.

It will not harm you,
cara
. And we have no choice.

“Now, tell me this news of the sorceress, Mazza. Word reaches us that one was found, then lost. Some claim that she has no power. Others say she is powerful indeed.”

“The rumors are true, Fabian. She is powerful, able to hide her magic. And she is missing. I know her smell and would search your stronghold to find her. That is why I have come.”

The Slavas stopped in front of Arturo, one woman pouring the green liquid into the glasses the other held. Then both were offered to Arturo.

“You think I have her?” The vampire master’s voice rose with indignation and something stronger. A trace of alarm. “If that witch darkened my doors, I would send for Cristoff immediately. You know that.”

“Of course, my friend,” Arturo said, his voice soothing. “Cristoff knows well that you take no sides. But it is possible the sorceress has breached your walls without your knowing.”

The vampire master scoffed. “Impossible.”

Arturo handed Quinn one of the glasses of green liquid. “Drink,” he said. Then tipped back his head and downed his own.

Quinn took the glass, eyeing the strange liquid warily. An elixir, the vampire called it. And what in the hell did that mean?

“If the sorceress were here, I would know,” Fabian argued.

Quinn hesitated a moment longer before downing the glassful without taking a breath. A lemon-lime sweetness lingered on her tongue as she handed the glass back to Arturo, wondering just what she’d swallowed. And how badly they’d just been drugged.

“The woman has magic, Fabian. I have seen it with my own eyes. It is not beyond reason that she is here, and we need to find her, do you not agree?”

As if on cue, the ground began to shake, the crystal tinkling and rattling, one hurricane glass falling and shattering on the tiled portion of the floor. The couple on one of the few occupied chaises cried out, the glass just missing them. Through one of the dark windows, light erupted, though a distance away. Sunbeams breaking through from the real world.

Arturo glanced back at Quinn, but she hadn’t been the cause of this one. Her eyes weren’t glowing.

“Very well,” Fabian conceded when the rattling had ceased. “You may explore my castle to your heart’s content. After tonight’s banquet.”

“Time grows short, my friend.” Arturo’s tone remained affable. “Perhaps . . .”

Fabian’s hand sliced through the air, a hard look crossing his face, one that reminded Quinn the male was probably a vampire master for a reason. One not to be crossed lightly. “You will remain until I say otherwise,” he snapped. His expression eased, and he was once more the gracious host. “I wish you to enjoy the pleasures my golden palace has to offer. And I wish to enjoy your own pleasure.” He made a quick move with his hand, motioning Quinn toward Arturo. “Come, come, Slava. Touch him, wrap yourself around him. Please us both.”

Feel nothing, feel nothing,
she told herself as she stepped forward and slid her palms, once more, over Arturo’s strong shoulders. She forced her mind to another place, Cristoff’s castle the day Arturo handed her back to her master, and Cristoff knocked her to the floor. But the feel of cool flesh beneath her fingertips combined with Arturo’s warm, masculine fragrance sent pleasure rippling down into her body. Memories rose past her defenses, erotic memories of the last time she’d touched him like this, of the incredible heat, the blazing passion.

Cara.
Even telepathic, his voice sounded breathless, as if he felt her body’s reaction and shared it. Her pulse began to increase, her own breath growing shallow.

“Can’t help it,” she whispered. A strange warmth began to flow through Quinn’s veins and down deep into her body, setting up a throbbing pulse between her legs.

The drink was a powerful aphrodisiac,
cara
. Fight it as much as you are able, as will I.