A Kiss of Blood: A Vamp City Novel (23 page)

One of those clever hands returned to the front, unzipped her jeans, and slid down into her panties. A single finger dove deep into her body.

Her legs buckled, and he tightened the arm still around her waist, moving his mouth to claim her other breast. Hands in his hair, she held him tight against her as his finger slid in and out, in and out, his thumb circling and stroking her clitoris, driving her up and up and up.

She came with a cry, her legs buckling as the pleasure pulsed and throbbed inside her.

Finally, slowly, Arturo withdrew his finger from her body, his hand from her panties, his mouth from her breast, and stood. As she struggled to catch her breath, he straightened her clothing and stepped back, licking her essence off of his finger.

She watched him, bemused, and abuzz with the aftershocks of her orgasm. “I thought you wanted to be inside of me.” He hadn’t even slid his fangs into her.

The eyes that watched her were white-centered and white-hot. “You have no idea,
cara mia.
” He turned away, arching his back, visibly struggling against his own needs.

“Then why . . . ?”

He turned back, his eyes slowly returning to normal. “In the Focus tomorrow, I will not be with you. Nor will your life be in danger. You must learn to call on the power without your emotions stirred.”

“So you brought me to release so that I’d settle down.”

“Yes.”

“You could have joined me.”

He smiled. “I could have. But then it would have been hours, not minutes, and you would have been asleep by the time we were through. I prefer to wait until I can take my time and make love to you properly. And I will take much time to do it.” His eyes sparkled with heat, warming her body all over again.

“That kind of talk is not the way to cool me off, in case you’re wondering.”

His smile turned boyish and impossibly charming. “I am glad.” He held out his hand to her. “Come. We shall attempt to push the chair together.”

Bonelessly, she stepped forward and would have been perfectly happy to slide into his arms and stay there for a while. Maybe the rest of the night. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and corralled her thoughts, focusing on the task at hand. She didn’t have much time to get this right. A single evening.

The realization hit her fully that she would get one chance to renew the magic tomorrow. And if she failed, her beloved brother would almost certainly die.

The knowledge cleared her head as nothing else could have. “All right. Let’s do it.”

As she faced the chair, Arturo moved behind her and slid his arm around her waist again. Grasping the hand she’d been trying to push the chair with, he slid his palm across the back of her hand, his fingers slipping between hers.

“Concentrate, Quinn,” he said softly. “Deep inside you is power, but it is not yet fully at your command.” He squeezed her hand gently, brushing his cheek against her hair. “Close your eyes,
cara mia.
Now search inside yourself until you find the source of your power.”

“It’s a constant flow beneath my skin. If there’s a source, I’m not aware of it.”

“All right, then imagine that your arm is a laser gun.”

Quinn laughed. “Seriously? Do you know how wrong that sounds coming from a man who was born in the fourteen hundreds?”

He nipped her ear lightly, but she could feel his smile. “We could call it a sword, but the effect would be much less satisfying.”

“Laser gun it is.”

“Now imagine the power you shoot from your laser gun is stored beneath the skin of your arms. They are one, and the loading is automatic. When you need the power, it flows directly from the gun barrels beneath your skin into your laser gun.”

“I don’t think laser guns have barrels.”

“You are not concentrating,
cara mia.
Feel the power. Feel it flowing into the gun, into your hands. Do you feel it?”

“Maybe?” It was so hard to know.

“Now try to shoot your gun.” His fingers curled between hers, holding her hand, palm out, as the arm around her waist pulled her even tighter against his hard, lean body.

“On the count of three, no? One, two . . .”

Forcing her mind on the task, and off of that hard, lean body, Quinn visualized a laser gun, just as he said, imagined aiming it.

“Three!”

She imagined shooting it, saw in her mind’s eye the power flying through her arm and out through her hand. And watched as the metal chair tipped over and clattered to the floor.

“I did it,” she breathed, feeling Arturo’s lips brush her hair. “Sort of.”

“You did it,
cara.
” His voice was rich with warmth and satisfaction. “Now shoot another.”

This time, she aimed herself, Arturo’s hand still laced with hers, and imagined the gun and the power firing without his verbal help.

The chair scooted back about two feet.

“Now send it into the wall, Quinn. Send it flying.”

She glanced at him, twisting her lips, then imagined ramping up the energy in her laser, pumping it up like she might a water gun. Taking aim, she counted to three silently and
commanded
the chair away from her.

It slammed so hard into the hearth that a brick fell to the floor.

“
Bella.
Again.”

She started to aim at a third chair, but at this angle she’d send it straight through the window. “I need to move.”

Arturo released her slowly, his arm sliding reluctantly away, and she moved to where she could aim the third one at the hearth. Concentrating as she had before, she succeeded easily, then sent another flying, and another.

Satisfaction overflowing, she turned to Arturo and blew the tips of her fingers as if she carried a smoking gun.

His smile dawned slow and brilliant, setting butterflies to flight in her chest. Oh, he was a gorgeous male, as dangerous as he was beautiful, in so many ways. But beautiful all the same.

“What now?” she asked.

The look in his eyes as his gaze traveled slowly down her body told her he was considering options he’d said would wait for later. But then he began setting up the chairs, apparently holding firm to his resolve.

A couple of the chairs, the last two she’d shot, wouldn’t open fully anymore. Her blasts had gotten stronger as she’d gone down the line.

“Try your other hand, this time,” he told her. “A good sorceress should be ambidextrous.”

“You’re sure about that?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I am. Quite.”

“Okay, then.” When he’d stepped back out of the way, she lifted her left hand and willed the first chair to fly.

It tipped over with a soft clatter.

“Concentrate,
cara mia.
”

“I know, I know.” With a huff, Quinn started at the beginning, imagining the gun and the power, visualizing the energy flowing from her skin into the barrel, and . . .

The chair hit the hearth with such force that four bricks came crashing down. With a smug smile, she aimed again and sent a second chair flying, then lifted her right hand, too, and tried two at once. The right flew, the left only scooted a few inches.

“This is going to take practice,” she muttered.

“Indeed.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Arturo stroll over to a chest in the corner . . . a bar . . . and pour himself a drink.

When she’d knocked down two more chairs, she glanced behind her to find Arturo seated comfortably on the sofa, drink in hand, watching her.

“Enjoying the show?”

“Immensely.” He lifted his glass in salute, then lowered it to take a sip.

Quinn snorted, then resumed practice until the mantel and all the bricks lay in a heap on the floor, the chairs little more than twisted metal.

Dropping her hands, she stared at the mess she’d made.
My God,
I did
this without touching anything.
All power, all magic.
My
magic.

Unease quivered in her stomach, the old loathing raising its head. She’d always hated being different. But she couldn’t deny having the ability to make things move was incredibly satisfying. Still, she’d trade it all for Zack’s life and health.

Chapter Twenty-One

A
rturo sipped his whiskey and watched Quinn as she set up the mangled chairs and flung them against the crumbling hearth, over and over, until there was little left of either hearth or chairs. He thrilled to the sight of her, to the power flowing from her fingertips, but more, far more, to the woman herself. She stood, shoulders straight, chin lifted, determination evident in every line of her long, sleek body. Her hair glowed like an angel’s in the candlelight as her graceful hands lifted, pulverizing another pair of crumpled chairs.

Her beauty had moved him from the moment he first saw her, and that feeling, that odd pressure in his chest had grown steadily since. As had the aching need to touch her, to kiss her, to feel her sunshine and taste her sweetness. And there was sweetness there, though she held it close, sharing it only sparingly. With her brother, always. Perhaps with her brother’s girl, though he’d yet to see her with Lily.

She was, he thought, an island, passing others by, rarely letting any of them get too close. In some ways, in the ways that counted most, he sensed that she was painfully alone. And he ached for her.

Micah had spoken to him in depth of the conversations they’d shared in the evenings when she’d thought him human, a writer. He’d made his friend repeat every word she’d spoken. And in almost two weeks, she’d told Micah little. She’d shared almost nothing of herself. Of course, she wasn’t likely to confide that she’d recently escaped a vampire otherworld. But she’d been unwilling to share all but the most superficial information about her life and work. Micah had been forced to do most of the talking, creating an elaborate fiction about his own life.

More than once, Micah had returned to his apartment, shaking his head over something he’d slipped up over, yet she hadn’t noticed the contradiction. She never did. She’d never seemed to be paying that much attention, as if she’d been present in body but not in thought. Holding herself apart.

Every now and then, when Arturo had her alone, she lowered her shields with him, just a little. She’d done so more freely before he set her and Zack free. She’d trusted him more then, before she realized her freedom was all a lie. He wanted . . .
needed . . .
her to trust him now.

So many things could go wrong tomorrow, but somehow he would find a way to keep her safe. And once the magic was renewed, he would set her free, in truth this time. Part of him wanted to go with her, to turn his back on his friends and his kovena, on his world, and spend the rest of Quinn’s life with her.

But he’d do her no service that way. Outside of Vamp City, he was trapped in darkness and the shadows, unable to move freely until night blanketed the land. Still, he’d find a way to watch over her. Perhaps to visit her from time to time. She’d be safer far from his world. And he had too many ties here to leave it.

But as he watched Quinn arch her back, her hands on her hips, an ache moved through his chest, and he wondered if, when the time came, he’d actually be able to let her go.

Taking a sip of his whiskey, he rubbed his chest with his free hand. She’d awakened more than his conscience. She’d awakened within him feelings that had long lain dormant, feelings that were unlikely ever to sleep again. Because she’d stolen a part of him. And, in return, she’d given him a piece of the sun and lit a small, warm fire in his heart. There she would live for the rest of his long—and he feared, lonely—life.

Q
uinn was setting up the mangled remains of the chairs one more time when a rap sounded at the door. She threw a questioning look at Arturo, but he rose without concern, whiskey glass still in hand, and strode to open it.

Mukdalla handed Arturo a good-sized picnic basket. “Quinn needs to eat.” She glanced Quinn’s way, gave a small wave, then turned and left.

“I smell roast chicken and fresh rolls,” Arturo murmured, just as the scents wafted her way.

“I smell Heaven. And I’m famished.”

Arturo led her into the dining room, where a card table had been set up, flanked by two more metal chairs. Whole ones. He set the basket on the table, then pulled out a tablecloth, several covered dishes, two plates, napkins, utensils, and a couple of cans of cold Coke.

But when Quinn sat down and began serving up the food—two chicken thighs, potato salad, coleslaw—Arturo merely watched her, still sipping his whiskey.

“You’re not going to join me?”

“Eat your fill,
piccola.
I have no need for the food, and you do.”

“Trust me, Vampire, there’s far more here than I could eat in three days. And we won’t be here three days.”

“No, we won’t.”

But still he made no move to serve himself, so she dug in. The chicken was delicious.

“Where will you go, once this is over?” he asked, taking the seat across from her.

She scooped up a forkful of potato salad and just stared at it. “I don’t know,” she replied honestly. And she didn’t. For so long, she’d thought of nothing but getting Zack out of here and fleeing. But there were so many things wrong with this world, things that might or might not change when she renewed the magic. Whether or not she could make a difference, she didn’t know. But part of her didn’t like the idea of leaving, of running, when she might have the power to save the lives of innocent people.

And then there was Arturo. She met his gaze, her chest tight with unhappiness at the thought of never seeing him again. Their relationship—if she could call it that—was nothing if not complicated. He was a vampire, for heaven’s sake. And she was an honest-to-goodness sorceress. What kind of future could they possibly have?

But there was no denying she would miss him.

He reached across the table to clasp her forearm lightly. “I want you to take my cell number. Or perhaps Micah’s since I don’t spend a lot of time in the real world. If you ever need anything, all you need do is call. I will help. Even if it’s only to send money.”

“Thanks, Vampire. We’ll be fine.”

“You and Zack.”

She swallowed. No, not her and Zack. Zack would have Lily. Assuming . . . She looked up. “I can’t leave without Lily.”

“You must. Kassius will free the girl. And when she is free, she will know how to find you, yes?”

“Yes.” Lily knew Zack’s phone number. And if worse came to worst, she could always find him through the gaming sites they frequented.

She took the bite of potato salad and tried to swallow it past the fist in her throat. Because it wouldn’t be her and Zack. Not once Lily was free. The two of them might go anywhere, probably to California as they’d planned.

And what would she do?

“Quinn.” Arturo watched her with a softness that bordered on sadness. “Is there anyone else? Anyone other than Zack?”

She didn’t need pity, dammit. “I’ll be fine.”

He just watched her, those dark eyes probing, assessing. Slowly, he lifted his glass. “To tomorrow’s success, then. And to new beginnings.”

He was in a strange mood.

She ate until she was full, devouring twice what she normally would have. Surprisingly, there was still food left over. “Your turn.”

But he shook his head. “You’ll need the rest later. The magic must be fueled.”

Apparently, he was right.

As he sipped his drink, he studied her. “What other abilities do you suppose you might have?”

Quinn thought about it. She knew of one—the dark bubble she’d accidentally trapped the werewolf alpha in. As a kid, all she’d ever really done was push her stepmother a couple of times.

A sick knot formed in her stomach as she thought of the kid she’d almost killed in high school. A shiver went through her at the memory of that horrible day. It shouldn’t have happened. It shouldn’t have been able to happen. Except she knew better, now, didn’t she? She’d been a sorceress, even then, if a barely functioning and wholly clueless one. That was the day she’d lost all her friends.

“What are you thinking,
cara
? They are not happy thoughts.”

She shook her head, not wanting to discuss it. She’d never discussed it. And yet, maybe it was time. If there was anyone who would understand, it was Arturo.

She took a deep breath, feeling the anguish of that day, the horror of it, all over again. “It happened when I was in high school.” She leaned back in her chair.

“You did not know what you were.”

“I didn’t, no.” It was strange to think back, to try to see her entire life through a different lens. She’d never been who or what she’d thought she was. She’d never, in fact, been weird, not for a sorceress. But knowing that didn’t ease the misery of that day.

“I was a good athlete,” she began, wanting him to understand who she was back then. “I played on the girls’ basketball team and ran on the track team. I had a lot of friends. Casual friends, probably, but I was well liked. I belonged. My best friend, perhaps my only true friend, was Owen. We’d known one another from the time we were in first grade. We’d climbed trees, made forts beneath his parents’ picnic table with old blankets, and swum on the neighborhood swim team together. Even in high school, we were best friends, hanging out whenever we could.”

Quinn crossed her arms, pulling them tight against her body as the hurt of the memory spread through her. “Four of us were hanging around in the locker area after school one day, waiting for track practice, when we heard a fight around the corner and went to investigate. The two boys . . .” Her breath caught, remembered anger and fear pressing against the walls of her ribcage. “One was a punk rumored to be a gang member. The other was Owen.”

Arturo said nothing, but he watched her intently, hanging on her every word, and she continued.

“We all ran over, ready to defend our friend, but Owen didn’t need help. He was a big kid and was winning. Until the asshole pulled a knife.” She dug at her lip with her teeth, looking away, feeling the burn of tears. “I was so angry and so scared. I acted without thinking, Turo.” She glanced at the vampire through the moisture in her eyes, then away again. “I grabbed the punk’s arm, wanting to stop him, wanting to
kill
him. Five seconds later, the knife fell from his hand. Two seconds after that, he collapsed.”

She was shaking, now. Why was she shaking after all these years?

“I think my eyes were glowing. Someone said something about that as they all backed away from me like I’d turned into a three-headed monster. Someone called 911, and the punk survived. The adults chalked it up to an undiagnosed heart condition, but the other kids wouldn’t come near me again. Even Owen. I felt so guilty, so . . .
evil.
I knew I could have killed him. I knew it.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, but I could have. I almost did.” She looked at him through a blur of tears. “How? How did I do it?”

For a moment, he said nothing. “You possess a very powerful gift.”

Quinn snorted. “A dangerous one.”

“Yes, though likely far less dangerous against immortal beings.”

She thought about that. Vampires weren’t likely to succumb to her touch, whatever it was. Was it wrong she felt relieved about that? She didn’t want that
gift.

“Have you tried to do it again?”

“Of course not.”

“You should. The next time your life is threatened, try,
bella.
What have you to lose?” He watched her, understanding in his eyes. “It scares you.”

“What if I can’t stop it? For years, I had nightmares that everyone I touched fell down dead. Sometimes, I still do.”

“That will not happen. You must want someone dead very badly to call the life from him like that. And I suspect, if you could remember what happened that day, you felt his life force coming to your call.”

“I don’t remember.”

“It is never an easy thing when you first learn how to kill. Harder still, I imagine, when you are a child.”

He rose and came around the table, holding his hand out to her. When she placed her hand in his, he helped her to her feet and pulled her into his arms, pressing her cheek to his shoulder, offering acceptance and understanding. He stroked her head, and she let him, needing this. Needing him.

“You are powerful,
carissima,
and that is a wonderful thing. You must not be ashamed or sorry for the gifts you’ve been given. Instead, you must learn to control them so that you use them only when you intend, and so that you never again inadvertently hurt someone.”

“I can’t exactly go around practicing
that.
” Pulling back, she looked at him. “Unless you’re volunteering?”

She said it with a smile, and humor lit his eyes. “No. That I will not volunteer for. But if ever again you are caught by someone who means you harm, do not hesitate to use everything you have against him, Quinn. Even that.”

“I know. You’re right.”

He smiled and kissed her temple. “I usually am.”

She lifted a brow.

He shrugged in a charming, self-deprecating fashion. “When you are six hundred years old,
usually
leaves a lot of room for error.”

Quinn snorted and pulled away. “Shall I throw around some more chairs?”

“I would rather you try to make a bubble.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I don’t want to catch you in it. And I don’t want to get trapped in it myself.” She cocked her head, considering. “Vampires can come and go from the Vamp City bubble at will. But not werewolves or humans. Why is that?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps because Phineas Blackstone wove that into the magic. Or possibly because that is the way bubbles . . . and vampires . . . are made. I would experience this bubble with you,
cara.
We shall see, together, whether or not a vampire can leave it easily.”

“What if I use up all of my power, then can’t access it when I need it tomorrow?”

“A legitimate concern, certainly. But I suspect that the more you practice, the more you’ll be able to do. Try it?”

She released a hard sigh and rose. “Okay.”

Arturo came to stand behind her, sliding his arms around her waist. “Create your bubble,
tesoro.
”