A Kiss of Blood: A Vamp City Novel (24 page)

“Right.” Taking a deep breath, trying to ignore the hard male pressed against her back, she lifted her hands . . . and dropped them again. How had she done this last time? Lifting her hands again, she closed her eyes, found again that river of power running beneath her skin and imagined it flowing into her hands as she created a bubble around them. On the count of three. One, two,
three.

Power blasted from her hands, obliterating the card table, picnic basket, and half the wall behind it.

“Shit,” she cried, pulling away from him, raking her hands through her hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing!”

She heard his low chuckle. “Apparently not.”

Whirling on him, she pointed a finger at his chest. “You laugh. You could have been sitting in that chair.”

“I’ve come to realize that behind you is the safest place to be.”

She huffed, then shook her head in a quick, clarifying burst. “All right, let me try it again.” But after three more tries the sofa was lodged in the wall, one of the recliners upside down on top of it. And still no bubble. Thank God the ceiling hadn’t fallen.

“I was tied to a stake when I called it the first time. And angry.” Terrified. “The ability probably springs from my emotions, as everything else seems to do.”

“It was not that way for Phineas Blackstone.”

“Maybe not, but he was a powerful sorcerer with many years of experience.”

“And you shall be powerful, too.”

From all indications, he was right. And as mixed as her emotions were about being a sorceress at all, with power came strength—the strength to protect herself and others. And she absolutely wanted as much of that as she could get.

Arturo lifted a hand, his thumb stroking her cheekbone, the bridge of her nose, her eyebrow, his gaze growing more intense, as if he were studying her in minute detail.

“What are you doing?” she asked quietly.

“Memorizing your face. I shall miss you,
amore mio
.”

“Will you really let me go when this is over? Without a fight?”

A smile lit his eyes. “A fight I’m no longer likely to win.” His expression sobered. “Yes, I will let you go. I will insist upon it.” His hand cupped her cheek. “But I will not want to.”

The breath caught in her throat, her chest hurting. “I’m going to miss you, Vampire.”

His thumb traced her bottom lip. “And I you. Perhaps you will allow me to visit from time to time. If there is no other male in your life, or in your bed?”

“I think I’d like that.” She pressed her cheek into his hand. His skin was cool again, but his eyes so warm. The thought of leaving him saddened her in a way she couldn’t comprehend.

He leaned forward slowly, drawing out the anticipation as his lips brushed hers in a whisper-light touch, then moved against them more firmly, more insistently.

Need stirred inside her, and she began to tremble from the knowledge that this might be the last time they were alone like this. As if he heard her thoughts, or shared them, both of his hands slid into her hair, and the kiss turned harder, hotter, until her arms were around his neck, her mouth devouring his as his devoured hers.

The next thing she knew, she was in his arms, cradled against his chest as he rose and started up the stairs.

Her arms still around his neck, she kissed the corner of his eye, and his cheek, pressing her forehead against his temple. He smelled so good. Being in his arms felt so . . . right. For this moment, for this night, he was hers. Tomorrow could wait.

He carried her into a bedroom that had been furnished with two sets of bunk beds. Beds that, amazingly, appeared to have been recently made. But she remembered who this house belonged to. Neo. And she knew this must be temporary housing for escapees. A house now devoid of furniture on the main level, thanks to her.

Arturo set her on her feet in the middle of the room and took her into his arms, claiming her mouth as she claimed his. Heat rushed through her veins, weakening her even as it strengthened. Emotion pulsed inside her chest, a need, a desperation, to memorize every touch—the warmth of his lips on hers, the rough scrape of his tongue, the swelling of his fangs as they crowded his mouth, crowding their kiss, the firm brush of his fingers as they tangled possessively, tenderly in her hair. She vowed to remember every moment of this and everything about him—his warm, almond scent, his cool, crisp taste, the gleam of passion in his eyes as he gripped her head and rained kisses over every inch of her face.

He pulled back, still holding her in that gentle vise, his gaze traveling the path his lips had just taken. His eyes pulsed with longing, and the same sadness that throbbed inside her, the knowledge that this might well be their last night together, whether all went well tomorrow, or terribly, terribly wrong.

Quinn lifted her hands, cupping his jaw, running her thumbs over his cheeks as she memorized his face in return—the strong bones, the lovely gold of his Mediterranean skin, his dark hair, his straight nose, his full, beautiful mouth. And his dark eyes, golden brown in the firelight, centered white with hunger yet alive with tenderness and yearning.

His eyes beckoned her into their warm depths, promising the things that had so long been missing from her life—tenderness, closeness, affection. Acceptance. She’d known more of those with him than with anyone, including the parents who’d raised her. The thought of losing that again, of losing him, ripped something loose inside of her.

She didn’t want to feel this way. She refused to need anyone. And she didn’t. But Heaven help her, she would miss him.

“Vampire,” she breathed.

He kissed her forehead, then pulled back, a softness in his eyes that melted her from the inside out.

“Turo,” he said, whisper-soft. “You called me Turo, before and I would hear it on your lips again.”

“Turo . . .” She smiled slowly, the pressure building against her ribs. “Make love to me, Turo. I don’t ever want to forget.”

His own smile bloomed, mirroring hers, his eyes deep wells she could drown in. “You will not forget.” Slowly, he pulled off her shirt but left her bra, trailing his mouth over her shoulder, across her chest, into the hollow at the base of her throat, as if he would taste every inch of her.

She gripped his waist, tugging at his shirt, needing to feel his flesh against her palms. Pulling back, he released her to remove his shirt, meeting her gaze with that slow, seductive smile. Reaching for him, she pressed her hands against his kiss-warmed flesh, reveling in the hard play of muscles beneath her palms.

Leaning forward, she kissed his chest, tasting him, exploring, memorizing, adoring him as he had her, her lips on his chest, his shoulders, his biceps.

With a groan, part pleasure, part frustration, he unfastened her bra, then, to her consternation, turned her away from him.

“What are you doing?” she breathed, then understood when he brushed her long hair over one shoulder and pressed his mouth against her back shoulder blade. As his lips moved down her spine, his hands found her breasts, kneading them, playing with them as he held her close.

She slid her fingers over the backs of his caressing hands, running her palms up his forearms, touching him even as he touched, kissed, and fondled her. As his kisses reached the back waistband of her jeans, his fingers found her button and zipper.

“Step forward,
tesoro mio
,” he said softly, his voice husky and sexy as hell. “Grasp the post of the bed.”

Heat rushed deep into her body and, intrigued despite herself, she stepped forward. She glanced back at him. “What are you going to do?”

The small, devilish smile combined with the heat in his eyes had her pulse soaring, her body dampening, and her legs turning to jelly. Whatever he had in mind, she wanted.

Long fingers slid her jeans down to her thighs, then returned for her panties. “Step back,
cara.
Lean over.”

Oh my.
She did as he directed, feeling oddly more exposed with her shoes on and her pants around her knees than she probably would have if he’d first removed all her clothes.

His hands gripped her hips, his mouth continuing its tender mapping of her anatomy, covering first one nether cheek with his kisses, then the other, then spreading her wide and running his rough tongue in between, his fangs scraping lightly over her flesh.

Finally,
finally,
his tongue found the part of her body that awaited his attention the most impatiently. He stroked between her legs, delving his tongue inside of her until she was panting with need for more.

“
Turo.
”

He pulled back, and, a moment later, she felt his finger stroking her wetness. When it slid inside, she groaned with hot satisfaction.

“I need more,” she gasped. “I need all of you.”

His hands slid down the backs of her thighs, his touch less of tenderness, more of need, a hot, desperate need that matched her own.

She felt him rise, heard the zip of his pants. And then he was sliding inside of her—thick, and long, and gloriously hard.

“
Turo.
”

He swept her hair off of her neck and bit her suddenly, a piercingly sweet pleasure, and she cried out as he pulled, and she came, contracting hard and fast around him.

A moment later, he was gone, pulled out of her, and she was holding on to the bedpost for dear life, gasping for breath.

“What are you doing?”

“Lift your foot.”

She did and he removed her boots and socks, one after the other, then pulled off her remaining clothes. He undressed himself and a moment later, he was sweeping her into his arms, laying her down on the narrow bottom bunk, bumping his head against the top as he followed her onto the small, cramped space.

He let out some kind of Italian swearword, then rolled his eyes at himself, making her giggle.

Laughter lit his eyes. “How I love that sound,
tesoro mio.
”

Grinning at him, watching him with incredible tenderness, Quinn parted her knees, and he settled himself between them, finding her, entering her again, with one smooth, perfect stroke.

Quinn cried out, arching into him, holding him close as he nuzzled her neck, then sunk his fangs, drawing her blood on a thrill of ecstasy. That quickly, her body began a second spiral up. But he pulled his fangs from her neck, instead brushing his warm nose against her cheek and laying more kisses on her cheek and jaw as he drove into her.

“Harder, Turo, harder.”

He complied, his harsh breath in her ear as he drove her up, seeking his own release.

“
Bella,
” he groaned, his body tightening in that way she was coming to recognize, that way that meant he was close.

He pressed his cheek to hers, and she held him tight as they climbed higher than she’d ever gone, up to the sun, bathing in the warmth, the heat. A heat that flowed through her, filling her with light, with life.

She came in an explosion of color, her world fracturing and knitting back together different than it had been before.
She
felt different. Reborn.

Arturo collapsed, his face against her neck, his lips pressed to her shoulder. For a long time, they stayed like that. She didn’t want to let him go, and he showed no sign of wanting to leave.

Eventually, he moved, though only to nuzzle her neck. “If you could live without food,” he said quietly, “I would beg you to create a bubble for us alone. All I would ever need is you.”

She kissed his temple. “I will miss you.” And she’d never meant anything more in her life.

Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled out of her, then rolled to his side and took her with him. “Sleep, Quinn. I would hold you one last night.”

Nestling against his warmth, Quinn’s eyes grew heavy, and she gave in to the sweet exhaustion that tried to pull her under.

Her last thought as she fell asleep: When she left Vamp City, she would be leaving a piece of her heart behind.

Q
uinn woke to the feel of cool lips brushing against hers. Opening her eyes, she found Arturo bending over her, fully dressed.

“Awaken, Sleeping Beauty,” he said with a small smile, warmth and something deeper in his eyes. Affection.

“Is it morning?” she asked groggily. How was she supposed to tell in this place?

“It is. And I must go.”

She struggled to clear her mind, struggled to sit up. “It’s the equinox.”

“Yes. And Cristoff has gone off the rails and is demanding my appearance. Plus Grant and Sheridan Blackstone refuse to accompany you to the Focus.”

“
What?
”

“They sent you a book.” He lifted an eyebrow. “One they claim will tell you all you need to know, but it looks identical to the one Grant gave me for you before.”

She smiled ruefully, understanding. “
A History of Witchcraft in America.
”

“Yes.” He looked at her curiously.

“I can use it to communicate with them. It actually might work.” By writing across the pages with the tip of her finger, she would be able to communicate long-distance with a sorcerer on the other end. A writing that none but another sorcerer could see. Sorcerer’s text, Grant had called it. Sheridan could feed her the ritual that way.

“Do you have to go to Cristoff?”

“I must. If I fail to show, he could send guards to find me, and that we cannot have. Plus, if I am with him, I will know exactly what he has planned and can potentially talk him out of sending anyone into the Focus.”

“But will you be able to leave in time?”

He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “If I am not, Kassius and Micah will get you safely to the Focus and back.”

The bed began to shake suddenly, violently. Arturo disappeared. And a moment later, sunshine poured in through the uncovered panes of glass. Even half-blinded, the sunlight delighted her, then terrified her as the full import hit her.

The vampires . . .

“Turo?”

“Here,
cara.
The hallway remains in shadow.”

She rose, dressing quickly, enjoying the brief visit of the sun even as she prayed that none of his friends had been caught in it. As she joined Arturo in the hall, the sunlight went out as suddenly as it had appeared.