Pamela Palmer - [Vamp City 02]

by A Kiss of Blood

  Zack walked into the room and sat on the bed with a sigh. “I wish I had a computer.”

  “You’re not tired,” Quinn murmured. That, at least, was a good sign. “Why don’t we go watch the training for a little bit?”

  The self-loathing in Zack’s expression slew her. “Why? So I can add to the catalog of all the things I can’t do?”

  To Quinn’s surprise, Arturo took a seat on the bed beside him. Zack glanced at him with suspicion, then turned to study his hands, where he’d clasped them between his knees.

  “When I was sixteen,” Arturo said quietly, “I watched a vampire kill my mother.” He turned to study his own hands. “I didn’t even try to stop him. I did nothing, just stood there in shock as the blackguard drained her dry, then dumped her body onto the dirt floor of the shack where we lived.”

  Quinn’s heart clenched with misery for him, for the teen he’d once been. She glanced at Amanda, who stood beside her, empathy and sorrow warm in the doctor’s eyes.

  Zack looked at him, his brows drawn. “You were just a kid. There’s nothing you could have done.”

  “I was the man of the house and nearly full-grown. And I have never forgiven myself for not trying to save her even though I know, now, that there was nothing I could have done. Not then. Not with the knowledge I’d lacked at that point in my life. Vampires can be killed by human hands, Zack. Learning how to battle them takes time, and skill. Even then, you must take your opponent by surprise if you are to have any chance of success. But the skills can be learned by anyone with the drive and the persistence to learn them.”

  Zack glanced at him, a moment’s hope flaring in his eyes, then dying away. “I’m not a fighter. I’ve never been any kind of an athlete. I’m too skinny.”

  “The best fighters have both strength and cleverness. Cleverness is a gift one is born with, but strength can be acquired. I suspect you are quite clever, Zack. If you wish, you can become a good fighter. But you’ll have to work hard. It will not happen overnight. Your Lily would be impressed, would she not?”

  Zack’s gaze returned to his hands. “Are you going to rescue her?” His tone was stiff, but a thread of life wove through the words.

  “Yes. It will not be easy, but the most important things in life rarely are.”

  For long seconds, Zack said nothing. But finally he looked up and met Arturo’s gaze, a light in his green eyes that hadn’t been there moments before. “What do I have to do? To fight vampires?” The question was filled with more wariness than determination, but the words were the right ones.

  “I will speak to Neo. He’s trained many a human, and some of those humans have remained with him. They’ll work with you if you wish.”

  Zack licked his lips, his shoulders hunching as if preparing to be humiliated all over again. But he nodded. “Okay.”

  Quinn felt a quick clash of emotions—pleasure at that admittedly small spark of life in Zack’s eyes but terror at the thought of him fighting at all, let alone bloodsuckers. This was right, though, and she knew it. This was what her brother needed, a reason to live, and the confidence that would come from being able to defend himself, at least against other humans.

  “Arturo’s right, Zack. You’ve got the smarts to find your opponent’s weaknesses and exploit them.” She shrugged. “You can learn the rest.”

  “Okay. But not tonight.”

  “Not tonight,” Quinn agreed. “Get some sleep.”

  Arturo rose and followed Quinn and Amanda out, pulling Zack’s door closed. When he looked up, Quinn met his gaze with a small smile.

  “Thank you for that,” she said quietly. He’d given Zack an incredible gift—permission to be weak and a way to get stronger.

  Arturo’s dark eyes turned as soft as a summer night. “You’re welcome.”

  Amanda entered the other room to light the lamp, and Quinn followed her. “Tell me what’s really going on with Zack, Amanda.”

  The doctor glanced at her. “I’ve told you the truth. I don’t know what’ll happen.”

  “I saw the way you were frowning earlier. You know more than you’re saying.”

  The doctor sighed and straightened, the lamplight flickering behind her. “I’ve only seen eyes like his once before, and I never figured out what caused them.”

  “What happened to the other victim?”

  Her mouth compressed, and she looked away.

  “Amanda?”

  Slowly she met Quinn’s gaze. “She died.”

  “How long after you first saw the signs?”

  “Three weeks. I’m sorry.”

  Three weeks. Quinn swayed. Arturo gripped her shoulders from behind, steadying her.

  Amanda reached for Quinn’s hand. “It’s very possible that renewing the magic will save him. There’s no reason to panic. Not yet. But I don’t think it will benefit him to know this. The brain can be a powerful force in healing.”

  Quinn took a deep breath, gathering her control, and pulled away from both of them. “I agree. Is there anything he should or shouldn’t do? Does he need to rest? To eat more food? Less food?”

  The doctor shook her head. “Honestly, I don’t know. Nothing my other patient did or didn’t do appeared to matter. I’d recommend he do whatever he feels like. Magic doesn’t attack the body in the same way a virus does. There’s no need to conserve energy to fight it. The equinox is just a few days away, Quinn. Let’s trust that renewing the magic will cure him, hmm?”

  If she could renew the magic. A knot formed beneath her breastbone. He’d been acting so normal . . .

  “I’ll leave you to get some rest,” Amanda said, her eyes full of apology.

  “Zack will be fine once the magic is renewed, cara.”

  Quinn swung around to face him, then grabbed the door and closed it, barely managing to keep from slamming it because . . . dammit . . .

  She turned on him. “You all keep forgetting that I don’t know how. I’ve tried renewing it with the ritual, with both Blackstone brothers right there. And I failed, Arturo. I failed. Why in the hell are you so convinced I’m going to succeed the next time?”

  He stood by the wall, watching her with quiet eyes in such counterpoint to her turmoil. “Because we shall figure out what is hampering your magic.”

  “And what if we can’t fix it . . . in four days? The equinox is almost here. What if it passes, and I don’t have the magic and never have enough power to renew the magic on a null day?” Her eyes began to burn, her chest caving. “He’s going to die, and I can’t stop it.”

  She saw him move through the blur of her tears, felt gentle hands grip her shoulders.

  “We shall not let him die.”

  “I know he’s not well. His eyes are still silver. But he’s been acting so normal, I started to believe . . .” The tears began to fall in earnest, and she was helpless to stop them. Three weeks.

  Cool fingers stroked her hair. “I will not let him die.”

  She blinked against the tears, searching his face. “Don’t pretend he matters to you.”

  His hand gripped her jaw, his eyes almost harsh. “He matters to you. He is everything to you. And you matter to me.”

  “The salvation of your city and your friends.”

  “If that is all you were, my life would be so much simpler, tesoro. So much colder. And I would have remained blind to what has happened to my city and to my people.” His hands cupped her face, his thumbs wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I will not let him die, cara mia. I will not.”

  He pulled her into his arms, and she let him, burying her face against his shoulder as the grief and the fear swept through her on the torrent of tears. He held her, stroking her back, her hair. All her life, she’d cried alone except for those times when Zack had snuck into her room and lain down beside her. He’d always known when she was hurting, he’d always come, even if just to curl up on the rug beside her bed and play his Gameboy.

  She’d never wanted to need anyone. Perhaps because she’d never ha
d anyone. Except for Zack. But Arturo’s strong arms and willing shoulder felt so damn good. So . . . right.

  As her tears subsided, his lips brushed the curve of her ear, then pressed softly against her temple. For all of his faults, he could be the most gentle of males when he chose to be.

  Slowly, she pulled back until she could see his face. Blinking back the last of the tears, she met his soft gaze and found herself pulling one hand from around his neck to stroke his cool cheek.

  “Thank you.”

  He kissed her forehead, then continued to watch her with eyes as dark and deep as the night sky and as warm as down. Her heart began to stir, to fill. Her pulse lifted. She’d never been able to remain unaffected by this male, no matter how hard she’d tried.

  And right now, right here, she no longer cared to try.

  Her gaze dipped to his mouth. Her breath caught. The hands at her back jerked slightly, then splayed, pulling her closer as his head dipped to find her lips.

  She met him halfway.

  Their lips brushed, cool to warm. Excitement shivered inside her as her body awoke, as it always had, to his touch. His scent wrapped around her, almonds and moonlight, drowning her in sensation. He kissed her, tasted her. As she parted her mouth, his tongue swept inside to stroke hers in a tangling, dueling caress.

  Her arms snaked around his neck, her fingers burrowing into his soft hair as he pulled her tight against him, making a sound deep in his throat, a sound of pleasure and satisfaction. But not of wild need, though the need was there, beneath it all. The kiss remained tender and sweet, a gift of comfort, of pleasure. A silent plea to trust. A promise to take no advantage.

  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

  Arturo 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 fe
ll 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.