Of Blood and Passion

by Pamela Palmer

  Her brows drew down in confusion. “Why’s it glowing?”

  She’d seen the sword once before, and had actually held it that time. After Arturo handed her over to his master that first time, Cristoff had brought her back here, removed the sword from its case and laid it across her outstretched palms. She’d been in awe of its beauty—the hilt solid gold, inlaid with sapphires, the blade etched in intricate vines.

  It is the sword Escalla, Cristoff had told her. An old wizard’s sword that recognizes great power. Power you do not possess.

  It hadn’t glowed that time. It hadn’t done anything at all, which had greatly disappointed Cristoff.

  But it was glowing now. And she suspected she knew why. At that time, her power, both Blackstone and Levenach, had still been almost entirely imprisoned by the Levenach curse. But in the past week, she and Arturo had managed to free the lion’s share of her Blackstone magic. Escalla clearly recognized her newfound power. Great power, apparently, which she was still struggling to wrap her mind around. A month ago, she’d thought of herself as nothing more than a lab tech with the NIH in Bethesda. A scientist. A normal person around whom weird things occasionally happened.

  Great power.

  No, it didn’t seem real. And yet… She glanced back at the opal walls of the bubble, the mini world she’d just created and shook her head in amazement.

  “It glows because of me,” she said, turning to Kassius.

  “It was glowing even before you left the bubble, if only faintly. When you entered the room, it flared brightly.”

  “So it sensed me even in the bubble.”

  “It would seem so, yes.”

  Cara? You can do it, Quinn. I have utmost faith in you. Believe and you will succeed.

  “Easy for you to say,” she muttered.

  “Sorceress?” Kassius asked.

  “Nothing. Arturo is talking in my head, trying to give me confidence.”

  His brow lifted. “It is working?”

  She snorted. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

  Moving forward, Quinn studied the sword which appeared to be suspended in air within that glass case. Once before, she’d watched Cristoff press his palm against the glass, watched as the top sprung open and Cristoff reached inside to pull out the sword.

  If only she could figure out how to do the same. But Arturo had watched a man—a vampire—push his hand right through the glass, without breaking it. And promptly die. Cristoff had long warned his vampires that to touch his sword meant death, but Quinn suspected it was only the case that was enchanted against theft, not the sword itself since she’d touched it without issue. Either that, or the sword only killed vampires and not sorcerers.

  Since they weren’t sure how it worked, and knew it could be deadly, they’d decided their only option was for Quinn to lift it out of its case with magic. And that was exactly what she had to do now. But as she stepped closer, something crawled over her skin—a harsh, clawing energy that made her catch her breath.

  “Quinn? What is it, sorceress?”

  “I’m not sure. I think it’s the sword. I can feel its energy.”

  “Is that a good thing or bad?”

  “I have no idea. Let’s hope Cristoff can’t sense it, or me through it, or we’ll be out of time before we ever get started.”

  “Then we must hurry. Pull the sword from its case, sorceress.”

  “Roger that.”

  Quinn took another step forward, and another, approaching the sword as she might a cobra in a basket. The closer she got, the stronger the stinging sensation grew. Did it recognize in her the blood of the one who’d created it, the wizard Levenach? Or maybe the blood of the one it had killed, the Black Wizard. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and tried to center her focus, center her magic, turning all of her attention on the sword hanging, suspended, in that magical case.

  “Come to me,” she whispered, calling the magic into her hands, then pulling the sword with enough strength to lift it, if the case didn’t interfere. Which it did, of course. While the sword’s glow flared brighter, it didn’t move.

  The clawing energy intensified, racing all over her body like tiny pinpricks, like tiny hooks designed to pull her closer. Why? Was the sword telling her it wanted her to take it? If not for that deadly case, she might try.

  “If you want me, come to me,” she said quietly, attempting to lift it once more. As she pulled a little harder, then harder still, the sword began to quiver, but the case continued to hold it fast.

  Quinn stepped closer and pulled hard. Still nothing.

  She looked at Kassius. “Screw finesse. I’m going to have to give it all I have. It may go flying.”

  His mouth tightened. “If it does, grab it and get us back into your bubble.”

  With a nod, Quinn took a deep breath, grimaced, then threw everything she had into it, yanking on the sword with all her might.

  Still nothing happened.

  “Well…damn.” Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and gathered all the magic she could, feeling her own energy colliding with Escalla’s in a blinding rush of pain. Biting down on a whimper, she fought past it, yanking hard enough that she should have imploded the wall. But when she opened her eyes she found the sword still caught fast in its case, if glowing as brightly as the sun.

  “Shit.” She looked at Kassius, her body on fire. “I can’t do more,” she gasped.

  “Are you okay?” he asked worriedly.

  “I think so. I’m afraid it’s time for Plan B.”

  The werevamp nodded and took over with startling speed. As Kassius worked, Quinn stepped back with the vague thought of moving to the other side of the room to put distance between her and that awful sword, but she couldn’t quite get her feet to move. Pain continued to pummel her body as she watched Kassius dig through the pack he’d carried with him, then begin to press explosive charges to the wall around the box. He had to be careful not to touch the box itself or, like the guard Arturo had watched, Kassius might be the thing exploding. Plan B had not been their first choice for several obvious reasons, not the least of which was that it was a lot more likely to get one or both of them killed. Unfortunately, they’d been unable to come up with a viable Plan C.

  She was starting to feel nauseous and told herself, again, to move away. But the part of her brain that controlled her limbs didn’t seem to be working right. She could feel the pull of the sword growing, tendrils of stinging energy sliding around her arms, her legs, her torso.

  Quinn. Arturo’s voice sounded quietly in her head. Something is not right. Be careful.

  She thought about replying, then remembered he couldn’t hear her. Perhaps she should say something to Kassius. But her thoughts scattered, her mind overrun by fog as if the pain were separating her from her body.

  With blurring vision, she watched Kassius, his fingers moving vampire-fast. The fog in her mind thickened, blacking out her sight. Pain exploded.

  Quinn!

  She stumbled, knocking into a hard shoulder, which gave slightly, shifting.

  The explosion sent her flying across the room.

  Quinn screamed, Grant’s deep voice emerging from her throat, vibrating with the pain blazing through her body.

  Beyond the wall, she heard shouts. “Someone’s inside!”

  Quinn!

  Quinn pushed herself up, trying to think, trying to remember where she was and why the sound of that shout filled her with such terror. But as she blinked, as her vision cleared and she saw where she was…Cristoff’s study…memory came flooding back. She’d failed to call the sword from the case. Kassius had been setting charges.

  “Kassius?” Quinn called softly, trying to move, trying to breathe. What had happened? Had he set off the charge with them both right there?

  But, no. There was no destruction.

  Understanding dawned with a sick horror. Oh, God. Oh no. She vaguely remembered getting dizzy and falling against someone. Had she knocked him into that deadly c
ase?

  No, no, no. Quinn turned, her still wavering gaze searching for her companion. Kassius, don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Her head pounded as she looked, but she saw no sign of him.

  Quinn. Arturo’s voice was filled with such sorrow. He knew she feared Kassius dead. He knew. And of course after the racket they’d made, Cristoff was probably already on his way.

  God, God, God. She had to do something. Think!

  But she knew what she had to do—she had to finish setting the charges herself. Back in the safe house, when they’d conceived of Plan B, she’d made Kassius walk her through the process in detail just in case, for some reason, he wasn’t able to help. She hadn’t expected that she’d get him killed.

  Her breath caught, her eyes burning, but she turned and stumbled to the sword case. But as she neared, that sword’s terrible energy once more tried to latch onto her, and she quickly backed away while she still could. A quick perusal told her Kassius had set most of the explosives already. They would have to be enough. All she needed now was the remote that would set off the charges.

  Grabbing his backpack, she found the remote in the outside pocket, right where he’d promised it would be. Their original plan was to return to Grant’s room and set the charges off from there. But there wasn’t time. At least her bubble was still intact.

  Clutching the remote carefully, she ran back to that black shimmer. But as she was about to enter it, something caught her eye, an arm sticking out from behind the desk in the corner. Her heart seized, then began to beat again as she realized the arm was still attached to a body. Kassius.

  She lurched to him, feeling for his pulse. There. Thank God. But his skin was ice cold. He needed blood.

  The door to the study began to rattle. Cristoff. She tried to lift Kassius, hoping she was strong enough to drag him to the bubble. But he was too big, and she was still dazed.

  Panic tore through her. Those charges had to be detonated, the sword destroyed!

  Calling up her magic, she formed a second bubble tight around them. Then, praying it would be enough to protect them, she shoved her hand and the detonator through the rubbery wall.

  Squeezing her eyes closed and hoping for a miracle, she pushed the button.

  Chapter 15

  Pain tore through Quinn’s back as the force of the explosion threw her hard against the wall.

  She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Shafts of agony arced up her spine into her skull and she tried to focus her eyes, but the air was too filled with debris to see anything clearly.

  The ramifications of that penetrated slowly. The force of the explosion must have thrown her clear of the bubble. Or destroyed it.

  Where was Kassius?

  From what she could see, most of the back wall of Cristoff’s study was gone, most of the furniture turned to dust. Clearly the explosives had detonated. The question was, had they destroyed the sword?

  But even as the question entered her mind, an eerie orange-red glow caught her attention on the rug—what was left of the rug—six feet away. Quinn blinked, trying to make out what she was seeing. Her stomach sank, her mind reeling with disbelief.

  Escalla lay in its case on the floor, apparently untouched.

  Dammit to hell.

  They’d accomplished nothing. And she didn’t dare try to pry the sword loose with her hands. Just brushing against its case had nearly felled Kassius. Had he, too, been blown free of her hastily built second bubble, or was he still inside, trapped there?

  She pushed to her feet, every part of her body aching. Peering through the fog of debris, she saw no sign of him, but caught sight of a pair of black shimmers—one stretching into the room from the front wall and a small one tucked back against the corner where the desk now stood on end. It was the second one she’d left him in, the second one she had to reach.

  But as she took a step toward it, a violent wave of dizziness hit her, driving her to her knees.

  The study door swung open, blocking her view of whoever stood in the doorway. With raw frustration, she pulled yet another bubble around her, the darkness once more swallowing her, shutting her off from all that happened outside.

  She needed to reach Kass! Not only did he need blood, but without her help, he’d never escape the small world in which she’d trapped him.

  Arturo stood in the doorway of Cristoff’s study as his master strode into the middle of the destruction. The blast had leveled half the room and what was left was quickly being covered by the debris raining down, much of it tiny bits of what had once been books.

  Every muscle in Arturo’s body had tensed. His pulse raced because…where was Quinn? He knew she was alive. He could feel her pain, her distress. He just hoped to hell she was hidden.

  The wall where the sword’s case had hung was now gone, but he could see the sword and case lying on the floor as if untouched. The sword was glowing. Dio. Was there no way to destroy that thing?

  “Find her!” Cristoff yelled. “The sorceress is nearby. I want her alive!”

  Guards swarmed the room, Arturo joining them, hunting for Quinn. But there was no sign of her. With bone-melting relief he realized that she must have escaped back into her bubble.

  Slowly, he began to breathe again. He turned to Cristoff. “Why do you think this is the sorceress’s doing?”

  Cristoff grinned. “Because Escalla glows.”

  Arturo frowned. “For her?”

  Cristoff’s eyes flared with excitement. “Escalla craves the blood of the Black Wizard’s heir.”

  Arturo’s brows lifted, his mouth tightening. He’d thought Cristoff only wanted her in order to force her to renew the magic, and to secure his revenge. But this was something entirely different. Something far bigger than he’d realized.

  “The blood…? You’ll kill her with it,” he said with sudden understanding.

  “Of course. Which is why she’s here to take it from me.”

  Arturo stared at him, stunned. He hadn’t thought it possible for Cristoff to be of even more danger to Quinn than he already was. Arturo searched his master’s eyes for any sign of the conscience Arturo had thought he’d seen flare to life briefly in the throne room. But he saw nothing but a frantic excitement, as if a treasure beyond imagining was finally within Cristoff’s grasp.

  And what would Cristoff gain if he managed to stab Quinn, if Escalla did drink her blood?

  As if he were reading Arturo’s unspoken thoughts, Cristoff said, “You’ve heard of Nerian.”

  Every vampire had heard of Nerian, the most powerful vampire ever to live. Understanding crashed over Arturo.

  “He had Escalla?”

  “He was the one who stabbed the Black Wizard. He was the one who held the hilt of the sword while Escalla drank of the Black Wizard’s blood. And I shall do the same.”

  Arturo’s own blood ran cold.

  Quinn struggled to her feet within the confines of her small, dark world, her heart pounding, a bead of sweat rolling down the back of her neck. Thankfully, no dizziness hit her this time. She had to get to Kassius before she lost track of where he was.

  You must escape, cara. Escalla glows for you. It senses you. Cristoff knows you are near.

  Which meant the monster was probably standing somewhere in his ruined study waiting for her to show herself. Waiting for her. Not Grant.

  Her pulse raced as a plan formed in her mind. Cristoff and his guards would be looking for a woman. And they were so used to Grant that they’d likely pay him no attention, assuming no one noticed him appear out of thin air. If they saw her disappear, it didn’t really matter because by then she’d be back with Kassius. Once the werevamp was on his feet again, they could figure out the next move together.

  All she had to do was be Grant again. But…dammit…which way was the desk? She’d lost her orientation again. That way? she wondered, glancing right. No, it was that way. Left. She was pretty sure.

  Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself to walk slowly, head down. Be Grant.<
br />
  With a mental here goes nothing, she pushed through the wall of the bubble.

  The light blinded her. Noisy chaos assaulted her ears.

  But she was turned the wrong way. It wasn’t the desk straight ahead of her but Cristoff dressed all in blue. Their startled gazes collided. In those pale eyes, she saw the flare of recognition.

  And triumph.

  Chapter 16

  Arturo stared as Grant Blackstone suddenly appeared out of thin air near the door of Cristoff’s ruined study.

  No, not Grant. Quinn. She stared at Cristoff as if frozen.

  Beside him, Cristoff chuckled, the sound sending a bolt of ice through the base of Arturo’s skull. Because Cristoff knew it was her. The game was up. It was over.

  No. It was not. There was one thing he could do to protect the woman who’d stolen his heart and given him back his soul. He could kill Cristoff before Cristoff killed Quinn. Or at least give her a chance to escape.

  Stepping back out of Cristoff’s physical reach, he called up the rare and deadly power that only three people in the world knew he possessed. The mind blast, one that might or might not be equal to his master’s. He’d never tested it against Cristoff, for doing so would have meant a battle to the death with the only father he’d ever known.

  Unlike Cristoff, Arturo didn’t have to be touching his victim, but neither could he contain the blast to a single target.

  As he threw the power at Cristoff, his master yelled, gripping his head and sinking to his knees. But so too did the other guards in the room. There was no containing his assault, which terrified him with Quinn in the room. But in disabling Cristoff, if only for a moment, he was giving her a chance.

  Quinn stumbled.

  Even as his heart lodged in his throat, his head exploded with a mind-numbing pain that felt as if someone had taken a cleaver to his skull. Arturo roared, his eyes clouding over, his head splitting apart.

  How? Cristoff had to be touching his victims. But this…this attack had slammed back through his own, like a counterstrike that had ridden in on the backdraft of his blast. They were going to kill one another. After all these centuries, the moment had come.