Of Blood and Passion

by Pamela Palmer

  Lukas had been far less enthusiastic about their plan of visiting Sakamoto, but he was willing to try and that was all they asked.

  As she rode around the break-through, Quinn could see others scattered about, at least six such places within thirty or forty feet of her and far more than that at a distance. If it had been day, if the break-throughs had been sunbeams, all of her companions would be smoking by now, racing to put distance between them and the columns of light. If any had been standing within one when it erupted, he’d be dead by now.

  As quickly as the break-throughs appeared, they disappeared again.

  Thunder cracked, a bolt of lightning illuminating the landscape. Thick clouds that had rolled in at some point, threatened a downpour. And she had no way to avoid it.

  Not five minutes later, the first huge drops splashed on her scalp and her hand. Moments later, it began to pour. The rain ran in rivulets down her face and arms, soaking her clothes. The night was already cool, and she began to shiver.

  “We’re going through the Crux, Lukas,” Micah said.

  Quinn suspected Lukas had tried to turn away, but since she couldn’t see a thing she couldn’t be sure. The Crux was what they called the lands in the middle of the circle that was Vamp City, lands occupied by wolves, Rippers, and others seeking to avoid the vampire kovenas.

  “Micah…” Lukas’s tone said he thought Micah was nuts.

  “Call your wolves, amore,” Arturo called softly.

  Quinn did. “Savin!” She wondered if the werewolves would be out in this weather, then decided that was probably a silly question.

  “Mind explaining?” Lukas asked.

  “Quinn has an agreement with Savin’s pack. They’ll provide escort across the Crux.”

  “Remarkable,” Lukas murmured.

  “She’s a remarkable woman,” Micah replied, his voice rich with admiration.

  “Thanks, Micah,” she said softly, wishing she could see him. “Tell me when you see the wolves, Turo. I’m blind out here tonight.”

  They pulled up and waited and it was several minutes before he replied. “Two wolves have appeared on the ridge to our right.”

  She heard one of them howl. “What’s he saying, Kass?”

  “He requests back-up, sorceress.”

  “Why?”

  “I have to ask the same question,” Micah said. “Do they see something we don’t? Or are they no longer friendly?”

  “Two more have joined the first pair,” Arturo said. A few minutes later, “Three more. And three more again.”

  “That’s ten wolves.”

  “Yes, tesoro mio. It is. One has broken away and is running toward us. Hold fast to your reins, Quinn. Your mount may not be pleased.”

  A crack of thunder was quickly followed by another flash of lightning, one that briefly illuminated the male mid-shift between wolf and man. A moment later the lights went out again. And a moment after that, she heard the rough voice of the werewolf.

  “The storm clouds gather as our world crumbles, sorceress. We are seeing more and more vampires in the Crux. Savin has decreed that you never be without an escort of at least a dozen. Others will join us shortly.”

  “Any Gonzaga vamps?” Arturo asked.

  “One vampire looks much like another to me, I’m afraid. I have seen none but you in the past couple of hours.”

  “That’s good news,” Micah said.

  The werewolf continued. “When the time comes for you to renew the magic, the entire pack will accompany and protect you, sorceress.”

  “Thank you. What of the Herewood pack? Are you still at war with them?”

  “We have declared a truce. For now. But I would not count on their assistance. You may proceed across the Crux.”

  “Thank you,” Quinn replied. They once more started forward.

  “He has shifted back into wolf and returns to his pack mates,” Arturo told her. “Four more have joined them.”

  Some minutes later, through the rain Quinn caught a glimpse of something, a light in the distance, one that flickered and moved with a rainbow of colors. The Focus. The exact spot where Phineas Blackstone had stood the night he created Vamp City all those years ago, sending the magic out several miles in all directions. It was within the Focus’s small dome of concentrated energy that she would have to stand to renew the magic.

  As they drew nearer, she could see the familiar dome of colored light that always reminded her of a small aurora borealis trapped on the ground. The brilliant colors—blue, fuchsia, and orange, writhed within that space that none but a sorcerer could ever enter.

  The ground shook suddenly and moments later, Quinn once more saw within the silos of light, houses and cars with their windshield wipers swinging back and forth. Silhouetted against the shafts of light were the wolves who marched alongside them.

  Finally, the glimpses of the real world disappeared, and the street lights with them. The Focus fell far behind them and Quinn was once more fully swallowed by the dark.

  “The wolves turn back, cara,” Arturo said some time later.

  “How close are we to Sakamoto’s?”

  “Another ten minutes and we should be there.”

  Another ten minutes and another gallon of rain, at this rate. She was soaked to the bone, truly cold now.

  “Tell me about Sakamoto,” she said, needing something to take her mind off her wet misery. “What does he feed on?”

  “He’s a fear feeder,” Arturo told her. “Like me.”

  “I doubt he’s anything like you.”

  Arturo didn’t reply for several minutes. When he did, it was to remind her to play the servant as well as she could manage until, and if, they felt it was safe to reveal her true identity. Playing the part of the servant meant doing as she was told and keeping quiet. She’d faked it before, and would do so again, if it meant keeping them all alive.

  Lights appeared ahead, though only a few, and only up high. At first she thought the lights were coming from the real world, then she realized they flickered. Firelight. They rode upon another castle. Sakamoto’s.

  Lightning tore across the sky, revealing a fortress built of thick stone, its walls a good twenty feet high and lit by torches. Guards walked atop the ramparts with what appeared to be some kind of machine guns strapped to their backs. She wondered if the guns carried wooden bullets.

  “Wait here,” Lukas told them. She could hear the pounding of his hoofbeats on the wet ground as he rode forward alone.

  “Lukas Olsson to see Sakamoto,” he called out.

  “And why do you travel with Gonzaga’s snake?” one of the guards replied from the ramparts. Even from that distance, he’d recognized Arturo.

  “Our world dies and we have need of his assistance in order to save it.”

  At least there was no arguing that point. Even as Lukas said the words, the earth shook violently. One of the torches tumbled off the wall and snuffed out in a puddle on the ground.

  Minutes passed and nothing happened, long miserable minutes as the rain continued to fall in cold, endless sheets. Quinn’s shivering intensified.

  “You must be warmed, cara,” Arturo said quietly. “But I cannot aid you, yet.”

  “I know.” Her glamour was one of a slave, and an immortal who couldn’t catch pneumonia and die. “I’ll be f-fine.” She was far more concerned with the tension running through her companions, a tension she knew meant they were prepared for battle.

  Suddenly a light appeared low in the massive wall, and a door opened, revealing a guard standing in the doorway.

  “Sakamoto will see you, Lukas. Bring Arturo and his Slava, but no others.”

  “No,” Arturo said, riding to Lukas’s side. “He will see all of us. The matter is of most urgency.”

  The door closed on them. And once more, they waited, minute after miserable minute. Quinn sneezed, struggling to separate her mind from the intense discomfort of her body. Finally, the door opened again.

  “He will see you a
ll, but you will leave your mounts and your weapons outside.”

  Quinn could hear her companions dismounting, so struggled to do the same, but she was so stiff with cold that she wound up sliding off the animal with little grace.

  “Your weapons, cara,” Arturo said, beside her all of a sudden.

  “I have a gun and a stake. And a penknife.”

  “Place them in my hands, please.”

  Quinn did as directed, her fingers numb and awkward. She hated handing over her gun, but it was so wet it was probably no longer functioning anyway.

  A moment later, Arturo took her by the upper arm and led her to the doorway and into a well-lit Japanese garden beyond which a huge staircase rose to the massive doors of the main building. The doors were flanked on either side by guards dressed in Samurai suits of armor.

  It occurred to him that all the plants were in pots, for nothing but dead trees grew naturally in Vamp City. She wondered how they keep plants alive without sunlight.

  You shiver uncontrollably, amore mio, Arturo said to her telepathically as they climbed the stairs. I will see you warm as quickly as I am able.

  “I’ll survive,” she whispered through numb lips.

  You must.

  Finally, they stepped inside the main hall, out of the rain, at last. While the hall had Japanese accents and a red and black color scheme going, it was far more Western in appearance than the garden outside had led her to believe. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings, plush lounges graced the walls.

  The guard led them down a long hall and into a room alight with two huge hearths, both of which now boasted roaring fires. Quinn pulled free of Arturo’s grip and made a beeline for the closest, turned her back to it, then sighed with relief as the heat hit her sodden body.

  Her gaze slowly took in the rest of the room—the wood paneling decorated with paintings of Japanese landscapes and tigers, the low, beamed ceiling, and the man sitting cross-legged on a cushion on the floor before a low black lacquer table. He was clearly Asian, probably Sakamoto, his head bald and round, his eyes sharp as he surveyed his guests.

  Standing behind him, one on either side, were a striking man and woman, their skin a rich, dark mahogany, their features almost identical. The woman was nearly as tall as the man, both close to six and a half feet tall. The man wore only a pair of red silk pants, his muscular chest gleaming in the firelight. The woman, as beautiful as he was handsome, wore a sleeveless red silk sheath that floated to just below her knees.

  Against the opposite wall, another man sat indolently draped across a comfortable-looking black leather armchair. His light brown hair was in need of a trim, his expression bored as he held a brandy snifter in one hand and a cigar in the other. He barely appeared old enough to enjoy either legally. He couldn’t be more than twenty.

  Six other males of various races stood at attention around the room, all dressed in the armor of the Samurai. On second thought, they were almost certainly all of the same race. Emora vampire.

  The male she assumed was Sakamoto motioned to the cushions on the other side of the table from him. “Sit. All of you.” His gaze turned to her. “Except for you, sorceress. The weather is not to your liking, no?”

  Quinn tensed. So he’d figured out who she was. Still, she was glad he wasn’t insisting she leave the warmth of the fire, as yet. She was only just beginning to stop shivering.

  The vamp master glanced back at the female standing behind him and gave a nod. The woman strode quickly from the room and Quinn wondered if it was to fetch a slave to feed them, to fetch several to torture in front of them. Or to send word to Cristoff that he had her.

  Heaven only knew.

  “Why do you believe she’s the sorceress?” Arturo asked Sakamoto carefully, his tone deceptively mild.

  “My cats.” Sakamoto waved his hand as if to include the dark-skinned twins, one of whom remained behind him staring fixedly at her. “They are talented seers. I knew you were coming long before you arrived, Arturo Mazza. I knew you brought the sorceress with you. And I know why. What I am not certain about is why Cristoff’s loyal snake betrays him.” Once more, he motioned to the cushions in front of his table. “I bid you sit, my friends.”

  Arturo hesitated. Wariness traced along Quinn’s shoulder blades as she watched him. In her experience, a solicitous vamp master was a lot like a friendly rattlesnake. Plus she felt as if she were under a microscope. The seer…the cat—and what did that mean?…kept watching her as if she were a fascinating puzzle he wanted to figure out. Across the room, the bored-looking cigar smoker eyed her as if he wanted to make her his dinner. Which meant he was likely not a twenty-year-old, but a vampire.

  Finally, Arturo stepped forward and lowered himself, cross-legged, onto one of the cushions, and his friends moved to join him.

  Suddenly, the cigar-smoker appeared in front of her. She’d been distracted by the others and hadn’t seen him move. Without warning, he grabbed her, sinking his fangs into her neck on a river of fire.

  Quinn screamed with pain and fury even as she ripped him off her and slammed the asshole to the ground, pinning him there with her magic. When she looked up, she found that her friends had risen, presumably to come to her aid, but were now surrounded, no fewer than two blades pressed against each of their throats.

  Lifting her free hand, she pressed against the warmth flowing down her chest, then pulled it away to find her palm covered with blood. The asshole vampire had done more than bite her. He’d ripped her neck wide open.

  Chapter 23

  “If she bleeds to death, Vamp City will die.” Arturo’s voice rang across the room, low and hard. “Let me go to her.”

  As the blood continued to run down her neck, Quinn glared at the vampire she’d pinned to the floor through will alone. The male met her gaze with a mix of amusement and anger.

  “Go,” Sakamoto said.

  The two guards on either side of Arturo stepped back and a second later he was at her side, holding her.

  “Tesoro,” he groaned, dipping his head to the other side of her neck from the wound, and biting her. The injury is not as bad as I had feared. My bite should be sufficient. I am sorry I could not stop him.

  Finally he pulled back, wiping his mouth as he eyed the wound, his brows knit together.

  “I’ve been properly whipped for my bad manners,” the young-looking vampire said from the ground. “How about you let me get up now?”

  Quinn turned hard eyes on him, meeting a laconic gaze. “I’ve been needing someone to practice my death touch on. I’m thinking you might do nicely.”

  No fear leapt into the asshole’s eyes, disappointingly. Just more amusement.

  “It is best if you do not kill him, cara,” Arturo said, his voice loud enough for all to hear. “He is the one whose assistance we seek.”

  Quinn stifled a groan even as she continued to stare down the vampire on the floor. “You’re Tassard? Centuries and centuries of living and you still haven’t learned any manners?” Her voice hardened. “You attack me again, and I will kill you.”

  “Release me,” Tassard growled.

  When she glanced at Arturo, he nodded, so she did. A moment later Tassard was gone, reappearing at the bar in the corner where he proceeded to pour himself another brandy.

  Quinn took a deep breath and released it slowly, breathing through the diminishing pain.

  Arturo peered again at her neck. “The bleeding has stopped.”

  “Good.” Her clothes were not only soaked with rain, but now with blood. And she was, once more, beginning to shiver.

  “You need a blanket.”

  “I’ll be fine as long as I can stand by the fire.”

  “Have a seat, Arturo,” Sakamoto said, his voice sharper than it had been before. “There will be no more attacking my guests, Tassard.”

  The ancient vampire shrugged. “I wanted a taste.”

  Sakamoto turned to Quinn. “My apologies, sorceress. As you say, my guest has poor manners. If
he harms you again, I will slay him.”

  The look Tassard threw the vamp master was laced with a wariness that told Quinn that the threat was not idle.

  Sakamoto took his seat and again waved to the cushions across from him. “Sit. Sit.”

  Arturo met Quinn’s gaze and she could see he was torn.

  “Go,” she said quietly. “Use your wiles to get us what we need.”

  Amusement flickered in his eyes briefly before he turned and strode back to the low table, taking his seat. Micah and Lukas joined him, one on either side, but Kassius remained standing against the back wall watching everything…and everyone.

  “You stated that you know why I am here,” Arturo said. “I would hear your explanation.”

  Sakamoto gave a single slow nod. “I believe…I know…that the sorceress’s power rivals Phineas Blackstone’s. Yet twice she has attempted to renew the magic and twice she has failed.” A frown furrowed his brow. “What I do not know is why.”

  Arturo seemed to consider his words. “She has Levenach blood as well as Blackstone. Her father was descended from one, her mother from the other.” He’d yet to use his persuasion, his ability to exert low levels of mind control, but so far she supposed it hadn’t been needed.

  “The Levenach curse,” Sakamoto murmured.

  “Yes. It strangles her Blackstone magic. The curse must be broken if Vamp City is to survive.”

  “Does Cristoff know you are here?”

  “You know he does not. His…plans…are not in the best interest of Vamp City.”

  “Cristoff Gonzaga and I have been rivals since Vamp City was first conceived. But I find it hard to believe that you fear he would not act in the best interest of even his own kovena, his own vampires.”

  “Then you’ve had few dealings with Cristoff of late.”