A Blood Seduction (20 page)

He mirrored her frown, then cupped her face in his hands, looking at her in earnest. “This is the truth, Quinn. You must understand it. My loyalty is to Cristoff. His needs and desires come first above those of anyone else, including myself.” His smile was small, his eyes deep and fathomless. “But I do not hate you either,
tessoro.
I quite like you. And I would not see you come to harm.”

“You’ll protect me. But never from Cristoff.”

He slid his fingers into her hair, running the blond locks between his fingers. “Correct. And no, never from Cristoff.”

He’d protect her from all but the worst of the monsters—the master who ruled them all. Which was little protection. And yet, she believed him.

“Will you continue to lie to me?”

The charmer smile blossomed. “I am what I am.”

She laughed despite herself. “A hopelessly unapologetic reprobate.”

He grinned, his eyes going tender. “A pretty sound, your laughter. I would hear it more often.” He kissed her forehead. “I fear I am a reprobate who cannot stop thinking about you.” His lips brushed her cheek. “About the beauty of your breasts or the feel of your satin flesh beneath my hands.” His mouth teased the corner of her own. “Or the cry of your passion when pleasure breaks over you.” His lips grazed her jaw, then slid to her neck. “The sweet smell of your skin invades my thoughts at the most inopportune times, and your taste.” Once more, he rose and claimed her lips, sliding his tongue deeply into her mouth.

Quinn moaned, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving herself up to his kiss.

As he pulled back, she pressed her hand to his cheek, marveling at the feel of him. No longer cool. “Kissing makes you warm.”

“Only when I kiss you.” He smiled, running his fingers lightly down the sides of her neck. “You may smell like sunlight, but you taste of peaches, utterly delectable.” Their gazes caught and held until she thought she might happily drown in those dark pools. “Someday soon, you will open your arms and your thighs and welcome me,
cara.
But not today.” He gave her nose a tiny kiss, then released her. “Sleep, Quinn.” A moment later, he was gone, the lock clicking into place.

Quinn leaned back against the door, running her own fingers through her hair, hair he’d been playing with just moments before. He made her feel soft and excited, warm and unsatisfied. At once marvelously content and thoroughly frustrated on so many levels. He was stubborn and unbending and yet . . . sweet. Loving. And what strange, strange words to attribute to a vampire.

With a sigh, she pushed away from the door and poured herself another glass of wine. He’d told her to get some sleep, which meant she wouldn’t see him again for hours. And she didn’t even have a clock or a window to give her any clue of the time.

She picked up the book Grant sent and sat on the floor beside the washstand. Starting at the beginning, she quickly began to skim, searching for any reference to a Blackstone. Soon, the words began to run together, and she knew she was about to nod off, which wasn’t a bad thing. Sleep was the best way to make the time pass. But as she flipped the page to see how many more she had until the end of the chapter, her eyes started playing tricks on her. The type beneath her fingers began to dance and fade.

As she stared at the page, the type slowly disappeared, handwriting appearing in its place—a tight male scrawl she could nevertheless read clearly.

Her pulse began to race.

My dearest Quinn,

I am writing to you in sorcerer’s text, which you will be able to reply to by writing over the same page with your finger. Only another sorcerer can see it, so our communication is perfectly safe. It is being said that you escaped V.C. in a sunbeam. Is this true?

Your humble servant,

Grant Blackstone

For long minutes, Quinn stared at the writing, reading it over and over as chills ran down her spine. This was true magic.

Finally, she set her finger to the page beneath Grant’s note.

Yes. The sun burst through outside Arturo’s house, and I could see my world in it. I ran into the sunbeam and out of V.C.

Now what? She supposed she’d have to ask Arturo to send the book back to Grant and hope— New writing appeared, overlaying the old.

It is rare for one to see either world from the other, even in a sunbeam. Is that how you found your way into V.C. in the first place?

She pressed her finger to the page and replied.

If this is one of the parlor tricks you were talking about, Grant, I can’t imagine what kind of power . . .

She stopped. She’d been about to write,
a real sorcerer might have
, but that would probably offend him. Especially since she was supposedly one herself. Good grief, his father had created V.C. Created this entire world.
That
was real power.

She started a new line.

Yes. I’d been getting short glimpses of V.C. for several weeks. Then a friend went missing, and as my brother and I searched for her, I saw your world clearly in front of me. My brother and I got sucked inside. After I escaped, I returned to look for my brother and ended up in a slave auction. So much for brilliant plans.

Your brother?

My half brother, Zack. I have to find him and Lily, who is the friend who went missing. I suspect she might be here, too, somewhere.

She stopped writing, then pressed her finger once more to the paper.

Can you help me find them?

She waited for a response. And waited.

Was that it, then? Was the exchange over?

And suddenly the original text reappeared, the finger-written conversation bare shadows on the page. Shadows she suspected only a sorcerer would see.

And now yet another person refused to help her find Zack. Well screw them both. She’d find Zack herself.

The righteous determination left her on a defeated sigh. Who was she kidding? She was trapped as completely as any rat in a cage. Escaping Cristoff would take a miracle.

Or a hell of a lot of magic.

Chapter Twelve

T
he next morning, Arturo led Quinn out the back of the mansion to where several horses stood, their reins held by vampire guards. The dirt had turned to mud in the overnight downpour. The morning had dawned dark—as they all did around here—and stiflingly humid, a light fog obscuring what little she’d normally be able to see. There was a reason this part of D.C. had been named Foggy Bottom at some point in the distant past.

Arturo stepped off the bottom step onto the muddy ground, but when she would have followed, he held her back with his hand, reached for the reins of one of the horses, and pulled it toward her.

Quinn backed up a step as the massive head swung her way. She looked to Arturo with disbelief. “You want me to get on it?”

His mouth kicked up on one side. “I wish you to mount, yes.”

Great.
Okay, she’d seen Westerns on television. She could do this. When Arturo had the horse parked parallel to the step, she reached up and grabbed the pommel, lifted her knee nearly to her shoulder, and managed to get her foot in the stirrup. With a lot less grace than she’d have liked, she swung aboard the big animal.

Arturo handed her the reins. “Don’t move,” he warned, then mounted another horse, a big black one, with an ease that made her envious.

A chill went through her as she caught sight of Cristoff, a short distance away, already mounted and waiting. Today he was dressed in what appeared in the low light to be a purple silk shirt. Were those really purple pants? Mounted on another horse near him was a young man, perhaps a few years older than Zack, dressed in the style of the nineteenth century, his shirt white, his sleeves wide, his pants black. His dark blond hair brushed his shoulders, framing a good-looking, if ill-tempered, face.

Arturo brought his horse beside hers and took the reins from her hands. “Since you’ve never ridden, I’ll lead.”

“You don’t think I can drive this thing?”

His eyes laughed at her. “I’ll teach you to ride when the ground is no longer mud.”

She supposed that was fair, especially since she didn’t need anything else to worry about today. Not with Cristoff so close, the threat of magic breathing down her neck, and the threat of failure and what that might bring.

When Arturo didn’t kick his horse into gear, she looked at him with confusion. “What are we waiting for?”

“Grant.”

“Oh. Who’s the guy with Cristoff?”

“That is Sheridan Blackstone
.
”

“Grant’s brother?” Holy shit, that
young man
was over 150 years old. She could see the family resemblance between the two brothers, each with that dark blond hair and the strong, attractive features. But Sheridan still possessed the leanness of youth while Grant had filled out into a man.

“They look so much more than a year apart. Is that because Sheridan was turned?”

Arturo nodded. “Slavas sometimes continue to age for a time, even after they’ve turned immortal. Not always, and those who do, generally quit aging by thirty or thirty-five. Grant was one of the latter. Vampires remain whatever age they were when they were turned.”

“How old was Sheridan?”

“Twenty-four.”

“That’s kind of young.”

“He was not given the choice.”

Perhaps that’s why he looked so sullen. Although after 130 years, she’d have thought a guy would get over something like that. Maybe not.

Several minutes later, the back door opened, and Grant descended the stairs unhurriedly, as if he were the first one there instead of the last.

“Nice of you to join us, sorcerer,” Cristoff drawled from across the courtyard.

“This is a waste of time. She’ll never pull the magic on a null day.”

“We’ll find out, will we not?”

Grant mounted the remaining horse with an ease that rivaled Arturo’s. Immediately, Cristoff and the Blackstone brothers started toward the gate.

Arturo followed after them, leading Quinn on her horse. She felt like a five-year-old. It was true that she’d never tried to drive something that had a mind of its own. Well, other than the ancient Oldsmobile she’d had in high school that refused to start whenever the temperature dropped below freezing and had a nasty habit of stalling at stoplights whenever she was late. But she was pretty sure she could figure it out. Really, how hard could it be to snap the reins, and say,
giddyap
?

Then again, Arturo rode as if he and the horse were one, with a beautifully flowing motion and strength, while she bounced along, her butt slapping the saddle with every stride of the beast. She was definitely going to need lessons if she got stuck here too long.

As they left the gates, a full dozen of Cristoff’s vampire guards joined them, half leading the way, the other half bringing up the rear. Clearly, Cristoff was taking no chances, though whether he feared his rivals or one of the other creatures that made its home in the Crux, she didn’t know. They headed north, and it only took a few blocks before the remnants of old buildings gave way to open mud fields interspersed with dead forests. The City of Washington in 1870 hadn’t extended much past modern-day downtown, apparently. The rest of D.C., she was beginning to realize, had been distinctly rural.

Quinn glanced at Grant. A dozen times last night, she’d opened the book he’d sent her, hoping to find another message, but none had appeared. There wasn’t much chance they’d be able to talk today, certainly not privately. Not surrounded by fifteen vampires.

The ride was slow though it became more manageable as the ground became less and less muddy. Apparently, last night’s downpour had been fairly isolated. But as the horse moved faster, Quinn only bounced more in the saddle, until she began to wish the mud would return.

How did they know where they were going? Even after the fog lifted, the landscape rolled on in every direction, with few if any landmarks, though she did see an occasional stream or pond. And an occasional house. Houses that actually appeared to be lived in. The question was, by what?

“Who lives out here?” Quinn asked quietly.

Arturo heard her and brought her horse up closer to his so they could talk more easily. “We’re traveling the wolf lands at present, though Rippers are known to haunt the Crux as well.”

“Rippers?”

“Another race of vampire. They feed only on blood, not emotion. But unlike the Emoras, they lose all conscience when they are turned, all trace of humanity. They live to feed, and they do so without mercy.”

Vampires that were even more dangerous than the ones she’d met. This place just kept getting better and better.

“How big is Vamp City, anyway?”

“Approximately six miles in diameter. The vampires wanted a large dark city, far larger than Washington City, so Phineas Blackstone rode to nearly the center of the ten-mile square that was originally D.C. to perform his magic. The city he created extends out approximately three miles in every direction from that spot. The Boundary Circle is where the vamps enter and exit the dark city . . . or did when the magic was intact. Most of the kovenas have strongholds near the Boundary. The unclaimed land around the kovenas we call the Nod. The large, unclaimed center, the Crux. It’s a dangerous place, home to the wolves and Rippers and anyone else who longs to stay away from the kovenas and has the fortitude to survive.”

“How are there wolves in V.C.? There haven’t been wolves in the D.C. area in centuries.”

“Werewolves,
cara.
”

“Oh.”
Shit.
“Don’t the wolves and Rippers kill one another?”

“All the time.”

“And are we in danger of being attacked?”

“Yes, of course.” He eyed her expectantly.

Quinn glared at him. “You’re waiting for my fear.”

He smiled that devilish smile of his. “A small morsel, perhaps.”

“I thought you didn’t like my fear.”

“I do not. Particularly when that fear is of me.”

But he’d happily make her afraid of something else. Or he was just being contrary. She rolled her eyes. “So we’re not really in much danger?”

The vampire shrugged. “It is unlikely they’ll attack so many of us. Especially since we follow a straight path to the Focus, the very heart of the circle, where the magic still throbs with power. All know that Cristoff alone possesses Blackstone’s sons. And most wish for V.C.’s magic to be renewed. Most wolves, at least. The Rippers rarely give much thought to consequences. They seek only the kill.” He nodded front. “Look ahead. You can see the Focus.”

She saw only the backs of the Blackstone brothers, riding directly ahead, at first. As they crested a small hill with dead trees on either side, she glimpsed a flash of colored light ahead. And suddenly she had a clear view of what appeared to be a small aurora borealis grounded and writhing in one fixed and open spot, its colors a brilliant blend of fuchsia, orange, and blue.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“None but a sorcerer can walk through it.”

She looked at him in surprise. “What happens?”

“If I try to breach the Focus, it will throw me back like any good science-fiction force field.”

“Except this one’s real.”

He nodded. “This one is real.”

As they neared, Quinn watched, fascinated by the pulsing, gyrating colors that appeared to form a small dome over the ground, perhaps the size of a one-car garage. Finally, they were upon it, and Cristoff’s guard rode to encircle the Focus, facing out to fight off any enemy.

Arturo dismounted, then grasped her waist and pulled her down before she could even attempt it on her own. Quinn gripped his shoulders as he set her on the ground, which was, thankfully, solid.

“You’re nervous,” he murmured.

Always the fear-feeder. “I’m fine.” But he knew the truth. He knew exactly her level of anxiety, and she
was
nervous. Despite having tried to push the chamber pot, she wasn’t at all sure she was ready to come face-to-face with her magic again. But it was Cristoff who scared her most.

Together, she and Arturo walked to where the vamp master waited with the two Blackstone brothers, her heart rate escalating with every step. Quinn avoided Cristoff’s gaze as they joined the threesome, nodding instead to Grant.

Grant returned her nod in kind, then turned and headed toward the shimmering lights. “Come.”

Quinn started after him without hesitation, anxious for any excuse to escape Cristoff’s company. As Sheridan fell into step beside her, she turned to him. “I’m Quinn.”

“I know who you are.”

“And you’re clearly not happy to meet me.” How could a hundred-fifty-year-old man act so much like an ill-tempered teen?

He looked at her sharply, then away. “Were you expecting a brotherly hug?”

Her eyes narrowed. “And why would I expect that? Are we related?”

“How should I know?”

Fine, wonderful.
Apparently all vampires were a pain in the ass, one way or another. They followed Grant the rest of the short distance in silence. Without pausing, Grant stepped right into the swirling mass of color. Quinn’s eyes widened, and she followed, with a quick, mental,
here goes nothing.

It was far from
nothing
. Like the sunbeams where the worlds bled through, she felt that strange tingling on her arms, the hair rising. But the magic here was far more dense. It was thick, like a heavy fog that clung to her skin, soaking in. No,
digging
in. It felt . . . strange. Uncomfortable, like fingers poking beneath her flesh.

“What’s going to happen?” she asked, as they reached the center and turned toward one another.

Grant answered. “Sheridan knows the ritual but has little sorcerer’s power. I have more, but not enough. We’re hoping that by joining ours with yours, we’ll have enough to renew the magic.”

“So I don’t have to do anything?”

Sheridan glared at her. “You could shut up.”

Grant gave his brother a look of disgust. “Ignore him, Quinn. Everyone else does.”

Suddenly, Grant was hanging two feet off the ground, his brother’s hand around his throat as the younger Blackstone flashed a pair of wicked fangs.

“Sheridan!” Cristoff shouted from outside the aurora.

Sheridan ignored his vamp master for half a dozen seconds before dropping his brother to the dirt. The pair glared at one another, the animosity thick between them. Then, in that way men had of shaking off discord, they appeared to forget their animosity a moment later. As one, they turned to her, each reaching for one of her hands. Their palms pressed against hers, one human-warm, the other vampire-cool.

The second they gripped one another’s hands, completing the circle, a stinging heat clawed at her palms, and she jerked away from them, running her hands down her hips, easing the ache.

“What happened?” Grant asked. They were both staring at her.

She looked at them in surprise. “Didn’t you feel that?”