A Kiss of Blood(17)

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 fell 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.

But the attack had not quelled Cristoff's fury. He grabbed the Slava who'd handed him the towel, threw her down onto the hard pool deck, lifted his foot, and brought it down hard.

"Where is that bitch? Someone find me the sorceress!"

The crack of ribs accompanied the woman's agonized screams.

"Where is she?"

Slavas would heal most injuries quickly enough. The words Arturo had told himself a hundred times flowed through his head, but this time found no purchase. There was no excusing such barbarity, such cruelty against not only an innocent, but one of his own.

Arturo clenched his fist against the need to do something, and struggled to keep his face a mask of indifference. How had he remained complacent in the face of Cristoff's brutality for so long?

His pulse thundered in his ears. It was Quinn whom Cristoff attacked in absentia, Quinn who would suffer his rage if he ever got his hands on her again.

"Find her," Cristoff said, turning to Arturo, his voice more plea than demand. "If anyone can, it will be you, my snake. You'll find her, and you'll return her to me. You've never failed me, my loyal one. Never."

For a moment, Arturo saw the echo of the friend Cristoff used to be behind the mask of the monster he'd become. Could he be saved? Was the old Cristoff still in there?

He prayed, for all their sakes, it was so.

"I will not fail you, Master." And he wouldn't. Quinn would renew the magic of Vamp City, saving them all. Then she'd disappear back into the real world before Cristoff discovered that his snake was also his traitor.