A Kiss of Blood(45)

He rose and came around the table, holding his hand out to her. When she placed her hand in his, he helped her to her feet and pulled her into his arms, pressing her cheek to his shoulder, offering acceptance and understanding. He stroked her head, and she let him, needing this. Needing him.

"You are powerful, carissima, and that is a wonderful thing. You must not be ashamed or sorry for the gifts you've been given. Instead, you must learn to control them so that you use them only when you intend, and so that you never again inadvertently hurt someone."

"I can't exactly go around practicing that." Pulling back, she looked at him. "Unless you're volunteering?"

She said it with a smile, and humor lit his eyes. "No. That I will not volunteer for. But if ever again you are caught by someone who means you harm, do not hesitate to use everything you have against him, Quinn. Even that."

"I know. You're right."

He smiled and kissed her temple. "I usually am."

She lifted a brow.

He shrugged in a charming, self-deprecating fashion. "When you are six hundred years old, usually leaves a lot of room for error."

Quinn snorted and pulled away. "Shall I throw around some more chairs?"

"I would rather you try to make a bubble."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Why is that?"

"Because I don't want to catch you in it. And I don't want to get trapped in it myself." She cocked her head, considering. "Vampires can come and go from the Vamp City bubble at will. But not werewolves or humans. Why is that?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps because Phineas Blackstone wove that into the magic. Or possibly because that is the way bubbles . . . and vampires . . . are made. I would experience this bubble with you, cara. We shall see, together, whether or not a vampire can leave it easily."

"What if I use up all of my power, then can't access it when I need it tomorrow?"

"A legitimate concern, certainly. But I suspect that the more you practice, the more you'll be able to do. Try it?"

She released a hard sigh and rose. "Okay."

Arturo came to stand behind her, sliding his arms around her waist. "Create your bubble, tesoro."

"Right." Taking a deep breath, trying to ignore the hard male pressed against her back, she lifted her hands . . . and dropped them again. How had she done this last time? Lifting her hands again, she closed her eyes, found again that river of power running beneath her skin and imagined it flowing into her hands as she created a bubble around them. On the count of three. One, two, three.

Power blasted from her hands, obliterating the card table, picnic basket, and half the wall behind it.

"Shit," she cried, pulling away from him, raking her hands through her hair. "I don't know what I'm doing!"

She heard his low chuckle. "Apparently not."

Whirling on him, she pointed a finger at his chest. "You laugh. You could have been sitting in that chair."

"I've come to realize that behind you is the safest place to be."

She huffed, then shook her head in a quick, clarifying burst. "All right, let me try it again." But after three more tries the sofa was lodged in the wall, one of the recliners upside down on top of it. And still no bubble. Thank God the ceiling hadn't fallen.

"I was tied to a stake when I called it the first time. And angry." Terrified. "The ability probably springs from my emotions, as everything else seems to do."

"It was not that way for Phineas Blackstone."

"Maybe not, but he was a powerful sorcerer with many years of experience."

"And you shall be powerful, too."

From all indications, he was right. And as mixed as her emotions were about being a sorceress at all, with power came strength-the strength to protect herself and others. And she absolutely wanted as much of that as she could get.

Arturo lifted a hand, his thumb stroking her cheekbone, the bridge of her nose, her eyebrow, his gaze growing more intense, as if he were studying her in minute detail.

"What are you doing?" she asked quietly.

"Memorizing your face. I shall miss you, amore mio."

"Will you really let me go when this is over? Without a fight?"

A smile lit his eyes. "A fight I'm no longer likely to win." His expression sobered. "Yes, I will let you go. I will insist upon it." His hand cupped her cheek. "But I will not want to."

The breath caught in her throat, her chest hurting. "I'm going to miss you, Vampire."

His thumb traced her bottom lip. "And I you. Perhaps you will allow me to visit from time to time. If there is no other male in your life, or in your bed?"

"I think I'd like that." She pressed her cheek into his hand. His skin was cool again, but his eyes so warm. The thought of leaving him saddened her in a way she couldn't comprehend.

He leaned forward slowly, drawing out the anticipation as his lips brushed hers in a whisper-light touch, then moved against them more firmly, more insistently.

Need stirred inside her, and she began to tremble from the knowledge that this might be the last time they were alone like this. As if he heard her thoughts, or shared them, both of his hands slid into her hair, and the kiss turned harder, hotter, until her arms were around his neck, her mouth devouring his as his devoured hers.

The next thing she knew, she was in his arms, cradled against his chest as he rose and started up the stairs.

Her arms still around his neck, she kissed the corner of his eye, and his cheek, pressing her forehead against his temple. He smelled so good. Being in his arms felt so . . . right. For this moment, for this night, he was hers. Tomorrow could wait.

He carried her into a bedroom that had been furnished with two sets of bunk beds. Beds that, amazingly, appeared to have been recently made. But she remembered who this house belonged to. Neo. And she knew this must be temporary housing for escapees. A house now devoid of furniture on the main level, thanks to her.

Arturo set her on her feet in the middle of the room and took her into his arms, claiming her mouth as she claimed his. Heat rushed through her veins, weakening her even as it strengthened. Emotion pulsed inside her chest, a need, a desperation, to memorize every touch-the warmth of his lips on hers, the rough scrape of his tongue, the swelling of his fangs as they crowded his mouth, crowding their kiss, the firm brush of his fingers as they tangled possessively, tenderly in her hair. She vowed to remember every moment of this and everything about him-his warm, almond scent, his cool, crisp taste, the gleam of passion in his eyes as he gripped her head and rained kisses over every inch of her face.

He pulled back, still holding her in that gentle vise, his gaze traveling the path his lips had just taken. His eyes pulsed with longing, and the same sadness that throbbed inside her, the knowledge that this might well be their last night together, whether all went well tomorrow, or terribly, terribly wrong.

Quinn lifted her hands, cupping his jaw, running her thumbs over his cheeks as she memorized his face in return-the strong bones, the lovely gold of his Mediterranean skin, his dark hair, his straight nose, his full, beautiful mouth. And his dark eyes, golden brown in the firelight, centered white with hunger yet alive with tenderness and yearning.

His eyes beckoned her into their warm depths, promising the things that had so long been missing from her life-tenderness, closeness, affection. Acceptance. She'd known more of those with him than with anyone, including the parents who'd raised her. The thought of losing that again, of losing him, ripped something loose inside of her.

She didn't want to feel this way. She refused to need anyone. And she didn't. But Heaven help her, she would miss him.

"Vampire," she breathed.

He kissed her forehead, then pulled back, a softness in his eyes that melted her from the inside out.

"Turo," he said, whisper-soft. "You called me Turo, before and I would hear it on your lips again."

"Turo . . ." She smiled slowly, the pressure building against her ribs. "Make love to me, Turo. I don't ever want to forget."

His own smile bloomed, mirroring hers, his eyes deep wells she could drown in. "You will not forget." Slowly, he pulled off her shirt but left her bra, trailing his mouth over her shoulder, across her chest, into the hollow at the base of her throat, as if he would taste every inch of her.

She gripped his waist, tugging at his shirt, needing to feel his flesh against her palms. Pulling back, he released her to remove his shirt, meeting her gaze with that slow, seductive smile. Reaching for him, she pressed her hands against his kiss-warmed flesh, reveling in the hard play of muscles beneath her palms.

Leaning forward, she kissed his chest, tasting him, exploring, memorizing, adoring him as he had her, her lips on his chest, his shoulders, his biceps.

With a groan, part pleasure, part frustration, he unfastened her bra, then, to her consternation, turned her away from him.

"What are you doing?" she breathed, then understood when he brushed her long hair over one shoulder and pressed his mouth against her back shoulder blade. As his lips moved down her spine, his hands found her breasts, kneading them, playing with them as he held her close.

She slid her fingers over the backs of his caressing hands, running her palms up his forearms, touching him even as he touched, kissed, and fondled her. As his kisses reached the back waistband of her jeans, his fingers found her button and zipper.