Pamela Palmer - [Vamp City 02]

by A Kiss of Blood

  Finally, the energy burst free, sending both wolves flying—Peach Fuzz out through the door of her cage, Gunroth into the inner bars. But two seconds later, they were on their feet, coming back for more. And with the energy dissipated, she didn’t have any more to give.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  In the hallway just outside, she heard the low, vicious growl of yet another wolf, and her heart sank. She was so dead.

  But to her astonishment, the smaller wolf, Peach Fuzz, sank to the floor, whimpering in supplication. The larger, Gunroth, tensed as if suddenly torn. But he made his decision quickly enough. He leaped at her, mouth open wide as if ready to take the biggest chunk out of her he could get.

  Her pounding heart stopped suddenly as a third wolf raced into her cage, taking Gunroth down. Sharp fangs snapped closed inches from Quinn’s thigh, then Gunroth was on the floor, his wolf’s neck caught tight between the other wolf’s jaws. He gave a whine of submission, and the larger wolf released him, backing off him to shift into a man in a process that was neither fast nor slow and appeared to cause little pain.

  Quinn stared, her heart thundering as the male eyed her with a hard gaze. He was taller than Gunroth, his shoulders massive, his dark hair falling in waves to his shoulders, his eyes black as a Vamp City night.

  “Leave us,” he snapped.

  Peach Fuzz and Gunroth ran in wolf form, Peach Fuzz whining as he went.

  Quinn stared at the male, wondering if he’d saved her from death or simply meant to keep her all for himself.

  Stepping forward, he gripped her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I will remove your gag, sorceress. But if you utter the first word of magic, I’ll snap your neck and eat your remains. Is that understood?”

  Quinn nodded. An easy promise since she didn’t know any magic.

  The shifter did as promised, untying the gag and pulling it from her lips, tossing it on the floor.

  Moving her lips, stretching her sore jaw, Quinn watched him.

  “Are you the one Cristoff searches for?” Black eyes bore into her, and she hesitated, knowing Arturo didn’t want the wolves knowing any more than they had to. At the moment, she could pass for someone else, thanks to her glamour. But if they didn’t get out of here soon, the glamour would fail, and they’d know the truth, and know they’d been lied to. And she was pretty sure this male would not appreciate being lied to.

  “I am. As far as I know, I’m the only one who can save Vamp City.”

  “Then why did you run?”

  Apparently, all of Vamp City knew she’d gone missing.

  She swallowed, wondering how much to tell him. Arturo was so much better at this than she was. “I didn’t run. Cristoff was torturing me. One of the vampires didn’t like it and got me out of there.”

  “The one who was with you just now?”

  “No. Another.” That, at least, was the truth. Technically, Kassius had been the one to spring her though at Arturo’s request. “How did you know Cristoff lost the sorceress?”

  “All of Vamp City knows. The fact that a sorceress had been found spread like wildfire. The news that she’d subsequently been lost spread just as fast.”

  “The vampire I was captured with . . .” Her breath caught. “Where is he?”

  “In the trough.” He sniffed her, his nose in her hair, dipping to her neck.

  The magic that had never died sparked again beneath her skin.

  “What’s the trough?”

  The alpha straightened. “You do not smell of magic. Yet your eyes are glowing.”

  “It’s what happens when I’m threatened.”

  He watched her with interest. “Then I do not threaten you. Not now.” His eyes narrowed even as he sighed. “In truth, I’m not sure what I’m going to do with you.”

  She’d like to ask him what the options were, but was afraid she wouldn’t like any of them. “What’s the trough?” she persisted.

  “The feeding tray where my wolves will feast off of him. Food is scarce. And while vampire flesh is tough and stringy, it renews constantly as long as we don’t accidentally kill him.”

  My God. They were eating him alive.

  She had to swallow back the bile. Oh, Vampire.

  “It distresses you that the vampire suffers,” the wolf leader murmured, surprised. “He may not have freed you, but you care for him just the same.”

  She had to learn to hide her reactions better. “He’s not like some of the others.” She remembered another woman, a Slava, saying the same about another vampire, one Quinn had watched die at the hands of furious humans. Delilah. “You’re not the alpha of the Herewood pack, are you? I know Narina’s sister, Delilah.”

  “I am not.” He looked at her with interest. “How do you know the alpha’s mate’s sister?”

  “I met her a few weeks ago. I’d like to see her again.”

  “We are enemies of the Herewood pack.”

  Of course they were. That would have been too simple. “My arms are killing me. How about we have this discussion with me no longer chained?”

  “What am I to do with you? I’d rather leave you here, but I’m afraid another of my wolves will try to break in just as Gunroth did.” With a grunt, he strode to the side of the room, where she now saw a small safe tucked into the wall. Turning the dial one way, then the other, he finally opened the door and removed a small set of keys.

  Returning to her, he unlocked the cuffs at her wrists.

  Quinn lowered her stiff arms, swallowing a groan as the blood began to circulate through her limbs again.

  “Turn around.”

  Quinn looked at him warily. “Why?”

  “You will be bound one way or another, sorceress, or you’ll not leave this cage.”

  She stared at him. With a scowl, she turned, not fighting, barely wincing, as he pulled her wrists and cuffed them together.

  “Come,” he said.

  She followed him out of the cage. “Free the vampire.”

  The alpha glanced back at her with amusement. “My wolves need sustenance. Would you take his place?”

  “You know I won’t.” Arturo would survive it. Probably. She certainly wouldn’t. But it had been worth a shot.

  He led her through a maze of hallways and up a long stair into what was apparently the main part of a house that had seen far better days. Wallpaper, long faded, covered only strips of walls, the rest having fallen or worn off. The ceiling sagged, the wood floors creaked with every step. And the few furnishings looked like they’d come from the city dump.

  Though the house appeared relatively large, if nowhere near the size of Cristoff’s castle, it looked like it had been lived in continuously since the 1870s and never updated or adequately maintained. If ever a house looked like it should be haunted, this was it.

  The place reeked of dog . . . or wolf, which wasn’t too surprising, considering. Though a few people—well-muscled and naked people—walked about or lounged on the furniture, they had to vie for room with more than two dozen wolves. The animals were everywhere.

  At her appearance, they lifted their snouts, as if sniffing the air, and turned to watch her with interest. Several leaped to their feet, one licking his lips as he tracked her with hungry eyes.

  Quinn’s skin crawled, and she found herself edging closer to the alpha.

  Did wolves do nothing but lie around, threatening their food? If this were her pack, she’d order them to find some tools and get to work fixing up the house. But maybe wolves just didn’t care about the looks of their living space.

  They’d probably care if the roof fell on their heads.

  As if hearing her thoughts, the alpha said, “It’s solid, despite what it looks like. Most of my wolves spend the majority of their time outside. They’re far more wolf than human.” He eyed her with a warning in his eyes. “You’d do well to remember that.”

  Quinn swallowed, her gaze fastened on one who watched her as if she were a fat little rabbit. “It’s rather hard to forget.�
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  A man’s yell of pain carried from outside, jacking her pulse through the roof. She knew that voice. Arturo.

  She had to get him out of there. But how? An energy blast was too temporary to do her much good. She’d watched how quickly the wolves had righted themselves after being thrown back. And her gun was gone.

  No, she needed another idea.

  “Why do you eat vampires and humans?” she demanded. “Why not deer. Or chickens?”

  The alpha glanced at her, his expression bored. “I’m sure the deer and chickens prefer we eat you.” He shrugged one massive shoulder. “We actually prefer beef or pork. And while we’ve never been successful raising our own in this place, we’re happy enough with cuts straight from the market.”

  She looked at him askance. “All you need is a grocery-store run?”

  He scowled. “Do you see a grocery store around here?”

  “There have to be markets.”

  “Run by Traders, yes. We are at war with the vampires, at war with the Traders.”

  “Maybe you wouldn’t be if you quit eating them.”

  The gaze he turned on her was filled with annoyance. “We did not turn on them in that way until we had no other choice. When the magic first began to fail, the vast majority of the Traders fled, unwilling to risk their hides since no one knows for certain what will happen when Vamp City disintegrates. As the shipments declined, the wolves began to go hungry. Unfortunately”—his mouth tightened—“a couple of rogue wolves from the Herewood pack ate the last Traders who were providing us meat.”

  “So now the Traders won’t come near you.”

  “No.”

  “And you’re trapped in Vamp City, too?”

  “We have been trapped since Vamp City’s earliest years. Like the human Slavas, the weres here turned immortal and now can never leave.”

  This place just got more and more complicated.

  “What if I could get you a shipment?” To free Arturo, she was certain that Micah would find a way to smuggle the contents of a butcher store into Vamp City.

  For the first time, the werewolf looked at her with something approaching interest. “I have forty wolves, sorceress. That is a lot of mouths to feed. How would you procure such a feast?”

  “I actually have better connections than you might think.” It was odd to realize that was true.

  “But that would mean releasing you. And trusting you. And that would be foolish.”

  “You have a reason for me to return.”

  The werewolf scoffed. “He is a vampire. Not reason enough.” His hand sliced the air. “No more. I am through discussing this.”

  She wasn’t through, not by a long shot. But she’d bide her time. And hope the vampire still had time.

  As hungry eyes bored into her back, the alpha led her into a room, a study that looked like it belonged in a different house. A large desk dominated the room, and bookshelves lined the walls. A woman sat on one of the chairs, wearing what appeared to be a sleek green satin nightgown, but at least she had something on, unlike the two muscular, naked males standing on either side of the hearth, each with a glass of amber liquid in his hands.

  The tableau had a genteel quality about it. Or it might have had if not for the dangling penises.

  The three looked at her with interest and the same hunger she’d seen in the other wolves’ eyes. She remembered too well how Gunroth had leaped at her as he’d sought to eat her.

  Her jaw turned rigid, sweat gathering at the back of her neck as the suspicion that she’d been led to a private slaughter raised its ugly head. Once more, sparks began to dance and burn beneath her skin.

  “The sorceress?” the woman asked.

  “Yes.” The alpha began searching through the books on his shelves. “The rumor that sorcerer flesh empowers the eater refuses to die.”

  One of the males scoffed and took a sip of the liquid. Probably whiskey. “It’s a stupid myth. There’s not an ounce of logic to it.”

  “And yet the pack continues to believe it,” the woman murmured.

  “We need her alive,” the alpha said. “The magic of Vamp City must be renewed.”

  “We could feed them her legs,” the second gentleman drawled. “She’d survive that. At least long enough to renew the magic.”

  “You take my legs, and I won’t be renewing any magic.” But the thought of it sent chills along her spine just as Cristoff’s threat to cut off her feet had. “Nor will I procure that shipment of meat for you that I offered your alpha.”

  She’d expected . . . hoped . . . to see some spark of interest in their expressions. Instead, they just eyed her with amusement.

  “Why did you let her out?” the woman asked, her tone deferential but curious. Straight, shoulder-length hair framed an attractive, middle-aged face.

  “Gunroth picked the lock on her cage. I’m not going to be able to let her out of my sight.” The alpha made a sound of satisfaction and pulled down one of the books. “Here we go. I’ve done a lot of research on the old ways, recently, seeking a strategy for surviving the magic’s failing. Long ago, when the world was full of sorcerers, the wolves often aligned themselves with a magic wielder for protection.” He glanced at Quinn. “And power.”

  “The sorcerers shared their power willingly?” one of the men asked.

  “At times,” the alpha said cryptically. “The protection went both ways.”

  “How?” the woman asked.

  “The moon ritual.” The alpha flipped through the book. “Ah, this is it. Waiting until a full moon would be best, but it’s not necessary.”

  “What exactly is the moon ritual?” Quinn asked. Inside, she was terrified—that Arturo was going to die before she could get him out of that trough, that the wolves were going to kill her before she could renew the magic and save Zack. But if werewolves were anything like real wolves, the last thing she could afford to do was show that, or any, weakness.

  “It speaks again,” one of the males drawled.

  Quinn glared at him. “It thinks you might look better as a toad.”

  The male stared at her, his eyes widening a fraction. “You wouldn’t.”

  If only she could. She snorted. “Try me.”

  “Enough,” the alpha said without heat. “You’ll survive the ritual, sorceress, but the moment the ritual is over, word will be sent to Cristoff that we have you.”

  “What? Do you really think he’ll bring you meat? He’ll kill you, werewolf. He’ll slaughter your pack or capture them for torture. He’s the last person you want to call.”

  The alpha glanced up at her as if she were a difficult student interrupting his class. “Cristoff will pay handsomely to get you back.”

  She wanted to scream her frustration. What could she possibly say, or do, that would make a difference to them?

  The alpha continued to peruse the book. “We’ll perform the ritual tonight at midnight.” He glanced at Quinn. “Make yourself comfortable, sorceress. You’re not leaving this room until then. And neither am I.”

  Midnight. And it apparently wasn’t even night yet. That was hours from now, hours more that Arturo would be eaten alive. Hours in which Vintry might die. And she still didn’t know what the moon ritual was or what it would cost her.

  The only bright spot in any of this was that Arturo had talked her out of bringing Zack with them. At least her brother was safe.

  But she and Arturo were in a world of hurt.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sweat ran down the sides of Quinn’s face, sliding through her hair and between her bare breasts. If she’d been dressed, her clothes would be drenched with perspiration, but the wolves had declared that she had to be as naked as they were for their moon ritual. Standing in the center of a circle ringed by five bonfires, she wasn’t sure she minded the lack of clothes. She certainly didn’t stand out. And, technically, it wasn’t even her body on display. Micah’s glamour had yet to wear off.

  No, of far more concern was the fa
ct that she was tied to a stake in the middle of the open ground, unable to run if any of the three dozen wolves racing around her decided to turn and take a bite out of her instead. Her only protection were the four human werewolves—the alpha and his friends, who stood with their backs to her, presumably to keep the other wolves from getting too close.

  Though it was called a moon ritual, Quinn could see no sign of the moon peeking through the thick layer of clouds above. The breeze blew lightly. She wondered at the wisdom of building open fires in a land filled with dead trees.

  The alpha began to chant in a deep, rhythmic voice, words that hardly sounded human. As she watched, the racing wolves slowly stopped, then began to change into human form, taking up the chant. One of them ran outside the hot, hot circle, returning moments later with a large white bucket filled with something.

  Paintballs.

  Quinn watched in bemusement as the wolves picked out one at a time, squeezing the paint on their naked skin in streaks and swirls of yellow, blue, and red. Paintballs. Quinn shook her head. The werewolves’ ancestors were either rolling in their graves or cackling with glee. Even life as a primitive could be enhanced by modern invention, she supposed.

  As the chanting grew louder, the wolves slowly abandoned the paintball bucket, dividing into five separate groups, each one encircling one of the bonfires, dancing around it.

  Quinn’s skin began to itch. The magic beneath her flesh had died down after she’d slammed Gunroth and Peach Fuzz back when they’d tried to attack her in her prison cell, and she had yet to be able to build it up again. During the interminable wait for midnight, she’d tried a dozen ways to convince the alpha to let her and the vampire go, but with her hands tied and her magic unresponsive, she’d had little leverage and made no headway.

  Her magic was back, finally, but in a way she’d never felt before. Instead of crawling beneath her skin, the power danced across the surface, a sensation growing more uncomfortable by the minute as it turned to a feeling of pinpricks, then pinches.

  Quinn gasped as the pinches turned increasingly painful.