She smiled at him. “This moment, I’m sure. Five seconds from now, I might decide I’m too tired and go to bed.” She looked around the ancient house warily. “We’d better go outside. If I try throwing power in here, I could bring this whole place down on top of us.”
“If you bring the house down, so be it. It will have served its purpose. I’ll make certain you get out safely.”
She peered at him curiously, but then her tired brain caught up. “You’re afraid my eyes will glow.”
“Yes.” He looked around the room, then pointed to one of the folding chairs. “Try to push that.”
Quinn eyed it, clenching and unclenching her fists. The power still flowed beneath her skin, as it had ever since Vintry released it, but calmly now. Just a gentle current of energy. Narrowing her eyes, she wondered if she’d need an adrenaline spike to get it going. There was only one way to find out.
Lifting a single hand, palm out, she focused on the chair and willed it to move if only a couple of feet.
Nothing happened. Dammit. She’d thought she was past this phase.
With a twist of her lips, she tried again, imagining the chair slamming into the back of the hearth. Still nothing happened. When that first Ripper had attacked her, she’d had no trouble pushing him back. Then again, her life had been on the line.
“I have an idea,” the vampire said behind her.
Quinn glanced at him over her shoulder. “Are you going to try to terrify me? My power seems to work best when I feel threatened.”
He smiled as he joined her. “Would you believe me if I promised to tear out your throat?”
“Fortunately, no.”
Coming up behind her, he slipped one well-muscled arm around her waist, and dipped his head to her neck.
“Are you going to bite me?” she asked, surprised. But she felt no prick of fangs, only the cool brush of his lips. And felt an answering shiver of pleasure.
“I am going to do what I’ve been wanting to do for hours,” he said huskily. He turned her in his arms and kissed her thoroughly, his hand sliding into her hair, the other pulling her hips tight against his. When she slid her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to his, he slid his tongue inside with a groan, pulling her closer still. Passion erupted between them, a heady, wonderful pleasure that stole all thoughts, all worries, drenching her body in pleasure.
“This isn’t helping me reach my magic,” she said breathlessly, as his lips trailed kisses along her cheek and jaw.
“This is magic,” he replied, his hands roaming restlessly across her back. “I need to be inside you, bella.”
“There are vampires outside.”
“They won’t come in.”
A burst of humor left her mouth on a sigh. “And you don’t care if they do.”
“I do not.” His mouth nuzzled her neck. “I need to taste you, to feast on you, to worship your body in comfort and leisure without anyone’s forcing our intimacy.” As Fabian had last time.
And she needed that, too. Heaven help her, she needed him. That quickly, their kiss had stirred her into a frenzy of desire that sang in her blood, snapping and popping . . .
She stilled.
He lifted his head, peering at her with question.
“Hold on a second. Let me try something.” When he slowly, reluctantly, released her, she turned once more to the chair, lifted her hand, and sent it flying into the wall.
“The passion?” he queried.
“I guess. It seems that my magic only works when something’s stirring my blood.”
He pulled her back against him, one hand sliding over her breast, the other between her jeans-clad legs. Quinn groaned, arching at the pleasure of his hands on her.
“All I need is you, Vampire,” she gasped.
He growled low in her ear, his teeth nipping lightly at her earlobe, without fangs. His fingers slid against the crotch of her jeans, stroking, heating . . .
“You are my sun,” he breathed, his breath warm against her cheek. His hand ducked under the hem of her shirt and burrowed up, his fingers sliding over her bra cup, tracing the edges, delving beneath to find the sensitive bud of her nipple.
She gasped at the sweet pleasure, arching against him as he pushed the cup aside, as he stroked her breast and plucked at the bud.
Suddenly, he was in front of her, on his knees, his clever fingers unfastening her bra clasp with one hand and her jeans button with the other. Her bra gave way. He brushed the cups aside, sliding his hands around to her back, pulling her close, then taking her breast into his mouth.
Quinn clung to him, sliding her fingers into his hair as she struggled for breath against the exquisite pleasure, his tongue stroking her nipple, his lips caressing the flesh of her breast, his warm hands sliding with tender care and increasing urgency over her back.
One of those clever hands returned to the front, unzipped her jeans, and slid down into her panties. A single finger dove deep into her body.
Her legs buckled, and he tightened the arm still around her waist, moving his mouth to claim her other breast. Hands in his hair, she held him tight against her as his finger slid in and out, in and out, his thumb circling and stroking her clitoris, driving her up and up and up.
She came with a cry, her legs buckling as the pleasure pulsed and throbbed inside her.
Finally, slowly, Arturo withdrew his finger from her body, his hand from her panties, his mouth from her breast, and stood. As she struggled to catch her breath, he straightened her clothing and stepped back, licking her essence off of his finger.
She watched him, bemused, and abuzz with the aftershocks of her orgasm. “I thought you wanted to be inside of me.” He hadn’t even slid his fangs into her.
The eyes that watched her were white-centered and white-hot. “You have no idea, cara mia.” He turned away, arching his back, visibly struggling against his own needs.
“Then why . . . ?”
He turned back, his eyes slowly returning to normal. “In the Focus tomorrow, I will not be with you. Nor will your life be in danger. You must learn to call on the power without your emotions stirred.”
“So you brought me to release so that I’d settle down.”
“Yes.”
“You could have joined me.”
He smiled. “I could have. But then it would have been hours, not minutes, and you would have been asleep by the time we were through. I prefer to wait until I can take my time and make love to you properly. And I will take much time to do it.” His eyes sparkled with heat, warming her body all over again.
“That kind of talk is not the way to cool me off, in case you’re wondering.”
His smile turned boyish and impossibly charming. “I am glad.” He held out his hand to her. “Come. We shall attempt to push the chair together.”
Bonelessly, she stepped forward and would have been perfectly happy to slide into his arms and stay there for a while. Maybe the rest of the night. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and corralled her thoughts, focusing on the task at hand. She didn’t have much time to get this right. A single evening.
The realization hit her fully that she would get one chance to renew the magic tomorrow. And if she failed, her beloved brother would almost certainly die.
The knowledge cleared her head as nothing else could have. “All right. Let’s do it.”
As she faced the chair, Arturo moved behind her and slid his arm around her waist again. Grasping the hand she’d been trying to push the chair with, he slid his palm across the back of her hand, his fingers slipping between hers.
“Concentrate, Quinn,” he said softly. “Deep inside you is power, but it is not yet fully at your command.” He squeezed her hand gently, brushing his cheek against her hair. “Close your eyes, cara mia. Now search inside yourself until you find the source of your power.”
“It’s a constant flow beneath my skin. If there’s a source, I’m not aware of it.”
“All right, then imagine that your
arm is a laser gun.”
Quinn laughed. “Seriously? Do you know how wrong that sounds coming from a man who was born in the fourteen hundreds?”
He nipped her ear lightly, but she could feel his smile. “We could call it a sword, but the effect would be much less satisfying.”
“Laser gun it is.”
“Now imagine the power you shoot from your laser gun is stored beneath the skin of your arms. They are one, and the loading is automatic. When you need the power, it flows directly from the gun barrels beneath your skin into your laser gun.”
“I don’t think laser guns have barrels.”
“You are not concentrating, cara mia. Feel the power. Feel it flowing into the gun, into your hands. Do you feel it?”
“Maybe?” It was so hard to know.
“Now try to shoot your gun.” His fingers curled between hers, holding her hand, palm out, as the arm around her waist pulled her even tighter against his hard, lean body.
“On the count of three, no? One, two . . .”
Forcing her mind on the task, and off of that hard, lean body, Quinn visualized a laser gun, just as he said, imagined aiming it.
“Three!”
She imagined shooting it, saw in her mind’s eye the power flying through her arm and out through her hand. And watched as the metal chair tipped over and clattered to the floor.
“I did it,” she breathed, feeling Arturo’s lips brush her hair. “Sort of.”
“You did it, cara.” His voice was rich with warmth and satisfaction. “Now shoot another.”
This time, she aimed herself, Arturo’s hand still laced with hers, and imagined the gun and the power firing without his verbal help.
The chair scooted back about two feet.
“Now send it into the wall, Quinn. Send it flying.”
She glanced at him, twisting her lips, then imagined ramping up the energy in her laser, pumping it up like she might a water gun. Taking aim, she counted to three silently and commanded the chair away from her.
It slammed so hard into the hearth that a brick fell to the floor.
“Bella. Again.”
She started to aim at a third chair, but at this angle she’d send it straight through the window. “I need to move.”
Arturo released her slowly, his arm sliding reluctantly away, and she moved to where she could aim the third one at the hearth. Concentrating as she had before, she succeeded easily, then sent another flying, and another.
Satisfaction overflowing, she turned to Arturo and blew the tips of her fingers as if she carried a smoking gun.
His smile dawned slow and brilliant, setting butterflies to flight in her chest. Oh, he was a gorgeous male, as dangerous as he was beautiful, in so many ways. But beautiful all the same.
“What now?” she asked.
The look in his eyes as his gaze traveled slowly down her body told her he was considering options he’d said would wait for later. But then he began setting up the chairs, apparently holding firm to his resolve.
A couple of the chairs, the last two she’d shot, wouldn’t open fully anymore. Her blasts had gotten stronger as she’d gone down the line.
“Try your other hand, this time,” he told her. “A good sorceress should be ambidextrous.”
“You’re sure about that?”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I am. Quite.”
“Okay, then.” When he’d stepped back out of the way, she lifted her left hand and willed the first chair to fly.
It tipped over with a soft clatter.
“Concentrate, cara mia.”
“I know, I know.” With a huff, Quinn started at the beginning, imagining the gun and the power, visualizing the energy flowing from her skin into the barrel, and . . .
The chair hit the hearth with such force that four bricks came crashing down. With a smug smile, she aimed again and sent a second chair flying, then lifted her right hand, too, and tried two at once. The right flew, the left only scooted a few inches.
“This is going to take practice,” she muttered.
“Indeed.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Arturo stroll over to a chest in the corner . . . a bar . . . and pour himself a drink.
When she’d knocked down two more chairs, she glanced behind her to find Arturo seated comfortably on the sofa, drink in hand, watching her.
“Enjoying the show?”
“Immensely.” He lifted his glass in salute, then lowered it to take a sip.
Quinn snorted, then resumed practice until the mantel and all the bricks lay in a heap on the floor, the chairs little more than twisted metal.
Dropping her hands, she stared at the mess she’d made. My God, I did this without touching anything. All power, all magic. My magic.
Unease quivered in her stomach, the old loathing raising its head. She’d always hated being different. But she couldn’t deny having the ability to make things move was incredibly satisfying. Still, she’d trade it all for Zack’s life and health.
Chapter Twenty-One
Arturo sipped his whiskey and watched Quinn as she set up the mangled chairs and flung them against the crumbling hearth, over and over, until there was little left of either hearth or chairs. He thrilled to the sight of her, to the power flowing from her fingertips, but more, far more, to the woman herself. She stood, shoulders straight, chin lifted, determination evident in every line of her long, sleek body. Her hair glowed like an angel’s in the candlelight as her graceful hands lifted, pulverizing another pair of crumpled chairs.
Her beauty had moved him from the moment he first saw her, and that feeling, that odd pressure in his chest had grown steadily since. As had the aching need to touch her, to kiss her, to feel her sunshine and taste her sweetness. And there was sweetness there, though she held it close, sharing it only sparingly. With her brother, always. Perhaps with her brother’s girl, though he’d yet to see her with Lily.
She was, he thought, an island, passing others by, rarely letting any of them get too close. In some ways, in the ways that counted most, he sensed that she was painfully alone. And he ached for her.
Micah had spoken to him in depth of the conversations they’d shared in the evenings when she’d thought him human, a writer. He’d made his friend repeat every word she’d spoken. And in almost two weeks, she’d told Micah little. She’d shared almost nothing of herself. Of course, she wasn’t likely to confide that she’d recently escaped a vampire otherworld. But she’d been unwilling to share all but the most superficial information about her life and work. Micah had been forced to do most of the talking, creating an elaborate fiction about his own life.
More than once, Micah had returned to his apartment, shaking his head over something he’d slipped up over, yet she hadn’t noticed the contradiction. She never did. She’d never seemed to be paying that much attention, as if she’d been present in body but not in thought. Holding herself apart.
Every now and then, when Arturo had her alone, she lowered her shields with him, just a little. She’d done so more freely before he set her and Zack free. She’d trusted him more then, before she realized her freedom was all a lie. He wanted . . . needed . . . her to trust him now.
So many things could go wrong tomorrow, but somehow he would find a way to keep her safe. And once the magic was renewed, he would set her free, in truth this time. Part of him wanted to go with her, to turn his back on his friends and his kovena, on his world, and spend the rest of Quinn’s life with her.
But he’d do her no service that way. Outside of Vamp City, he was trapped in darkness and the shadows, unable to move freely until night blanketed the land. Still, he’d find a way to watch over her. Perhaps to visit her from time to time. She’d be safer far from his world. And he had too many ties here to leave it.
But as he watched Quinn arch her back, her hands on her hips, an ache moved through his chest, and he wondered if, when the time came, he’d actually be able to let her go.
Taking a sip of his wh
iskey, he rubbed his chest with his free hand. She’d awakened more than his conscience. She’d awakened within him feelings that had long lain dormant, feelings that were unlikely ever to sleep again. Because she’d stolen a part of him. And, in return, she’d given him a piece of the sun and lit a small, warm fire in his heart. There she would live for the rest of his long—and he feared, lonely—life.
Quinn was setting up the mangled remains of the chairs one more time when a rap sounded at the door. She threw a questioning look at Arturo, but he rose without concern, whiskey glass still in hand, and strode to open it.
Mukdalla handed Arturo a good-sized picnic basket. “Quinn needs to eat.” She glanced Quinn’s way, gave a small wave, then turned and left.
“I smell roast chicken and fresh rolls,” Arturo murmured, just as the scents wafted her way.
“I smell Heaven. And I’m famished.”
Arturo led her into the dining room, where a card table had been set up, flanked by two more metal chairs. Whole ones. He set the basket on the table, then pulled out a tablecloth, several covered dishes, two plates, napkins, utensils, and a couple of cans of cold Coke.
But when Quinn sat down and began serving up the food—two chicken thighs, potato salad, coleslaw—Arturo merely watched her, still sipping his whiskey.
“You’re not going to join me?”
“Eat your fill, piccola. I have no need for the food, and you do.”
“Trust me, Vampire, there’s far more here than I could eat in three days. And we won’t be here three days.”
“No, we won’t.”
But still he made no move to serve himself, so she dug in. The chicken was delicious.
“Where will you go, once this is over?” he asked, taking the seat across from her.
She scooped up a forkful of potato salad and just stared at it. “I don’t know,” she replied honestly. And she didn’t. For so long, she’d thought of nothing but getting Zack out of here and fleeing. But there were so many things wrong with this world, things that might or might not change when she renewed the magic. Whether or not she could make a difference, she didn’t know. But part of her didn’t like the idea of leaving, of running, when she might have the power to save the lives of innocent people.
Pamela Palmer - [Vamp City 02] Page 23
