And then there was Arturo. She met his gaze, her chest tight with unhappiness at the thought of never seeing him again. Their relationship—if she could call it that—was nothing if not complicated. He was a vampire, for heaven’s sake. And she was an honest-to-goodness sorceress. What kind of future could they possibly have?
But there was no denying she would miss him.
He reached across the table to clasp her forearm lightly. “I want you to take my cell number. Or perhaps Micah’s since I don’t spend a lot of time in the real world. If you ever need anything, all you need do is call. I will help. Even if it’s only to send money.”
“Thanks, Vampire. We’ll be fine.”
“You and Zack.”
She swallowed. No, not her and Zack. Zack would have Lily. Assuming . . . She looked up. “I can’t leave without Lily.”
“You must. Kassius will free the girl. And when she is free, she will know how to find you, yes?”
“Yes.” Lily knew Zack’s phone number. And if worse came to worst, she could always find him through the gaming sites they frequented.
She took the bite of potato salad and tried to swallow it past the fist in her throat. Because it wouldn’t be her and Zack. Not once Lily was free. The two of them might go anywhere, probably to California as they’d planned.
And what would she do?
“Quinn.” Arturo watched her with a softness that bordered on sadness. “Is there anyone else? Anyone other than Zack?”
She didn’t need pity, dammit. “I’ll be fine.”
He just watched her, those dark eyes probing, assessing. Slowly, he lifted his glass. “To tomorrow’s success, then. And to new beginnings.”
He was in a strange mood.
She ate until she was full, devouring twice what she normally would have. Surprisingly, there was still food left over. “Your turn.”
But he shook his head. “You’ll need the rest later. The magic must be fueled.”
Apparently, he was right.
As he sipped his drink, he studied her. “What other abilities do you suppose you might have?”
Quinn thought about it. She knew of one—the dark bubble she’d accidentally trapped the werewolf alpha in. As a kid, all she’d ever really done was push her stepmother a couple of times.
A sick knot formed in her stomach as she thought of the kid she’d almost killed in high school. A shiver went through her at the memory of that horrible day. It shouldn’t have happened. It shouldn’t have been able to happen. Except she knew better, now, didn’t she? She’d been a sorceress, even then, if a barely functioning and wholly clueless one. That was the day she’d lost all her friends.
“What are you thinking, cara? They are not happy thoughts.”
She shook her head, not wanting to discuss it. She’d never discussed it. And yet, maybe it was time. If there was anyone who would understand, it was Arturo.
She took a deep breath, feeling the anguish of that day, the horror of it, all over again. “It happened when I was in high school.” She leaned back in her chair.
“You did not know what you were.”
“I didn’t, no.” It was strange to think back, to try to see her entire life through a different lens. She’d never been who or what she’d thought she was. She’d never, in fact, been weird, not for a sorceress. But knowing that didn’t ease the misery of that day.
“I was a good athlete,” she began, wanting him to understand who she was back then. “I played on the girls’ basketball team and ran on the track team. I had a lot of friends. Casual friends, probably, but I was well liked. I belonged. My best friend, perhaps my only true friend, was Owen. We’d known one another from the time we were in first grade. We’d climbed trees, made forts beneath his parents’ picnic table with old blankets, and swum on the neighborhood swim team together. Even in high school, we were best friends, hanging out whenever we could.”
Quinn crossed her arms, pulling them tight against her body as the hurt of the memory spread through her. “Four of us were hanging around in the locker area after school one day, waiting for track practice, when we heard a fight around the corner and went to investigate. The two boys . . .” Her breath caught, remembered anger and fear pressing against the walls of her ribcage. “One was a punk rumored to be a gang member. The other was Owen.”
Arturo said nothing, but he watched her intently, hanging on her every word, and she continued.
“We all ran over, ready to defend our friend, but Owen didn’t need help. He was a big kid and was winning. Until the asshole pulled a knife.” She dug at her lip with her teeth, looking away, feeling the burn of tears. “I was so angry and so scared. I acted without thinking, Turo.” She glanced at the vampire through the moisture in her eyes, then away again. “I grabbed the punk’s arm, wanting to stop him, wanting to kill him. Five seconds later, the knife fell from his hand. Two seconds after that, he collapsed.”
She was shaking, now. Why was she shaking after all these years?
“I think my eyes were glowing. Someone said something about that as they all backed away from me like I’d turned into a three-headed monster. Someone called 911, and the punk survived. The adults chalked it up to an undiagnosed heart condition, but the other kids wouldn’t come near me again. Even Owen. I felt so guilty, so . . . evil. I knew I could have killed him. I knew it.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, but I could have. I almost did.” She looked at him through a blur of tears. “How? How did I do it?”
For a moment, he said nothing. “You possess a very powerful gift.”
Quinn snorted. “A dangerous one.”
“Yes, though likely far less dangerous against immortal beings.”
She thought about that. Vampires weren’t likely to succumb to her touch, whatever it was. Was it wrong she felt relieved about that? She didn’t want that gift.
“Have you tried to do it again?”
“Of course not.”
“You should. The next time your life is threatened, try, bella. What have you to lose?” He watched her, understanding in his eyes. “It scares you.”
“What if I can’t stop it? For years, I had nightmares that everyone I touched fell down dead. Sometimes, I still do.”
“That will not happen. You must want someone dead very badly to call the life from him like that. And I suspect, if you could remember what happened that day, you felt his life force coming to your call.”
“I don’t remember.”
“It is never an easy thing when you first learn how to kill. Harder still, I imagine, when you are a child.”
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 i
s 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.
“Step forward, tesoro mio,” he said softly, his voice husky and sexy as hell. “Grasp the post of the bed.”
Heat rushed deep into her body and, intrigued despite herself, she stepped forward. She glanced back at him. “What are you going to do?”
The small, devilish smile combined with the heat in his eyes had her pulse soaring, her body dampening, and her legs turning to jelly. Whatever he had in mind, she wanted.
Long fingers slid her jeans down to her thighs, then returned for her panties. “Step back, cara. Lean over.”
Oh my. She did as he directed, feeling oddly more exposed with her shoes on and her pants around her knees than she probably would have if he’d first removed all her clothes.
His hands gripped her hips, his mouth continuing its tender mapping of her anatomy, covering first one nether cheek with his kisses, then the other, then spreading her wide and running his rough tongue in between, his fangs scraping lightly over her flesh.
Finally, finally, his tongue found the part of her body that awaited his attention the most impatiently. He stroked between her legs, delving his tongue inside of her until she was panting with need for more.
“Turo.”
He pulled back, and, a moment later, she felt his finger stroking her wetness. When it slid inside, she groaned with hot satisfaction.
“I need more,” she gasped. “I need all of you.”
His hands slid down the backs of her thighs, his touch less of tenderness, more of need, a hot, desperate need that matched her own.
She felt him rise, heard the zip of his pants. And then he was sliding inside of her—thick, and long, and gloriously hard.
“Turo.”
He swept her hair off of her neck and bit her suddenly, a piercingly sweet pleasure, and she cried out as he pulled, and she came, contracting hard and fast around him.
A moment later, he was gone, pulled out of her, and she was holding on to the bedpost for dear life, gasping for breath.
Pamela Palmer - [Vamp City 02] Page 24
