A Blood Seduction

by Pamela Palmer

  One dark brow lifted. “Disappointed?”

  “No,” she gasped, her pulse pounding so hard she could barely breathe, let alone form words. “Of course not.”

  “I do not kill my slaves.” He squeezed her jaw. “Nor do I wish them to fear me.”

  “I’m not your slave. And you love my fear. You love it!”

  “Yes. But I’ve had my fill. And now you will forget.”

  She met his gaze stonily. “I’m not your slave.”

  A smile lifted his mouth. “Oh, but you are, piccola.” He stared deeply into her eyes as if he were trying to hypnotize her or something, and slowly began to frown. His eyes narrowed. His grip tightened. “What are you?”

  She scowled. “A woman. What in the hell do you think I am?”

  True anger flashed in his eyes, reigniting her fear all over again. He leaned forward, crowding her, scaring her. “What are you?”

  A freak. I’m a freak. A soon-to-be-dead freak, at the rate things are going.

  The vampire attacked her without warning, turning her head, baring her neck, biting her. Like before, the puncture hurt for only a minute. And then he reared back, licking the blood off his lips as he stared at her.

  “Mio Dio.”

  Without explanation, he released her and strode out of the bedroom, slamming the door closed behind him. “Blood!” His voice rattled the windows.

  Quinn stared at the closed door, her mouth open with disbelief. What in the hell just happened?

  She tipped her head back as her heartbeat slowly returned to something approximating normal, even as her mind whirled, a suffocating mass of confusion, questions, and dread.

  A half hour later, maybe—it had felt like twenty years—the door opened, and a pleasingly round woman bustled into the room, carrying a tray. Eggs, by the smell of them. And coffee.

  What was the vampire doing, fattening her for slaughter? Quinn’s muscles bunched, an instinctive reaction as she fought against pulling on her ropes. Her wrists were raw and abraded from where she’d done just that too many times already. But she hated being so vulnerable. Hated it.

  “I am Ernesta.”

  Quinn’s pulse, which had begun to jackhammer at the first rattle of the doorknob, slowly began to calm. How, she wondered, was she supposed to eat or drink when she was still tied to the bedposts?

  “The master wishes you fed,” the woman, clearly Latino, said in accented English. She had the broad face of a South American Indian and wore a drab, plain servant’s dress. “I have brought you eggs and toast. You must eat.”

  “How?”

  The woman set the tray on the washstand, then turned to Quinn and began digging at the knot that held one of Quinn’s wrists.

  “Thank you, Ernesta. Are you . . . a vampire . . . too?” Her mouth didn’t want to form the word any more than her mind wanted to accept that such a creature could possibly be real.

  But the woman didn’t laugh or smile or correct her in any way.

  “No. I am one of his slaves.”

  Quinn really wished she’d laughed. “How long have I been here? It’s still dark.”

  “It is always dark in Vamp City.” The woman looked at her as if she were a moron. “Vampires shun sunlight. Even through clouds they can burn.”

  So, what, they’d figured out a way to enthrall the sun? “I thought vampires were a myth,” she muttered.

  “That is what we want humans to think.”

  “We?” Quinn looked at her in surprise. “I thought you said you weren’t a vampire.”

  “I am something else.” The rope came loose, freeing Quinn’s wrist. As Quinn bent her arm, the blood rushing through it in a swift ache, Ernesta moved to her foot and the knot there. “Something equally impossible for a human to accept.”

  “May I ask what?”

  The woman’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “No.” Moments later, one ankle was free.

  Quinn lifted her knee slowly, easing the stiffness in her leg. “Can you at least tell me how this place exists?”

  The woman glanced at her, her dark eyes enigmatic. “In 1870, the sorcerer Phineas Blackstone created a city just for vampires. A city where the sun never shines.”

  In 1870. And that’s exactly what it looked like, wasn’t it? A world created in 1870 . . . a duplicate of Washington at that time . . . left to rot and decay for over 140 years.

  “But . . . where is it? Another planet or something?”

  “No, no, no. It exists precisely where the original lies. One on top of the other, duplicate worlds. Duplicates at first. No more. The outside world has changed. And this one has moldered.”

  “Can the vampires get out? Into the real world?”

  “Of course. At least, they could. They traveled freely between the two worlds, living here, hunting there when they chose. Until the magic began to fail.” As she talked, Ernesta moved to Quinn’s other ankle, freeing it, too.

  Quinn moved her legs, closing them, groaning at the stiffness. Why was Ernesta untying her? The vampire must not believe she’d try to escape. Which was his mistake. Or maybe he was simply convinced she wouldn’t be successful if she tried.

  “Now the vampires are trapped by the failing magic,” Ernesta continued. “If another sorcerer is not found soon, one to renew the magic, all those caught in Vamp City will die.” She shook her head sadly. “But there are no more sorcerers. They are all gone.”

  All would die? Quinn’s breath trembled. She had to find Zack and get out of here before that happened. She frowned as a thought occurred to her. Was Vamp City’s failing the reason she’d started to see it outside her window at home? Were the two worlds starting to bleed together?

  “Do you sometimes see the real world from here?”

  Ernesta looked at her with surprise as she moved to untie her second wrist. “No. But the sunbeams break through sometimes. A vampire died out front just a few days before your arrival. None use the front door now.”

  So they must expect the sunbeam to break through in the same spot again. Is that what the beams do? Of course it is. She knew that from her own experience—the vision that kept appearing right in front of her apartment window.

  When the rope at Quinn’s wrist came free, Ernesta stepped back. Quinn slowly sat up, easing stiff muscles, then reached for her jeans. “Can humans ever leave Vamp City?”

  A shadow crossed the threshold, freezing her in place. Ernesta glanced at the door. “Master.”

  The vampire. Her heart shot to her throat. Was he back for another bite?

  Quinn struggled into her jeans with shaking hands, then slid off the bed on the side farthest from the door, fumbling to pull the jeans up over her hips as her captor stepped back to let Ernesta exit the room. Slowly, casually, he propped his shoulder against the doorframe and watched her.

  She met his gaze, lifting her chin, trying to hide the quaking fear that was threatening to sweep over her again. She hated this place. Hated it!

  His gaze slid leisurely over her like a predator assessing his next meal. “You ask if humans ever leave Vamp City, cara. The answer is no. A vampire may play with his food, but he never sets it free.”

  But what did she expect him to say? If humans did manage to escape, he’d never admit it. And it didn’t matter. She’d find a way. Even if she had to be the first, she’d find Zack and get them both out of here.

  He didn’t move, just stood there leaning against the doorjamb. At least he looked normal again. No fangs, no white-centered eyes. Dressed all in black, he looked like a dark angel, the collar of his shirt open, revealing a vee of gold-dusted skin. He was good-looking, she’d give him that. Really good-looking. Too bad he was an evil monster.

  His eyes drifting closed in visible pleasure, he tipped his head back. “Do not fear me, cara.” Slowly, his lashes lifted, and he pinned her with a gaze that, th
ankfully, was still dark, still normal. “I have come to make amends.”

  Those certainly weren’t the words she’d expected to hear. What game is he playing, now? She watched him warily, every muscle tensed to fight him if he flew at her again, even as she knew he’d move too fast for her to do a damn thing to protect herself. If only she’d known that vampires were real. If she ever got out of this mess, she’d never again go out without a silver cross and garlic bulbs in her pocket. And a wooden stake. Definitely a wooden stake.

  Her fingers curled around the bedpost, and she wondered if she could break it.

  His dark eyes softened as he watched her, his mouth kicking up on one side again. “How much do you know of vampires, cara? The real ones, not the myth.”

  Good question. Maybe garlic didn’t really work. “I know you bite.”

  He gave her a nod that was almost gallant. “We do indeed. What the legends fail to reveal is that not all vampires feed entirely on blood.”

  “You eat food, too?”

  “I do, though not for sustenance. Only for pleasure.” He pushed away from the door and took a step into the room. Her grip on the bedpost tightened. “I was not speaking of food.”

  Quinn’s shoulders hunched reflexively. “What else do you need, then?” Dammit . . . if he said sex . . .

  “Fear.”

  The word reverberated in her head, sending chills rippling over her skin. “What do you mean?”

  “Vampires are not all the same. I am an Emora vamp, as are most within Vamp City. Emoras, like the name would suggest, feed on emotion as well as blood. And require both to survive.”

  “Fear.”

  “For me, yes. Each is different. My master, Cristoff, feeds on pain.”

  Her stomach clenched.

  “A good friend of mine feeds on pleasure.”

  That would be better. Probably. “And you feed on fear.”

  He gave her another of those slow nods just short of a bow. “I do. I scared you intentionally, piccola. And I fed quite well. But I did so with the full belief I would soon glamour you and steal your memory of it. And that is where I failed.”

  She frowned at him. “Why steal my memory of it? Why not keep me afraid if you need fear to survive?” And was she an idiot? Was she trying to talk him into scaring the crap out of her again?

  “Terrified slaves make poor servants. Quaking hands drop things.” He shrugged. “I had believed I could take your memory. Hence my apology for terrifying you when I had no ability to remove that terror.”

  His regret rang true. Which was . . . startling.

  Quinn shrugged. “You weren’t that scary.” Which was an out-and-out lie, but she had her pride.

  To her surprise, the vampire grinned, transforming his face, giving it a boyish charm that did funny things to her insides. Things that had nothing to do with fear. “Now you insult me.”

  She found herself almost smiling in return, which was extraordinary. “Don’t get me wrong, it was a damn good effort.”

  He nodded. “My thanks.” But his amusement remained.

  “So . . .” Her fingers lost their death grip on the bedpost. “You’re not going to bite me again?”

  His smile darkened. “I most certainly will bite you. But I will bring you pleasure when I do so, cara. I have no intention of hurting you.”

  A cool shiver trembled down her spine as she remembered a still from a movie, Dracula holding a scantily clad woman in rapturous thrall as he drained the life from her. Is that to be my fate? Why toy with me if he’s only going to kill me in the end?

  She released the bedpost, crossing her arms over her chest, refusing to show her fear even if he seemed to be able to sense it. Feed off of it. Her gaze traveled the room, noting the simple old-fashioned furnishings—a plain maple dresser with an oil lamp, an overstuffed chair upholstered in faded yellow-and-white stripes, the ivory walls dotted with framed floral needlework, and a hardwood floor without rugs.

  “What did you taste when you bit me?” she asked, turning back to him. “Why were you surprised?”

  His amusement faded. “Your blood is nectar. Your taste exquisite, a rare sweetness that laces the blood of far too few humans and makes them particularly desirable to vampires. It is why your attacker nearly drained you.”

  Quinn frowned. “How could he have almost drained me? I feel fine. It takes weeks to recover from that kind of blood loss.”

  “Not if you’ve been bitten by a vampire. A few days. Four at most.”

  Her eyes widened. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Nearly three days.”

  “Three . . .” She gaped at him, the words sticking in her throat. Three days? Zack. He could be anywhere. He could be dead. No. No, he wasn’t dead. She’d know. Somehow she’d know. She started around the bed. “I have to find my brother.”

  Impatience flashed in his eyes, all humor fleeing, and she pulled up short.

  He nodded toward the washstand. “Eat the food Ernesta prepared for you. Your body needs the sustenance to fully replenish the blood you’ve lost.” He turned to go.

  “Wait.”

  He whipped back around, a dangerous light gleaming in his eyes. “You will address me as Master.”

  “I’m not your slave.” The words came out reflexively and were the wrong thing to say. Suddenly, he was at her side, pushing her back against the bedpost.

  A low, startled squeak escaped her throat. “Quit doing that!” Her heart was pounding like a tom-tom. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

  Those dark eyes stared into hers, sharp with annoyance, as his cool palm brushed her throat, lifting until she was forced to raise her chin. She was above average height, but he was taller by a good four or five inches.

  “I have apologized for terrorizing you needlessly,” he said coldly. He was so close, she could see tiny flecks of gold in his near-black irises, and the tiny lines radiating out from the corners of his eyes as he frowned at her. “But I am your master, and you will both address me and treat me as such.”

  She began to tremble. Not since she was a little girl had she felt this helpless. “Will you at least answer a question?”

  He lifted a brow.

  “Please? Master.”

  His mouth twitched as he stroked her, his fingers barely touching the sides of her neck, setting off ripples of dark pleasure. “That’s better.” Slowly, he began to dip his head toward the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

  She grabbed his shoulders. “Don’t.” But her strength was useless against him. She tensed for the pinch of fangs, yet felt only his cool lips and the brush of his nose. “What are you doing?” she gasped.

  “You smell of the same sweetness that I tasted in your blood. You tempt me.” His lips moved up her neck, his hair brushing her jaw, soft as silk. His scent rose to engulf her senses. He smelled like rich, dark liqueur—almonds in moonlight—seductive, intoxicating, and very, very male.

  She struggled not to be affected by the languorous warmth of his mouth and failed. Her body began to melt, her chest rising and falling with increasing frequency as the pleasure of his touch, of his scent, wove a lush net of desire around her senses.

  How could she be attracted to this . . . this creature? But it was classic, wasn’t it? A vampire’s power of seduction.

  “I’m not fully recovered,” she reminded him, her voice breathless.

  He kissed her jaw. “If you were, you would be beneath me, and we would be one.”

  His words shocked. A rush of damp heat followed as she imagined him on top of her, entering her. Her breath turned ragged. Without intending to, she reached for him, her fingers sliding through his soft, thick hair.

  What’s the matter with me? He’s doing this to me!

  “Tell me your name,” she murmured against his temple.

  “M
aster,” he replied, his warm breath tickling her neck.

  She snorted. “No, it’s not.”

  He lifted his head, his eyes hot and amused. “It is to you.” His steel-like arm curved around her waist, pulling her hips into contact with his . . . and with the very thick ridge that rose between them.

  Quinn gasped. “Vampire . . .” Her body was on fire for him, but she didn’t want this. The memory of those fangs between her legs rose. A shudder coursed through her, dousing the fire he’d fanned. She pulled her fingers from his hair, pushed at his shoulders. “My question.”

  “You’ve asked it.” His mouth grazed her temple, making her shiver all over again.

  “Your name was hardly my question. And you didn’t answer it. I have to find my brother.”

  The vampire tensed. “Your brother?”

  “The young man who was with me. Please . . . Master . . . please, help me find him.”

  His mouth moved, and she felt the flick of his damp tongue along the edge of her ear. She gasped, accidentally rocking forward, pressing her hips against that thick erection. The groan that escaped her throat sounded embarrassingly happy.

  “Will you help me find Zack?”

  “No.” One long-fingered hand rose to cover her breast.

  Her head tipped back, her eyes drifting shut at the wicked pleasure. This was wrong. So wrong. “Please. You must.”

  His lips returned to her jaw. “You are magnificent, tessoro. Built like the sleekest racehorse, all long limbs and lean strength.” He released her, his fingers suddenly at her waist, unzipping her jeans. “There is nothing I must do. Except have you.”

  Quinn grasped his wrists. “You said I wasn’t fully recovered.” But, oh he smelled decadent. It would feel so good to let him finish, to feel his hands on her, his body over hers, inside hers. It was so tempting to push one of the wrists she held down, forcing his hand lower, between her legs. How could she be so hot for him? For him?

  As he nuzzled her jaw, he nicked it, the sharp prick of pain making her rear back.

  The vampire lifted his face, and the blood drained from her own. His eyes once more had those awful white centers, and his fangs were growing, thickening. Her desire fled on a rush of panic.