Of Blood and Passion

by Pamela Palmer

  “Get him!” Cristoff yelled, his voice tight and choked.

  Arturo tried to rise, knowing he had only moments before he was caught, before he was killed unless he managed to fell his master first. But the pain crippled his ability to move. His vision went dark, the pressure behind his eyes growing until he thought his eyes would rupture.

  “Get Grant Blackstone!” Cristoff roared. His voice softened. “My son! My loyal one. Get out of here. Save yourself!”

  Cristoff’s voice wavered through the pain ringing in Arturo’s ears and at first Arturo didn’t think he’d heard him right. Save yourself.

  “She attacks us both,” Cristoff said. “The sorceress wears the face of Grant Blackstone!”

  As Arturo struggled to keep Cristoff from unwittingly pulverizing the brain of his ‘loyal one’, his snake, one realization crashed, a glorious relief. Quinn had gotten away.

  Yet Cristoff believed it was her who attacked him, even now. Arturo had to cease the attack, but how to do that without dying in the process? Then again, if Cristoff had only managed to attack him by riding in through Arturo’s own attack, ending one should end the other.

  Praying he was right, Arturo ceased his own attack suddenly. The moment he did, the counterattack died, just as he’d hoped. But the pain continued to hammer him, as if it had become trapped within the bones of his skull. He still couldn’t see!

  “My snake.” Arturo felt Cristoff’s hand on his shoulder and tensed. “What has she done to you?”

  Clearly he had no idea Arturo was his attacker. “Blinded me.”

  “You were too close without the ability to protect yourself. The sorceress has grown strong. I knew of sorcerers like her in the old days, ones able to steal the powers of those nearby. She’s acquired glamour, the mind blast, invisibility.” His voice turned rich with wonder. “She is truly the Black Wizard’s heir.”

  Thankfully, it hadn’t occurred to Cristoff that the sorceress might have been glamoured by one of his own. Micah wasn’t the only one with such a skill, but he was the best.

  “You believe that if you stab Quinn with Escalla, you’ll become as powerful as Nerian,” Arturo said.

  Cristoff laughed. “Not believe, my son. Know.” Cristoff’s grip on Arturo’s shoulder changed, tightened. “My loyal one.”

  Arturo frowned at the sudden change in Cristoff’s voice, at the sudden ache in it. “My liege?”

  “You cannot let it happen. Do not allow me to become as Nerian.”

  Arturo’s pulse leaped. The words, the ache in them, belonged to the Cristoff of old, the soul that struggled to once more break free.

  “Cristoff?”

  But suddenly the hand left his shoulder, glass and debris crunching beneath his shoes as Cristoff moving away. “The sword’s glow is fading,” he shouted, his voice once more strong and utterly lacking compassion. “She’s getting away!”

  Arturo heard something else, a sound that made his blood run cold. The sound of steel clinking against glass.

  He turned his attention to Quinn, felt her pain, and knew he must have hurt her with his mind blast. He has the sword, amore. He’s taken it from its case. It will lead him to you. Get out of the castle. Run!

  If only they had the means to attack Cristoff now, to wrest the sword from him while it was free from its protective case. But no vampire had the power to stand against Cristoff’s mind blast. Including him.

  So many things made sense, now. Why Cristoff had laid the sword in Quinn’s hands. Why his excitement had grown as Arturo spun tales of the sorceress’s increasing power.

  The situation was far worse than he’d thought. If Cristoff acquired the power of Nerian…of the Black Wizard…with his soul still compromised…

  God help them all.

  Chapter 17

  Quinn sank to her knees within the safety of the bubble, grasping her head as pain tore through it like a sword hacking her brains to pieces. She’d made it, barely, escaping certain capture. How, she still wasn’t sure. If she had to guess, Cristoff had used his mind blast on her. But he’d appeared to be in agony, too. Had her magic interfered with it somehow? She had no idea, and didn’t really care, as long as she was safe.

  But for how long?

  Slowly, the pain began to recede and, with shaking hands, she reached for her flashlight to illuminate the small dark space. As the light flicked on, she gasped at the sight of the enormous wolf lying prone across the small space. What the hell?

  It took her mind a moment to catch up with her eyes. Not wolf. Werewolf.

  “Kass.” She crawled over to him and slid her hand into the fur of the great beast’s chest. Beneath her palm, she felt a soft rise and fall and relief swept over her that he was at least still alive.

  He needed blood. The question was how to get hers into him without accidentally becoming his dinner. Kassius would never hurt her…intentionally. But she wasn’t sure about his wolf.

  Still, she had to try.

  Quinn reached for the small switchblade she kept in her pocket and opened it. Slowly, she sliced the knife through the heel of her hand, gritting her teeth against the fire. Dropping the knife to the floor, she slid her hand beneath the wolf’s head and attempted to turn it up so she could get the blood down his throat, which was harder than she’d thought it would be. Most of the drips hit his teeth, or the floor beneath him. Finally, she managed to get a few onto his tongue and a few more into the back of his mouth.

  “Swallow, Kass. It won’t do a bit of good if you don’t swallow.”

  Her hand hurt like a son of a bitch, but at least it continued to bleed and the drops continued to fall into his mouth.

  At last, the massive animal jerked. A moment later, he rose to all fours and turned on her, snarling, his eyes glowing.

  Primal terror shot through Quinn as her pulse leaped, her muscles preparing to fight…or run. Fortunately, she knew enough about wolves to know that running was the last thing she wanted to do. Which was a good thing, since she had nowhere to go within the tight confines in which they were trapped.

  “Kassius, it’s Quinn,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “Shift back into human form.”

  The animal just snarled at her.

  “Dammit, Kass, shift back. Now.”

  The wolf snapped his jaws shut. In his eyes, she saw recognition flare. But the animal continued to stare at her for several moments more before finally he began to shift.

  Quinn crab-walked backward, careful to stop before she hit the wall of her bubble. Pressing a hand to her pounding chest, she watched as Kassius took shape, hunching over as he hit the low roof, as naked as the day he was born.

  As he began to sway, Quinn lunged to her feet and grabbed him around the waist. “Sit down before you fall, Kassius.”

  With her help, he sank to the ground, then shook his head as if to clear it. He’d yet to acknowledge her and she wasn’t sure he even knew where he was. It was clear he needed more blood. A lot more.

  Without hesitation, she lifted her wrist to his mouth. “You have to feed. You’re as weak as a kitten. Or puppy.”

  He ignored her arm and grabbed her as if she were a rag doll, pulling her against him, sinking his fangs painlessly into her neck. She might be strong, now, but he was a hundred times faster.

  “Kassius!”

  She pushed against him, worried that he was acting on instinct alone, an instinct that might have him drinking his fill, which would likely kill her. But the power of his hunger made him a lot stronger than her. Before she could fight her way free, her mind suddenly blanked out, then awakened again in another place, another time. Another body.

  Kassius’s.

  The sky was a light steel gray, rain falling in a cold, stinging torrent as battle raged all around the open field, vampire against vampire, Emora against Ripper. Quinn watched the scene through Kassius’s eyes, understood the language as Kassius had, though it sounded like some sort of Italian dialect to the part of her that remained Quinn. From
the way they were all dressed—in tight-fitting pants and loose shirts, their hair long—she thought the time must be several hundred years ago.

  How had she gotten here?

  But she thought she knew. The last time Kassius bit her, they’d somehow exchanged memories. It seemed they were doing it again.

  All the vampires around them carried swords and wielded them with the speed and accuracy one might expect from males with vampiric speed and centuries of skill. Kassius was engaged in fighting no fewer than three Rippers, all with those hungry red eyes that promised death to anyone they turned on.

  She recognized only three people—Micah, Bram. And Arturo. She got only a glimpse of him when Kassius’s gaze scanned the field, but it was enough. He was a handsome male in any century, but there was something particularly dashing about that long, dark hair. She might have to encourage him to grow it again.

  A shout went up and one of the vampires fell, one of Arturo and Kassius’s friends. Micah let out an anguished yell, his sword suddenly moving double time. Her friends were badly outnumbered. And while Quinn could feel Kassius’s concern, she knew she was seeing the past. They’d all survived.

  She sensed no anguish in Kassius over the fallen vampire, only a stunned determination to redouble his efforts to win the battle he himself was engaged in. Another shout went up. Kassius glanced to find Arturo pulling his sword from a Ripper he held by the throat. Moments later, another shout, another Ripper held by the throat by Arturo.

  Kassius smiled grimly and finally managed to dispatch one of the vampires who attacked him. But two more only took his place. Kassius was fighting for his life, his size and skill an asset, but there were too many of them.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Kassius saw Arturo take off, racing away from the field of battle. No fewer than six Rippers took off after him.

  “He would leave us?” Micah asked Kassius with raw disbelief.

  “Not leave, no.”

  Quinn realized that Micah didn’t know Arturo well, but Kassius did. Within Kassius’s mind she saw that he, Arturo, and Bram had only just joined the Gonzaga kovena, traveling from another kovena after their previous master died. Micah had been sired by Cristoff Gonzaga, so would know the other Emoras far better. No wonder Micah was so much more distressed by the deaths of the others. He was losing long-time friends. To Kassius, the dead vampires had been mere acquaintances.

  Quinn felt Kassius tense as if preparing for a blow, and seconds later, a pain slammed into his head, trying to hack at his mind much as she’d experienced in Cristoff’s study minutes ago. The mind blast?

  All around him, the Rippers faltered and stumbled as if they, too, had felt the pain. But they hadn’t been prepared for it like Kassius was and he used their surprise to take advantage, slaying three of them in quick succession. Bram, too, had taken advantage of the opportunity to slay two of his own opponents.

  “What the hell?” Micah exclaimed, even as he continued to fight.

  Kassius stole a quick glance in Arturo’s direction, which was enough for Quinn to realize that all six of the Rippers who’d followed him were now exploding on the ground. Arturo returned to dive back into the fray. He’d drawn them off to kill them, she realized.

  Mentally, her eyes widened with surprise as she thought she was beginning to understand.

  She watched as Arturo once more took off, as if running away. This time four Rippers followed.

  Kassius managed to catch Micah’s gaze, sending a silent, prepare yourself. And moments later, pain slammed into all of them. Kassius and Bram once more took advantage, but so did Micah this time. But another Gonzaga vamp was slain, the last of the ones Quinn didn’t recognize.

  With most of the Rippers gone, Kassius, Bram, Arturo, and Micah quickly dispatched the rest. Winded and sweating, they met in the middle of the battlefield. Micah alone appeared grief-stricken.

  “I’ve known Berto and James almost my entire existence,” Micah said, his voice harsh with loss.

  Bram clasped his shoulder. “My condolences. We might all have perished this day if not for Ax.”

  Micah turned toward Arturo slowly, a dark wariness creeping into his eyes. “Does Cristoff know you have the mind blast?”

  Quinn stared through Kassius’s eyes, stunned.

  Arturo shook his head. “I’ve not told him. I use it only when necessary.”

  From the expression on his face, Micah struggled with something. Finally, he said, “You cannot use it at all. Never again, not as long as you remain with Cristoff.”

  Arturo looked at Micah with surprise. “You fear he will consider it a threat? My old master knew of my abilities and trusted me not to use them against him. When Cristoff knows me better…”

  “It will not matter. He can never know you have the ability, Arturo. Not if you want to live.” His brow creased, his eyes turning suspicious. “Where were you born?”

  Arturo stilled. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because, to our master’s knowledge, the only ones who have ever possessed that particular gift were of Cristoff’s human bloodline.”

  Through Kassius’s eyes, Quinn saw the slight flicker of a muscle in Arturo’s jaw. Mentally, she frowned. What was Micah saying?

  “Would it matter?” Bram asked, but he and Kassius exchanged a look that told Quinn they understood something Quinn had yet to figure out.

  “Yes, it matters.” Micah’s voice was tinged with anger. “Centuries ago, Cristoff rounded up six of his seven bastard sons and attempted to turn them. Only two survived, but both possessed the mind blast. Cristoff once admitted to me that he’d enjoyed a fantasy of ruling with his sons at his side. But both quickly abused their great power, for unlike their father, the sons did not have to be touching anyone to hurt them. They could send the blast out wide.” His gaze speared Arturo. “As you’ve done.”

  Quinn stared. My God, was it true? Was Arturo Cristoff’s seventh son? His true son.

  “One of them killed half of his father’s kovena,” Micah continued. “Just because he could. The other remained loyal for a time, but eventually challenged Cristoff. Though he lost, dozens more were killed in the ensuing battle.”

  Kassius and Bram both glanced at Arturo. Quinn could feel their questions. Did Arturo know Cristoff was his father?

  “If Cristoff realizes you possess the mind blast, Arturo, he will kill you, whether or not it turns out you’re his son. He’ll not risk his kovena again.”

  “Ax has complete control over his gift,” Bram argued.

  Micah shrugged. “I’m telling you what Cristoff has sworn. I urge you not to risk it, Arturo. Do not use the mind blast again. If you must, then do not return to Cristoff’s kovena.”

  Silence fell over the foursome, another unspoken question hanging heavy in the air. A question Micah heard and answered.

  “I’ll keep your secret. I’ve seen how you use the blast—with care and restraint. But I would not trust anyone else to give you the benefit of the doubt. Many within the kovena suffered great loss at the hands of Cristoff’s other two sons.”

  At last, Arturo spoke. “I will not use it again. Nor will we ever again speak of my gift or my parentage.”

  It was clear to Quinn that Arturo had indeed known he was Cristoff’s son.

  Quinn came back to herself suddenly to realize that Kassius was still feeding from her neck.

  “Kassius!” she gasped, pushing at his chest as hard as she could.

  He released her suddenly and she scrambled out of his lap, then turned to face him, surprised that she felt neither weak nor dizzy. The memory must have played in triple-time or she’d have been sucked dry by now.

  Kassius stared at her, his mouth blood-stained, his eyes wide and confused. “Quinn?” Distress darkened his eyes. “I attacked you.”

  “No. You drank from me, which I offered. But I don’t think you were fully conscious.”

  “I don’t remember. Are you all right?”

  “Yes. I actually feel great.”
There was something in a vampire’s saliva that initiated healing in humans. Fast healing.

  “What happened?” he asked. His face was in partial shadow, the flashlight lying on the floor, illuminating his bare hip.

  The memory of what she’d experienced through his eyes rolled through her head. “Arturo is Cristoff’s son. And he has the mind blast.”

  Kassius’s gaze narrowed, understanding dawning slowly. And with it, dismay. “You saw my past again.”

  “I saw a battle, the first time Arturo used his mind blast in front of Micah. I don’t think you’d known Micah long at the time.”

  He stared at her for several moments, a frown between his brows. “We had not. We’d been with Cristoff only a few months. Micah’s learning Ax’s secret is what bound him to us. And taught us we could trust him completely.”

  “That’s the secret the two of them wouldn’t share with me, isn’t it?”

  Kassius nodded. “Cristoff can never know, especially now.” He gripped his head as if he were still a bit dazed. “The last thing I remember, we were setting explosives around the sword case.”

  She filled him in quickly—how the sword had pulled at her, how she’d knocked him into the case, how she’d tried to reach him and come face to face with Cristoff.

  “Cristoff used his mind blast,” she said, then stopped. “Except, he didn’t, did he?” she said with sudden understanding. “He never touched me, and he appeared to be in terrible pain, too.”

  Kassius’s expression grew troubled. “It had to have been Ax.” His big hand gripped hers, his expression suddenly haunted. “Have you heard from him since?”

  She stared at him, slowly understanding. Arturo had attacked Cristoff. Which meant Cristoff should have retaliated.

  “Yes. He told me Cristoff took the sword from the case and is using it to find me.”