“I have not.”
“He’s changed.” Arturo’s expression tightened.
Sakamoto glanced over his shoulder at the tall male at his back. “My cat wishes to read the sorceress’s magic. My cats can do much through mental divination, but even more through touch. I would have him touch the sorceress.” His gaze swung to her. “If she will allow it.”
Quinn would have loved to refuse. She honestly didn’t trust any of them. But if the male really was a seer, he might learn something that could help them break through this curse. “If your cat has decent manners, I’ll allow it. But he’s going to have to come here. I’m not leaving the warmth of the fire.”
The dark-skinned male watched her with warm, sympathetic eyes. “I will not harm you, sorceress. I will only touch you.”
Her mouth compressed, then softened as she sensed his sincerity. “All right.”
Something resembling a smile crinkled the corners of the cat’s eyes and he strode to her without waiting for his master’s direction to do so. Arturo rose as well and accompanied him.
The cat glanced at Arturo, but said nothing until he stood before her. “I am Davu.” He studied her, his eyes intensely curious.
“Quinn.”
“Hello, Quinn. As I said, I won’t hurt you. I merely want to understand your magic. To do so, I must touch your head.” He glanced once more at Arturo as if making certain her vampire guard dog would allow it.
“Tell me what you sense,” Quinn said, studying the male in return—the hard planes of his face, his wide mouth, his dark, intelligent eyes. “If I’m going to save Vamp City, I need every scrap of information I can get.”
His head dipped slightly, a hint of a smile lifting one side of his mouth. “Deal.”
“Why does he call you his cat?”
“My sister and I are werecats.”
Quinn stared at him with surprise. “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”
“There are few of us in this part of the world. Fewer still in Vamp City.”
“You have met one already, tesoro mio,” Arturo said.
She looked at him with surprise. “Who?”
“Ernesta, my Slava.”
Quinn stared at him, a werecat? The matronly Latino she’d met at Arturo’s house a month ago had told her she was neither human nor vampire, but had declined to fill her in further. Quinn turned back to Davu curiously.
“What kind of cat are you?”
“A leopard.” He reached for her, placing his fingertips lightly across the top of her skull, his thumbs on her temples.
Quinn stared at him as he closed his eyes, stunned. Every time she thought she’d finally gotten used to the various supernatural creatures that existed in this world, along came another one.
Behind him, his sister walked back in the room, carrying some kind of fabric, though Quinn couldn’t turn her head to get a good look. Finally Davu stepped back and, to Quinn’s surprise, bowed low, hands together, in the Japanese tradition. When he rose again, his gaze found hers, a warm smile on his face.
“I am honored, sorceress.” He turned and walked back to take his place behind Sakamoto.
The moment he moved away, his sister approached Quinn, her steps slowing, her face turning to a scowl as she stared at the blood now soaking Quinn’s chest.
“What happened?” The angry demand in her voice as she turned to the others made it clear she was far more than merely a servant.
“Tassard happened,” Davu replied from across the room, his voice oddly resigned.
The woman turned back to Quinn, regret in her eyes. “The bleeding has stopped?”
“It has,” Arturo said, remaining at Quinn’s side.
The woman watched her a moment more, then apparently decided she was telling the truth. “You could use a bath.”
“I’m fine,” Quinn said.
“Your wet clothes will act as cloths with which to clean off the blood.” Bending down, she laid a small pile of clothes on the floor, away from the blood splatters. Shaking out the blanket, she held it up as a curtain.
“You may change, sorceress, free from prying eyes. There is a towel with the clothes with which you can dry off. The clothes will fit, I assure you.”
Quinn hesitated only a moment before sitting to strip off her sodden boots and socks. She glanced up at Arturo. “I’ve got this, Vampire.”
“I shall be happy to help.” While his words possessed a trace of the charmer, she saw nothing but an iron protectiveness in his eyes.
“I’m fine, Turo. Go, please?”
He didn’t move immediately, but, finally, with a dip of his head, moved out from behind the blanket. Quinn glanced up to find feminine eyes peering at her over the top.
“Thank you…?” Quinn began to peel off her wet clothes.
“Dera.”
“Thank you, Dera.”
It wasn’t easy or comfortable yanking off the sodden clothes, but Quinn managed to divest herself of her things, then wipe off the blood with the back of her soaked shirt. With the towel she found at the bottom of the pile, she dried off thoroughly before donning panties, a pair of drawstring black silk pants, and a soft cotton Henley t-shirt in faded blue. At the bottom of the pile, she found a pair of black ballet slippers in exactly her size, which she quickly slipped on. She felt more dressed for bed than battle, but for the first time since the rain started, she was dry, except for her hair. More importantly, she was almost warm.
Dera dropped the blanket. “Would you like to wrap up in this for a while?”
Quinn smiled. “No, I’ll be fine if I can stand in front of the fire for a few more minutes.” Leaning over, she wrapped her hair in the towel. When she straightened again, she found Dera still standing there, watching her.
Slowly Dera held out her free hand, a question in eyes as warm as her brother’s.
At first Quinn thought she wanted something back, but she was wearing everything Dera had handed her, in one way or another. Suddenly, she understood. The werecats read her through touch.
Quinn placed her hand in Dera’s, allowing the woman’s warm fingers to curve around hers. Quinn watched as Dera’s eyes closed, as a look of confusion crossed her face, then cleared, leaving a small smile in its place.
Dera opened her eyes and grinned broadly then, to Quinn’s amazement, leaned forward and gave Quinn a quick peck on the cheek before turning and crossing the room to take her place beside her brother.
Quinn found most of the males in the room watching her with varying degrees of bemusement and curiosity. Arturo’s brows were knitted. Tassard, who’d resumed his seat across the room, sipped at his brandy, ignoring them all.
“My cats?” Sakamoto prompted.
“She is the Healer spoken of in legend,” Davu said. “It is her magic that battles the darkness of Phineas Blackstone’s, that cleanses the tarnished souls of all who reside here.”
Sakamoto watched Quinn with interest, and no small confusion. “She has not renewed the magic.”
“No. But she has twice made the attempt. In connecting her magic to the city’s, she has initiated the dissolution of the poison, and triggered the transformation, the reclaiming of our souls.”
Quinn stared at Davu, then turned to Arturo, who was watching her intently, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“It’s my doing?” she asked. When she turned back, she found Sakamoto watching her.
“You are our salvation, sorceress. But you must renew the magic or all is for naught.” He glanced behind him. “My cats?”
“It is as the Gonzaga vamps say,” Dera replied. “The Healer’s Blackstone magic is being strangled by the Levenach curse. She requests Tassard’s assistance in breaking the curse.”
“And how in the bloody hell am I supposed to break a curse?” Tassard scowled.
Arturo turned to him. “It is our understanding that you possess a form of glamour that might change the sorceress into the Black Wizard long enough for her to bre
ak the curse herself.”
Tassard gave a grunt of disbelief and took another sip of his drink. But his eyes turned to her, filling with speculation. “She has the blood of the Black Wizard within her.”
Arturo nodded. “And a considerable amount of it, if the strength of her magic is any measure.”
Setting his brandy snifter on the floor beside his chair, Tassard rose. Everyone in the room tensed, guards reaching for their sword hilts.
“No sudden moves, my friends,” Sakamoto said calmly. “Tassard, what is your intent?”
“I need to read her.”
“Ripping my throat out wasn’t enough?” Quinn asked sarcastically.
The bad mannered vamp watched her with that hint of amusement. “You’re the one who did the ripping, sorceress, in throwing me off you. I only took a bite.”
“And what’s your plan this time?”
“To touch you, as the twins did. And to bite you again. I tasted magic, but now I would search for the Black Wizard’s.”
“No,” Arturo said, moving to her side.
“If you want my help, you’re going to have to do it my way, snake,” Tassard said.
But Arturo didn’t budge. “You will not hurt her again.”
“I’m a pain feeder. Of course I’ll hurt her. But I won’t injure her unless she pushes me away. It’s her choice.”
Quinn’s jaw tightened. The last thing she wanted was to let that jerk anywhere near her again. She knew from experience that some, maybe all, pain feeders caused pain with their bite, whether they wanted to or not. But she didn’t see a way out of this one.
She met Tassard’s amused gaze. “Do what you have to, but go slow and warn me before everything you do, or I’ll save Sakamoto the trouble of slaying you.”
His eyes turned hard. “Is that a threat?”
“What do you think?”
For a couple of moments, he just stared at her. She didn’t have to read his mind to know how tempted he was to spite her. Finally, he gave an annoyed sigh, walked over to her. Slowly, he lifted his hand, his palm open as he covered her face, his fingertips pressing against her cheekbones and forehead. As he stared at her, his eyes slowly took on a glassy appearance as if his consciousness had left his body and gone elsewhere. Minutes passed. Finally, he blinked and stepped back, releasing her. Slowly, his gaze focused on her once more, this time with a hint of excitement she wasn’t sure she liked.
“Now for my taste.”
“Wait.” Quinn lifted her hand, prepared to push him back with her magic if he made a sudden move. She glanced at Arturo. “You’d better hold my arms to my sides or I’m going to hurt him.”
Arturo watched her a moment, then nodded and stepped behind her, wrapping his arms tight around her.
Quinn met Tassard’s gaze. “Get it over with.”
“Only a taste,” Arturo warned. “She has already lost much blood.”
The ancient vamp’s gaze flicked to Arturo, but he didn’t respond. Then he reached for her, pushing her hair aside as he dipped his head to her neck, to the spot that had yet to fully heal.
Quinn tensed, determined not to scream this time, but as his fangs slid into her neck like a pair of red-hot pokers, she was helpless to hold onto the yell that came barreling out of her chest and throat. If her hands had been free, she’d have practiced her death touch on him with pleasure, at least enough to steal his energy and drive him to his knees.
Without warning, Arturo shifted, pinning her against him with only one arm. A moment later, Tassard pulled out of her neck and stumbled back, falling to the floor. As Quinn watched, he tried to rise, then sat heavily, as if he were suddenly too weak to stand.
Quinn stared at him, a chill running over her flesh. It was as if her thoughts had become real.
Tassard stared up at Arturo with disbelief. “What the fuck did you do to me?”
Arturo shook his head. “Nothing.”
“You touched me.”
“I did nothing,” Arturo insisted.
Tassard tried a second time to rise and this time managed it, though he swayed as if he was the one who’d lost blood, instead of her. The ancient vampire’s gaze swung between her and Arturo a moment more, then he turned and made his way slowly toward Sakamoto. When he reached the vamp master, he paused, as if catching his breath.
“She is indeed the Black Wizard’s heir,” Tassard said. “I can prepare a ritual.”
“What kind of ritual?” Quinn asked warily.
Tassard turned back to her with a shrug. “Fire, magic words…the usual. With the magic that rises, I’ll call the Black Wizard forth for an hour or two.”
Call him forth. “Will I become him…totally? Or will I still know who I am?”
Tassard waved a hand carelessly. “You will retain your own mind. You will look like him, of course, and may acquire some of his knowledge in the process. But it’s unlikely you’ll feel his consciousness as anything more than a whisper in your mind.”
“So how am I going to break the curse?”
“Intent, sorceress,” Dera said from behind Sakamoto. “You must hold the intent fully within your mind, let your will infuse it—the will to dismiss the curse. Then imagine it disintegrating.”
Tassard shrugged. “It might work, it might not. Curses are tricky things. Since you have no way of knowing what was in his mind when he created the curse, breaking it could be difficult.”
Quinn had a feeling she knew some of what was going through the Black Wizard’s mind, if the legends of that event were correct. He’d been dying, stabbed by a blade created by his arch nemesis for just such a purpose. He’d have been in pain, furious, and probably scared. Hatred would have been coursing through him, burning him alive.
“How soon can we get started?” Quinn asked.
“A day. Perhaps two,” Tassard said. “It will take time to learn the nuances of your blood and to recreate what I must.”
The house began to shake violently. Outside the room, something crashed to the ground and shattered. Within the room, a crack ran the length of one of the walls.
“Vamp City doesn’t have a day or two,” Quinn said. And even if it did, in all likelihood, Zack did not.
Chapter 24
“Two hours, Tassard,” Sakamoto said to the ancient vampire. “No more.”
“These things take time.”
“Two hours!”
Tassard’s expression turned to one of annoyance, but he bowed low then exited the room without a backward glance.
Arturo exchanged a glance with Kassius. Kassius rose as if to follow Tassard, but Sakamoto motioned him back at the same time two of the samurais moved to block the door.
“You will remain here,” their host said. “Tassard will do as promised, you needn’t fear. In the meantime, I shall provide you with both food and entertainment.”
Quinn always hated this part—the entertainment—because that usually meant blood. And sex. In the house of Cristoff, a pain feeder, she’d witnessed an ‘entertainment’ so vicious, she’d have nightmares about it for as long as she lived. In Fabian’s, a pleasure feeder, the vampires had entertained themselves, and their master, with an orgy to top all orgies. What kind of entertainment would a fear feeder offer his guests? Quinn truly didn’t want to know.
She turned to Arturo. “What happened to Tassard back there?”
I did not use the mind blast, cara, if that is what you are thinking. I grabbed the top of his head, ready to pull him away from you if I needed to. And the next thing I knew, he was falling.
A rap at the door had them turning. The guards opened the doors and in walked a small parade of Slavas—three males carrying large platters of food and drink, and four very naked females.
“Have a seat, my friends, while I serve you a four-course meal,” Sakamoto said, motioning once more to the cushions in front of his low table. “Sorceress, you will dine with my cats at the far table.”
It was then that Quinn noticed a second low table in the
far corner of the room, the table at which the three male Slavas deposited the meals, setting the table with three elaborate place settings and arraying the dishes in the middle. Glasses were set out and filled from a pitcher of what appeared to be water, while two bottles of wine were uncorked and set in the midst of three wine glasses.
“I’m impressed,” Quinn murmured.
Arturo curved his hand around the back of her neck. “Enjoy your meal, tesoro. I do not believe you are in danger.”
She hoped to hell he was right. As she watched, a curvy blonde lay on her back in the middle of Sakamoto’s table.
“What’s she, the appetizer?” Quinn asked, not thrilled with the idea of Arturo’s mouth on the woman.
Arturo smiled. “She is, indeed.”
Quinn noticed the fourth woman looked a little intoxicated and was holding what appeared to be a martini. Raising her blood alcohol? “Don’t get drunk on the last one.” Her words were meant to be dry, but came out sounding a little jealous.
Curving his hand around the back of her neck, Arturo leaned in and kissed her thoroughly. When he pulled back, he met her gaze, his eyes alive with tenderness. “You are the only one whose taste I crave, amore mio. But I would not feed from you. Not today. Not like that.” He kissed her again, then pulled back with a smile. “Only like this, drinking of your sunshine.”
With a smile, she cupped his cheeks in her hands. “Go eat your dinner.”
Dera and Davu were heading toward the table with the food and Dera motioned her to join them. Quinn took a seat on the cushion on the side opposite the brother and sister and surveyed the offerings—half a dozen platters filled with everything from shrimp tempura to chocolate éclairs.
“Wine?” Davu asked her.
“White, please.”
While Davu poured, Quinn and Dera served themselves from the various platters.
“Take what you want while you have the chance, Quinn,” Dera warned. “Davu will inhale everything else.”
Her brother threw her a look of mock disgust. “Says the one who can eat me under that table.”
Dera gasped and laughed. “Only the chocolate. You win at everything else.”
Of Blood and Passion Page 16
