A Blood Seduction (Vamp City #1)(12)

Her head pounded. Her instincts continued to scream, Run! even as her logical mind knew there would be no outrunning this pair. There would be no escape.

She faced them squarely, lifting her chin. Both were young and attractive, the woman as blond as Quinn herself but far more beautiful, her ringlets swept up beneath an elaborate hat, the bodice of her fancy dress cut dangerously low. A deep breath, and she'd be showing nipple.

Her companion was a good fit for her - young and handsome and dressed like Abraham Lincoln. But his smile as he stared at them was as oily as a mechanic's rag, setting off all Quinn's creep alarms. What in the hell kind of world was this?

Zack sucked in a breath. "This isn't good."

"You think?"

The rev of an engine broke the ominous silence. She glanced behind her, praying her own world had decided to make a reappearance, but no. Nothing had changed.

"And where did you come from?" the woman asked, her tone more delighted than curious.

Quinn took a step forward, placing herself between them and her brother. Zack's hands gripped her shoulders from behind as if he meant to pull her behind him at the first sign of trouble. As if he was too much of a man to let his big sister protect him any longer.

"What is this place?" she demanded.

The man's smile widened. "You don't know?"

"They must have entered through the last sunbeam." The woman stepped away from her companion, eyeing Zack hungrily.

It had been years since Quinn had practiced martial arts, but she still remembered a thing or two. Which might be helpful against opponents who weren't so damned fast. "Stay back," Quinn warned, shrugging away Zack's hands as she went into her fighting stance, her right leg back, her hands forming fists in front of her.

"And why would I step back, sweet one?" The man smiled, his incisors looking more like fangs than teeth. "I've just found dinner."

Quinn gaped. Those fangs were growing.

"No f**king way." Zack's tone sounded more awestruck than horrified. "Vampires."

Quinn scowled. "That's ridiculous."

The man chuckled, his eyes changing, the black pupils turning a milky, startling white as the fangs lengthened, thickened. Sharpened. "Is it?"

The woman lunged first, though lunged wasn't the right word. She flew at Zack. By the time Quinn could move, the woman had Zack on the sidewalk six feet away, straddling him as she struck, burying her own fangs deep into Zack's neck. She'd kill him!

Quinn roared. But before she could even take a full step toward them, the man was on her, whirling her around as if she weighed nothing, slamming her back against him, his arms pinning her to him like bands of steel. She fought against his hold, kicking back, slamming her head back, but he avoided every blow.

And, suddenly, she felt the stab in the side of her neck. Fangs. Pain. This was not happening! There was no such thing as a vampire, no such thing as an alternate universe.

No.

Such.

Thing.

She tried to fight but couldn't budge. He was drinking from her. Drinking! She could feel the rush of blood through her veins and into his mouth, and it felt . . . nice. God. This is all so wrong!

Movement caught her eye, and she watched as Zack's attacker lifted her head, staring at Zack, then rose gracefully to her feet.

Zack followed, his eyes unfocused, clearly stunned. The kid was in shock.

"Zack," she cried out.

A strange lassitude began to flow through her body, leaching the fight out of her. Making her sleepy.

A car engine penetrated her deepening lethargy, and she wondered briefly if the yellow Jeep she'd seen in her vision lived in this world, too.

"Frederick? We need to go." The woman wiped her bloody mouth on a black handkerchief. "You're going to drain her, sugar."

The man only made a sound of enjoyment against Quinn's throat.

Quinn's eyes drifted closed.

"Let her go," a man's voice said. Not the oily one's. "You do not wish to kill her."

But the vampire continued to drink.

"You wish to let her go," the man said, his voice calm, almost hypnotic.

And, suddenly, she was free, sinking to the ground, crumpling onto the hard sidewalk.

"She's mine!" said the oily one. "I found her."

She heard the sound of a scuffle, a shout of pain, then the clink of horse tackle and the fast clip-clop of a retreating carriage.

Then silence.

Arms scooped her up, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. Her mind screamed fight, but her body refused to answer. With effort, she forced her eyelids open and stared up at the man who held her. Not the one who'd attacked her. A little older, maybe. Not oily. A nice face.

"Zack?" The name barely formed on her lips.

"Your companion is gone."

"Dead?" She stopped breathing, her vision narrowing dangerously.

"Taken."

A flash of yellow caught in her peripheral vision, then she felt herself dropped bonelessly into the front passenger seat of a vehicle. The Jeep. She struggled without success to sit up. She couldn't even find the energy to reach for the door latch. "Have . . . to find him. Have to . . . escape."

"There's no escaping V.C., cara."

She tried to look at him but couldn't manage to turn her head. "V . . . C.?"