A Blood Seduction (Vamp City #1)(13)

"Washington, V.C.," he replied. "Vamp City. Your new home."

Chapter Three

Quinn walked down the busy, sunny sidewalk, her arms swinging, low heels clicking on the pavement as she hurried to get . . . where? She slowed, disoriented. Where was it she needed to go? Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, she looked around, suddenly confused. Nothing looked familiar.

Someone bumped into her, making her stumble. "Move!" he shouted.

A woman strode directly toward her as if she didn't see her, as if she'd walk right through her.

Quinn lifted her hands to keep the woman from running into her, but the woman flew backward, arms and legs trailing her body as she zoomed out of sight.

Around her, everything went still. Every person turned to stare at her, terror on their faces.

"Devil's spawn!" they hissed, making the sign of the cross, backing away.

And that was when she saw Zack, sitting on the sidewalk, his back against the brick wall of a nearby building, his head down as he played his GameBoy. He was younger than she remembered. Twelve, maybe thirteen.

"Don't look up," she whispered to him. "Don't look up."

Slowly, the others turned and fled, the sidewalk and the streets emptying and turning ominously silent. The only sound remaining was the cheery, tinny music of the GameBoy.

"It's time to go home, Zack."

Her brother nodded, rose to his feet, and fell into step beside her, without once looking up.

Quinn tried to roll over and failed, startling awake. Sleepily, she fought to close her legs, spread awkwardly apart, and failed that, too, feeling the same tug on her ankles she had on her wrist.

The last vestiges of sleep fled in a stark wave of fear.

Ropes. She'd been tied.

Her eyes shot open, and she blinked at the floral canopy overhead, framed by plain maple bedposts. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind darting through memories as she tried to remember what happened.

Where am I?

Shifting slightly on the far-too-soft mattress, she felt the press of clothes against her skin. At least she was still dressed.

How did I get here?

The place smelled unfamiliar - musty, like an old house. The chime of a grandfather clock echoed somewhere below, cut by the laugh track of an old television show. Rolling her head to her left, she spied an old-fashioned washstand complete with porcelain water pitcher. In the small mirror above it . . . the reflection of a man.

She jerked her head the other way . . . and froze. He stood in the doorway, dressed all in black, one broad shoulder propped against the frame. He was tall and lean, well built, his skin possessing a hint of the Mediterranean, his hair a dark brown cut short, framing an arresting, strong-boned face. His cheekbones were high and pronounced, his jaw well-defined, his nose long and straight. His mouth, intriguingly sculpted, was tipped up at one corner, a match for the devilish gleam in his dark eyes.

He looked familiar. He was the one who'd picked her up and deposited her in the front seat of his Jeep. After the . . .

Memory returned with a frontal assault. The Gone With the Wind couple's attacking them, biting them. Vampires. She turned rigid with shock. No. It hadn't happened. It couldn't have happened.

"Zack." Her voice cracked with disuse as she stared at the man. "Where is he?"

He pushed away from the doorframe and started toward her, his eyes turning flat. Cold. "I suggest, cara, you worry about yourself."

"We were attacked." Was that part right? Or had it all been a hallucination? Well, it couldn't have all been a hallucination, or she wouldn't be tied to the bed of one of the players. Unless she was still hallucinating. "I need to know where he is. Did they kill him?"

"You worry about another when you're tied to my bed?" He smiled, revealing sharp, twin incisors. "At my mercy."

Oh God, this is not happening. He is not a vampire. But whatever . . . whoever . . . he was, she was in deep trouble. Her heart thudded like it meant to fight its way out of her chest. "What do you want?" Don't say blood, don't say blood. Vampires don't exist. They don't exist!

"You know what I want." He closed his eyes, tilting his head back as if he were in the throes of great pleasure.

Oh, Zack. What have I done? I never should have let you get near that column.

The man opened his eyes again and sat on the bed beside her, watching her with a piercing intensity . . . a hunger . . . that had panic clawing at her mind. She was utterly at his mercy. Tied. Spread-eagled.

He reached for her, and she flinched, her heart thundering in her ears as his cool fingers curled lightly around her throat. Her breaths came quick and shallow, fear a living thing inside her as she watched him, as she waited for him to . . . what? Strangle her? Rape her? Or, God help her, dip his head and bite her, sucking the blood from her body?

He's not a vampire!

She shook, in a fever of dread, yet he drew out her torment, sliding those fingers up and down her throat as he watched her with that expression, at once rapturous and hungry. And very, very sexual.

"Are you going to kill me?" she gasped.

A small, cold smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Of course."

Of course. Her stomach cramped. Tears burned her eyes.

His look of intense pleasure only grew. "Eventually." His hand slid down, pressing against her chest, sliding lower to cover one of her br**sts. "But not until I've had my fill of you." As her pulse raced like a runaway freight train, his fingers found her nipple, plucking at it, striking a discordant note of pleasure against the terror screaming in her head.