A Blood Seduction (Vamp City #1)(22)

"Every fourth day?"

"When I add you to my household, I will have four slaves."

Quinn jerked her arm away from his hand, realizing what he was saying. "You have sex with all of them?"

His mouth twitched. "Not Horace."

She'd seen nothing intimate between him and Ernesta. A servant/master relationship and nothing more. Was that the way it would be with her? A quick feed and f**k every fourth day, then back to work cleaning his house? Was this to be her life?

No, she couldn't accept that. Wouldn't accept it.

"Cara," the vampire said quietly, drawing her gaze back to his. "Do not attempt to escape me again. If you become too difficult, I will sell you to one of the Traders for the slave auction, and your fate will be far worse than here with me." His fingers closed around her wrist in a cool vise. "There is no escape for you. Humans never escape Vamp City. If they did, you would have heard of it, yes? The missing would have returned. Yet none ever have." He squeezed her wrist lightly. "Accept your fate, and you will be content here. I will see it so."

She didn't argue with him, didn't reply at all. Perhaps the best thing to do was let him think she'd given up.

Heavy footsteps approached, and, a moment later, a man appeared in the doorway, a broad-chested, stocky man, with little hair on top of his head but a thick, bushy, graying beard that shimmered just like Susie's hair. "It's done, Master."

The vampire nodded once, released her, and rose. "See Quinn to her room, Horace."

"Yes, sir."

As Quinn rose, the vampire met her gaze again. "Rest today. Tomorrow, you will begin your duties. All of them." Then he turned and walked out of the room, leaving her to stare after him.

All of them. She shivered even as her body warmed.

"Come along, girl," Horace said gruffly.

With a frustrated sigh, she followed Horace into a compact entry hall and up the hardwood stairs to the bedroom she'd left less than an hour before.

"You were a fool to try to escape, girl," Horace said, as they reached the door. "The master's the best of the lot of them. He don't hurt his slaves like the others do. And he don't give us over to other vamps."

"But he feeds from you."

" 'Course he do. Feeds from my wrist. It don't hurt none."

"What about your family?"

"Family's long dead, young'un. Been dead for more 'n a century. Now git you in there and forget everything that came before. Don't none of it matter no more. This is your home, now."

Feeling stronger than she had earlier, but still more tired than she should, she walked into the room, allowing Horace to close and lock the door behind her.

The linen rope was no longer tied to the dresser leg. She couldn't see it at all. And the curtains made no movement, making it clear that the window had been closed.

Suddenly, she remembered the hammering. Her eyes widened, and she ran to the window, pushed the curtains aside, and stared at the boards that had been nailed across it. He'd boarded up the window!

Gripping the boards, she pulled, the wood digging into her fingertips, refusing to budge.

"Shit!" How in the hell am I supposed to get out of here, now? She wasn't, which was precisely why the vampire had done this. Spinning away from the window, she paced across the room, her fingers digging hard into her hair. I'll never get out of here, never reach Zack. I'll never see him again, never know if he's alive or dead.

Despair slowly got the better of her. She climbed onto the bed and curled into a ball of misery as the tears began to roll.

Hours later, Arturo stood at the foot of the bed, watching the woman sleep. Quinn Lennox. An interesting name though not the one he'd expected.

She lay atop the covers on her side, both hands balled tight against her chest. A lock of sun gold hair caressed her chin, making his fingers itch to move it, to feel the satin softness once more beneath his fingertips. Her eyes were puffy, dried tears streaking satin cheeks. Despite the tears, her skin was lovely, a flawless lightly tanned cream with a spattering of freckles across the bridge of her slender nose.

Her lips, a ripe, natural pink, were parted, her mouth lush and lovely. Soon, he'd taste those lips, when her fear of him had abated. Soon, he'd taste far more than her lips.

Very soon, or it would be too late.

Even in sleep, she intrigued him. There was a freshness about her, a natural beauty untainted by feminine guile or vanity. And a stubbornness he understood all too well.

If not for the brother, she might do fine here. But that deep vein of devotion for the one she loved would cost her. She wasn't likely to give up easily or quickly, which ensured she would suffer. He wasn't without compassion, but compassion would do her little good. Both her fate and her brother's had been sealed the moment they'd walked into that sunbeam.

Why couldn't she have simply been like any other slave, easily glamoured, easily controlled? Then again, would she interest him this greatly if she were? Unlikely. Perversely, he liked that he couldn't control her thoughts. He liked her tartness, the way she spoke freely to him, often sarcastically, despite her fear. A fear she was remarkably adept at hiding though he could taste it all too well.

Sun-kissed lashes fluttered up, her head turning as if she'd sensed his presence in her sleep. Green eyes found him in the shadows, and the rich taste of fear caressed his tongue, feeding him. Vexing him.