A Blood Seduction (Vamp City #1)(47)

He walked down the row in front of her, meeting her gaze with cool eyes as he handed her the tray. "Your dinner, sorceress."

"Thank you. But I'm . . . really not hungry at the moment." She'd been breathing through her mouth just to avoid the pungent smell of blood and sex for some time, now.

"You'll eat." Arturo's tone said she had no option. "You do not wish to offend Cristoff."

She wasn't sure Cristoff would even notice, but he was right. The last thing she wanted was Cristoff annoyed with her. For any reason.

She took the tray, then glanced down to find a plate of surprisingly-decent-looking food - chunks of ham, potatoes au gratin, a pair of large, fluffy rolls, and a metal tankard with beads of moisture clinging to the outside. Reaching for the tankard, she flipped open the top to find a frothy head of beer.

"Do you drink beer?" Arturo asked.

"I love it."

"We have our own microbrewery," the Slava told her.

She looked at him in surprise. Curious, she took a sip. Cold, crisp, tangy. "This is good."

At her praise, a smile pulled at the edges of his bearded mouth, then disappeared just as quickly. "Everyone needs a hobby. Especially those of us stuck in this hellhole for eternity."

"Where were you, Grant?" Arturo asked, as the Slava climbed over the bench at her feet to sit on the other side of her, the spot Cristoff had occupied earlier. "You're late."

Quinn took another sip of the beer, liking the taste and the way it washed away the bitter fear and misery that coated the back of her throat.

The Slava grunted. "He insists I attend, but that doesn't mean I have to sit through his savagery." When Quinn glanced at him, he thrust out his hand to her. "I'm Grant Blackstone."

Blackstone. Blackstone's ilk. She cut her gaze at Arturo, then turned back to Grant, shaking his hand. "Quinn Lennox. You're a Slava?"

Annoyance flared in his blue eyes. "I'm a sorcerer. Like you."

She frowned. "Then, why . . . ?"

"Why don't I save VC and leave you out of it?"

"Yes."

"If I could, I would. I may be a sorcerer, but I've never had much power. A few parlor tricks, and that's about it. Nothing like my father."

"His father, Phineas Blackstone, created Vamp City," Arturo told her. "Vamp City was designed as a trap to kill every vampire within."

Her jaw dropped as she looked at Grant.

The other sorcerer nodded. "He failed and paid for it with his life. And two of my fingers." He held up one hand, wiggling his remaining fingers and the stubs of his pinky and ring finger.

Quinn's face turned cold. "Cristoff must have been furious."

Arturo nudged her shoulder with his own. "Eat."

Pulling her attention from the sorcerer, she pulled apart the soft roll, taking a bite that practically melted on her tongue.

"He was furious," Grant confirmed. "And more furious still when he realized neither of Phineas's sons had their father's power."

"There are two of you?"

"Grant and Sheridan, named by our mother after Civil War generals. Union, of course."

"Of course." But, good grief. "Were you born back then?"

"Right after. In 1865. Sheridan in 1866. He was turned when we were in our twenties."

"Turned? Into a vampire?"

"What else?" The man didn't have the most winning away about him, but she supposed he had a right to sound aggravated. She hated to think what she'd be like if she was still stuck here a hundred years from now. Immortal. It was hard even to comprehend what that meant. Forever youthful, yet . . . for what? To hang around in the dark, to try to avoid being tortured? To brew beer?

For the next few minutes, she ate in silence, surprised at how easily she devoured every bite of food on her plate. When she was through, she turned to Grant. "I don't know if I have the power to renew the magic. If I do, I don't know how to access it."

"Cristoff seems certain your power's strong enough. It'll come."

"Do you know what I have to do to save this place?"

Arturo's shoulder brushed hers. "Grant and Sheridan were there when their father renewed the magic that first time. They'll be able to help you."

The sorcerer frowned. "Sheridan will have to help you. Did I mention I lost two fingers that day?"

His words finally caught up with her. "You were . . . five?"

"No. Thirteen."

"But, I thought Vamp City was created in 1870."

"It was." Grant gripped his knees, hunching over slightly in a way that told her he didn't like reminiscing about that time. Understandably so. "It wasn't until 1878 that my father pulled the plug on the magic to bring it all tumbling down. Cristoff demanded he restore it. Dear Old Dad refused, of course. Cristoff's cutting off one of my fingers didn't make enough of an impression, so he took a second. Finally, my father saw the error of his ways. By then, I'd passed out." He rose and took her tray. "If you'll excuse me, I've made my appearance and now intend to get the hell out of here."

"It was nice to meet you, Grant."

He paused, met her gaze, a hint of warmth entering his blue eyes. "My pleasure." With a formal nod, he left.