A Blood Seduction (Vamp City #1)(53)

A slaughter. "Zack could be involved."

"Yes."

The thought of it, of her sweet, smart, nonathletic brother thrown into a gladiator ring filled her with a cold and silent terror. He wouldn't survive for five minutes. Yes, he could battle with the best of them when it came to computer games, but in real life? He wouldn't even know how to hold a real weapon.

"I have to free him."

"I've told you . . ."

"I know! I know you won't help him."

"Not won't. Can't. The politics of this world makes the machinations of your own political parties look like kindergarten squabbles. I'm Cristoff's chief negotiator, but I do nothing without his will because if I fail, war ensues. And I will not risk that kind of disgrace over a human. Any human."

"Can you at least ask your contact if Zack's been chosen for the Games?"

The vampire gripped her by the shoulders, hauling her around to face him, all softness gone from his expression. "If he is not a sorcerer, he is dead, Quinn. Or will be soon." His grip tightened, and he gave her a small shake. "Fewer than one in five slaves brought into Vamp City lives long enough to turn Slava. He may die at these Games, or the next, or in a fit of anger or hunger at the hands of one of his masters. He is lost to you. I do not know how to say that any clearer. You must mourn him and move on."

Her eyes burned as a shaking started deep inside her. She would never move on. Never. "Do you go to the Games?"

He growled in frustration. "All Cristoff's most trusted accompany him. Anytime the kovenas gather, there's the risk of war."

"When are these Games?"

"You are the most stubborn female . . ."

"It's a simple question."

"Three days hence," he snapped. "Come." He started toward the door, once more the master with his slave. Discussion over.

Three days. And if Zack was involved? She might never know. He is lost to you.

No. As long as she drew breath, she would fight to find him. Or, at the very least, to learn his fate. Then, perhaps, she would find the strength to move on.

But not a minute before.

"In the yard, bloodsacks. Now!"

Zack gave a silent groan, pushing off the narrow rug that served as his bed on the damp floor in the Dungeon. It looked like a dungeon, with its stone walls and damp stone floor, but it was really just the basement of the Smithsonian Castle . . . Castle Smithson, the vampires called it, now. This place was so f**ked up.

Around him, the other new slaves stumbled to their feet looking . . . and smelling . . . like hell. Not a one of them had seen a shower, comb, toothbrush, or razor since they'd gotten here. He didn't care. At least, he wouldn't have cared if Lily weren't here somewhere. He hadn't seen her since the kitchen yesterday. Thank God none of the vamps appeared to have overheard his lapse as he'd yelled for her. She hadn't looked bad, not like he suspected he did. She'd looked . . . tired. And kind of shell-shocked. But still so f**king pretty.

The vampire's whip snapped through the air. The slaves rushed for the open door, pushing and jostling one another, none wanting to be last. None wanting to feel the lick of that lash. Zack clamped down on a groan of pain and stumbled after them. One sorry bastard remained asleep on the floor. Or, maybe dead. Zack hoped he was just sleeping, mostly because if he was dead, that meant Zack was last in line.

He was becoming as cold-blooded as the vampires.

Exhausted and starving, every one of his muscles ached as if it had been wrenched and twisted a hundred ways, then left to harden that way. But the worst part, by far, was the constant, gnawing hunger. All they ever fed them was oatmeal, canned stew, or canned chili. Cheap stuff. And never, ever enough.

Behind him, he heard the whistle of the lash, then the cry of pain of the guy who'd been sleeping. Not dead.

As he pushed through the door into the torchlit yard, he saw that two more sadistic vampire guards were already pushing them around. "Line up! Two lines, facing one another." One of them grabbed Zack and shoved him to one side. "You in this line." Still more asleep than awake, Zack stumbled as he found his place in one of the lines, righting himself at the last minute.

Why two lines? Since he'd gotten here, he'd done more physical labor than he'd done in his entire life. He'd hauled bricks, hammered shingles onto a roof, carted boxes and crates, and dug a trench for a new water line. Lining up like this was new. Were they going to be carrying something long and heavy?

Facing the castle, he glanced up as a movement caught his eye. Lily. She stood in the open second-story window, watching him, a scrub brush in one hand and pail in the other. As the torchlight flickered over her face, she looked so sad, he wanted to hit something. When was the last time she'd smiled or laughed? She had the best laugh. Had the vampires stolen that, too?

If only he were some kind of superhero and could whisk them both out of there. They'd find Quinn and escape this sorry world once and for all.

But he was no f**king superhero. Not even close.

One of the vampires started down the line of slaves, handing something to each of them in turn.

Zack gaped. Swords? You've got to be f**king kidding me. What did they think this was? Ancient Rome?

As one was shoved into his hand, he realized it was made of wood, the point rounded off. Okay. His heart started beating again. Just pretend. Sort of.