A Blood Seduction (Vamp City #1)(54)

The head vampire stopped at the end of the line, addressing them. "You will fight your opponent, the man you face."

Zack's gaze flew to the guy across from him, Reggie, one of the ones who'd been here a few months, who always seemed to know what to do. Reggie's expression changed before Zack's eyes, transforming from one of tired resignation to hard-eyed warrior. Fuck. He was supposed to fight him . . . with a wooden sword?

"You may draw blood," the vampire continued. "But you will not kill."

Jesus. Zack gripped the wooden hilt, a frisson of excitement fizzing inside of him. A real battle. If only he had a serious weapon, like a laser gun or a light saber, he'd take them all down, vampires included, chopping off their heads left and right. All the slaves would clap him on the back, and he'd lead them in an uprising like Vamp City had never seen. Then he'd grab Lily and Quinn and get the hell out of there.

The vampire lifted his arm high above his head, then brought it down like he was waving a flag at a NASCAR race. "Go!"

Before Zack knew what was happening, Reggie lunged, swinging the sword, slamming it hard into the side of Zack's head. The next thing Zack knew, he was on the ground, struggling to get up, something wet running down his cheek. He brushed at the wetness with the back of his hand. Blood. He'd lost. As he pushed to his feet, swaying, three Reggies danced in his vision, their swords hanging at their sides.

Where was his sword? His hands were empty. He'd failed.

"Enough!" the vampire cried.

Zack swayed, stumbled back, and caught himself before he fell. Slowly, the three Reggies merged into two, then back to one.

"You've made your decision already?" one of the vamps asked the one in charge.

The first vampire snorted and looked at Zack. "That one, with the red hair."

"He won't last five minutes in the arena."

"Let the Games have him. He's useless here."

Zack's face flamed. Useless? He wasn't useless! He could program circles around every last one of them. But they didn't care about that here. His shoulders sank. It didn't matter here. Nothing mattered but muscle. And he didn't have nearly as much of that as he'd thought he had.

With a sinking gut, he looked up at the window and found Lily standing there still, tears streaming down her cheeks. She'd seen it all.

His humiliation was complete.

Chapter Eleven

Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine . . . Quinn pressed through the push-ups, her hands damp on the unpolished wood floor of her miserable little room. There wasn't much else she could do in here, but she had to do something. Never in her life had she been sedentary. Even at work, she spent more time standing than sitting, moving every chance she got. If she was stuck within these four tiny walls for much longer, she was going to become claustrophobic.

She'd tried, over and over, to access that small burst of power she'd had as a kid, but it was gone, and she had no idea how to get it back.

At the sound of a key in the lock, she jumped to her feet, brushed her hands off on her pants, then pushed back a sweat-dampened lock of blond hair with her knuckle. Arturo pushed open the door and stepped inside. Under one arm, he carried a bottle of wine and an old book. In his hand, two wineglasses and a tray of bread and cheese.

He eyed her flushed and damp state and her uneven breathing with amusement. "Training to take me down?"

She shook out her arms, eyeing him coolly. They'd parted on a sour note after the trip to the food village and the shower. As nice as he was sometimes, nothing she said made a difference in his attitude toward helping her find Zack. And her refusal to give up thoroughly annoyed him. It was a huge sticking point between them. But, dammit, Zack was her brother.

"There's not much else to do in here."

He glanced at the bed. "I can think of something."

A bolt of heat lightning arced through the air between them as she remembered the feel of his hands on her body . . . in her body. The thought had her legs weakening all over again. But it did nothing to ease her anger with him. He wanted her, but he didn't give a damn about her. Not when he knew Zack's loss was killing her, yet he refused to do anything to help. He claimed he couldn't. And maybe that was true. But he could damn well quit telling her to forget about the only person she'd ever loved.

Who was this vampire, deep down? He was definitely attracted to her. She'd felt the way his hands shook every time he touched her. She'd felt the evidence of that attraction pressed against her hip. Still, he had yet to actively seduce her. The moment he touched her, she turned to putty in his hands, and they both knew it.

So, what did he really want from her? Was he carefully working to win her trust, or did he honestly possess a conscience? Maybe even a heart.

A man with a heart could be swayed to do the right thing. Perhaps. If he cared. And if she didn't continually annoy him with her begging him to help.

Arturo set everything on the washstand, then handed her the book. "Grant sent this for you."

Quinn handled the dusty volume with care as she turned it over. A History of Witchcraft in America. "Is this a joke?"

"He said it's important that you understand your heritage in order to call forth your true gift."

"He thinks I'm a witch?"

Arturo's brow lifted in amusement. "And what do you think a sorceress is?"