A Blood Seduction (Vamp City #1)(55)

Something I'm not. She turned the book over in her hands. Could anything look more boring? "It's a history text. Clearly, everyone in this place enjoys torture." She hated history. Absolutely hated it. "I wouldn't mind a novel, though. Maybe a Mary Higgins Clark or Nora Roberts?" Of course, Grant wouldn't have sent her this one if there wasn't something in it she needed to know. Maybe the Blackstones were discussed at some point.

"I might be able to scare you up a Stephen King."

She snorted. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

A crack of thunder rattled the mansion, followed by the pounding of raindrops against the outer walls.

Arturo poured two glasses of white wine, handed her one, then carried the plate and his own glass to the bed. She was still angry enough to be tempted to tell him to leave. Except she didn't want him to go. Not yet. As much as she hated being trapped in this room, being trapped in it alone was a hundred times worse.

Quinn eyed the sagging mattress dubiously. "We might want to sit on the floor. The bed is a bit . . . soft."

His smile turned devilish. "You just have to know how to sit on it."

"And you do?"

"I've slept on worse, cara. Many a time."

"I suppose you have."

He handed her the plate. "Hold this." She took it and watched as he lowered his long frame to the middle of the narrow bed like one might a hammock, then leaned his back against the wall, looking annoyingly comfortable. He reached for the plate, set it in his lap, then held out his hand again. "Give me your wine."

Quinn hesitated, then, with a huff, did as he asked and managed to join him with a minimum of grace. Arturo handed her the wineglass. Leaning back against the hard wall, she wasn't exactly comfortable, but she wasn't too uncomfortable, either. Especially not with the bed pitching her shoulder to shoulder with Arturo.

The vampire looked at her with approval. "There now. Was that so hard?" He handed her his wineglass, then set about cutting slices of cheese and tearing off chunks of bread. When he was through, he reclaimed his glass and set the plate in her lap, snatching a piece of cheese before he pulled away.

She glanced at him before placing a slice of cheese onto one of the bite-sized chunks of soft bread. "It surprises me every time I see you eat. Vampires should only drink blood."

"Many things you see in the movies are not true. You must know that."

"Like vampires being pasty white? You're not. Your skin tone is . . ." She almost said gorgeous and caught herself in time. "Normal-looking."

He made a sound of amusement as if he knew exactly what she'd been thinking. "Vampires are whatever color they were originally."

"Without suntans."

His mouth twitched. "Without suntans."

"You're Italian. Clearly. All the caras and piccolas."

"I am."

"I didn't know there were vampires in Italy."

"And you knew there were vampires in Washington, D.C.?"

"Good point." She took a sip of the wine, making a sound of approval at the smooth, fruity taste. "This is delicious."

"But of course. When one has lived a long time, one learns to appreciate the finer things in life. And has had the time to discover them."

"And to save the money to buy them?"

His eyes danced, a small smile hovering at his mouth that did all kinds of crazy things to her pulse. "That, too."

She took another bite of cheese and bread. The bread was soft and still warm, the cheese delicious. Never would she recommend this place for its hospitality, but the food was another matter. "You're entirely too charming for a vampire, do you know that?"

"Am I, now? I'm not sure I should take that as a compliment. Your vampire legends are rife with charming scoundrels."

"And Cristoff calls you his snake."

He shrugged turning away to take a sip of wine. "I am what I am."

"A fear-feeding, bloodsucking vampire." She glanced at him. "I understand the blood thing. Blood is life. But not the emotions. Even if you drank blood as often as you wanted to, you'd still die if no one feared you?"

"Die? No. But my control would weaken, and my conscience would be overridden by the drive to feed. The more I try to limit my need to terrify, the more harm I'll do, perhaps attacking innocents or children, killing instead of merely feeding."

"Do you ever terrorize children?"

"Never." The word snapped from his lips. "Before Vamp City began to crumble, my friend Micah hunted swine - the humans who preyed on the innocents. Pedophiles, ra**sts, wife- and kid-beaters. He'd bring them to me before delivering them to Cristoff, and I would delight in terrorizing them. I have an entire dungeon outfitted in the basement of my house for the purpose. I've never actually used the instruments. The sight of them is all that is needed to send such vermin into paroxysms of fear. For decades, I've fed almost exclusively on Micah's offerings, but they've ceased now that we are trapped."

She studied him, considering his words, stated so matter-of-factly. "You're surprisingly comfortable with yourself and what you are, aren't you? No anguish over being a soulless monster."

He grunted. "And why would I be soulless?"