A Blood Seduction (Vamp City #1)(58)

Arturo stepped off the bottom step onto the muddy ground, but when she would have followed, he held her back with his hand, reached for the reins of one of the horses, and pulled it toward her.

Quinn backed up a step as the massive head swung her way. She looked to Arturo with disbelief. "You want me to get on it?"

His mouth kicked up on one side. "I wish you to mount, yes."

Great. Okay, she'd seen Westerns on television. She could do this. When Arturo had the horse parked parallel to the step, she reached up and grabbed the pommel, lifted her knee nearly to her shoulder, and managed to get her foot in the stirrup. With a lot less grace than she'd have liked, she swung aboard the big animal.

Arturo handed her the reins. "Don't move," he warned, then mounted another horse, a big black one, with an ease that made her envious.

A chill went through her as she caught sight of Cristoff, a short distance away, already mounted and waiting. Today he was dressed in what appeared in the low light to be a purple silk shirt. Were those really purple pants? Mounted on another horse near him was a young man, perhaps a few years older than Zack, dressed in the style of the nineteenth century, his shirt white, his sleeves wide, his pants black. His dark blond hair brushed his shoulders, framing a good-looking, if ill-tempered, face.

Arturo brought his horse beside hers and took the reins from her hands. "Since you've never ridden, I'll lead."

"You don't think I can drive this thing?"

His eyes laughed at her. "I'll teach you to ride when the ground is no longer mud."

She supposed that was fair, especially since she didn't need anything else to worry about today. Not with Cristoff so close, the threat of magic breathing down her neck, and the threat of failure and what that might bring.

When Arturo didn't kick his horse into gear, she looked at him with confusion. "What are we waiting for?"

"Grant."

"Oh. Who's the guy with Cristoff?"

"That is Sheridan Blackstone."

"Grant's brother?" Holy shit, that young man was over 150 years old. She could see the family resemblance between the two brothers, each with that dark blond hair and the strong, attractive features. But Sheridan still possessed the leanness of youth while Grant had filled out into a man.

"They look so much more than a year apart. Is that because Sheridan was turned?"

Arturo nodded. "Slavas sometimes continue to age for a time, even after they've turned immortal. Not always, and those who do, generally quit aging by thirty or thirty-five. Grant was one of the latter. Vampires remain whatever age they were when they were turned."

"How old was Sheridan?"

"Twenty-four."

"That's kind of young."

"He was not given the choice."

Perhaps that's why he looked so sullen. Although after 130 years, she'd have thought a guy would get over something like that. Maybe not.

Several minutes later, the back door opened, and Grant descended the stairs unhurriedly, as if he were the first one there instead of the last.

"Nice of you to join us, sorcerer," Cristoff drawled from across the courtyard.

"This is a waste of time. She'll never pull the magic on a null day."

"We'll find out, will we not?"

Grant mounted the remaining horse with an ease that rivaled Arturo's. Immediately, Cristoff and the Blackstone brothers started toward the gate.

Arturo followed after them, leading Quinn on her horse. She felt like a five-year-old. It was true that she'd never tried to drive something that had a mind of its own. Well, other than the ancient Oldsmobile she'd had in high school that refused to start whenever the temperature dropped below freezing and had a nasty habit of stalling at stoplights whenever she was late. But she was pretty sure she could figure it out. Really, how hard could it be to snap the reins, and say, giddyap?

Then again, Arturo rode as if he and the horse were one, with a beautifully flowing motion and strength, while she bounced along, her butt slapping the saddle with every stride of the beast. She was definitely going to need lessons if she got stuck here too long.

As they left the gates, a full dozen of Cristoff's vampire guards joined them, half leading the way, the other half bringing up the rear. Clearly, Cristoff was taking no chances, though whether he feared his rivals or one of the other creatures that made its home in the Crux, she didn't know. They headed north, and it only took a few blocks before the remnants of old buildings gave way to open mud fields interspersed with dead forests. The City of Washington in 1870 hadn't extended much past modern-day downtown, apparently. The rest of D.C., she was beginning to realize, had been distinctly rural.

Quinn glanced at Grant. A dozen times last night, she'd opened the book he'd sent her, hoping to find another message, but none had appeared. There wasn't much chance they'd be able to talk today, certainly not privately. Not surrounded by fifteen vampires.

The ride was slow though it became more manageable as the ground became less and less muddy. Apparently, last night's downpour had been fairly isolated. But as the horse moved faster, Quinn only bounced more in the saddle, until she began to wish the mud would return.

How did they know where they were going? Even after the fog lifted, the landscape rolled on in every direction, with few if any landmarks, though she did see an occasional stream or pond. And an occasional house. Houses that actually appeared to be lived in. The question was, by what?