A Kiss of Blood (Vamp City #2)(22)

“I started shaking from the force of the power. The next thing I knew, the wagon started shaking, then the ground. It wasn’t until then that the hair rose on my arms, and I started to hear my world. Usually, the shaking comes last, not first.”

Her looked at her with fathomless eyes and shrugged.

Quinn lifted her brows. “It would seem that not only might I have the power to save your world. I might also be able to hasten its destruction.”

They returned to the wagon, and she and Zack resumed their captive pose. As the wagon bounced over the rutted terrain, questions bombarded her mind. Had she caused that last break in the worlds? It made a certain kind of logical sense that a sorceress’s power could affect the magic of a sorcerer-created world.

That kind of power could act as a potent threat to hang over the vampires’ heads should they ever consider betraying her again. Unfortunately, in truth it was just another factor of her magic that she couldn’t control. Every time the sunbeams broke through, Vamp City came a little closer to dying.

And now, it seemed, so did Zack.





Chapter Seven

Quinn lost track of time as the wagon continued on toward its unknown destination, Arturo and Micah once more disappearing into the darkness. The ride made her teeth clack until she finally locked her jaw against the jostling. With her power dissipated, she felt fine again, at least.

As they started down a dead-tree-lined path, she turned and peered between the seated Traders, able to make out some kind of dark structure against the moonlit sky. Was this their destination? It appeared quite small and unassuming though unassuming wasn’t a bad quality for a hideout.

As they drew near, she realized the house wasn’t as small as she’d first thought. It was, in fact, a small mansion. Lights shone faintly from around the edges of almost all the windows, behind curtains or shades of some kind. She had some time to absorb the true size of the place as the wagon slowly circled the house. In the back jutted a small, covered carport. What would they have called it in 1870? Portico, maybe. It would provide protection against the rain and some measure of privacy to those coming and going.

The Traders drove the wagon under the portico roof and far enough through that Quinn and Zack would alight from the back in that covered, protected space. As the wagon came to a lurching stop, the back door of the house opened, illuminating the space in a swath of low, warm light. A man stood silhouetted in the doorway, a tall man with broad shoulders and what appeared to be long jet-black hair tied at the nape of his neck. His features remained in shadow.

“Did you meet with any trouble?” the man asked, his accent faintly Middle Eastern.

“Vamps from York’s kovena tried to abscond with our slaves,” the smaller of the Traders said as the pair alighted from the wagon. “Until Arturo threatened Cristoff’s wrath.”

The man grunted. “Serves them right.”

Quinn pulled her hands from the loose ropes and followed Zack as he scooted from the back of the wagon. As they approached the door, the man stood back, inviting them in with a smile and a flourish.

“Welcome.”

When Zack started forward, Quinn grabbed his arm. “We’ll wait for Arturo and Micah.”

The man lifted a brow, his smile fading to a look of understanding. “They’ll be arriving momentarily, but not through this door. Guests come to the front. It would seem odd to anyone watching if they were to enter this way.”

The larger of the Traders started for the door. “Only Traders and slaves use the back.”

“Those we wish to appear to be slaves,” the man said quietly. “Come inside, sorceress. You will be safe here, I promise. And safer inside than out.”

Quinn took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then started forward. Zack followed. As she stepped into the house, the man turned to the side to allow them entrance, revealing an intriguing face. His bone structure was strong and attractive, his eyes tilted slightly, with a shape that spoke of a hint of Asian ancestry, except that they were as blue as a clear summer sky. In those eyes, she saw no cunning, no cruelty, just a wealth of curiosity and intelligence.

“I’m Neo,” he said, his voice as deep and rich as his skin tone, his mouth tilting up into a hint of a smile.

“Quinn. But you knew that.”

His smile widened, reaching his eyes in a way that had surely slain more than a few feminine hearts. “I did.” He ushered them into a back room that appeared to be at once storage room and office, a desk on one wall piled with paper and ledgers and books. She wondered what kind of paperwork could possibly be needed in Vamp City, where everyone appeared to simply take what they wanted. “We shall wait here for your friends.”

“Are you a vampire?” Zack asked Neo, a hint of challenge in his tone that surprised Quinn.

Neo met his gaze, then gave a small nod. “I am. But perhaps not the kind you’re used to meeting here.”

“I’m intrigued,” Quinn murmured. “Exactly what kind are you?”

Humor lit his eyes. “The good kind. I was brought to V.C. as a slave in 1973 and turned into a vampire eight years later. But I have never lost my conscience. Nor have I ever accepted what I am.” He shrugged. “I did not choose to be turned and have not forgotten what it’s like to be a slave. Nor have I ever forgiven the Traders and vampires who stole my life from me at the age of twenty-two.”