A Kiss of Blood (Vamp City #2)(29)

“Thank you.”

He kissed her forehead, then continued to watch her with eyes as dark and deep as the night sky and as warm as down. Her heart began to stir, to fill. Her pulse lifted. She’d never been able to remain unaffected by this male, no matter how hard she’d tried.

And right now, right here, she no longer cared to try.

Her gaze dipped to his mouth. Her breath caught. The hands at her back jerked slightly, then splayed, pulling her closer as his head dipped to find her lips.

She met him halfway.

Their lips brushed, cool to warm. Excitement shivered inside her as her body awoke, as it always had, to his touch. His scent wrapped around her, almonds and moonlight, drowning her in sensation. He kissed her, tasted her. As she parted her mouth, his tongue swept inside to stroke hers in a tangling, dueling caress.

Her arms snaked around his neck, her fingers burrowing into his soft hair as he pulled her tight against him, making a sound deep in his throat, a sound of pleasure and satisfaction. But not of wild need, though the need was there, beneath it all. The kiss remained tender and sweet, a gift of comfort, of pleasure. A silent plea to trust. A promise to take no advantage.

His lips left her mouth, trailing slowly over her cheek to lay sweet kisses along her cheekbone and the corner of her eye, her earlobe and the curve of her jaw. Each savored, each caressed, each pulled at that place inside her that had lain empty and untouched for so very long.

His hands roamed her back, one moving into her hair as he claimed her mouth again, deepening the kiss, making her heart race with pleasure and excitement. His body was growing tense, his erection growing thick between them. And in his mouth, she felt his fangs elongating.

A chill skated down her spine, then evaporated in the memory of the last time they’d made love and the ecstasy she’d known from his bite. Passion hazed her thoughts, her mind drugged by his taste, his kiss.

Slowly, he pulled back, kissing her lips, then tipping his forehead to hers, his flesh now as warm, his breath as ragged, as her own. But though his hands continued to curl against her back and in her hair, he made no move to resume the kiss or to take it further. Instead, he released her, cupped her face with his hands to settle one more soft kiss upon her mouth, then moved to the door.

When he turned back to face her, she saw that his pupils were white with hunger. But those eyes watched her only with softness.

“Sleep, bella. Come morning, we will ride for Tarellia’s.”

Quinn pulled in a ragged breath. “Ride?” Until a couple of weeks ago, she’d never been on a horse in her life, and she still wasn’t sure she liked them.

Slowly, his pupils slid back to black. “The Jeep draws too much attention. It yells, ‘Arturo Mazza,’ when I would prefer to slip through the shadows unseen.”

“Then I guess we ride.”

He gave her a small smile. “Good night, Quinn.”

Then he turned and left, leaving her staring at the empty doorway, bemused. He’d swept the rug out from under her, then made no attempt whatsoever to get her into bed. And she wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t have succeeded. Was this a new game he’d decided to play? She didn’t think so. But she was too tired, and too worried about Zack, to think straight.

Wiping the last of the tears off her cheeks, she sank down on her bed, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders once more. Zack was so much more than just her little brother. He was all she had, all she’d ever had. And she would risk everything and anything to keep him safe.

What scared her so badly was that everything she had might not, in the end, be enough.





Chapter Nine

Arturo strode up the front walk of Cristoff’s castle just before sunrise, or what would be sunrise in the real world. The veil between the worlds was thin today, the crisp, cool Vamp City breeze interspersed with slightly warmer air vaguely scented with diesel, sunshine, and the occasional whiff of greenery and coffeehouse.

He climbed the wide brick steps, tension radiating down his spine as he prepared, once again, to lie through his teeth. He was adept at lying, had in fact made a career out of it thanks to his gift of persuasion, the ability to exert low levels of mind control on others, even other vampires.

But he’d rarely lied to his master, and it had never set well with him. At one time, Cristoff had been almost as close a friend as Kassius or Micah or Bram. Many a time, the two of them had played chess, or hunted together, or discussed human and vampire politics for hours on end. They’d hit it off from the beginning, soon after he, Kassius, and Bram arrived at the Gonzaga kovena looking for a new start, a new family after their previous master’s death. That other Gonzaga Castle, of three centuries ago, was where they’d met Micah, one of Cristoff’s progeny.

It was Arturo who’d quickly become Cristoff’s favorite; Arturo whom Cristoff had treated as the son he’d never had; Arturo who’d found in Cristoff the father he’d longed for growing up a bastard.

But Micah was right. The Cristoff of old was gone, changed over the years, most markedly in the past two. And all he could offer the Cristoff of today were lies.

The front doors of Gonzaga Castle opened. “Arturo,” the guards said in unison, nodding to him with deference as they stood back to admit him. “Cristoff is in the pool.”

Arturo acknowledged them and strode into the mansion’s ivory marble foyer. As usual, vampires lounged, played, and f**ked on every available chaise and surface, if slightly less boisterously than the last time he was here. Were they finally beginning to realize their immortal lives were in danger? Despite the magic’s failing, few vampires truly believed they’d die. No immortal believed in his own death until it came for him.