A Kiss of Blood (Vamp City #2)(47)

The alpha continued to peruse the book. “We’ll perform the ritual tonight at midnight.” He glanced at Quinn. “Make yourself comfortable, sorceress. You’re not leaving this room until then. And neither am I.”

Midnight. And it apparently wasn’t even night yet. That was hours from now, hours more that Arturo would be eaten alive. Hours in which Vintry might die. And she still didn’t know what the moon ritual was or what it would cost her.

The only bright spot in any of this was that Arturo had talked her out of bringing Zack with them. At least her brother was safe.

But she and Arturo were in a world of hurt.





Chapter Thirteen

Sweat ran down the sides of Quinn’s face, sliding through her hair and between her bare br**sts. If she’d been dressed, her clothes would be drenched with perspiration, but the wolves had declared that she had to be as naked as they were for their moon ritual. Standing in the center of a circle ringed by five bonfires, she wasn’t sure she minded the lack of clothes. She certainly didn’t stand out. And, technically, it wasn’t even her body on display. Micah’s glamour had yet to wear off.

No, of far more concern was the fact that she was tied to a stake in the middle of the open ground, unable to run if any of the three dozen wolves racing around her decided to turn and take a bite out of her instead. Her only protection were the four human werewolves—the alpha and his friends, who stood with their backs to her, presumably to keep the other wolves from getting too close.

Though it was called a moon ritual, Quinn could see no sign of the moon peeking through the thick layer of clouds above. The breeze blew lightly. She wondered at the wisdom of building open fires in a land filled with dead trees.

The alpha began to chant in a deep, rhythmic voice, words that hardly sounded human. As she watched, the racing wolves slowly stopped, then began to change into human form, taking up the chant. One of them ran outside the hot, hot circle, returning moments later with a large white bucket filled with something.

Paintballs.

Quinn watched in bemusement as the wolves picked out one at a time, squeezing the paint on their naked skin in streaks and swirls of yellow, blue, and red. Paintballs. Quinn shook her head. The werewolves’ ancestors were either rolling in their graves or cackling with glee. Even life as a primitive could be enhanced by modern invention, she supposed.

As the chanting grew louder, the wolves slowly abandoned the paintball bucket, dividing into five separate groups, each one encircling one of the bonfires, dancing around it.

Quinn’s skin began to itch. The magic beneath her flesh had died down after she’d slammed Gunroth and Peach Fuzz back when they’d tried to attack her in her prison cell, and she had yet to be able to build it up again. During the interminable wait for midnight, she’d tried a dozen ways to convince the alpha to let her and the vampire go, but with her hands tied and her magic unresponsive, she’d had little leverage and made no headway.

Her magic was back, finally, but in a way she’d never felt before. Instead of crawling beneath her skin, the power danced across the surface, a sensation growing more uncomfortable by the minute as it turned to a feeling of pinpricks, then pinches.

Quinn gasped as the pinches turned increasingly painful.

“What’s happening?” she demanded.

“You will share your power with us.” The alpha reached into the bucket and pulled out several paintballs. He tossed one each to his companions, who began to paint their bodies as the rest of the pack had already done.

“What do you mean by share?” She was beginning to feel as if invisible hands were attempting to pry the skin from her body.

The alpha met her gaze, his eyes hard. “Ancient sorcerers shared their power with the wolves on a regular basis. You will do the same.”

But the ancient sorcerers’ power hadn’t been chained by a curse.

“They did so willingly!” She presumed so, anyway. “Free me and my companion, and I’ll give you what you want. Hurting me, perhaps even killing me, will buy you nothing.”

But the alpha ignored her as he and his four compatriots began to circle her, chanting words different from the others’. Discomfort turned to true pain until tears pooled in her eyes, and she was struggling to breathe.

“Stop this!” she cried.

Suddenly, the alpha was in her face, his visage ferocious as he pressed sweaty palms against her sweatier temples. “You hold back on us, sorceress,” he growled. “Give it up!”

“I’ll give you nothing if you’re going to hurt me!”

His hands turned to fire, burning through her skull, and she screamed from the pain. She fought to throw him back with her mind, struggled to pull away from his fiery hands . . .

And suddenly the light went out. The night went silent.

The alpha jerked back, his hands lifting from her sweat-soaked skin. “What did you do?”

“What happened?” She couldn’t see him, couldn’t see anything but the flames from the bonfire that felt permanently etched onto the backs of her eyelids. Good grief, if he weren’t standing here with her, she’d suspect she’d died.

But, no, she was still tied to the stake, her skin still burning, though the pain was becoming less and less with every passing second. Despite the lack of light, the heat and scent of the bonfires lingered as if they’d been here and were now gone. As if something or someone had sent them all away, wolves, fires, everything.