A Kiss of Blood (Vamp City #2)(57)

“All of it?” Quinn asked, horrified.

“Too much for them to survive.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Yes. She was a vampire with no heart and little conscience. A monster, no matter how she fed. Feeding on joy did not make her good any more than Bram’s need for pain makes him a monster.”

She’d met Bram on her first visit to Gonzaga Castle. A good friend of Arturo’s, he’d spent most of his time in the real D.C. as an emergency-room surgeon, healing humans even as he fed from their agony. He’d been visiting V.C. the night Blackstone’s trap sprung and was now trapped, unable to return to his job or to the life he desired. He’d been a man in torment when she’d met him, forced to feed on the torture his master, Cristoff, preferred.

“This place is in the middle of nowhere,” she murmured. “Northeast D.C.?”

“Yes.”

They grew silent as they rode up the dirt track to the huge wall where two guards stood, dressed in black, armed with what appeared to be semiautomatic assault weapons. For the werewolves or other vampires?

“Arturo Mazza requests an audience with Fabian Neptune,” Arturo said formally, pulling up two dozen feet away from the armed men.

Quinn pulled up behind him like the good little Slava she was pretending to be. The walls of this place had to be thirty feet high. Maybe forty. Atop stood two more armed vamps.

“State your business,” one of the guards called down.

“Diplomatic in nature,” Arturo replied. “I have news of the sorceress.”

No one replied, but a quick look up revealed that the one who’d asked the question was no longer there. For several minutes, nothing happened. And there was no peering in. The two wide gates within the rock walls appeared to be solid steel.

One of those gates began to swing open. The guard from the wall stood in the opening and motioned them in. “Fabian wishes to see you.”

As they knew he would.

Arturo’s horse moved forward without any visible signal on Arturo’s part. Quinn’s horse followed. As they cleared the gates, she stared at the structure rising before her. As big as Gonzaga Castle, it looked like a freaking wedding cake. The curved walls were white stucco, the levels in three distinct tiers, smaller as they rose. Each of the upper floors was ringed in intricate and swirling banisters lit by the torches standing in regular intervals around the whole.

The windows, instead of glass, appeared to be cut crystal. Even the front door appeared made with crystal panels. It must weigh a ton. Then again, a vampire could probably lift a ton.

“Wow,” Quinn breathed.

“Fabian enjoys the finer things,” Arturo replied quietly.

That was one way to put it.

At the base of the steps, Arturo dismounted, and Quinn followed. A Slava ran toward them to take their horses, and the guard led them up what appeared to be cut-crystal steps and into a foyer that was a fairyland of sparkling light. The foyer’s massive chandelier supported no fewer than five dozen lit candles.

The floor, mosaic tiles in whites and golds, depicted . . . Quinn’s eyes widened . . . a thoroughly  p**n ographic scene. She cocked her head, trying to see it from a better angle. Was that position even possible? Tearing her gaze away, she admired the walls covered in gold-leafed flowering vines.

A wide stair rose from the foyer, fanning out as it went up, the steps crystal, the railings pure gold draped in filmy white ribbons. On either side sat beautiful fountains tinkling with water. Though the room certainly didn’t run to her personal tastes, she could not deny it was a feast for the eyes.

The guard led them through the archway to the right and into a room of color and beauty. Yards and yards of white silk draped the windows and walls, which, considering the likelihood of spilled blood, didn’t seem like the wisest decorating choice for a nest of vampires. But she didn’t see any stains. The fixtures here, as in the foyer, were all crystal and gold. Flickering candles sat in hurricane glasses lining a shelf that ran around the entire room, some eight feet high. Large silk chaises in bright pastel prints lined every wall though most remained empty. There were flowers everywhere, filling vases, scattered on the chaises and the floors, their fragrance perfuming the air.

A bright blue mat covered the floor in the large pit in the center of the room, reminding her of the kind of springy mat she used to spar on in her Tae Kwon Do dojo. Behind the mat, the room rose several steps to a chaise that appeared to be made of pure gold, covered in black velvet. And on that chaise, lounged a man.

“Fabian,” Arturo said by way of greeting.

The vampire master appeared to be in his early forties though she knew he must be far, far older. He had a pinched face and a bald pate around which hung, like a fringe, thin salt-and-pepper hair. But his eyes were sharp and assessing, gleaming with intelligence and power, and Quinn had little doubt he was a very dangerous male despite the uninspiring appearance.

Wearing only a pair of bright blue pajama pants, Fabian held a tumbler of amber liquid in one hand as he fondled the bare breast of one of the six Slava females who surrounded him. The women wore long, skimpy dresses of sheer, bright color that revealed far more than they hid. And every one of them had her hands on Fabian somewhere. While one ran her fingers through his hair, two massaged his bare feet, two caressed his arms and bare chest from either side. And one had her hand down the front of his pants almost certainly playing with, or stroking, his jewels.