A Kiss of Blood (Vamp City #2)(76)

Quinn laughed. “Seriously? Do you know how wrong that sounds coming from a man who was born in the fourteen hundreds?”

He nipped her ear lightly, but she could feel his smile. “We could call it a sword, but the effect would be much less satisfying.”

“Laser gun it is.”

“Now imagine the power you shoot from your laser gun is stored beneath the skin of your arms. They are one, and the loading is automatic. When you need the power, it flows directly from the gun barrels beneath your skin into your laser gun.”

“I don’t think laser guns have barrels.”

“You are not concentrating, cara mia. Feel the power. Feel it flowing into the gun, into your hands. Do you feel it?”

“Maybe?” It was so hard to know.

“Now try to shoot your gun.” His fingers curled between hers, holding her hand, palm out, as the arm around her waist pulled her even tighter against his hard, lean body.

“On the count of three, no? One, two . . .”

Forcing her mind on the task, and off of that hard, lean body, Quinn visualized a laser gun, just as he said, imagined aiming it.

“Three!”

She imagined shooting it, saw in her mind’s eye the power flying through her arm and out through her hand. And watched as the metal chair tipped over and clattered to the floor.

“I did it,” she breathed, feeling Arturo’s lips brush her hair. “Sort of.”

“You did it, cara.” His voice was rich with warmth and satisfaction. “Now shoot another.”

This time, she aimed herself, Arturo’s hand still laced with hers, and imagined the gun and the power firing without his verbal help.

The chair scooted back about two feet.

“Now send it into the wall, Quinn. Send it flying.”

She glanced at him, twisting her lips, then imagined ramping up the energy in her laser, pumping it up like she might a water gun. Taking aim, she counted to three silently and commanded the chair away from her.

It slammed so hard into the hearth that a brick fell to the floor.

“Bella. Again.”

She started to aim at a third chair, but at this angle she’d send it straight through the window. “I need to move.”

Arturo released her slowly, his arm sliding reluctantly away, and she moved to where she could aim the third one at the hearth. Concentrating as she had before, she succeeded easily, then sent another flying, and another.

Satisfaction overflowing, she turned to Arturo and blew the tips of her fingers as if she carried a smoking gun.

His smile dawned slow and brilliant, setting butterflies to flight in her chest. Oh, he was a gorgeous male, as dangerous as he was beautiful, in so many ways. But beautiful all the same.

“What now?” she asked.

The look in his eyes as his gaze traveled slowly down her body told her he was considering options he’d said would wait for later. But then he began setting up the chairs, apparently holding firm to his resolve.

A couple of the chairs, the last two she’d shot, wouldn’t open fully anymore. Her blasts had gotten stronger as she’d gone down the line.

“Try your other hand, this time,” he told her. “A good sorceress should be ambidextrous.”

“You’re sure about that?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I am. Quite.”

“Okay, then.” When he’d stepped back out of the way, she lifted her left hand and willed the first chair to fly.

It tipped over with a soft clatter.

“Concentrate, cara mia.”

“I know, I know.” With a huff, Quinn started at the beginning, imagining the gun and the power, visualizing the energy flowing from her skin into the barrel, and . . .

The chair hit the hearth with such force that four bricks came crashing down. With a smug smile, she aimed again and sent a second chair flying, then lifted her right hand, too, and tried two at once. The right flew, the left only scooted a few inches.

“This is going to take practice,” she muttered.

“Indeed.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Arturo stroll over to a chest in the corner . . . a bar . . . and pour himself a drink.

When she’d knocked down two more chairs, she glanced behind her to find Arturo seated comfortably on the sofa, drink in hand, watching her.

“Enjoying the show?”

“Immensely.” He lifted his glass in salute, then lowered it to take a sip.

Quinn snorted, then resumed practice until the mantel and all the bricks lay in a heap on the floor, the chairs little more than twisted metal.

Dropping her hands, she stared at the mess she’d made. My God, I did this without touching anything. All power, all magic. My magic.

Unease quivered in her stomach, the old loathing raising its head. She’d always hated being different. But she couldn’t deny having the ability to make things move was incredibly satisfying. Still, she’d trade it all for Zack’s life and health.





Chapter Twenty-One

Arturo sipped his whiskey and watched Quinn as she set up the mangled chairs and flung them against the crumbling hearth, over and over, until there was little left of either hearth or chairs. He thrilled to the sight of her, to the power flowing from her fingertips, but more, far more, to the woman herself. She stood, shoulders straight, chin lifted, determination evident in every line of her long, sleek body. Her hair glowed like an angel’s in the candlelight as her graceful hands lifted, pulverizing another pair of crumpled chairs.