Of Blood and Passion (11 page)

“Ready, Quinn?” Bram asked. He motioned to the Slava female at his side, a friendly-looking young woman. “This is Deb. She’ll be accompanying us.”

Grant led the way down the tunnels in the opposite direction from Arturo, followed by Kassius, then Quinn. Micah, Bram, and Deb brought up the rear. As they walked, Quinn studied Grant. Her impersonation of him probably didn’t have to be perfect—people tended to see what they expected to see. But it had to be good enough that she didn’t attract attention. Mostly, she just needed to keep her head down and keep from being drawn into conversation because, while she would sound like Grant, she certainly didn’t use the same words or terminology as a male born right after the Civil War.

Above all, she needed to avoid Grant’s brother, Sheridan, because there’d be no fooling that vampire.

There were a hundred ways this could go wrong.

“Quinn,” Kassius said quietly beside her. “You must remain calm. It will not do for Grant Blackstone to radiate fear. He, alone, shows and feels none.”

Her eyes widened with dismay. She hadn’t known that. Any fear feeder would feel her emotions and suspect something, even if it was only that Grant Blackstone was up to something. Which could have her hauled in front of Cristoff.

“Why in the hell did we glamour me to look like Grant, then?” she said, stopping in her tracks.

Micah grabbed her shoulders to keep from running into her. “What’s the matter?”

“You need to make me look like someone else. Kass says Grant never feels emotion and I sure as hell can’t mimic
that
.” If they needed proof, her pulse was already racing, her palms damp with sweat. And she was still perfectly safe down in the tunnel.

“Come here, Quinn,” Grant said. “I want to talk to you. Alone.”

Her vampire companions glanced at one another, but none of the three offered up an objection when she continued on with Grant. It occurred to her that she and Grant must look like twins.

“Stay in sight,” Micah called quietly.

Grant said nothing, but stopped some twenty feet from the others and turned his back on them. “There’s a reason no vampire senses my fear.”

“And what is that?” But she watched him, unable to hide her interest. “Magic?”

“Yes. My father’s.” He took a stone out of his pocket, a small clear crystal in the shape of a squat Washington Monument, and handed it to her. “Hold onto this. I’m going to want it back, but you need it more than I do at the moment.”

She looked at the stone, then at Grant. “A magic talisman or Dumbo’s feather?”

Grant frowned. “Who’s Dumbo?”

Quinn’s smile was quick and amused. “A Disney character. Never mind the reference. I was referring to the fact that sometimes simply believing will make it true. Whether or not the stone truly possesses magic, if I believe that no one will sense my fear, then perhaps I won’t feel afraid. Although in this case, I’m not sure that’s going to work.”

He nodded, his brow slightly furrowed as if he only partially understood what she was trying to say. “You’ll still feel afraid. The vampires simply won’t be able to sense it. I used the stone to cast a temporary spell over my companions earlier, which is why neither of your fear feeders sensed our presence when you first arrived in the tunnels.”

“How did you know we were coming?”

“I didn’t. Not until you entered the stables. I set that trap soon after Kassius learned of the tunnels. I didn’t trust that he wouldn’t tell others.”

“How did you know we’d entered?”

He shrugged. “Magic.”

She eyed him curiously. “You have an awful lot of magic for a sorcerer too weak to renew Vamp City.”

“I have magic. It’s just not the right kind.”

He was being awfully helpful all of a sudden. “Why give me your stone, Grant? Why help me at all?” But she realized she knew. “I’m wearing your face. If I screw up, you’re toast.”

“Something like that. I’ve never had anything against you personally, Quinn. I’d love to see this world crumble because I’m sick to death of living in it and I can’t leave. But I’ll happily put up with another hundred years in exchange for watching Cristoff taken down by his own vampires.”

She looked at him curiously. “This isn’t the time for this, but I’ve been wondering…do you have any idea how we’re related?” When he lifted a brow, she continued. “I possess Blackstone magic, therefore I must also possess Blackstone blood.”

Grant shrugged. “Daddy dearest only had two legitimate children that I know of, but he was old by the time Cristoff killed him, Quinn. A lot older than he looked. He rarely talked to us of the past and never told us when he was born or anything about his own childhood. But a couple of times, a couple of things he said, made me wonder if he’d turned immortal as some of the most powerful sorcerers do. He may have fathered many children in his lifetime. You’re probably descended from one of them.”

Quinn nodded. “Thanks for this,” she said, pocketing the crystal.

“You’re welcome.”

Grant motioned the others to join them and the small group continued down the tunnel. Quinn felt the stone in her pocket. Now that she had her magic feather, what could go wrong?

Her gut cramped, because she knew the answer to that.

Everything.

A
rturo parked his Jeep in front of the iron gates of Gonzaga Castle. After leaving the tunnels, he’d retrieved his mount and ridden it to his house, then switched to his Jeep. The yellow Wrangler drew far too much attention these days, when he needed to be stealthy, but today he had no need or desire to hide his movements. Arturo Mazza, Cristoff’s most loyal, danced attendance on his master, and he was happy for all the kovena to know it.

The moment he turned off the ignition, the screams hit him like flying glass.

Dio
. Cristoff must be torturing a dozen at once.

As he climbed out of the vehicle and strode up to the gates of what, for decades, had been his second home, his flesh chilled to ice. Because all he could think about was that within minutes Quinn would be walking those deadly halls without his protection.

And that Cristoff wanted to hurt her with a hunger bordering on madness.

Chapter 12

I
t is time,
cara
.
Arturo’s voice sounded in Quinn’s head as she and Kassius waited in the torch-lit tunnel at the base of the stairs that would lead directly into Gonzaga Castle, her back against the cool stone.
Cristoff is well occupied. Mio Dio, but he has grown depraved.

As if he hadn’t been utterly so before. Maybe Cristoff really had grown worse. Or maybe Arturo could just, finally, see him clearly.

“It’s time,” she told Kassius, her heart starting to race. They probably hadn’t been in place and waiting for more than ten minutes, but her nerves were stretched almost to the breaking point. What kind of idiot was she for willingly going anywhere near that monster? Every couple of minutes, the question burst in her mind all over again.

Was she
really
going to do this? It wasn’t too late. If she told them she’d changed her mind, there wasn’t a one of them who would blame her. But all she had to do was think of Zack lying on the kitchen floor and her spine turned to steel.

“Ready?” Kassius asked.

Not in a million years. But she took a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s go.”

Respect lit the werevamp’s eyes.

Bram stepped forward, the female Slava at his side. “Deb and I will climb the ladder first and let you know when the coast is clear.” The ladder led to a small empty bedroom, one in an unused hall of dorm rooms originally intended for slaves. No one would question a vampire male leaving a small bedroom with a female slave. If they encountered anyone in the hallway as they left the room, Quinn had no doubt Bram would greet them loudly…assuming Bram was on their side, as he claimed, and not Cristoff’s mole. Once, she might not have questioned the motives of everyone around her, human and vampire alike. But if there was one thing Arturo had taught her, it was that.

Even as a myriad of doubts preyed on her mind, she knew she had to trust. She couldn’t carry out this mission alone, and they couldn’t do it without her. They’d never get into Cristoff’s private study without her magic.

Bram clambered up the ladder first and the rest of them held their collective breaths as he opened the hatch slowly, then disappeared into the room above. The distant sound of screams filtered down into the tunnel, making Quinn shiver. Bram motioned for Deb and the woman followed him. As soon as she was up, Kassius started to climb.

Quinn turned to Micah, who would remain behind. “Wish me luck,” she whispered.

He gave her a bear hug. “You’ll be fine, Quinn. I have complete faith in you.”

She wished she could say the same.

When he released her, she turned to the ladder and followed the others up into the tiny, Spartan room. Bram replaced the hidden hatch, then motioned them back, but Kassius stopped him.

“The screams,” Kassius said. “They’re not coming from the throne room.”

“No. He bit a dozen Slavas and left them in the foyer.”

Bit? Quinn’s eyes widened. “Dragon fire?”

Bram nodded, his expression filling with pity. “You’ve experienced that particular torture, haven’t you, Quinn?”

A hard shiver ran through her at the memory of an agony so overwhelming, she’d been unable to move.

Kassius cupped her shoulder. “You’ll have to walk through the foyer. Keep your head down and just keep moving. Trust me, Grant Blackstone would give the victims no thought.” As he and Quinn moved behind the door, Bram opened it, took hold of Deb’s arm and ushered her into the hallway.

The sound of the screams rushed in five times louder than before, flaying Quinn with horrific memories of the pain she’d already suffered in this place. And that was nothing…
nothing…
compared to what Cristoff would do to her if he caught her again.

She began to tremble deep inside, her heart pounding, a thin panic rising on her skin.

Take slow, even breaths,
cara
.
Arturo’s voice stroked her mind like a soft, warm hand.
You are powerful. You are in complete control of your magic. You have nothing to fear.

She wasn’t sure about any of that, but he was right. If she didn’t start believing she’d succeed, she would absolutely fail.

“I can do this,” she whispered.

Kassius glanced at her, perplexed.

“I’ll get it under control,” Quinn promised. She had to.

The vampire’s frown deepened. “I sense no fear in you.”

With dawning understanding, Quinn smiled. “Grant shared his secret…and a bit of magic.”

Kassius’s confusion cleared. “Amazing. Now all you have to do is
act
as fearless and unconcerned as Grant does.”

Her mouth twisted ruefully. The vampires might not taste her fear, but they’d see it quickly enough if she wasn’t very, very careful.

Kassius eyed her. “Ready?”

“Yes.” Which was an out and out lie and they both knew it. As she stepped into the hallway, the screams had her drawing in a harsh breath.

“Keep your wits about you, Quinn,” Kassius said quietly, then he left her in a vampire flash. He would remain close enough to hear her if she needed him, but it wouldn’t do for Grant to be seen looking chummy with a vampire. Cristoff and the other vampires left Grant alone to wander the castle as he pleased.

Heart pounding in her chest, Quinn started down the long hallway that would lead to the foyer and the suffering Slavas, and finally the stairs. As everything inside her yelled for caution, she forced herself to walk at a brisk pace, struggling to mimic Grant’s nonchalant stride, channeling a man who hated his life and everyone in it.

Upstairs was located both Grant’s bedroom—where she was to meet up with Kassius again—and Cristoff’s private study—their ultimate destination. Unfortunately, upstairs was also Cristoff’s throne room where he often entertained himself by torturing people.

But first she had to walk through the foyer.

Her breath grew more and more shallow the closer to the screaming she came, but she set her jaw and forced herself to keep going. Her legs turned heavy, her survival instinct fighting her forward movement. Her heart thudded, sweat beading at the back of her neck. As she neared the foyer, her vision began to turn white at the edges.

Tesoro,
Arturo said quietly in her head, a reminder that she wasn’t alone. His voice helped quiet the rising panic, if only a little.

Head down, she reached the foyer, the pain of a dozen humans flaying her from all sides.
Don’t look,
she told herself.
Just keep going.
But she barely knew Cristoff’s castle, unlike the real Grant who’d lived here for decades, and she had no choice but to watch where she was going.

The marble and ivory foyer was huge, easily the size of a small ballroom. In the very center stood a black lacquer grand piano, while along the walls sat lines of red velvet benches. Scattered across the marble floor were a dozen humans writhing in pain, each with a swollen protrusion on his or her neck, or bare groin, the size and color of a ripe plum.