Of Blood and Passion (14 page)

From what she could see, most of the back wall of Cristoff’s study was gone, most of the furniture turned to dust. Clearly the explosives had detonated. The question was, had they destroyed the sword?

But even as the question entered her mind, an eerie orange-red glow caught her attention on the rug—what was left of the rug—six feet away. Quinn blinked, trying to make out what she was seeing. Her stomach sank, her mind reeling with disbelief.

Escalla lay in its case on the floor, apparently untouched.

Dammit to hell.

They’d accomplished nothing. And she didn’t dare try to pry the sword loose with her hands. Just brushing against its case had nearly felled Kassius. Had he, too, been blown free of her hastily built second bubble, or was he still inside, trapped there?

She pushed to her feet, every part of her body aching. Peering through the fog of debris, she saw no sign of him, but caught sight of a pair of black shimmers—one stretching into the room from the front wall and a small one tucked back against the corner where the desk now stood on end. It was the second one she’d left him in, the second one she had to reach.

But as she took a step toward it, a violent wave of dizziness hit her, driving her to her knees.

The study door swung open, blocking her view of whoever stood in the doorway. With raw frustration, she pulled yet another bubble around her, the darkness once more swallowing her, shutting her off from all that happened outside.

She needed to reach Kass! Not only did he need blood, but without her help, he’d never escape the small world in which she’d trapped him.

A
rturo stood in the doorway of Cristoff’s study as his master strode into the middle of the destruction. The blast had leveled half the room and what was left was quickly being covered by the debris raining down, much of it tiny bits of what had once been books.

Every muscle in Arturo’s body had tensed. His pulse raced because…where was Quinn? He knew she was alive. He could feel her pain, her distress. He just hoped to hell she was hidden.

The wall where the sword’s case had hung was now gone, but he could see the sword and case lying on the floor as if untouched. The sword was glowing.
Dio.
Was there no way to destroy that thing?

“Find her!” Cristoff yelled. “The sorceress is nearby. I want her alive!”

Guards swarmed the room, Arturo joining them, hunting for Quinn. But there was no sign of her. With bone-melting relief he realized that she must have escaped back into her bubble.

Slowly, he began to breathe again. He turned to Cristoff. “Why do you think this is the sorceress’s doing?”

Cristoff grinned. “Because Escalla glows.”

Arturo frowned. “For her?”

Cristoff’s eyes flared with excitement. “Escalla craves the blood of the Black Wizard’s heir.”

Arturo’s brows lifted, his mouth tightening. He’d thought Cristoff only wanted her in order to force her to renew the magic, and to secure his revenge. But this was something entirely different. Something far bigger than he’d realized.

“The blood…? You’ll kill her with it,” he said with sudden understanding.

“Of course. Which is why she’s here to take it from me.”

Arturo stared at him, stunned. He hadn’t thought it possible for Cristoff to be of even more danger to Quinn than he already was. Arturo searched his master’s eyes for any sign of the conscience Arturo had thought he’d seen flare to life briefly in the throne room. But he saw nothing but a frantic excitement, as if a treasure beyond imagining was finally within Cristoff’s grasp.

And what would Cristoff gain if he managed to stab Quinn, if Escalla did drink her blood?

As if he were reading Arturo’s unspoken thoughts, Cristoff said, “You’ve heard of Nerian.”

Every vampire had heard of Nerian, the most powerful vampire ever to live. Understanding crashed over Arturo.

“He had Escalla?”

“He was the one who stabbed the Black Wizard. He was the one who held the hilt of the sword while Escalla drank of the Black Wizard’s blood. And I shall do the same.”

Arturo’s own blood ran cold.

Q
uinn struggled to her feet within the confines of her small, dark world, her heart pounding, a bead of sweat rolling down the back of her neck. Thankfully, no dizziness hit her this time. She had to get to Kassius before she lost track of where he was.

You must escape,
cara
. Escalla glows for you. It senses you. Cristoff knows you are near.

Which meant the monster was probably standing somewhere in his ruined study waiting for her to show herself. Waiting for
her
. Not Grant.

Her pulse raced as a plan formed in her mind. Cristoff and his guards would be looking for a woman. And they were so used to Grant that they’d likely pay him no attention, assuming no one noticed him appear out of thin air. If they saw her disappear, it didn’t really matter because by then she’d be back with Kassius. Once the werevamp was on his feet again, they could figure out the next move together.

All she had to do was be Grant again. But…dammit…which way was the desk? She’d lost her orientation again. That way? she wondered, glancing right. No, it was that way. Left. She was pretty sure.

Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself to walk slowly, head down.
Be Grant.

With a mental
here goes nothing
, she pushed through the wall of the bubble.

The light blinded her. Noisy chaos assaulted her ears.

But she was turned the wrong way. It wasn’t the desk straight ahead of her but Cristoff dressed all in blue. Their startled gazes collided. In those pale eyes, she saw the flare of recognition.

And triumph.

Chapter 16

A
rturo stared as Grant Blackstone suddenly appeared out of thin air near the door of Cristoff’s ruined study.

No, not Grant.
Quinn.
She stared at Cristoff as if frozen.

Beside him, Cristoff chuckled, the sound sending a bolt of ice through the base of Arturo’s skull. Because Cristoff knew it was her. The game was up. It was over.

No. It was not. There was one thing he could do to protect the woman who’d stolen his heart and given him back his soul. He could kill Cristoff before Cristoff killed Quinn. Or at least give her a chance to escape.

Stepping back out of Cristoff’s physical reach, he called up the rare and deadly power that only three people in the world knew he possessed. The mind blast, one that might or might not be equal to his master’s. He’d never tested it against Cristoff, for doing so would have meant a battle to the death with the only father he’d ever known.

Unlike Cristoff, Arturo didn’t have to be touching his victim, but neither could he contain the blast to a single target.

As he threw the power at Cristoff, his master yelled, gripping his head and sinking to his knees. But so too did the other guards in the room. There was no containing his assault, which terrified him with Quinn in the room. But in disabling Cristoff, if only for a moment, he was giving her a chance.

Quinn stumbled.

Even as his heart lodged in his throat, his head exploded with a mind-numbing pain that felt as if someone had taken a cleaver to his skull. Arturo roared, his eyes clouding over, his head splitting apart.

How? Cristoff had to be touching his victims. But this…this attack had slammed back through his own, like a counterstrike that had ridden in on the backdraft of his blast. They were going to kill one another. After all these centuries, the moment had come.

“Get him!” Cristoff yelled, his voice tight and choked.

Arturo tried to rise, knowing he had only moments before he was caught, before he was killed unless he managed to fell his master first. But the pain crippled his ability to move. His vision went dark, the pressure behind his eyes growing until he thought his eyes would rupture.

“Get Grant Blackstone!” Cristoff roared. His voice softened. “My son! My loyal one. Get out of here. Save yourself!”

Cristoff’s voice wavered through the pain ringing in Arturo’s ears and at first Arturo didn’t think he’d heard him right.
Save yourself.

“She attacks us both,” Cristoff said. “The sorceress wears the face of Grant Blackstone!”

As Arturo struggled to keep Cristoff from unwittingly pulverizing the brain of his ‘loyal one’, his snake, one realization crashed, a glorious relief. Quinn had gotten away.

Yet Cristoff believed it was her who attacked him, even now. Arturo had to cease the attack, but how to do that without dying in the process? Then again, if Cristoff had only managed to attack him by riding in through Arturo’s own attack, ending one should end the other.

Praying he was right, Arturo ceased his own attack suddenly. The moment he did, the counterattack died, just as he’d hoped. But the pain continued to hammer him, as if it had become trapped within the bones of his skull. He still couldn’t see!

“My snake.” Arturo felt Cristoff’s hand on his shoulder and tensed. “What has she done to you?”

Clearly he had no idea Arturo was his attacker. “Blinded me.”

“You were too close without the ability to protect yourself. The sorceress has grown strong. I knew of sorcerers like her in the old days, ones able to steal the powers of those nearby. She’s acquired glamour, the mind blast, invisibility.” His voice turned rich with wonder. “She is truly the Black Wizard’s heir.”

Thankfully, it hadn’t occurred to Cristoff that the sorceress might have been glamoured by one of his own. Micah wasn’t the only one with such a skill, but he was the best.

“You believe that if you stab Quinn with Escalla, you’ll become as powerful as Nerian,” Arturo said.

Cristoff laughed. “Not believe, my son.
Know.
” Cristoff’s grip on Arturo’s shoulder changed, tightened.
“My loyal one.”

Arturo frowned at the sudden change in Cristoff’s voice, at the sudden ache in it. “My liege?”

“You cannot let it happen.
Do not allow me to become as Nerian.
”

Arturo’s pulse leaped. The words, the ache in them, belonged to the Cristoff of old, the soul that struggled to once more break free.

“Cristoff?”

But suddenly the hand left his shoulder, glass and debris crunching beneath his shoes as Cristoff moving away. “The sword’s glow is fading,” he shouted, his voice once more strong and utterly lacking compassion. “She’s getting away!”

Arturo heard something else, a sound that made his blood run cold. The sound of steel clinking against glass.

He turned his attention to Quinn, felt her pain, and knew he must have hurt her with his mind blast.
He has the sword,
amore
. He’s taken it from its case. It will lead him to you. Get out of the castle. Run!

If only they had the means to attack Cristoff now, to wrest the sword from him while it was free from its protective case. But no vampire had the power to stand against Cristoff’s mind blast. Including him.

So many things made sense, now. Why Cristoff had laid the sword in Quinn’s hands. Why his excitement had grown as Arturo spun tales of the sorceress’s increasing power.

The situation was far worse than he’d thought. If Cristoff acquired the power of Nerian…of the Black Wizard…with his soul still compromised…

God help them all.

Chapter 17

Q
uinn sank to her knees within the safety of the bubble, grasping her head as pain tore through it like a sword hacking her brains to pieces. She’d made it, barely, escaping certain capture. How, she still wasn’t sure. If she had to guess, Cristoff had used his mind blast on her. But he’d appeared to be in agony, too. Had her magic interfered with it somehow? She had no idea, and didn’t really care, as long as she was safe.

But for how long?

Slowly, the pain began to recede and, with shaking hands, she reached for her flashlight to illuminate the small dark space. As the light flicked on, she gasped at the sight of the enormous wolf lying prone across the small space. What the hell?

It took her mind a moment to catch up with her eyes. Not wolf. Werewolf.

“Kass.” She crawled over to him and slid her hand into the fur of the great beast’s chest. Beneath her palm, she felt a soft rise and fall and relief swept over her that he was at least still alive.

He needed blood. The question was how to get hers into him without accidentally becoming his dinner. Kassius would never hurt her…intentionally. But she wasn’t sure about his wolf.

Still, she had to try.

Quinn reached for the small switchblade she kept in her pocket and opened it. Slowly, she sliced the knife through the heel of her hand, gritting her teeth against the fire. Dropping the knife to the floor, she slid her hand beneath the wolf’s head and attempted to turn it up so she could get the blood down his throat, which was harder than she’d thought it would be. Most of the drips hit his teeth, or the floor beneath him. Finally, she managed to get a few onto his tongue and a few more into the back of his mouth.

“Swallow, Kass. It won’t do a bit of good if you don’t swallow.”

Her hand hurt like a son of a bitch, but at least it continued to bleed and the drops continued to fall into his mouth.