Of Blood and Passion (23 page)

“All the vampires were affected by the poison of Blackstone’s magic for a time,” her brother clarified.

Quinn snorted. “Trust me, I’m aware.”

“We saw it happening,” Dera told her. “The darkness in the magic corroding their souls. We warned our master, but he could not see it, or chose to ignore it thanks to that poison. When the trap sprung two years ago, he became enraged. And cruel. We’d never seen him like that.”

“Everything changed the first time you tried to renew the magic,” Davu said. “We saw it, saw your light infusing the darkness, slowly dissolving the poison. We’ve waited, and watched as it has done just that, more quickly than we thought possible. Within a few weeks, Sakamoto was once again himself. Most of his vampires followed shortly after.”

“Unfortunately, not all are reclaiming their souls,” Quinn said.

“Not all had them to begin with,” Davu said darkly. “And a few of Sakamoto’s who did, have failed to reclaim theirs. Sakamoto kicked them out a couple of days ago.”

Quinn frowned. “They’re probably with Cristoff now. That’s where all the soulless seem to be congregating these days.”

The wall beside Quinn began to slide back suddenly and she went still until she saw that there was no one behind it. The large, empty room looked like a martial arts dojo, very much like the one at Fabian’s palace, though this one retained its Japanese flare with the low beamed ceiling, black mats, and Kabuki masks lining the walls, interspersed with ceremonial swords.

In Fabian’s, the mats had been used for orgies and she suspected she was about to have to watch something similar.

“We shall enjoy a bit of exercise,” Sakamoto exclaimed, rising to his feet with vampiric grace, confirming Quinn’s suspicions. She’d almost gotten used to all the sex and nudity in the vampire world and could tolerate it well enough as long as there was no violence mixed in. It never failed to surprise her that vampires came away from a meal more active and energized than at any other time, whereas humans generally were just the opposite, in need of rest to digest their meal.

Sakamoto clapped his hands three times in quick succession and the doors at the far end of the dojo opened. In strode at least two dozen naked people, mostly males, none with the glowing hair of a Slava, which meant they were either mortal humans, vampires, or something else.

One of the men flashed her a smile that revealed slightly elongated fangs, answering that question. Vampires, apparently.

“Begin…” Sakamoto said as he stripped off his kimono and joined his latest guests in the middle of the mat.

A gong sounded. And suddenly, the room exploded into a vampire free-for-all. Bodies flew vampire-fast, flipping, kicking, turning, slamming onto the mats. They were wrestling, she realized. Honest-to-goodness wrestling. Laughter rang through the room, interspersed by grunts and groans and crows of triumph.

“They do this after every meal,” Davu said, topping off Quinn’s wine glass.

“Do you ever join them?” Quinn asked.

Dera laughed. “Occasionally, but we prefer to run.”

“Run.” Quinn cocked her head. “In human form or leopard?”

Davu smiled with a flick of his eyebrows. “What do you think?”

“Definitely cat, then. Why run on two legs when you have four?”

“Exactly.” He lifted his glass to her and took a sip, watching her over the rim with smiling eyes.

Dera nudged him. “Watch the flirting, brother. In case you haven’t noticed, the sorceress is taken. And her vampire is watching you with fire in his eyes.”

Quinn turned to find Arturo standing beside Kassius, his arms crossed, his eyes as hard as flint. She smiled and held out her hand to him, pleased when he immediately strode to her and took it.

“How was your dinner?” she asked him, then tugged on his hand. “Join us. I’m making friends and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t look at them as if you wanted to kill them.”

Arturo’s gaze cut to Davu. “Only the one.” But he lowered himself onto the cushion beside Quinn with vampire grace, and pulled her back against his chest, one arm curving around her waist in a blatantly possessive manner, one she didn’t mind at all since she’d invited it.

“A glass of wine, Arturo?” Dera asked.

“Red, thank you.”

Quinn covered his hand where it rested on her hipbone. “You and your friends don’t want to play with the other vampires?” Sakamoto was in the middle of the floor, wrestling with the others, his body surprisingly fit.

“No.”
When in an enemy castle, even one as seemingly calm as this one, it’s never wise to engage in combat unless absolutely necessary. Especially when one is so thoroughly outnumbered.

“I understand,” she said quietly, and squeezed his hand. She noticed a pair of the vampires getting it on in one of the corners, but the rest were still wrestling. “This place isn’t what I expected.”

“This is how it used to be in all vampire strongholds,
tesoro mio
. The laughter, the pleasure. The Emoras were a fine race, all things considered. I am sorry you’ve seen little evidence of that.”

“There are cruel individuals of any race,” Dera said. “Our first master was one. But Sakamoto has never been, except for that short period when he was affected by the poison. But that’s over, thankfully, and, by and large, your vampire is correct. The Emoras, at least the males, are more moral and honorable than many humans.”

“Why not the females? Why do there seem to be so many more male vampires than female?” Quinn only counted three females in the wrestling group. Four if she counted the one having sex with a male in the corner. It occurred to her that she’d never seen a female vampire at Neo’s.

“They do not turn well,
cara
. Far fewer survive the turning than the males and many of those who do lose touch with their humanity. Many become Rippers even though they were turned by an Emora.”

And Rippers, she knew, had no souls, no consciences, at all.

“There are only four female vampires within Sakamoto’s kovena,” Dera told her. “Good ones are exceedingly rare.”

She found herself watching the three women who were wrestling. “They’re as strong as the males.”

“Yes,
cara
,” Arturo said. “The vampire sexes are equally strong.”

The gong rang and the vampires pulled apart, many collapsing onto their backs on the mats, winded, laughing. One by one they rose, some helping their fellows up, others leaping to their feet as if ready for another round. The pair in the corner continued to rut, drawing ribald comments from the others. But though the copulating pair laughed, they took their time in completing the act.

A happy group of vampires. Who would have thought?

Quinn caressed Arturo’s hand. “Was Cristoff’s really like this?”

“We were more likely to be found around billiards tables and chess boards than wrestling mats, but, yes, we would spend time together, talking, telling stories, playing chess. It was not like it has become, Quinn. I cannot begin to explain how different things are now.”

“I’m beginning to understand.”

The vampires rose, finally, and headed for the door, chatting amiably among themselves as they filed from the large room.

“Brandy?” Sakamoto asked as he put on his kimono and tied the sash.

Arturo rose, pulling Quinn up with him. Together they joined Sakamoto at the primary table as Dera and Davu poured each of them a snifter.

“No, thanks,” Quinn said. Two glasses of wine had been plenty.

The men had only taken a few sips of their brandy when Tassard strode in. “I’m ready.”

Had it really been two hours? Quinn supposed that it had.

Sakamoto nodded. “You will explain what will happen ahead of time and take everything slowly. No more surprises.” He glanced at Arturo. “For any of us.”

Tassard smiled, but his eyes remained cold. “It’s going to hurt, sorceress.”

Quinn really did not like this vampire. “You’re going to bite me again?”

“No. I will do nothing but touch you. Still, the transformation is going to hurt.”

Wonderful.

Arturo rose, pulling her up beside him. “Minimize her pain.”

Tassard’s smile turned chilly. “The more she fights the change, the more it will hurt. The level of pain is up to her. I do not create a simple illusion. She will be changing. Ask the cats. A change like that is not done without some discomfort.”

Quinn glanced at Arturo. “You’d better hold me down again, or I’m likely to make him a wall ornament.”

Arturo stepped behind her and pinned her carefully against him once again.
I would like to rip his throat out, but we need his help.

She snorted. “I’m right there with you.”

Tassard’s brows flicked together. “Excuse me?”

“Private conversation,” she told him. “Let’s get it over with, shall we?” She wondered, briefly, how many ways this could go wrong, but knew they didn’t have an option.

Micah and Kassius stood just behind Tassard, one on either side, their jaws hard, their eyes telling her she wouldn’t suffer alone.

And then her vision was blocked as Tassard lifted a hand to her face. Like before, his fingers splayed, four fingertips pressing against her skin.

Quinn tensed, bracing herself. But there was no preparing for what came next.

Pain sliced through her skull as if six-inch blades had suddenly erupted from Tassard’s fingertips and slid right through her head. She screamed, unable to do anything else, then couldn’t breathe, could barely stand. Her mind went blank, her world spinning down to a single, blazing agony.

It will be over soon, amore. It will be over soon.
Arturo’s voice reached her as if from a distance, muffled through the shattering pain.

“End this quickly or it will be your head split asunder,” Arturo growled to her tormentor.

“I’m working as fast as I can.” But even through the pain, she could hear the pleasure in Tassard’s voice.

“I doubt that,” Micah muttered from behind them.

Suddenly, blessedly, the pain began to lessen, then subside. Moments later, it had disappeared altogether.

Quinn sank back against Arturo. Slowly, she opened her eyes and blinked. “Did it work?” The voice that emerged from her throat was not her own. Startled, she straightened, looking at the faces of those around her, faces wreathed in amazement and triumph.

Pulling out of Arturo’s hold, she turned and found him, too, looking at her with shock.

“It worked,” he said quietly.

Suddenly, another pain shot across her skull and she gripped her head, doubling over.

“Tassard,” Arturo growled.

“That one wasn’t my doing. It’s probably just an aftershock.”

Arturo grabbed hold of her, helping her stand.

Her head felt as if it were filling, the thoughts too much, too many, until her skull felt ready to explode. Thoughts, memories,
emotions
, that weren’t hers. Fury roared up from deep inside her like a volcano about to erupt, catching her in its storm.

Erasing all that was Quinn.

The Black Wizard straightened, pushing away from the one who dared try to hold him. In a quickly receding part of his mind, he knew the vampire’s name to be Arturo, remembered him as friend. But the Black Wizard needed no friend.

With a flick of his wrist, the vampire, Arturo, sailed across the room, landing, with a crash, atop one of the tables. The Black Wizard turned and surveyed the others that surrounded him—vampires all? None of them were known to him.

Where was he? How had he gotten here? It was of no matter. He would figure it out soon enough.

He turned on the lot of them.

“Submit to me. Or die.”

Chapter 25

A
rturo shook off the head-ringing attack and pushed himself up, staring at the old man dressed in a threadbare brown robe of the type worn millennia ago.
The Black Wizard.
His back was bent, if only a little, his hands covered in age spots and misshapen with arthritis. Little hair grew from the top of his head, but a long gray fringe draped his shoulders and a surprisingly bushy gray beard covered most of his face. He might look rather harmless if not for the power and malevolence radiating from those faded blue eyes.

Tesoro
, are you still in there?

The wizard’s face contorted with surprise and fury. “Who dares to speak to me thus?”

Arturo had his answer. Tassard has assured them Quinn would remain in control, that the Black Wizard’s consciousness would be nothing more than a shadow in her mind. Damn Tassard to hell.

She should, at least, be safe enough as long as no one deemed it necessary to kill the wizard. And as long as she was eventually able to break free again.

Thinking quickly, calling on centuries as a diplomat, Arturo rose to his feet and bowed deeply. “Forgive us, great wizard, but we seek your assistance in a grave matter.”

As the ancient wizard swung toward him, Arturo rose slowly, waiting for leave to speak. The Black Wizard was like a dangerous animal, cornered and confused. And utterly, horrifyingly, fascinating.