Of Blood and Passion (37 page)

But Kassius was referring to another. “The tale of the Healer and the Snake and how, together, you will save the world,” he told them. “Savin has informed me that his wolves will follow the two of you and no others. Nor will they follow one of you alone. Legend says that together you will fight. Only together will you win. And wolves are nothing if not superstitious.”

Quinn turned to Arturo, flashing green eyes now lit with fire and satisfaction. Her mouth turned up in a savage smile. “I’m not leaving. End of discussion.”

And though the thought of her anywhere near that battle, especially with her magic all but gone, turned his blood and bones to ice, he knew she was right. He’d never stop her.

And the truth of those words just made him love her more.

Chapter 42

“H
ow are we going to stop Cristoff?” Jean-Luc Oubre, asked. The powerful vamp was one of five vampire masters now sitting around Neo’s kitchen table along with Quinn, Arturo, Kassius, Micah, and the werewolf Savin.

Poor Neo, Quinn thought. For decades he’d kept his house and operation a secret. Now half the vampires and virtually all the werewolves in the city were either in his house or prowling the perimeter of his yard.

The vampires had been arriving over the past hour from all over the city—five kovenas, so far. Word had spread quickly that the wolves were the first to pledge fealty to the Healer and the Snake and now none of the vampires wanted to be the last to do the same. Most of the vampires now resided in Neo’s basement where they were safe from the sunbeams. Unfortunately, there was nowhere for any of them to hide from Cristoff’s attacks of pain and terror.

“Tassard may have an idea,” Sakamoto said, glancing back at the youthful-looking vampire who stood against the wall, listening, with half a dozen others including Lukas and the werecat twins. “Tassard was alive in the days of Nerian, the only other vampire to drink of the Black Wizard’s power through Escalla.”

Tassard stepped forward, a different man from the indolent, brandy-sipping jerk who’d nearly ripped her throat out. Why he’d changed so drastically in a matter of hours, Quinn didn’t know, though she suspected the threat Cristoff now posed had shaken a few manners into him. Though only a few.

“I know for a fact that Nerian could not be killed by any of the usual methods,” he told them now. “For nearly four centuries we tried. Not until his own queen stabbed him with Escalla did he die.”

“And Nerian’s queen did not acquire his power, oui?” Jean-Luc Oubre asked.

“She did not,” Tassard said, glancing at Quinn, the hint of a smirk in his eyes telling her he hadn’t changed much after all. “The only way to acquire the power of the Black Wizard is by thrusting Escalla deep into one of the wizard’s heirs.”

Quinn glanced at Arturo, saw his mouth hardening, and knew they were both thinking the same thought. The Black Wizard had only been stabbed once, because he’d died from his wound. Quinn had not. And while all of these vampire masters had, presumably, reclaimed their souls, even honorable men were known to succumb to the lure of great power.

On the one hand, as strong as Cristoff now was, the chances of him losing his prized sword—and her being stabbed with it a second time—were exceedingly low. On the other hand…

“We will have to steal Escalla and wield it against Cristoff if we wish to stop him,” Arturo said, clearly attempting to turn all thoughts back to the conversation at hand and away from the potential of any of them claiming that power for himself.

The back door opened and Sam stuck his head in. “Fabian Neptune’s kovena has arrived.”

Quinn met Arturo’s gaze with dismay. After their last experience with Fabian, she’d be happy never to see him again.

“I can’t fit another sixty vampires in my house,” Neo said, standing in the doorway, his eyes a little wild.

“Of course we can fit them,” Mukdalla said, patting his shoulder. “We’ll pack them in like sardines, if we have to. The sunbeams are breaking through too often now to let any of the vampires remain outside. Thank the heavens most of the basement exists in both worlds.”

They’d discovered a half an hour ago, during the third convergence of the two worlds, that one wing of the basement was solid dirt in the D.C. world. Fortunately, only vampires had been in that space—about a dozen of Sakamoto’s contingent—when the worlds converged. For nearly five minutes, they’d been buried alive, but they’d survived, though not without a thoroughly renewed sense that Cristoff must be stopped at all cost.

“There’s still room in the stables,” Micah said. “They’re light tight. There’s also the safe house. It’s not far.”

“The safe house,” Neo said with relief. “That’s where we’ll put them. The windows have all been blacked out. They’ll be all right there.”

“I’m happy to lead them,” Sam said. “But they’re insisting on seeing the sorceress, first, like everyone else.”

Though at first it bemused her that the vampires all insisted on offering her fealty, Quinn was beginning to realize that her surviving Escalla, as well as being one of the main players in the legend of the Healer and the Snake, had turned her into something of a miracle to the inhabitants of Vamp City.

Quinn rose. As she headed for the back door, Arturo, Micah, and Savin fell into step behind her. They were her constant shadows, now. Neither Arturo nor Micah fully trusted the other vampires, fae, or wolves, including Savin, though they did seem to appreciate his show of support.

Arturo opened the back door before Quinn could reach for the handle, and she stepped out beneath a sky that had the hair rising on her arms. The cracks that had, at first, appeared blue had turned bright red, as if the sky were beginning to bleed, turning the daylight reddish-orange, making her think of the End of Days. It was as if the fires of Hell pressed in from the other side, threatening to break through at any minute.

As they started across the yard, Quinn found herself tensing, not because of the vampires—or wolves, for that matter—but because of the constant threat that the earth might rumble again. If it did, she might be able to form a bubble big enough to at least save Arturo and Micah, but only if Arturo was within reach.

The sunbeams had been breaking through far less than before she was stabbed—only one since the last pain world appearance. Whatever Cristoff was doing, seemed to be having an effect on the crumbling of Vamp City. But no one knew if that was a good thing or bad.

Far to the back of the house, a group of some sixty vampires stood stiffly, held at bay by dozens of wolves. At the front of this latest group to arrive stood an unassuming male of average height, his body past its prime, his head bald but for a thin salt and pepper fringe that hung nearly to his shoulders.

Fabian Neptune, one of the most powerful and dangerous vampires in Vamp City, watched her wolves with a wariness that almost made her smile. That pleasure-feeding bastard had come damn close to raping her while she and Arturo were ‘guests’ in his palace.

Quinn turned to Arturo, keeping her voice low. “Do we really trust him?”

“Presumably, he, too, has reclaimed his soul,
cara.
” Which, she noticed, was neither a yes nor a no.

As she and her companions neared the wolves, the animals parted, making way for them. Savin was the only one of the wolves who’d remained in human form and he now wore jeans, at her request. His second-in-command, still in wolf form, fell into step beside Micah. This show of alliance had become ritual as each of the kovenas arrived.

A rumble of voices slid through Fabian’s group, drawing the attention of their master. Fabian’s gaze turned to her, his expression softening with a mix of gratitude, admiration, and a startling, aching, regret.

“Sorceress.” Fabian sank to one knee as she approached, dipping his balding head. Behind him, every one of his vampires did the same. Slowly, Fabian looked up, and in his eyes, she saw a stranger. Gone was the brittle sharpness of a dangerous cunning. In its place, she saw a warmth and compassion she could hardly credit. While he had, at first, looked like the same man she’d met before, he didn’t now. Not at all.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I am most ashamed for the way you were treated in my palace. The vampires you met there, myself included, were not ourselves.” In his eyes, she saw a pain she would never have thought he could feel. “The things I did…” He shook his head slowly, that pain becoming so acute that she found herself hurting for him. “I only thank the gods that I did not harm you unduly while you faced the danger that was my kovena at that time. I do not expect you to forgive the Fabian you met that day. I certainly will not. But I hope you will open your mind and heart to the friendship and loyalty
this
male would offer.”

He held out his hand to her, his eyes hopeful that she would take it. Yet in those surprisingly compassionate depths, she saw only gentle understanding should she rebuff his offer. How could this be the male who’d callously drained a Slava of all her blood before tossing her empty body to the floor?

Five times before this today, she’d welcomed vampire masters—all wise, all powerful, all showing her a surprising honor, warmth, and occasionally, humor. Sakamoto, she’d met before. The others—Jean-Luc Oubre, Raoul von Essen, Zegher Geert, and Phillip York—she’d been introduced to only today. But this was the first time she’d met one whom she’d known previously to be a bastard.

Was it possible that Cristoff, too, could make such a transformation? She knew Arturo deeply hoped so, or at least he had before Cristoff had gleefully stabbed her and become as terrifyingly powerful as Nerian.

Quinn took the vampire master’s outstretched hand. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Fabian.”

Warm eyes filled with relief as he pressed his lips to the back of her hand. “You have my unswerving loyalty, Healer. And my undying gratitude.” In his eyes, she saw an emotion that welled up from deep within his heart and he said quietly, “You gave us back our souls.”

Giving in to impulse, she squeezed his hand. “Stand before me, Fabian. You and your vampires.”

Still holding her hand, Fabian did, rising with vampire grace, but human speed. They stood eye to eye, she and Fabian. Leaning forward, she kissed his cheek.

“Friends,” she said. The unspoken qualifier hung in the air between them.
Unless you prove otherwise.

Fabian grinned, leaned forward and kissed her on both cheeks in return. “My queen.”

Quinn laughed. “Just call me, Quinn. Sam will show you to the farmhouse where you’ll be safe from the sunbeams until dusk. It’s not far.”

Fabian dipped his head with a smile. “Healer…Quinn.”

As Fabian and his vampires turned to follow Sam, Arturo’s hand slid beneath her hair to cup the back of her neck. “Well done,” he said, for her ears only.

She cut him a glance. “I’m becoming a diplomat after all.”

He grinned at her, his eyes were infinitely soft. “You acted from your heart,
cara
. And you took measure of his. You saw past the face of a man you had reason to hate, to the truth of who he is now. And you responded to
that
person instead, to that soul. More, far more, you felt the pain of his regret and opened your heart to him, easing his pain, and in doing so, likely formed an alliance that will never break.”

“All that?” Though her words teased, her heart swelled from his praise.

“All that and more, I suspect.” He pulled her against his side.

As they walked back to the house, Quinn marveled anew at the situation she found herself in. They called her the Healer. They revered her for giving them back their souls. Yet all she’d really done was set in motion the crumbling of their world when she’d moved into D.C., accidentally triggering the destruction of the magic of Vamp City when her own cursed magic became tangled in it.

Then, again accidentally, she’d begun to initiate the healing of the vampires’ souls by attempting to renew the magic, the first time at Cristoff’s demand, the second time to save her brother. She felt as much Destroyer as Healer. Fortunately, they saw only the latter.

How was she either? She felt as if she were once more wearing glamour and they were all paying homage to a person who didn’t actually exist. The real woman, Quinn Lennox, was just a lab tech at the National Institutes of Health in Bethesda, Maryland, just a normal woman, if a bit weird at times. She liked to run, was a halfway decent cook and a better baker, and enjoyed sports. Now they were calling her sorceress and Healer, treating her as if she were their savior.

“Another group arriving,” Sam called.

Arturo turned, then nodded, his hand on her shoulder.

“Who is it?” she asked. His vampire eyesight was so much better than her own, though she could see far better than usual thanks to the added light.

“Bram and his group.” He made a sound of surprise. “Grant and Sheridan Blackstone are with him.”

Quinn groaned.

Arturo squeezed her shoulder. “They’ve surely seen what Cristoff has in mind. No one wishes to live in a world of constant pain, even if they’ve been spared the actual suffering. And Cristoff may or may not have spared the Blackstone brothers.” He turned to her, his gaze as deep as the oceans and as turbulent as a storm-tossed sea. “I wish you would stay here, at Neo’s, when we go to war. The wolves will protect you.”

“You know I can’t do that. We’re going to need the packs on the front lines. And however little magic I possess now, I may still be able to help. If nothing else, they seem to believe that only you and I together will prevail. They need to know I’m behind you.”