Of Blood and Passion (30 page)

Like hell.

Quinn threw her fireball, somehow hitting one of the Gonzaga guards, then threw up her hands, sending out a powerful blast. No fewer than a dozen vampires flew backward to land on the ground. Unfortunately, her friends among them. She needed to pull the bad vamps off to the side, as she’d seen Arturo do centuries ago through Kassius’s memories.

The trouble was, she wasn’t nearly as fast as they were. Nor was she a great rider. She kicked her horse, trying to get it to run, but the vampires were all around her and the horse was starting to panic.

Heart thudding, she pulled out her stakes as battle raged all around her, and told herself she could do this. She could track their movements. She knew how to fight them, and she was strong! But there were so damn many of them.

As they closed in on her, she took a stab at one, and missed. And suddenly they were grabbing her, a dozen pairs of hands trying to pull her off her horse in different directions.

With a roar of anger, she sent her magic flying out in all directions and the groping hands fell away, vampires once more flying.

Sweat beaded her brow, her breath coming in short, desperate pulls. Still she heard the sound of battle all around her and knew there would be no rescue from her friends. Not yet. She was going to have to handle a dozen vampires on her own.

I can do this.

Forcing herself to calm down, she pulled fireballs into both palms and threw them, watching with immense satisfaction as one of the vampires went up in flames. Unfortunately, she needed to work on her aim with her left hand. That fireball fell short, snuffing out on the ground.

Two males grabbed her suddenly, one on either side of her mount, both snaring her wrists. Dammit! She kicked out at one, then called up that fury, that power, and sent it flying out in all directions again. Once more, the vampires flew back. If she could keep sending out power blasts, she could hold them off indefinitely. But she wasn’t at all sure she could keep it up. She was already breathing hard, sweat drenching her shirt.

Three more times, they came at her. Three more times, she pushed them back. But each time took more out of her. After the third blast, she had to grab the pommel as her head began to spin.

The vampires continued to circle her, watching with greedy, excited eyes and she could only guess at the reward that awaited the man who brought her in and laid her at Cristoff’s feet.

A quick glance told her that her friends were still fighting their own battles, taking out their opponents one and two at a time. Each time they dispatched a vamp, more would fly at them.

Her own attackers were now down to five. But the five rushed her again and though she tried, she couldn’t call up another blast of power to throw them back. One got a hold of her wrist and pulled her down off her horse and she hit the ground hard.

Quinn managed to wrench away from him and scramble to her feet as they circled her, smiling like cats playing with their prey. But this prey didn’t intend to lose.

They rushed her, one grabbing her wrist and wrenching it hard behind her back. She cried out even as she kicked him, twisting out of his hold, but as she tried to lift her hands, both arms were grabbed.

Dammit! Twisting loose, she yanked herself free of them, then kicked out at the first one who flew at her again, knocking him to the ground.

She hazarded a glance at her friends, then wished she hadn’t. Lukas and Kassius, both large, powerful males, were still holding their own with apparent ease, but Rinaldo appeared to be struggling badly. As she watched, one of his opponents knocked the sword out of his hand. Rinaldo dove at the male. But as he did, the other Gonzaga guard he’d been fighting swung his sword hard, catching Rinaldo in the neck.

Rinaldo’s head went flying.

“
No!”
Quinn screamed.

Something slammed into the back of her skull. And the lights went out.

Chapter 33

Q
uinn regained consciousness, screaming.

In an instant, she knew where she was—on her back on the cold marble floor of Cristoff’s throne room. Cristoff stood over her, his eyes bright orbs of glowing power and madness, his hand holding the jeweled hilt of the sword buried deep within her abdomen.

Escalla.

Vaguely, through the shattering glare of pain, she saw guards standing at attention around her, though she could barely make out more than their uniforms.

She coughed and her mouth flooded with the warm metallic taste of blood.

Her mind went blank with shock, with disbelief. After all she’d been through, it would end here. Cristoff’s prisoner. Once more at Cristoff’s mercy. He would kill her without even letting her save Vamp City first.

She tried to lift her hands, needing to push him away, but her arms wouldn’t budge. She was paralyzed with weakness, with pain. And when she coughed again, she gagged on the river of blood filling her mouth.

Quinn!

Arturo’s voice rang in her mind, filling her with relief that he was alive. And despair because she would never see him again.

A terrible sound began to fill the room, a horrible screech that somehow wailed of triumph and horror, and echoed a madman’s cackling glee. The sword. It was Escalla itself making that keening wail.

Her vision spun and she feared she was spiraling down into death. Then suddenly she was kneeling on the ground beside a boiling lake, the sky overhead dark with storm clouds raked by bolts of lightning. She stared at her hands…no, not hers.
The Black Wizard’s
. For one moment she thought she’d somehow become him again, but as she saw what those gnarled old hands gripped—the jeweled hilt of Escalla, which had been plunged deep inside of him—she realized what was happening. She was experiencing his death millennia ago.
Through his eyes.

She looked up to find another old male hobbling toward her with the help of a cane, a male with few teeth and no hair.

“Levenach,” the Black Wizard said, choking on the name of his nemesis even as his slayer, his loyal Nerian, stepped away from him.

“We used to be friends, Remus,” Levenach said conversationally. “But with each passing year, your actions have become less and less conscionable until I had no choice but to stop you.”

“With murder?” The Black Wizard…
Remus?
…spit out a cup’s worth of blood.

“I had hoped it would not come to this.”

The Black Wizard struggled to find the strength to form words. “They are fools!”

“They are human.” Levenach shook his head sadly. “Fools, yes. Some. But not all. And that does not justify your actions.”

“Curse you, Levenach. Curse you!” Even with the blood gathering in his throat and mouth, Remus began to whisper fast and hard, a curse that would strip Levenach of his magic. And while he was at it, strip his heirs of their magic as well.

Levenach shot out his hand, attempting to strangle the words from his throat, but even moments from death, the Black Wizard’s power was formidable, and the final words were said. The curse was cast.

The Black Wizard smiled the smile of the damned and spit the blood out of his mouth. “It is done.”

Fury turned Levenach’s face red. “Then let it be known that any vampire who uses Escalla to stab a wizard with your blood will acquire your power. Your heirs will be hunted to extinction!”

Quinn’s vantage point changed, as if she lifted out of the Black Wizard’s dying body to stand between the dueling and ancient wizards. From here she got a better view of Nerian, a young-looking, lanky vampire with long, stringy hair and a look of amazement on his face. His eyes were beginning to glow, just like Cristoff’s had.

“Neither curse will be broken until the sword is destroyed!” Levenach proclaimed.

The Black Wizard visibly struggled to remain upright. “Only happen…by drinking of power.” His voice was barely audible, but Quinn heard him clearly. “And the heart blood of the one…”

Quinn wasn’t sure what he meant. But Levenach nodded. “And the one will know.”

The Black Wizard fell, collapsing onto his side as the blood ran freely from his mouth onto the ground. “The curse…will never be…broken.” His body went still, his eyes remaining open in death.

Levenach stepped forward until he stood over him. “Time will tell, old friend. Time will tell.” Slowly, Levenach turned to Nerian. “My curse was added in anger, and I fear it was a terrible mistake. You will greatly abuse the power you’ve just received.”

Vampire-fast, Nerian pulled Escalla from the Black Wizard’s body and impaled Levenach on the sword that had just killed his enemy.

Nerian smiled. “I certainly hope so.”

Quinn’s sight swam and once more she was looking up at Cristoff who was no longer staring at her with mad glee, but with surprise. And confusion. As if he’d witnessed the same scene she just had.

“The one will know,” he murmured, confirming her suspicion. His gaze dropped to where his hand gripped the sword that still buried inside of her, pinning her to the floor, then rose back to hers.

She had to be hallucinating, because she could swear his eyes filled with regret.

“
What have I done?
” he asked so quietly that she was certain she was the only one who heard. “I was entrusted with the protection of this sword, so that it would never again be used thus.”

She was glimpsing the man Arturo had loved, a vampire who might, perhaps, have been worthy of the love of his son.

But even as she felt the pull of pity, madness rushed back into those still-glowing eyes. The Cristoff she’d come to know and hate began to laugh. “The power is mine!” Still laughing, he pulled the sword out of her with rough indifference that would have had her screaming if she wasn’t already choking on her own blood.

Lifting the sword, he made as if to shove it into a scabbard at his waist. He didn’t have one. And then, just as suddenly, he did. Out of nowhere, a jeweled scabbard appeared. Cristoff laughed again, shoved the sword home, and strode toward the door of the throne room.

“Come!”

His guards hurried after him, leaving her alone in a warm pool of her own blood, without the strength to move. As she stared up at the high, blood-splattered ceiling, fearing it would be the last thing she saw, Arturo’s precious voice caressed her mind, wrapping around her heart, sending tears sliding down into her hair.

Hold onto life,
amore mio
. Don’t leave me. Hold on.

But what was there left to hold onto? All those she’d tried to save would die unless

Cristoff had the power…and the will…to renew Vamp City’s magic. Perhaps it was better this way. Perhaps Cristoff would succeed where she never had.

The darkness rushed in to claim her, scooping her into its arms and carrying her away, leaving behind the taunting litany of all the ways in which she’d failed.

Chapter 34

Z
ack pulled up beside William and Ana Lucia in front of one of the old houses that dotted the landscape of Vamp City, the doppelganger of what had probably been a farmhouse in the nineteenth century.

As William tied up the horses, Ana Lucia motioned for Zack to follow her. “You’re safe,” she told him, her tone brisk, yet not unkind.

“Are you a vampire?” he asked. He’d seen very few female vamps.

“Human. I’ve spent the past two years hunting Rippers with William.”

“Shouldn’t you be a Slava by now?”

“I spent a few months in the real world last year to keep from turning immortal. William and Max are stuck here, but one of William’s friends isn’t. Micah helps me come and go.”

“William and Micah are friends?” Maybe he wasn’t in as much danger as he’d feared.

“Yes. You know Micah?”

“Yeah. He’s…” Zack clamped his mouth shut, realizing that admitting that Micah was in league with Quinn, the sorceress, could compromise everything if these vamps weren’t really who they said they were. “I’ve heard of him,” he said lamely.

Ana Lucia nodded and led him through the front door of the house. There were people everywhere, at least a dozen of them. A couple were Slavas, but the rest looked like mortal humans, freshies, though there may have been a vampire or two scattered among them, including the bearded male, Max.

On a blood-soaked blanket in the middle of the floor, lay Jason, a woman kneeling on either side of him.

The curly-haired blonde in jeans had her back to Zack and appeared to be holding Jason’s hand. The other looked like she’d just walked in off the nearest wagon train, her colorless dress long and old fashioned, her hair pulled back tight. When she glanced up at him, he saw that the pupils of her eyes were a stark white, her fangs elongating even as he watched.

“She’s a vampire,” Zack growled, starting forward.

Ana Lucia stopped him with a hand to the arm. “She’s also a talented healer. If anyone can save him, Octavia can.”

Zack heard the unspoken stress on the word ‘if’. He wanted to hit something, preferably one of the vampires. But this one was on him. Jason’s chances were bad and it was all his fault.

As Zack watched, the lady vamp dipped her head to the site of Jason’s terrible wound. Zack tensed because how could taking more blood possibly be good for him? Unless she was trying to turn him? Oh,
fuck
, no.