have pleased and didn’t . . . quite. The tone was off. Forced.
“Just a nip, my dear? From one of the others?”
“Absolutely not. I’m saving them for dinner.”
Arturo strolled leisurely toward the remaining chained slaves, studying each in turn, revealing no recognition as he looked Quinn over. “You have a good eye for human flesh, Franny.”
“Truly, I have a good ear. I can’t stand the screamers.”
He looked up, that wicked grin all the more dangerous for the sharp incisors it revealed. “I rather enjoy the screamers.”
Francesca groaned. “You should have come to the auction, then. Such wailing. Henri has taken to slaughtering two of every bunch, one in front of the other captives for the fear-feeders. The other in torment for those of us who prefer the pain. Such screaming.”
Arturo smiled absently, still looking Quinn over. “Perhaps I’ll attend next week.” He ran his finger down her cheek. “How much do you want for this one?”
Francesca kicked her horse, easing forward, drawing up again a few yards to Quinn’s side. The vamp’s victim remained tight in her arms, still alive, though lethargic. “She’s not for sale, my Italian prince. She takes the lash perfectly. I wish to see what else she can endure.”
Wingtip released a trembling moan, and Quinn nearly did the same. Arturo’s words, that Francesca went through a slave every couple of days, suddenly made a horrible sense. The vampire tortured her slaves to death. And at the moment, Quinn was one of those slaves.
Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, Francesca straightened in her saddle, allowing her food source to do the same. When she lifted her victim’s hand, Quinn thought she intended to hand the slave back to her guard. Instead, she took one finger and snapped it like a twig.
The poor woman screamed. Francesca closed her eyes as if experiencing soft rapture.
Quinn thought she was going to be sick.
Make a scene, Arturo spoke in her head . A cowardly, noisy one. He gripped her jaw and said out loud, “I want this one, Franny. She may have taken the lash, but she trembles beneath my hand, her terror thick and lush.” He stared at her. “What do you say, beauty? Do you want to come home with me? Do you want to scream for me?” Do it.
“No!” A decent yell, but hardly a cowardly, noisy scene. She’d never been a screamer. “No, please!” He gripped her shoulder where the lash had cut her. The bolt of pain was exactly what she needed. She released the scream that was bottled up inside her, released the tears she’d been fighting. “No! Let me go. Let me go!” She threw a punch at Arturo’s middle, which he easily blocked, then another, fighting, kicking, screaming with the pain that ripped up and down her back with every movement, making as much noise as she could.
“Enough!” the woman cried, but Quinn continued. If the female vamp hated screamers, Quinn was going to scream.
“Double the price I paid for her, Arturo. One thousand.”
Quinn gasped.
Keep it up, the voice warned. “Six hundred.”
Quinn wailed, starting to get into it now. “No, no! Don’t hurt me!”
“Eight hundred, and she’s yours, my prince.”
“Seven-fifty.”
“Done. Manchester, free the slut. Get her out of here, Arturo.”
Moments later, she was free, Arturo’s long fingers curling coolly around her upper arm. But she knew better than to stop too soon. The female would know she’d been faking. Struggling in her vampire’s grasp, Quinn continued to scream, kicking him in the shin. A bit of retribution for his scaring her half to death the first time he’d found her.
As he steered her toward the waiting Jeep, Quinn glanced back at the other slaves, sick with the knowledge they’d likely all be dead before another week passed, dying horrible, painful deaths.
Arturo opened the passenger door of his Jeep and shoved her in, his hand flat on her torn back. The pain tore a scream from her lungs, and she gave in to it,
“Just a nip, my dear? From one of the others?”
“Absolutely not. I’m saving them for dinner.”
Arturo strolled leisurely toward the remaining chained slaves, studying each in turn, revealing no recognition as he looked Quinn over. “You have a good eye for human flesh, Franny.”
“Truly, I have a good ear. I can’t stand the screamers.”
He looked up, that wicked grin all the more dangerous for the sharp incisors it revealed. “I rather enjoy the screamers.”
Francesca groaned. “You should have come to the auction, then. Such wailing. Henri has taken to slaughtering two of every bunch, one in front of the other captives for the fear-feeders. The other in torment for those of us who prefer the pain. Such screaming.”
Arturo smiled absently, still looking Quinn over. “Perhaps I’ll attend next week.” He ran his finger down her cheek. “How much do you want for this one?”
Francesca kicked her horse, easing forward, drawing up again a few yards to Quinn’s side. The vamp’s victim remained tight in her arms, still alive, though lethargic. “She’s not for sale, my Italian prince. She takes the lash perfectly. I wish to see what else she can endure.”
Wingtip released a trembling moan, and Quinn nearly did the same. Arturo’s words, that Francesca went through a slave every couple of days, suddenly made a horrible sense. The vampire tortured her slaves to death. And at the moment, Quinn was one of those slaves.
Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, Francesca straightened in her saddle, allowing her food source to do the same. When she lifted her victim’s hand, Quinn thought she intended to hand the slave back to her guard. Instead, she took one finger and snapped it like a twig.
The poor woman screamed. Francesca closed her eyes as if experiencing soft rapture.
Quinn thought she was going to be sick.
Make a scene, Arturo spoke in her head . A cowardly, noisy one. He gripped her jaw and said out loud, “I want this one, Franny. She may have taken the lash, but she trembles beneath my hand, her terror thick and lush.” He stared at her. “What do you say, beauty? Do you want to come home with me? Do you want to scream for me?” Do it.
“No!” A decent yell, but hardly a cowardly, noisy scene. She’d never been a screamer. “No, please!” He gripped her shoulder where the lash had cut her. The bolt of pain was exactly what she needed. She released the scream that was bottled up inside her, released the tears she’d been fighting. “No! Let me go. Let me go!” She threw a punch at Arturo’s middle, which he easily blocked, then another, fighting, kicking, screaming with the pain that ripped up and down her back with every movement, making as much noise as she could.
“Enough!” the woman cried, but Quinn continued. If the female vamp hated screamers, Quinn was going to scream.
“Double the price I paid for her, Arturo. One thousand.”
Quinn gasped.
Keep it up, the voice warned. “Six hundred.”
Quinn wailed, starting to get into it now. “No, no! Don’t hurt me!”
“Eight hundred, and she’s yours, my prince.”
“Seven-fifty.”
“Done. Manchester, free the slut. Get her out of here, Arturo.”
Moments later, she was free, Arturo’s long fingers curling coolly around her upper arm. But she knew better than to stop too soon. The female would know she’d been faking. Struggling in her vampire’s grasp, Quinn continued to scream, kicking him in the shin. A bit of retribution for his scaring her half to death the first time he’d found her.
As he steered her toward the waiting Jeep, Quinn glanced back at the other slaves, sick with the knowledge they’d likely all be dead before another week passed, dying horrible, painful deaths.
Arturo opened the passenger door of his Jeep and shoved her in, his hand flat on her torn back. The pain tore a scream from her lungs, and she gave in to it,
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