He screamed and reared back, and she fumbled for her stake, which she’d dropped as she fell. On hands and knees, holding the cross in front of her like a fiery torch, she scrabbled around for the wooden spike as Max and Rastingard alternately threw each other into furniture and grappled hand-to-throat.
Savina glanced worriedly at them, for Max didn’t have a weapon, and Rastingard was fully equipped with fangs and nails. Blood flew, and Max seemed to be slowing down. For God’s sake, he already had two bullet wounds, had been fed upon…he had to be weakening by now.
Suddenly terrified about their prospects for coming out of this alive, Savina finally got the stake. But by now, her vampire assailant had swung around from behind and yanked her up off the floor, his arm around her waist just as Max’s had been moments before, his other hand yanking her back by the hair.
Savina tried to fight free, but he shoved her hard, face-first against the wall, and was already dragging her hair away from one side of her neck to bite her as he heaved her against the desk, bending her over it at the waist. She arched her head back, hard, hoping to catch him in the face, but his head was to the side and she barely grazed him. When his fangs sank deeply into her shoulder, she cried out with fury and pain, and yanked the chain from her throat. The cross was thus freed, and she shoved it backward, into the side of the vampire’s face.
His blood-curdling scream pierced her ear, but he released her and staggered back, holding a hand to his face—which was hissing and steaming and red. Savina stumbled around after him with trembling knees and shoved the stake into his chest. Blood spurted from his torso as the vampire cried out, whipping her violently aside with his arm.
Savina slammed into the edge of the high bed, the mattress catching her in the gut and knocking the breath out of her. She rolled around, out of the way, struggling to draw in a breath, and lost her balance.
Tumbling onto the ground, she crawled away from her attacker as quickly as she could, her nose and wounds dripping everywhere, her arms and knees trembling with pain and effort. And then, through the strings of her hair, she saw them: the tall, heavy curtains, directly in front of her.
Galvanized, she sprang to her feet and took hold of one heavy, velvet swath and pulled.
Sunlight blazed into the room, spilling onto the floor like a flood of warmth and peace.
Someone screamed in agony, and there was the instant smell of burning flesh, sizzling and frying. Savina glanced over to see her attacker collapsed on the ground, writhing in pain, bathed in the yellow light. He was in so much pain he couldn’t move to a safe area.
But she didn’t wait to see him disintegrate into ash; there were two other windows, and Max and Rastingard were still grappling on the floor.
Savina yanked the second curtain open and heard a grunt from Max. “Nice,” he managed, then his breath was cut off by two big hands closing around his throat.
Rastingard was on top of him, squeezing hard, and Savina could see he was struggling to hold onto his consciousness, losing the battle of breath. Yet his face was determined, and with a great heave, he managed to slam his head up into Rastingard’s nose. She howled and Max heaved them both over so he was on the top.
The vampire hissed and lunged up, her fangs scraping down his arm, but Max held onto her shoulders and now Savina could see what he was doing: rolling, grappling, forcing them toward that pool of sunlight.
Savina rushed over to the curtains, still trembling and panting, and pulled them even wider—making the patch of sunlight even broader and deeper. Max gasped something that might have been appreciation as he avoided Rastingard’s long-nailed hand once more. But the vampiress slashed out with her elbow and caught him on the side of the head. He rolled, but dragged her with her, and then suddenly they were in the sunshine.
Rastingard shrieked. Max shoved her off, rolled to his feet, and before Savina could react, he had his stake.
Plunge.
The writhing, screaming Rastingard froze for an instant, her mouth in an ugly rictus of agony…and then she was gone in a dusty, lily-scented poof of ash.
Savina collapsed against the wall and looked up at Max, gasping, panting, unable to find any words. He loomed over her, chest heaving, blood everywhere—was that another bullet wound?—and wordlessly lifted his hand.
There, dangling from his fingers was Rastingard’s bracelet of keys.
CHAPTER 18
~ Explanations ~
They stared at each other for a moment, panting, shaking, bleeding. The chamber was silent, filled with the scent of blood and undead dust. The furnishings were in disarray—broken, upended, scattered. The world beyond was silent. The birds had ceased chirping in the face of such violence and unrest.
But even the broad pool of sunlight bathing the room didn’t take away the lingering darkness.
Savina looked around, her eyes filling with tears of pain, exhaustion, and grief. “He…he really did it,” she whispered. “You were…right.”
“Oh, dammit, Savina…” Max said softly. “I’m sorry.”
She didn’t wait; she surged into his arms. They closed around her, powerful and strong and warm, and she let go of all the emotions she’d held at bay.
The tears flooded from her eyes, salty and hot, and she sobbed great wracking sobs into his chest. She cried with grief and anger and devastation. Then she curled her fingers into his arms—furious, hurt, and still, after all this, disbelieving.
How could he have done it? How could her father have betrayed them all? How could he have become so corrupted?
And now…it was all over. There was no chance of changing anything. He was dead and gone, and his legacy was not one of loyalty and integrity, but one of shame and selfishness.
Max held her for a long time, stroking her hair, saying nothing.
At last, she pulled away and, sniffling and wiping angrily at her eyes, she glared up at him. “It’s my fault. I could have lived in ignorance, believing the best of him…holding him in my heart as a hero, my father, for the rest of my life. But I didn’t. And now I pay the price, for learning the truth. Now he’s been ruined for me, forever, Max. I can’t…love…him like I did. But he’s still my father.” Her words were choked, probably only partly intelligible, but Max seemed to understand.
“He loved you. He was just confused. And gullible. Sometimes a woman can do that to a man.”
“Only if he truly wants her to. Only if he’s not strong enough, if he doesn’t have the integrity, the self-worth.” She wasn’t giving any quarter, she wasn’t making any excuses. Her father had betrayed not only the Venators, but her as well.
He’d betrayed Savina most of all.
She swallowed hard and pulled out of Max’s embrace. “At least if…when…Macey finds out about her father, she won’t be devastated. She has a real hero for a father.” She sniffled and turned away. “I wish I had.”
***
A short time later, they’d commenced with searching Rastingard’s chamber for the safe. Savina was glad to have something to think about other than her father, and she knew her companion wouldn’t feel comfortable until they found the letter about Macey.
Max stilled suddenly and looked toward the open door. He held out a hand to gesture Savina to stand back, and walked over, stake in hand. He paused, listening for a moment.
Without another word, he stepped into the hall. A moment later, Savina heard a soft scuffle and then a quiet poof!
But Max didn’t reappear, and she waited impatiently. There were more footsteps and other non-urgent sounds, and then voices. That was what drew her into the hallway just in time to hear him say to a small crowd of people filling the space, “…your master is dead. The guests have gone. You’re in no danger any longer, and you needn’t stay unless you like.”
She caught a glimpse of the maids who’d helped her dress, and the staid butler, and even the man who’d parked their motorcar—and numerous other servants she hadn’t even known were present. How many did it take to run this estate,
anyway? And had they all been ignorant of their master’s proclivities? By the stunned expression on their collective faces, she suspected they’d had no idea…and perhaps had even been fully under Alexander’s thrall.
“Very well, then, sir,” said the butler, still with his extremely proper air. “If you’re certain there is nothing else you require from us…” He seemed utterly lost at the thought.
“Wait,” Savina said, pushing past Max. “There is one thing. Could you have a picnic basket prepared? For tonight. At sunset.”
Max looked at her as if she’d lost her mind, but she ignored him. The butler seemed relieved to have something on which to focus, and he gave a brief bow. “Perhaps something to eat now, as well, then, miss?”
“Yes,” she said before her companion could interrupt. Even if he wasn’t hungry—how could he not be?—she was starving. “Please. That would be great. Oh, and something for his injuries,” she added, then grabbed Max’s arm where she noticed there was a fresh patch of blood. “A third one?”
He shrugged her hand away. “Oh, is that what it is? I thought he missed me.”
The servants peeled away, presumably to go about their business, and Max and Savina continued their search, but to no avail.
“Either she didn’t bring the safe with her,” Savina said, plumping onto the bed, “or it doesn’t look like a safe, and so we don’t know what to look for.” She cast her eyes around the room—over the trunks through which she’d searched for hidden compartments, the wardrobe, under the bed, the desk and its drawers, and then her eyes lit on the jewelry strewn over Rastingard’s bureau.
The vampiress had glanced in that direction several times during their conversation.
Moments later, Savina gave a shout of satisfaction, which brought Max from the adjoining bathroom where he’d been continuing the search while washing up a little. His face and beard were still damp and he was drying his hands on a towel. His clothing was still a disaster, but at least he looked a little better.
“This is it. It has to be! Where are the keys?”
He produced the bracelet and she handed him the deep, velvet-lined jewelry box. “See, there…it’s a hidden lock beneath that slot for her rings.”
Max’s smile was tight as he fit the key into place. The lid popped open smoothly, and inside they found a small collection of papers. He flipped through them quickly, then looked up at Savina. “I don’t see anything that could be it.”
Her heart sank at the expression in his eyes. “We’ll keep looking.”
But they didn’t find the letter they were searching for. Yes, there was information the Venators would find extremely valuable, but the coded letter that had details about Macey was not in the safe box.
“It’s not in here,” Savina said.
Max nodded, his lips flat and grim. “We’ll keep looking.” He tucked the jewelry box under his arm. “Tear her trunks apart and see if there are any secret compartments. Check the motorcar. Search Purcell’s office too.”
“Max,” Savina said, and reached for his arm. She felt as if she needed to do…something.
He paused and shrugged, as if understanding. “I’ll inform Wayren that the information has likely been compromised. They’ve already taken precautions, and so—”
He froze, staring down at the hand she’d rested on his arm. She saw that he was staring at the silver and blue signet ring she was still wearing.
“Where did you get that ring?” Max seized her wrist in a hard grip. The expression on his face was unreadable, almost frightening.
“Estevan made it for me. It’s a safeguard.”
“A safeguard? What do you mean?” He didn’t release her, and he was staring at her as if his life depended on her very words.
“If you’ll let go of me,” she told him coolly, “I’ll show you.”
He did so, but reluctantly, and all the while still pinning her with his eyes. Savina resisted the urge to rub her wrist where he’d grabbed her. Instead, she slipped off the ring, which was made from ornate silver in a heavy band. It was almost too big for her small hand. Its only stone was a smooth blue dome that looked like a sky-colored moonstone. It wasn’t particularly beautiful or striking, but it served an important function.
“This blue stone is actually a vessel filled with liquid. A fast-acting poison that causes an almost instant, painless death.”
Max drew in his breath sharply. His eyes were fastened on the ring. “Go on.” He sounded breathless and in agony at the same time.
“Estevan created a clever little catch on the bottom part of the band. See.” She carefully showed him the minuscule lever that had to be unhooked and then slid to the side. “It’s designed so you can use your thumb on the same hand to release the catch, but so it could never happen by accident. And when you do release the catch and then slide it over,” she said, dropping the ring onto the table in front of them with a dull clatter, “five tiny needles shoot out from the inside of the band and prick your skin, releasing the poison. Twenty seconds later, you’re dead. All from the flick of your own thumb, and a little twist.”
When he didn’t move or speak for a long moment, Savina looked up at him. His expression frightened her more than anything she’d seen today. “Max, what is it?”
“She had one,” he said unsteadily, still staring at the signet. “Just like this. She always wore it. I didn’t know…she said it was a family ring. When she was…found…” He paused, but with a sudden wave of comprehension, Savina already knew what he was going to say. “The stone wasn’t blue…anymore. It looked different. Grayish.”
Tears pricked her eyes as she recognized the raw emotions in his face—grief, bewilderment, hope—and she covered his hand, which had gone cold and still.
She nodded, holding his gaze, knowing she was giving him a gift he never thought he’d have. “Yes, Max. That meant she used the poison.”
“She…” He swallowed and looked away, blinking rapidly. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and Savina released him.
He needed space. He needed to grieve, to comprehend, and to allow this bit of light to fill him. To absorb some of his grief and guilt and pain.
“She wouldn’t have suffered then, Max. She would have been gone before they even touched her.”
“She knew.”
Savina nodded, still looking at him steadily. “Of course she knew. She was the wife of Max Denton.”
CHAPTER 19
~ Confession ~
“This is the perfect spot for a midnight picnic,” Max said as he snapped the blanket neatly onto the ground. He still wasn’t quite certain what had put her in mind of returning to this spot after her tete-a-tete with Purcell, but who was he to argue? She’d been amazing today—a woman who wasn’t even a Venator, fighting side by side with him.
Though it felt like a betrayal, he couldn’t quite keep from comparing her to Felicia. They were such different women—both lovely and intelligent and compelling, but one was so much stronger than the other.
Still…he felt as if a great load had been lifted from his heart and mind knowing that Felicia hadn’t suffered. He felt as if he finally could forgive himself for the choice she’d made to be with him.
He frowned, gnawing on that for a moment—and suddenly, a wave of enlightenment illuminated his thoughts. Perhaps Felicia had been stronger than he’d given her credit for. By God, she must have been, to wear that ring—and to make the choice to use it.
To even know that she might have to make that choice, and to still love him and marry him and bear his child…perhaps that was the truest measure of strength after all.
To willingly enter and live in a world to which one didn’t really belong…knowing that there might not be a happily ever after, that there would be tragedy and violence and ugliness. He swallowed hard and nodded to himself.
He’d been horribly wrong all these years. Felicia was the strongest, most capable of them all.
“Unfortunately, I never got to actually enjoy
the picnic spot,” Savina was saying as she sank down onto the blanket even before it had fully billowed into place. “Things went all awry.”
Max thrust away thoughts of his wife and hung the lantern from a nearby branch. As he adjusted it, he tried not to stare at the way the woman with him now was bathed in the lamp’s warm glow. Her up-tilted face looked stark and delicate in the light, yet that chin, strong with determination, reminded him how much she’d been through in the last twenty-four hours.
Including the discovery of her father’s betrayal.
With that surely filling her mind, now was not the time to think about pressing her back onto that blanket and letting the lantern light slide over her naked body…with his hands and lips and tongue following. Damn. Sometimes it was impossible being a gentleman.
He fiddled with the lantern to distract himself.
Still, as he turned back and looked down at her, something inside his chest squeezed in a way it hadn’t done for a very long time. She, too, was a very strong and brave woman.
“I had every intention of keeping watch over your little seduction scene,” Max commented as he settled down next to her. “But obviously—”
“Obviously you were detained. But I told you, I had things well under control.” She moved her head and he watched in fascination as a good portion of her hair tumbled slowly to her shoulders. Their eyes caught for a moment and held before she looked away…ever so slowly.
All of a sudden, he was very glad he’d had a bath and a shave.
“So if you didn’t scream last night, who did?” he asked as he began to dig through the picnic basket. A jug of the local village’s ale, a pot of soft yellow cheese, bread, roasted chicken, sliced apples…everything looked good, but not nearly as appetizing as the woman sitting next to him. He pulled out two cups and the ale.
Savina was shaking her head, and more of her hair slipped down. Maybe he should just put her out of her misery and yank out the rest of the pins; they didn’t seem to be doing any good. And then he could spread it out over her shoulders and watch it tumble over the blanket when he—
Dark and Damaged: Eight Tortured Heroes of Paranormal Romance: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set Page 111
