by Колин Глисон
Maybe Max was the daytime vampire himself.
That was patently ridiculous.
“We’ll have to get help to pull ’er back out,” James said, scratching his head in a way that a London gentleman never would. “Guess that won’ be until tomorrow.”
“Sebastian and Brodebaugh could do it, I venture,” Victoria said. She waved the two men over, and with their combined efforts-especially Sebastian’s vis bulla power-it took only moments before the carriage was righted again.
Then she and Sebastian looked at each other. “Do you feel any other undead?” he asked privately.
She grimaced. “You still sense my presence?” He nodded. But that was neither here nor there at this time. “I don’t feel any undead about any longer. And I don’t know what happened to George and Sara. But, somehow, we must get James, Brodebaugh, and Gwen home safely. I don’t trust this situation.”
“Starcasset whipped his horses into speed as soon as your vehicle fell,” Sebastian told her. “I saw them dash off, and from the looks of it, they aren’t coming back.”
“We can’t all fit in one carriage. I sent Kritanu and Barth back to my house.” She wasn’t ready to give him a full explanation, and, to his credit, Sebastian didn’t ask.
“Perhaps it would be best if I took the marquess home, and you could go with Gwendolyn and her earl.” Sebastian’s casual suggestion threatened a smile from Victoria.
She couldn’t hold it back and looked up at him teasingly.“Is that because you don’t trust the marquess in the moonlight… or me?”
That surprised a smile out of Sebastian. “He can try anything he likes… I have no concerns that the big, uncivilized oaf might charm you blind, Victoria. He’s not man enough for you.” He looked at her slyly, his smile suddenly hot and promising there in the moonlight. “I miss being with you.”
“Victoria!”
Gwen’s voice broke into the moment, and Victoria wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved. Sebastian would not be held off much longer… and tonight… well, tonight, she just wasn’t sure if she was up to it. Although… Sebastian was quite adept at distraction of the most pleasant type. An unwilling smile tugged at her lips… then faded as she worried again about Max. “Yes, Gwen?”
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” her friend was all aflutter-apparently the shock of the attack had worn off, and what she’d seen had at last penetrated. “Who those people were? Why their eyes were so odd?”
Oh, how Victoria wished for her Aunt Eustacia’s golden disk! The one that was able to pull select memories from the minds of people who shouldn’t know about the presence of the undead. Which was most of the world.
“What am I going to tell her?” She looked at Sebastian, and he must have read her mind.
“I’ll see them home. You can ride with the marquess and ensure his safe return. Poor devil. I almost pity him in any endeavor he might make.” His grin flashed, cocksure and sexy.
That was good-St. Heath’s Row was closer to home. She could drop James off and then hurry back to Aunt Eustacia’s to see if Max was all right.
“Thank you for taking Gwen home. You spin a better yarn than I do, and I’m sure she’ll fall for whatever tale you choose to paint,” she said, smiling prettily at Sebastian.
“Flattery, my dear, will get you everywhere with me.” He pulled her into his arms, strong and warm, fitting his mouth possessively over hers.
The kiss was long enough that it caught at her breath, so that when he released her, she had to drag in a deep gulp of air. It had been a lovely, perfect melding of lips and tease of tongue, rife with the promise of much more to come.
And, of course, it had been Sebastian’s clear message to James Lacy that Victoria was spoken for.
Seventeen:
Wherein the Smell of Roses Portends an Unpleasant Evening
Victoria realized, of course, that she still hadn’t identified the daytime vampire… and that the man sitting next to her in the scraped-up, creaking curricle could very well be the undead in question.
It could also be George, Sara, or any one or all of them.
She didn’t really believe it was Max, but he’d taught her to consider all possibilities.
Oh God. Max.
Victoria realized she was curling her fingernails into her palms. She didn’t like to imagine the way he’d look at her the next time she saw him-if indeed she ever did. When she’d made the decision to give him the salvi, it had been a single-minded, tunneled response to a very simple, real fear.
She could not bear for Lilith to have him again. Victoria had never been able to erase the memory, seeing him-always so powerful, so arrogant and in control- under that creature’s domination. Bare-chested, kneeling at Lilith’s side, a submissive Max with empty eyes and no will of his own… then the way he had jerked helplessly, convulsing, his torso shuddering as the vampire queen bent to sink her teeth into his neck. And drink.
The image haunted her.
And now, he was free-free of a hold Victoria knew she couldn’t begin to comprehend. Even though he was still brusque and arrogant and commanding, she’d noticed an easing in his face, a lessening of the darkness in his eyes. A few more smiles, even. Being released from the vampire queen’s thrall had-not softened him; that wasn’t the word. Max wasn’t soft in any sense of the word.
He’d become… easier. Just a bit easier.
“Would you like a rose?”
James’s voice broke into Victoria’s thoughts, and she realized the carriage had traveled from the park and was now rolling along the street. Other vehicles filled the thoroughfare, and ladies and gentlemen walked along arm in arm, likely returning from Vauxhall or Covent Gardens.
There was a young woman hawking roses on the corner. Victoria had never noticed street vendors about at night-although orange sellers and the like were thick in this area during the day. But how enterprising of the woman to take advantage of couples out for an evening in the Gardens, or other less innocent assignations.
James hadn’t waited for her response; he guided the curricle over to the side of the street. The young woman stood under a lantern, where its light gleamed over her blonde hair. Victoria might have been worried for her safety, there on the street by herself, despite the number of other people about. But when she noticed the hulking silhouette of a man propped against a building behind her, her fears eased.
“Which one would you like, my lady?” asked the girl, thrusting the bunch of roses in her face.
As Victoria leaned forward to select one of the blooms, two things happened: she realized that the back of her neck had chilled, and something sprayed in her face from the midst of the flowers.
She groped for her stake, but it was too late. The sickly sweet smell that had been atomized into her face filled her nostrils and seared the inside of her mouth and throat. She coughed, shaking her head, feeling the increased chill at the back of her neck, struggled to keep her fingers around the stake… saw the dark figure from the building move into the lantern light… and then everything went black.
Max forced himself to sit, unmoving. If he dared rise again, he feared what he’d do-to the room, to the furnishings, to the locked and barred door, to himself.
He kept his mind focused on inane things-counting the lines in the wood-planked floor, the number of neat pleats on the ruffles around the pillow on the bed that had been made so bloody comfortable for him.
A prisoner.
Every time he allowed his thoughts even to start in that direction, his stomach tightened and dangerous bile burned the back of his throat. He couldn’t let himself think about why she’d done it… or even the fact that she had.
Locked him here. A prisoner.
He knew why.
Oh, he knew why, and the fact that he did made it all the more disgusting and loathsome.
Bad enough that she’d broken his trust… but even worse-so damned much worse-was that she’d felt the need to do it.
He forced his attention to the pattern of rosebud wallpaper on the wall and began to count the blooms.
The salvi had not completely relinquished its hold on him, or so it seemed… for he began to feel heavy-lidded in the eyes and weary in the muscles.
The next thing he knew, he was lying on the bed.
And Wayren was there.
She stood in the small room, tall and serene. Her beautiful elfin face bore traces of concern and also a hint of challenge. Thick silver-blonde hair hung, for once, unfettered by small braids or leather thongs. Simple, straight, melding into the pale gold of her gown, which seemed almost to glow. Her whole person seemed almost to glow. “Why do you fight it, Max?”
He sat up, still exhausted. “Get me out of here.”
“I can’t do that.”
“The hell you can’t. I’ve seen what you can do, Wayren.” His head was splitting and pounding at the same time; it was a wonder he could form words.
She smiled, but there was a trace of sadness there. “You deserve happiness after so many years of darkness and self-recrimination.”
“I can’t.”
“You refuse to, Max. Let it all go and stop thinking about it. Stop denying yourself.”
“I won’t.”
“She loves you.”
“She loves Vioget.”
Wayren nodded briefly. “Yes, she does.”
Max closed his eyes. When he opened them, she was gone.
“Get me out of here!” he said to the empty room.
“You must do that on your own.” Wayren’s voice penetrated… from somewhere.
And then Max woke up.
Victoria opened her eyes.
Her first impression was of a warm room, filled with dancing red and orange lights. Smelling of roses. The back of her neck was unbearably frigid and the stone wall close to her nose was immediately recognizable to her. She was in the subterranean abbey Sebastian had shown her, lying in the exact place she’d found Briyani’s body.
“Ah, at last. Our guest awakens.”
Victoria realized she was lying crumpled on the ground, and, from the feel of the intense ache throughout her body, flung there like a sack of grain. Unfortunately, beyond the radiating aches, there was no uncomfortable, hard roundness under her hip or leg that would indicate the presence of her stake. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again, focused… and pulled herself up on her hands, then her knees, and then proudly to her feet. The ache and lingering weakness ebbed into nothing, and she felt a surge of power when she concentrated on the vis bullae, groping for them through the special slit in her gown.
She hadn’t needed to concentrate on the power of the vis bulla for a long time, but now she was flooded with it.
As her mind started to work more sharply, her first thought was of James. Had he been part of the trap, or an unwitting accomplice?
She turned to face Lilith, who had been silent since her greeting.
The room looked much more comfortable than it had when she and Sebastian were there. Fires roared in massive saucers throughout the room, giving off the reddish glow and warmth Victoria had first noticed. There must be some kind of ventilation that allowed the smoke up and out, as in the Consilium. A rug lined the stones in the center of the room.
The vampire queen sat on the thronelike chair Sebastian had moved to find the Ring of Jubai. She looked no different from the last time Victoria had seen her-nearly two years ago, when Victoria had offered the Book of Antwartha as a bargaining chip to free Max.
Lilith was still horribly elegant, still skeletally slender with the whitest skin marked by an occasional blue vein. Her eyelids were onionskin thin, colored bluish-purple, and her lips the gray-blue of someone who cannot get warm. Five dark marks dotted the side of her face, creating the path of a half-moon’s curve.
But her hair and her eyes… they burned, in horrible contrast to the frigidity of her flesh. Brilliant copper, her curls fell about her like a glorious nimbus, and her eyes: Victoria glanced at them just long enough to see the sapphire blue ringed by red.
“I see that you’ve recovered from the accident of our last meeting,” she told Lilith coolly, wondering if the stake buried in her coiffure had been located and removed. She reached up to feel through the mass of curls there… and pulled out the slender stake. Aha. They’d missed that one.
The vampiress’s eyes narrowed, either at Victoria’s taunt or the sight of the stake. “My skin healed from the burn of sunlight… but even so, you’ll not walk away from me again.”
“You’ve gone to much trouble to bring me here. What do you want?” The stake, no more than the thickness of her thumb, was comforting in her hand.
Lilith forbore to answer. Instead, she merely watched Victoria from her negligent pose on the throne. Her body angled in the massive stone seat so that one elbow rested close on an armrest, and she positioned her wrist on the other arm. “So it is you.” She sounded contemplative, but Victoria knew better than to look closely at the vampire to confirm.
Instead, she scanned the room. Clearly, Lilith meant her no immediate harm-otherwise she would not have been left to awaken on her own-or, even, to awaken at all.
They weren’t alone in the room. Two Guardian vampires stood like stoic statues at the door through which Victoria and Sebastian had entered less than a week ago.
Lilith rose from her throne, the pale blue of her long gown whispering over her gaunt figure. “You are the one. I should have known it from the beginning. Who else could capture him?” She was talking as if to herself, but moving closer to Victoria. The smell of roses accompanied her movements, the cloying sweetness nothing like the delicate tea rose Lady Melly wore.
“It’s your vis bulla that he wears.”
Victoria forgot herself, and her gaze snapped to the undead queen’s. Malice burned in those blue-red eyes; she fairly saw flames leap and dart in there. She dragged her eyelids closed even as the vampire’s words rang in the room.
Max wore her vis bulla.
She heard the rustle of silk and forced her eyes open. This was not the time to think about it… Lilith stood much too close. Victoria could see each hair of her slender brows and the tiny pores of her skin. She smelled roses as if her face was buried in them. And something… malevolent… tugged at her-pulled from the center of her torso, as if a rope had wrapped around her rib cage, drawing her closer.
Victoria let out the breath she’d been holding, and sidled the stake between them.
“How brave you are, Venator.” Lilith smiled. The expression was one of such depravity that it sent an ugly, chilling shiver down Victoria’s spine and shooting through her limbs. Her fingertips suddenly felt as though they’d been submerged in icy water for hours. “But in vain.”
Victoria’s heartbeat struggled, fighting to keep its own rhythm in the face of the vampire queen’s power. Her lungs felt heavy, clogged, paralytic… yet she stayed steady, forcing the breaths, focusing on the power radiating from the two holy silver crosses in her navel.
Lilith moved, and suddenly Victoria felt vises close around her arms, yanking them to the side. The Guardian vampires flanked her, one of them jerking her off balance as the other kicked her legs far apart so that she stood as if straddling a wide river, unable to raise a leg to lash out.
She still held the stake, though the grip of the Guardian on her left wrist threatened to squeeze it from her fingers.
Victoria looked defiantly at Lilith, careful not to be ensnared by that enthralling gaze, fighting deep within to remain the mistress of her breath and heartbeat. “Surely you jest. You, the queen of the vampires, cannot face me without assistance?”
Lilith stepped closer, her breath warm on Victoria’s face. She turned away, but the vampiress’s fingernails closed around her chin and forced her head back to face her. Victoria didn’t waste the energy trying to fight it. Her heart was pounding now, as though ready to leap from her skin… toward the sudden gleam of long white fangs.
“I prefer to feed in peace.” In a sudden, horrific movement, she reached up and yanked the top of Victoria’s head to the side, releasing her chin, and baring her throat. “We shall see what he thinks of you now.”
Victoria couldn’t move; she was held firmly from wrist to shoulder, and her ankles were spread apart and kept immobile by heavy boots planted next to them. Only her hips were unhampered; but she could do little but twist and turn-and even that was ineffectual against the strength of her undead captors.
Lilith moved closer, her breath hot on Victoria’s bare neck, where the vein lurched and throbbed, pulsing as though ready to surge free. Dimly, she felt her fingers loosen and the stake fall as she struggled minutely, desperately.
The slide of fangs into flesh is rarely painful. They cut so cleanly and smoothly that the incision is little more than a terrifyingly joyful release… the warm blood at last free from its confines, flowing into the waiting vessel.
Victoria was stupidly conscious of the warmth of Lilith’s upper lip and the chill of her lower one… of the way her tongue lapped against her flesh and the fangs bored deeply… the suction of cold and heat tugging deeply through her as Lilith drank, swallowing against her in an absurdly gentle manner.
And, suddenly, the vampire queen pulled away. She stepped back, staring at Victoria with wide eyes. All at once her guards dropped their hands, and she was free.
“So it’s true.”
Victoria lunged for her stake, forcing herself to ignore the warm trickle of blood leaking down her neck. From the corner of her eye, she saw the darkness staining her yellow gown as she surged upright.
She faced the vampiress, her fingers tight around the stake. “Is my blood too pure for your taste?”
The shocked look faded from Lilith’s face, to be replaced by one of unadulterated pleasure. “Oh no, not at all. It was my error… for I discounted the tales told me. I could not believe you could drink from Beauregard, and he from you, and the turning not take place.” Her eyes narrowed with malice. “But I have tasted the truth. You have vampire blood rushing through your veins, Victoria Gardella.”
