Bleeding Dusk gvc-3

by Колин Глисон

  She’d squandered her first chance to talk to Sebastian and find out what he knew about Aunt Eustacia’s armband. Now she had two reasons to find him.

  And to find out if the entire scene at Villa Palombara had been a farce put on by Sebastian and his grandfather to acquire the shard.

  Perhaps Akvan wasn’t back at all.

  No. No, he was. Or something just as evil was.

  Victoria had smelled him.

  She looked down at the table where the shard sat, long and black and wicked. The little pendant glinted next to it on the rough wooden table.

  Now that Victoria was certain someone—Akvan, Sebastian, Beauregard, or all of them—was after the piece of the obelisk, she didn’t want to leave it sitting so visibly on the table.

  The heavy splinter was still a bit warm when she picked it and the leather necklace up. The obsidian stake felt good in her hand. Comfortable.

  Her fingers closed around it, and Victoria positioned it as if a vampire were in front of her, making an experimental stab into the air. The swish and swirl of movement was audible in the silent chamber, and she imagined stabbing the shard into the chest of a vampire. Lilith. Beauregard. Any of the creatures with red eyes and flashing fangs.

  The shard would send them back to Lucifer.

  Victoria’s lips tightened, curling in against her teeth, and she felt a surge of hatred for those red-eyed creatures who’d taken so much from her. Sebastian had tried to make her believe that some vampires weren’t wholly evil, that they didn’t deserve to be damned to Hell. But he was wrong.

  And if he tried to stop her, she’d send him there along with them.

  The large splinter was growing warmer, and Victoria looked down at it. Her fingers were leaving moist prints on the sleek black glass. It must be kept safe. Secret.

  She had to put it away in a drawer or chest. No one would find it there.

  In the darkest corner of the room she found a small wooden chest filled with nothing but fragrant wood curls, as though someone had sat and stripped them from a branch of cedar. Or had been carving a stake.

  The splinter and the necklace fit easily in the box, and it was with a sigh of satisfaction that Victoria closed the lid, placing another chest on top of that one.

  The pieces of Akvan’s Obelisk would be safe.

  Now to deal with Sebastian.

  She rose to her feet and, with one last look back at the dark corner where the chest held an evil treasure, Victoria moved quickly from the chamber.

  Back out in the passage, she paused outside of Wayren’s library, but there were no sounds from within. No one else was about; it was just as silent as it had been when she arrived. A gentle knock drew no response, and when Victoria gently prodded the door open, she found the room dark.

  The Consilium was silent and bare as she walked back toward the main chamber, where the rush of the fountain made a pleasant hum.

  At least Victoria had one of her questions answered: Max had to be all right, for if he’d been otherwise he would be in the Consilium with Hannever, being treated for his injuries. A seriously wounded Venator would be kept safe in the Consilium until he was well.

  Having had her question answered by omission, Victoria left the Consilium through the secret spiral staircase that led into a hidden passage behind one of the confessionals at Santo Quirinus.

  Instead of leaving through the doors of the small chapel, she went into its tiny rear courtyard and into a ramshackle old building across from the church. She exited onto the nearly empty street, where she found it was indeed well past sunset on the chilly February night.

  The sky was as black as the shard she’d left below, and a full moon glowed high and small among the stars. She walked toward the unpleasantly sharp smell of wet umbrella silk. Her wooden stake felt light and weak in her hand after the heaviness of the shard, but it would do its duty if she required it.

  There were no vampires about, however. Of course, that was no surprise, as this particular block of the Borghi was deserted of human prey.

  Victoria had walked nearly all the way to the Passetto when she stopped. Had she closed the door to the storage chamber, where the shard was secreted?

  She didn’t remember.

  Just because the door was open didn’t mean that anyone would find the piece of obelisk…but it made her nervous to leave such important things unattended and open.

  It just wasn’t safe.

  She hesitated only a moment before turning to make the trip back to the little run-down building, moving at a more rapid pace than when she’d been walking away from it. If any of the few shopkeepers or pilgrims Victoria passed noticed a slender figure wrapped in a dark cloak walking back the way it had just come, they gave her no second look.

  Urgency built in her chest. The shard might not be safe, and she couldn’t allow it to fall into anyone else’s hands if Akvan and Beauregard and Regalado were after it.

  Perhaps she’d move it to a different place in the chamber. A locked chest? Or…

  By this time Victoria was moving through the hidden passage behind the confessional in Santo Quirinus. She carefully stepped over the middle stair and moved silently along the short hall hung with icons, then pressed the intricate stonework that would reveal the spiral staircase.

  The floor glided open without a sound, and Victoria hurried down the curling steps, driven to get to the storage chamber to check on the shard. Make certain it was safely in its dark corner.

  Tomorrow she would tell Wayren about this, but—

  Someone was standing at the fountain.

  Dipping his fingers into the sparkling holy water, there in the dim light, looking down into the pool. Only one sconce lit the area, as it had when she’d left perhaps twenty minutes earlier, but she recognized him. Even from the back.

  Impossible.

  Yet…perhaps not.

  He must have sensed her presence, for he turned, an uncharacteristic look of shock on his handsome face.

  Victoria refused to allow him to see that he’d caught her off guard as well. Instead she stepped closer, noticing the way he clamped a wet hand over his bunched-up white shirt.

  “And here I was planning to tear the city apart looking for you, when all I had to do was wait for you to show up. What are you doing here, Sebastian?”

  Thirteen

  In Which Our Heroine Divests a Gentleman of an Article of Clothing

  A chagrined expression flashed over Sebastian’s face for an instant, then was masked. He stepped away from the fountain, his wet hand making a print on his light shirt. She noticed a dark coat hanging over a nearby chair.

  “You returned much sooner than I anticipated,” he said, recovering quickly to summon a teasing smile. “I should perhaps have waited a bit longer before coming down here…but I can’t say that I’m terribly disappointed to have you alone at last. After all, last night in the dungeon with Maximilian was hardly—”

  “Give me an answer, Sebastian.” Victoria’s heart was pounding, panic replacing bald shock as she realized what this must mean. Her mouth had dried; she felt it shrivel like a pea in the sun. Her fingers were shaking, and nausea curled in her belly. How could it be? “Tell me you didn’t bring your grandfather,” she said in a voice that didn’t belong to her, even as she tried to assimilate what Sebastian’s presence meant. He couldn’t have done.

  The Consilium, the safe, secret sanctuary, had been found.

  No. Not under her watch. Not after almost two millennia of secrecy.

  No.

  Victoria felt fear and anger—emotions she’d struggled to keep out of her mind—envelop her, clouding clear thought as she started to dash past Sebastian, desperate to get to the secret storage chamber—and to Wayren’s library—before they could be despoiled.

  His teasing smile faded. “I’m here alone.” His voice, urgent and low, stopped her. “I wouldn’t—”

  The panic eased enough for her voice to be steady when she snapped, “You wouldn’t wha
t? Infiltrate our sanctuary? How did you find out about this place? How?”

  But no, of course Beauregard wasn’t here, she realized belatedly, her mind beginning to function again. She would have sensed him the moment she came into Santo Quirinus. That, at least, was good.

  Sebastian was staring at her, his eyes shadowed by the dim light glowing behind tawny curls that made him look so absurdly holy. He seemed to be studying her, waiting for her to speak.

  His chest rose and fell easily, but the tension that skittered between them made Victoria restless and unwilling to play the game of silence. “Answer me, Sebastian. At least tell me how you learned of this place, and how it is on my guard that you’ve found us.”

  He stepped toward her. “Never fear, ma chère. Your secret shall remain safe with me. I’ve known of these chambers for a rather long time, and I’ve told no one yet.”

  A lopsided smile tilted his lips as he reached for her shoulder, skimming his knuckles over her collarbone and then drifting his fingers loosely around the nape of her neck. “Don’t you yet know that I’d do nothing to endanger you? Now, since we are here together and unlikely to be interrupted, there are other activities we might find to divert ourselves. Ones that I, at least, have missed greatly.” His smile, slow and sensual, mirrored the look in his eyes, a look she’d seen more than once before. Despite her anger and confusion, the desire in his gaze had its effect on her, sending flutters through her belly. “After all…you sought me out, Victoria.”

  “It was a necessity, Sebastian.”

  “Then perhaps you might wish to tell me what was so necessary that you had to kiss my grandfather in order to send the message?” These last words came out sharply.

  Victoria shoved his hand away before it closed over her shoulder. “Don’t try to play the jealous lover, Sebastian. It rings a false note. And the reason I needed to speak to you is in regard to something of my aunt’s. You must have seen her…seen her…” Blast. Her voice was rough, and her eyes began to tingle with tears. “You sent me her vis bulla. But there was a bracelet she wore, an armband. It’s very important. Did you see it…when…”

  “Silver? Wide at the top of her arm?” he asked. “Yes, I took it also. It was the only jewelry she wore, and the only other thing I could do for her.”

  “Where is it? What did you do with it?”

  “I didn’t realize it was important to you. It’s…I put it here to be safe from…behind Catherine Gardella’s portrait. Apparently she liked jewelry.”

  A wave of relief, followed by annoyance, rushed over Victoria. “But why didn’t you send it to me when you sent the vis bulla?”

  His eyes flickered away, then came back to hers with a hint of chagrin in their expression. “I…ah…didn’t think it would have quite the same…flair,” he said with a discomfited expression, “to send both. The vis…well, it was more intimate.” He quirked a smile.

  Then, shrugging off whatever bit of discomposure he’d had, Sebastian reached for her again, and this time he caught her upper arms with both hands. “Besides…what if I needed a reason to contact you again?” he murmured as he pulled her close enough that her skirt swished against his trousers. “I’m not one to leave all my cards on the table.”

  His grip was strong, surprisingly strong. Victoria was tempted to twist away and send him sprawling to the stone floor, perhaps clipping his head on a table on the way down—but at the same time, looking up into his face, she found herself focused on his mouth. It was close, and she well remembered how it felt sliding and fitting sensually to hers. Warm and mobile, slick and coaxing.

  Perhaps it would be prudent to put him off guard. Prudent and enjoyable…and then she could change the subject back to a more pertinent one.

  But apparently, for once Sebastian had other ideas; for he sobered, the flirtatiousness fading from his face, as if he’d just recalled something important. “Victoria, you must take care. He’s made it clear that he wants you for himself,” he said, maintaining the distance between them…yet looking at any moment like he might change his mind.

  At first Victoria didn’t know who he meant. She looked away from his lips and their eyes met.

  “Beauregard,” Sebastian said, his voice tight and without its normal light edge. “I’m speaking of Beauregard. Although from what I understand, you’ve wasted no time in finding other, less dangerous men to amuse you, such as that redheaded Scot.”

  Now she shoved hard at his solid chest, and he released her, stumbling back a step but easily remaining on his feet. “You are playing the jealous lover. How can that be, Sebastian, when you’ve been no lover at all these past months? When, in fact, our attachment was of the briefest kind?”

  His expression changed, the annoyance easing into a knowing smile. “So you have missed me.” Triumph colored his amber eyes, and he reached for her a third time.

  This time she let him bring her so that their bodies were flush: breast to chest, thigh to thigh, feet mingling. Her skin warmed, the flush traveling from her face down to her neck and beyond. It was good to touch him again, to feel the warmth of a man’s body and the strength of his arms about her.

  “Hardly.” They both knew she was lying.

  She shouldn’t have missed him—she couldn’t trust him, for his loyalty was to Beauregard—but she had missed him, and she did trust him…after a fashion. It wasn’t as if he could replace Phillip and the love and regard they’d had for so brief a time, but she was human.

  And she was a woman. A woman who’d grown up cuddled and petted by Melly and her two friends, a woman who liked to be touched, who enjoyed being reminded that she was desirable, and who had made choices that kept her outside normal societal conventions so that she was a lonely outcast.

  He made her feel. He’d brought pleasure to a life that had once been so simple, so normal and easy and bland, and had become stark and dark and violent. With his irrepressible charm and unabashed flirtation, Sebastian had made her heart beat faster and her body reawaken from the grief-imposed stupor resulting from Phillip’s death. Even now, as they faced each other, her belly flipped deep inside, knowing there was more to come. And she was ready for it. Her heart rammed in her chest as she remembered the way his hands would glide over her bare skin….

  “Believe me, I didn’t want to stay away, Victoria,” he said, his mouth hovering in front of hers, his lips twitching in a racy grin, and the clove scent on his breath a light brush over her skin. “I wished only to keep you safe.”

  “Safe?” She reared her head away from him so she could look directly in his eyes, knowing that her own were narrowed in annoyance. “What did you mean to keep me safe from? The vampires I hunt every night? That is a poor excuse and another false note. Can you not even once be truthful?”

  “From Beauregard.” His voice had chilled, and eyes that had been soft and coaxing a moment earlier had flattened. “You have no idea—”

  “I can protect myself.”

  “I am fully aware of your Venatorial qualities, for you see fit to remind me of them—as well as my own shortcomings—at every opportunity.”

  “I am who I am,” she told him. “I told you this last autumn—I made the choice, and if it’s too much for you to bear, knowing that I’m stronger and faster than you, that I have no need for you to protect me, that I’m not like other women who will sit at home waiting to be taken care of by the men in this world, then begone with you, Sebastian. I need you no more than you need me.”

  She realized suddenly that she was crying. My God, crying! Victoria, Illa Gardella, who’d not even squeaked in shock when her beloved aunt was killed in front of her, had tears rolling down her cheeks.

  Now she was angry—at herself, at Sebastian, at the choices she’d made and the losses she’d endured—and she tore herself from his hold, turning away to focus her attention on something else…anything else. Anything.

  The sparkling water of the fountain caught and then mesmerized her, soothing in its rhythm, beautiful in i
ts clarity, comforting in its holiness.

  And then…the realization came…a suspicion that must have been buried deeply suddenly came billowing out. She whirled toward him just in time to see Sebastian reaching to gather her back into his arms.

  She went willingly, meeting his mouth with all of the angst and anger that had built inside her since she’d had those five dreams that called her to her duty as a Venator.

  Their mouths slipped and devoured as though released from a great restraint. His hands slid around to pull her hips sharply against his; then one moved up her spine, pushing her closer as he moved his lips from her mouth along the edge of her jaw, murmuring her name against her skin.

  Victoria felt the dampness of his wet shirt seep into her hands, the warmth of the texture of fine linen molding to his chest under her palms, and then the direct heat of flesh beneath her fingertips as she slipped them under the hem of his shirt.

  Sebastian caught his breath and tried to shift smoothly away, as he’d done every time in the past, but she was too fast for him. She’d found what she sought.

  He froze and stepped back. Looking down at her, his face arrested and still, he said nothing.

  Victoria’s hands fell to her sides. “So, will you tell me why you wear a vis bulla in your navel? Or will it be more lies and prevarication?”

  To his credit, he hesitated for only an instant. “I’m born to wear one just as you are, Victoria.”

  Her throat crackled as she swallowed. “You think I’d believe that you—a man who refuses to kill vampires—are a Venator?”

  “If you don’t believe me, ask Pesaro. He is well aware of it, as is Wayren.”

  It was true then. Max didn’t lie, and Sebastian would know she’d ask him.

  Victoria sank down into the chair on which his coat hung. She had so many questions, such a swarm of emotions, that she didn’t know where to begin.

  He must have understood, for he stood over her, abashed and sober, so uncharacteristic of the brash Sebastian she knew that Victoria nearly softened. He was like a young boy who’d been discovered swiping biscuits from the kitchen, ashamed and hesitant.