When Twilight Burns (13 page)

“I tend to agree. Although Sara is not known for her subtlety.”

“True. Surely it's not pure chance I was the one to discover both victims, within the space of two days.”

“Indeed. And we must presume that they've obtained the elixir that was described in the writings we found behind the Magic Door in Roma.” He moved; she heard rather than saw it. “The formula Vioget stole from the Consilium.”

Victoria pushed a long curl back over the crown of her head. “I've not forgotten that, Max. But he did take me to a secret abbey under London, where he retrieved one of the Rings of Jubai.”

“But he didn't give you the ring, did he?”

“No. But he made no attempt to hide it.”

Max snorted. “Well, one can always find a straw at which to grasp if one looks hard enough.”

“He killed Beauregard. That's done much to build my trust in him,” Victoria said, ignoring the fact that she trusted Sebastian hardly at all.

“He had no choice,” Max said flatly. “After what he allowed to happen to you.”

“Allowed?” She shook her head. “No, Max. It wasn't Sebastian—the fault lay with me. I followed him to Beauregard's lair, I went after him. Sebastian tried to stop me—that was how he was injured, by me with my stake, and then by the other vampires. He knew what Beauregard wanted. He wanted me. And the only reason he succeeded in subduing me was because of the copper armband.”

Copper was the only material that did not disintegrate when a vampire was killed. Everything else the creature was wearing exploded into ashes and dust, except for items made of copper. That was why Lilith had forged her Five Rings of Jubai from the soft metal, and why Beauregard's special armband had been imbued with the ability to sap the strength of a mortal. Even if the vampire was killed, the metal—and any powers that had been bestowed upon it—would survive.

“And why did Beauregard want to turn you, Victoria? Because of Vioget. He gave his grandfather too much—too much freedom, too much loyalty, too much support.” He moved again, and she saw he'd stood once more. “I would have killed him myself if necessary.”

“Beauregard?”

“Vioget. And he was well aware of it. That was why he finally did the right thing by staking Beauregard. He made no move to do so until I came on the scene.”

Victoria felt a cool chill ripple over her. The animosity between the men was frightening; yet she'd known them both for two years, and never, until now, had it been so overt. So dark, as though it were preparing to erupt. “When you went with Sebastian to save me, you were…you no longer had the power of the
vis bulla
.”

“And?”

“You didn't tell him, Max. You might have been killed.”

“I wasn't.”

“What will you do now?”

He shifted, and now the glowing sunrise illuminated half of his face, outlining a high, sculpted cheekbone and part of his sharp jaw. His dark hair brushed the underside of his chin, gleaming in thick waves where the light touched it. “I'm here to assist you, and then I'll move on to somewhere else where Lilith won't find me.”

“How?”

“I can still stake a vampire, Victoria.”

“Of course you can,” she replied tartly. “Before you took the
vis bulla
you killed many vampires—a fact which you've made certain to impress upon me more than once. But you'll be no match for Lilith if she finds you, and you can be certain she's looking for both of us. It's possible she's even here in London. One bite is all it would take to put you back under her thrall—”

“No it wouldn't. There's more to the process than a mere bite from her—or else everyone she feeds from would be so. And I certainly see no need to revisit those memories.”

“Even if it's more than one bite—”

“I'm gratified by your concern,” he said, “but I have no intention of being entrapped by that creature again. I have my own protection.” He lifted his hand, and in the dim light she saw he wore a heavy silver ring.

He didn't need to explain; she knew him well enough. There was something in the ring that would send him to his death if need be. He seemed almost eager to put it to the test. “Practical, practical Max.” She felt her lips move in a false smile. “So, how do you anticipate being able to assist in our endeavors?”

“It's simple. You and Vioget rely on the power of the
vis bulla
to sense the presence of a vampire, and to fight them. Perhaps too much, in this case. I no longer have that burden, and can instead rely only on intuition and senses—skills that I used before I became a Venator. Simple observation, and other instincts, have worked well for me in the past.”

Victoria had crossed her arms over her middle. Her hackles had begun to rise at the beginning of his speech, but by the end she was nodding in agreement. “I'm nothing if not practical myself,” she said. “I think it's an excellent idea.”

He didn't respond and she could only conclude that even Max couldn't think of a snide remark in this case. After all, she'd agreed with him.

“So, do tell, Victoria. What prompted your move from the very comfortable home of the Marquess of Rockley to this smaller residence, in a most unfashionable part of town?” he said, moving away from the window.

She drew in a deep breath, then released it slowly. Sadness settled over her. “I no longer belong there. My life has changed completely.”

“A sentiment I fully understand.” His voice had lost its crispness.

Silence descended.

Victoria had often thought about what her life would be like—how empty, different, bland it would be—if she no longer wore the
vis bulla.
As horrible as that event would be for her, how much more difficult it must be for Max.

He had not only been stalking the undead for longer, but also had a penance to pay for giving his family to those immortal creatures. He'd given up his Venatorial powers not only to break the hold Lilith had over him, but also in order to slay the demon Akvan. It had been prophesied that no Venator or demon should ever harm him—so Max had cast off his supernatural powers and become merely a man in order to destroy the creature.

But Max would never be merely a man.

“How is your hand?” he asked suddenly, standing at the foot of the bed.

“My hand?”

A sudden, quiet
snick,
and then a tiny light flared in the room, cupped by one of his hands, held aloft by the other. “Miro's light sticks are quite convenient,” Max said with a little bow. “Your right hand, Victoria. Let me see it.”

Now she understood. Victoria hesitated, curling her fingers into her palm.

He was closer to the bed now, and she swung her feet out from beneath the coverings and sat on the edge as if that position would give her more stability—yet her feet dangled nervously above the floor. Holding the flickering flame on a stick, he reached for her wrist.

“Open.”

She did, and the yellow glow illuminated the faint bluish cast over the plump parts of her palm, up along the inside of her thumb.

Their eyes met and she felt warmth billow through her, from her chest out into each of her limbs. The room pressed in around them.

“It won't wash off.” Her voice was soft.

“I told you it would not.”

The blue tinge was from a shard of Akvan's Obelisk. Victoria had retrieved one of the pieces and brought it back to the Consilium, where, unbeknownst to her, the power of the obelisk had called Akvan back to earth—and the power of the splinter directed his minions to the secret location of the Consilium.

When she'd removed the shard from the hideaway, returning it to a safe place behind the Door of Alchemy, Max had been there as well.

That was when Victoria, influenced by the malevolent power of the piece of obelisk that she'd held, had goaded him into kissing her.

The blue on her hand was indelibly connected to the memory of her fingers curling into the rough stone wall as Max fit his mouth to hers.

She closed her hand into a fist. It was a good thing she had to wear gloves in polite society.

“I've often wondered if that also contributed to the failure of Beauregard's blood to take root in you.” He nodded brusquely at her hand as he released it, then moved slightly away.

She breathed a bit easier now, and stopped her leg against the edge of the bed. “I hadn't thought of that, but it's possible. Vampires and demons are immortal enemies. I obviously had been somewhat influenced by Akvan's power when I was holding the shard. Perhaps some essence of it remained.”

He nodded. “That and your two
vis bullae
.” His eyes focused on her, and even in the shadowy light, she could sense the sharpness of his gaze.

Her two strength amulets were not a topic on which she cared to speak. She didn't want to discuss or acknowledge the fact that one of them was his. It was simply too uncomfortable. Strange, to think about the intimacy of wearing an amulet pierced through her own skin that had once hung from his.

The silence snapped when he shifted away with spare, smooth movements. His hand closed over the doorknob, answering at least one of her questions: how he'd entered the room. “Perhaps you'd best get some sleep now, Victoria,” he said. “I'm certain Vioget will return soon enough.”

“He hasn't open access to my bedchamber,” she said sharply. “Much as he might wish to.”

“Do I detect upheaval in paradise? A bit of a tension between two lovers?”

“Sebastian isn't my lover.”

His brows rose. “Indeed.” He turned the knob, but refrained from opening the door. “Another word of advice, Victoria. For all of the enmity between Vioget and myself, I know he means well for you. His greatest weakness is blind loyalty. He is a worthy match for you.” His words were short and clipped. “It's…important that you think of the future.”

“You begin to sound like my mother,” Victoria replied, feeling bewildered. Why was Max encouraging her toward a man he loathed?

“Whereas your mother is concerned only with titles and wealth and grandchildren, my interest relates to the well-being of the Venators. You are the last of the direct line, and should consider what will happen if you die without issue. Or prematurely.”

Victoria slid down from the edge of the bed, her feet landing on the soft woolen rug. The brush of silk from her nightgown shifted sleekly against her calves, swishing down from her thighs. “This from a man who, two years ago, was furious that I chose to wed? Make up your mind, Max.” As she stood in front of him, she saw him draw back…subtly, almost imperceptibly putting distance between them.

“My mind has been made up. Don't be a fool, Victoria. Remember your duty.” He pulled the door open, then paused halfway out of the room. “I do hope you'll be considerate and keep any—er—activities in here from being too vigorous.”

She looked at him, enlightenment dawning as the urge to tamper with him disappeared. “You're staying here?”

“Kritanu suggested it.” His sardonic smile flashed again. “But you needn't worry I'll disrupt things…I'm staying in the servants' quarters.”

The door closed behind him with a firm click as he made his escape.

+ Nine +

In Which Our Heroine is Interrogated Yet Again

Victoria did not go
back to sleep after Max left.

Instead, she found herself staring at the ceiling of the bedchamber that used to belong to Aunt Eustacia. As ceilings went, it was patently uninteresting—there was nary a mural nor a small plafond to relieve its eggshell color. It was flat, unmarked, and without flaw.

Thus Victoria had nothing to distract her from her churning thoughts.

Max was somewhere in the house, a fact which alone made her feel odd and prickly. He was suggesting she marry—or at least have a long-term, child-bearing affair with—a man he loathed. The man who'd killed his sister, in fact, sending her, as an undead, to an eternal damnation that Max had caused. A man Max had disparaged for his cowardice on more than one occasion, who had declined to accept the role of Venator, yet who had kept the knowledge and power of one for more than a decade.

A man that Victoria had been intimate with on more than one occasion, although, as she'd informed Max, she didn't consider Sebastian her lover. Not really. Not in an ongoing or permanent way. Not as if she was ready to wed the man.

Since she'd first met Sebastian, he'd projected an aura of mystery and untrustworthiness. Yet, from their initial conversation at The Silver Chalice, there'd been a connection between them, a flare of attraction on which he never wasted an opportunity to act. Or attempt to act.

And she'd been willing. A few times.

She shivered, smiled, remembering.

In truth, he had made her
feel
when she'd otherwise been numb. When she grieved, he soothed and awakened her. When she raged, he enraged her further, drawing forth that energy and massaging it into passion. His sense of the absurd, his ability to turn every situation into a prospect for seduction, his fit, golden body…the one, she remembered now, with a tinge of bitterness, that he'd kept fairly hidden from her until two months ago, when she'd discovered that he wore the
vis bulla.

Nothing could change the fact that he'd turned his back on the Venators. He'd lived with a powerful vampire for years, protecting and serving him while watching the vampire hunters from a distance.

He'd ignored his duty.

Yes, he'd had to slay the woman he loved. Giulia had no longer been the girl he'd known, just as Phillip had no longer been the man Victoria had wed. It had been the hardest thing she'd ever done…but it had not drawn her from her responsibilities.

If anything, it had made her stronger and more determined to eradicate the undead.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Victoria sat up, surprised Verbena would bother her so early. It wasn't yet nine o'clock. “Yes?”