When Twilight Burns (24 page)

She had the wherewithal to grip her stake, and even though she felt discomfort from the fall, Victoria wasn't injured. But she was fully aware this could not have been an accident.

And when she heard the screams growing louder, and saw the flash of red eyes glowering into the curricle above her, she knew she was right.

Victoria shoved at James, pushing his weight from hers. He seemed to be unconscious, and his legs were caught under the ledge of the carriage, making it difficult to move him. The awkward pose had fairly trapped her in the corner of the seat. The horses were still squealing, and the carriage lurched and lunged in its place as they struggled to pull loose and run free.

The vampire grabbed James and yanked him off Victoria—which was a bad choice on his part. No sooner had the weight been extricated and lifted from her than she clambered out awkwardly, her feet fumbling around her skirts. She landed on the ground just in time for the vampire to turn back to her. Meeting him with the point of her stake, she sent him to his destiny in a poof of ash, then spun to take note of the situation.

Sebastian and Kritanu had already made their presence known. As Victoria looked, she saw that Sebastian was engaged with numerous vampires. Kritanu was making use of his
qinggong
skills to glide and leap from tree to boulder to tree. He harassed the creatures, swiping at them with a long, gleaming sword as he moved above them and lopped off an undead head when the opportunity arose. Gwendolyn sat in her carriage, screaming, her hands plastered to her cheeks as her fiancé attempted to beat off the undead with a whip.

Sara and George, along with their carriage, were nowhere in sight.

Gone. Victoria would have thought they'd stay to watch the results of their trap. Her brows furrowed as she pivoted to meet a feral female vampire, blocking the creature's lunge with her arm, then slamming the stake into her chest beneath it.

Sara and George had left as soon as the battle started. As soon as everyone was flushed out and engaged.

But Victoria wasted no further time in contemplation. There were at least a dozen vampires about, and she launched herself into the fray, stepping in to relieve Sebastian from a trio that had attempted to corner him near a large boulder.

With a passing-by
poof
, she cut his attackers down to a duo, and then continued over to Gwendolyn and Brodebaugh. With a shout meant to draw the attention of the undead, she rushed toward the cluster of red-eyed vampires as Kritanu's wiry body landed gracefully on the top of the curricle's roof. His sword whistled, lopping the head from an undead at a distance safe from its inhuman strength, and then he turned to the other side.

He kicked a particularly insistent undead back so that the creature tumbled to the ground in front of her, and Victoria paused to stake him as she moved into the melee about her friend's carriage.

Why would George and Sara have left? To escape?

Or to attend to some other task?

And then a horrible feeling rumbled inside her. Max. He was alone, and…incapacitated.

“Kritanu,” she cried, her voice rising above the pandemonium. The trainer's jet eyes found hers amid the battle. “Max! He's unprotected.”

With relief, she saw Kritanu immediately leap up, then disappear into the higher branches of a tall maple. She was aware of branches and leaves shaking gently as he moved away, presumably toward the hack that would take him back to the town house.

For now she could concentrate on the matter at hand. And worry about Max later.

Despite the tangle of skirts, and Gwendolyn's screams ringing in her ears, Victoria was quite successful in her endeavors, staking three more vampires before she realized the battle had waned.

Breathing heavily but by no means winded, she turned and found Sebastian standing behind her. He looked down at her, stake outlined in his hand, blond hair tufted and mussed in the moonlight. He was breathing harder than usual, but he didn't have more than a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“I know I shouldn't ask—and in light of the fact that while I made no move to help you in your battles, you insisted upon interfering in my fight,” he said, his lips quirking in a smile, “but, consider it merely a sign of my affection for you when I
do
ask…were you injured when the carriage fell?” His voice, deeper than usual, belied the humor in his words.

“Not enough to matter,” she replied, suddenly aware that she didn't mind so much that he cared enough to ask. Max certainly never would.

“James?” she called, glad to be distracted by the dark form rising from where he'd been flung by the vampire. “Are you hurt?” She hurried to his side, aware that Sebastian watched after her.

She was finding it easier, more comfortable…to be with Sebastian, to trust him, to fight side by side with him. She looked back and saw he was still watching her, even though he was speaking with Gwendolyn and Brodebaugh.

“What happened?” James asked. “That was one helluva—excuse me, ma'am—hole there!” He glanced cursorily at the carriage, which Victoria now saw had the whole front half sunk into a hole in the ground. His attention focused on the horses, which, although they were still snorting and rolling their eyes, had ceased trying to pull the conveyance free.

She agreed, and walked over with him to look at the situation.

The cause of the accident was clear. Someone had taken advantage of Nash's construction to obscure a deep impression left in the ground with some sticks and leaves. The carriage being wider than the two horses, they had managed to walk on by unscathed, but the left front wheel had slipped off into the hole.

The resulting crash had been enough to jar and shock, but not enough to injure. She wondered if that had been the intent.

Or, she wondered again, had this all been a way to distract her while Sara and George went after Max—after ascertaining that he hadn't been lying in wait to help Victoria?

If either one of them were vampires, they wouldn't be able to get to Max inside Aunt Eustacia's house, because they wouldn't be able to enter. But if one of them wasn't, they could go in after him…if indeed that was the intent.

She knew Kritanu and Barth, along with a feisty Verbena, could easily handle one or two nonvampires that might try to break into the house.

Of course, Max would have been able to handle any such threat on his own…if she hadn't drugged him.

Victoria ignored the niggle of guilt in favor of the larger matter at hand. Was it that simple? Was all this merely to grab Max for Lilith? Or was there something else going on?

Maybe Max didn't figure at all into any of the reasons for these attacks, or the daytime vampire. Maybe she was focusing her attention in the wrong place. After all, she'd been the target of Bemis Goodwin—although there was no definite connection between him and the Tutela, only Max's recollection of a vampire sympathizer named Goodwin.

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 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 Scent 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.