Oh God.
“What about Beauregard?” she said suddenly, her voice commanding their attention. She sat up and the room hardly dipped at all.
“He’s dead,” Max said flatly, his face still in shadow.
A modicum of relief seeped through her body, and she looked at Sebastian. From the expression on his face, she realized he’d done the impossible: he’d killed the six-hundred-year-old vampire who had been his grandfather.
She reached for his hand and his fingers closed around hers. She squeezed them: in thanks and apology. “Will you join us again, now?” she asked in the strong, demanding voice of Illa Gardella, the leader of the Venators.
“I will. ”
And then, with belated horror, she remembered: Max.
Victoria turned to look at him and their eyes met. The studiously flat expression there told her all she needed to know. Sebastian might be taking his rightful place within the ranks of the Venators, but Max no longer could. He’d given up his Venator powers in order to destroy the thrall Lilith the Dark, Queen of the Vampires, had held over him.
One
Two Dogs Circling
“Lilith won’t know I’ve severed her hold on me until she tries to exert it,” Max said. Exhaustion trembled in his muscles, and he swore he could feel his eyes sinking more deeply into their sockets.
The last time he’d felt so bruised and empty had been after the battle with Nedas, Lilith’s son, last fall. Max had been forced to execute Eustacia, his mentor and Victoria’s great-aunt. Eustacia was one of the most powerful Venators who had ever lived. She’d ordered Max to sacrifice her so that he could get close enough to Nedas to destroy him and the powerful, demonic obelisk in his possession.
It had been the hardest thing he’d ever done.
Now, here he was, ready to leave the Venators permanently.
Only an hour had passed since Victoria had awakened from her ordeal, and he and Wayren had slipped away to her library here in the Consilium, the subterranean head-quarters of the Venators, in order to discuss his future. They’d left Sebastian Vioget simpering over a pale-visaged, hollow-cheeked Victoria.
It was just as well, for that was quite obviously the way the wind blew. Although Max had had a moment of perverse satisfaction when he realized Vioget hadn’t known that Victoria wore two vis bullae.
“But once Lilith realizes I’m free, she’ll consider it a betrayal,” he said, returning to the conversation.
“And she won’t rest unt
il she finds you,” Wayren replied in her even voice. She looked at him with her cool blue-gray eyes, reality shining there. “Her fury will know no bounds. ”
“How fortunate I am to be the object of such passion. ” Max tasted bitterness.
At that moment, there was a knock at the door and then Vioget came in, uninvited.
Max glanced up, not bothering to hide the flash of animosity in his face. Still flecked with blood, dirt, and debris from his battle to rescue Victoria from Beauregard’s lair, Vioget looked weary and uncharacteristically out of sorts. Max supposed that was only to be expected, after having been stabbed in the shoulder by the stake meant for a vampire. And by his lover, too.
Max’s lips twitched. Victoria with one vis bulla was stronger than any man—but wearing two, her strength would be superhuman. Vioget had to be in pain, even being a Venator.
Despite the fact that Vioget had called Beauregard “Grandfather,” the man was also a born Venator. Vioget’s father had descended from Beauregard’s mortal son, many generations after the vampire had been turned undead. And his mother had apparently carried some measure of Gardella blood in her, which had passed on to Vioget in an ironic turn: the grandson of a vampire was called to be a slayer of the undead.
“So sorry to interrupt,” Sebastian said in dulcet tones that didn’t match his disheveled appearance. He barely glanced at Max, turning pointedly to Wayren.
She sat not behind her desk, but in a cushioned chair, dressed, as always, like a medieval chatelaine in a long, loose gown with pointed sleeves that brushed the floor. This night, the bulk of her pale blonde hair hung in two thick braids, with two finger-slim ones hanging from her temples. She wore no jewelry or adornment except for the braided leather girdle at her waist, upon which hung a ring of keys.
“I have a matter of some urgency which I must discuss with you,” Vioget continued.
“I imagine you do. Beauregard’s death at your hand probably won’t be well received by his undead compatriots,” Max replied pleasantly. “Especially since for the last decade you’ve fairly lived among them. You may actually need to bestir yourself to slay a few more in order to protect your hide. ”
He and Vioget had known each other for more than fifteen years, long before either even knew that vampires existed. The animosity between them had been put aside for the few hours it took to rescue Victoria, but Max saw no reason to hide his antipathy for Vioget and his years of denying his calling as a Venator. Cowardice or selfishness—Max wasn’t sure which one had driven the man—but it didn’t matter to him.
People had been mauled, killed, and Vioget had done nothing to help them.