“You must admit,” she said, starting back toward him, “that it might be a bit more difficult now. ” He met her blade without backing up, and their arms strained against each other before the force of her blade caused his to slide away.
“I have the means to take care of myself. ” He came at her again, this time gliding on the air, and she was forced to raise her blade higher to stop his onslaught.
“But if she caught you again . . . and bit you, put you back under her thrall—”
“I won’t give her the opportunity. She cannot do it with a single bite . . . and it required some participation on my part. ”
“What?” Victoria stopped, and he caught her unawares, slicing down the side of her arm. The blade brushed along her sleeve, but did nothing more than scrape the fabric. “Participation?”
“Christ, Victoria, it wasn’t willing participation,” he snarled. “If I’d known the salve she was putting on the bites would cause them to never heal, and to bind me to her, don’t you think I would have stopped her?” He slashed violently.
They fought in silence for a moment, Max’s feet back on the ground, and Victoria aware of the trickle of perspiration down her spine.
“Incidentally, I don’t believe he’s dead,” Max commented, easing back after a particularly feisty tip-to-tip dance of their swords.
“Who?”
“The Runner. ”
“What?”
“I told you . . . I found nothing and could locate no one who’d seen or heard any disturbances. And,” he said, shifting to the side, and then suddenly around her, dragging the tip of her blade with him, “I have a recollection that might interest you and may clear up the matter even more. ”
Victoria pivoted after him, striking out with her weapon as he brought his down. Their blades smashed, caught, and with a great jerk, she gave a powerful twist.
Both blades tangled, their guards twisted, and flew through the air, landing a few feet away with a dull clatter.
“A draw,” he said, looking down at her, barely breathing hard. He’d pulled his hair back in a short, thick stub at the back of his head, but one strand fell over his face. He pushed it back and planted his hands on his hips. His brown feet spread wide, making him look more like a pirate than ever. All he needed was a gold hoop in his ear— although Max would probably opt for silver, if he was thus inclined.
“Your recollection?” she asked, noticing how the vee of his tunic revealed dark hair brushing the curve at the base of his throat. He’d drawn her hand there once, beneath the warm cotton of another shirt, over flesh and muscle, to touch the vis bulla for strength. She stepped back.
“Goodwin, yes? Frederick Goodwin was the Runner’s brother?”
“Yes, Lord Truscott. ”
“There was a Goodwin in the Tutela. It may have been him. If so, then I doubt he met his end—he or his cohort—at the hands of the undead. ”
Victoria understood, and a flare of anger sparked. “But if not, I’m nevertheless absolved from my sin of passivity if Goodwin was a member of the Tutela? Mortal or no?”
“If he was a member of the Tutela, Goodwin would have been safe with the vampires,” Max reminded her. “You wouldn’t have been leaving him to his death. If he wasn’t Tutela, it wasn’t your place to determine whether he lived or died. ”
“So I should have let him—”
“And,” Max continued smoothly, “if he was Tutela, it would explain his animosity toward you. The Venator who took his brother’s life. ”
She didn’t like the train of this conversation, for the condemnation from Max still weighed heavily on her. Perhaps she shouldn’t have left Goodwin at the hands of the vampires . . . but at that time, it was the only thing she could do . . . wanted to do.
It was as if all concepts but self-preservation had evaporated from her mind. Leaving only a single-minded need for survival. Red-tinged anger, blind wrath. Conscience-less fury.
Then she remembered. “He did say something . . . something about protecting his brother. ‘After all I did to protect him. ’ ”
“He could have helped him turn undead to protect him. It’s been done before. ” Bitterness.
Victoria looked at him sharply and recognized that he was speaking of himself. “As you did with your father and sister. ”
“But Vioget has told you all of the sordid details, has he not. ” Max’s voice was staccato and hard, and he turned to pick up the tangle of blades.
“I know enough from Wayren to be aware that you were young and had been tricked into believing in the promise of the Tutela. You did it to save your father’s life, and your sister’s too. They were both weak and ill. ”