The Bleeding Dusk (Page 81)

“I will not.” Beauregard’s eyes glowed more deeply, and Sebastian felt the edge of his thrall tickle over his shoulders. For the first time in a long while, he recognized the power of his grandfather, and the danger he represented.

“I’ve never asked you for anything. I’ve done what you’ve bidden; I’ve protected you. Now let her go.”

“It’s too late.” Beauregard reached out his long, narrow hand and smoothed his fingers over Victoria’s neck. Blood covered them when he pulled them away, bringing them to his mouth and gently tasting.

“She hasn’t fed from you. It’s not too late.” Sebastian’s neck was prickling and his head pounded. “Please.”

“But she will. She will feed from me. And then you’ll be happy, Sebastian, I promise. Trust me.” Beauregard looked at him. “I never could understand why you did what you did to Giulia, but—”

Sebastian managed to wrench his left arm free from Hugh’s grip, surprising both of the undead as he sent his fist plowing into the vampire’s face, and then twisted to pull free from the other.

But they were on him immediately, pummeling and kicking, fangs bared and eyes glowing, and Sebastian felt the room spinning as he sagged to the floor after a vicious punch in the abdomen.

“Get him out of here,” he heard Beauregard say. The voice was dim and far away, but Sebastian fought to bring himself back to the room, back to save Victoria.

But before he could, strong hands dragged him out of the chamber. And as the door closed behind them, the last thing he heard was a low, feminine laugh filled with pleasure.

Twenty-two

Wherein the Worst Possible Happening Occurs

“So you leave us once again,” Wayren said, looking shrewdly at Max.

He nodded, his hand on the doorknob of her library. He hadn’t said so, but Wayren was no fool. She understood him.“Now that Akvan and his obelisk are no threat and you’re useless, you see no reason to remain. Such self-pity doesn’t become you, Max.”

“Self-pity? I bathed in that enough in the year after my father and sister died.” He turned the knob and heard the gentle click of the door’s latch releasing. “I have no illusions that Lilith will not be furious when she learns of my…defection…and she’ll soon be searching for me. My intent is merely to disappear for a while.”

“Again.”

He looked at her. “Again.”

“Without saying good-bye.”

“I see no need to belabor things.”

“Zavier is dying.”

“I know. I’m sorry for it, too. He is a good man.”

Wayren nodded. Then she looked at him again with those sharp, pale blue eyes. “Will you leave Victoria’s vis bulla?”

Max’s hand tightened, but he didn’t allow it to rise to his chest and touch the amulet beneath his shirt. “She doesn’t need two.” He knew it was an equivocation, but it didn’t matter.

“She already wears two vis bullae.” Wayren was looking at him, her head tilted to one side like a wren.

“Then she doesn’t bloody well need three,” he snapped. He wanted to leave this blasted place before Victoria came back from wherever she was. Before he had to talk to anyone else. “Good-bye, Wayren. I will be in touch. Essere con Dio.”

He closed the door behind him and hurried away before he saw anyone else, or before Wayren tried to stop him with another of her blasted cryptic comments or knowing looks. The hidden entrance near the library was closer and less noticeable. He wouldn’t have to walk through the fountain room and chance running into anyone.

Moments later he ascended the dark, narrow stairs that opened into a small cellar in an abandoned building blocks away from Santo Quirinus. As he stepped out of the rickety structure, he realized he might very well be doing so for the last time.

He ducked out of the small opening at the rear of the building and then moved silently through what passed as a courtyard, but was really no more than a gap five paces wide and filled with rubble and dirt. The sun had begun to rise, sending a soft glow over the ramshackle buildings, and Max drew in a deep breath of chill air, this first full day of his bloody, detestable freedom.

He was free, yet still trapped by his memories and knowledge. He should have had Wayren use the golden disk to capture them again and take them away. At least then he would have some peace.

But he kept going, walking away from the Consilium and the world that had been his life for more than a decade.

Fast footfalls from behind drew his attention, and he reached automatically for his stake before realizing he had no way of telling whether whoever approached was friend or foe.

“Pesaro!”

“What the hell do you want, Vioget?” Max released the stake and kept walking, head high, shoulders straight. He was acutely aware of his lack of power, the weakness that seemed to pervade every step he now took.

“Victoria. It’s Victoria.”

Max stopped, but he didn’t turn around. There was something in the bastard’s voice….

“Beauregard has her.”

Now he turned back, and what he saw made his spine turn to ice. The blasted fop’s face wasn’t so pretty any longer, and he limped, but it was the expression in his eyes that made Max cold.

“Has he…” The word dried in his mouth, but Vioget knew what he meant.

“Not yet. But he will if we don’t stop him.”

Max looked at him, every bit of antipathy he felt for the other man rising to the surface. He knew precisely where to place the blame for this travesty.

But instead he turned to start back toward the Consilium. If Vioget had lowered himself to ask Max for assistance, Victoria’s situation must be bad, very bad indeed. They would need others. “Have you seen Wayren?”

“Yes. She sent me after you; the Venators are waiting.”

So Sebastian knew.

Max closed his mind off from that path and gave a short nod. And he said words he never thought he’d say to Sebastian Vioget: “I’ll follow you.”

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “Yes, I am aware that Beauregard will be expecting us.” Although he was a man who avoided violence, he thought he might just forget about it for a moment and plow a fist into…something.But that would mean he’d have to stop, and it would waste time he already didn’t have. They had no time. No time. Thank God they were nearly to the house where he and Beauregard lived, albeit in separate quarters, the five men half running as he explained the situation.