Rises The Night

Page 43

His eyes glowed red and his fangs were out, and for one horrible moment she thought he meant to attack her. Surely Sebastian wouldn't allow it. But Sebastian was gone.
As the vampire walked over and stood next to her, her vision swirled and her stomach fluttered.
"Quite a shame that we must leave you untouched. I've never had a Venator before." The implication was clear, and she felt her panic begin to subside.
But then the vampire traced a cold finger over her neck, using his sharp nail, and she felt the prick of its point, surely deep enough to draw blood. He bent toward her and she stiffened, pulling at the ropes beyond her head, feeling them jolt something above her, but he did not bite. Instead he dragged his wide, cold tongue over the place he'd cut. Victoria turned her head away, her stomach pitching, her back arching, hoping that whatever protections Sebastian had put in place for her would be enough once the vampire had smelled and tasted her blood.
Her veins surged, her blood pulsing through them as though shooting to the place on her neck where he'd scratched her. Victoria's breathing became trapped, slow, sluggish. The world funneled into a whirl of sensation: the cold moisture of his tongue, long and slow on her flesh; the scrape of his teeth; the sharp-nailed fingers that now dug into her scalp, beneath her heavy hair; the beat of her heart racing, pounding through her limbs as she struggled to free them.
When he pulled back he smiled, and his eyes were glowing deep bloodred. Hunger glistened there, and she smelled blood on his breath. "That was lovely," he murmured, tracing a long nail gently down her neck and to her breast. "I am so very tempted." His nail paused, pressing into the tender skin that swelled over her bodice.
The mad thumping of her heart pounded so harshly that her breast jolted in rhythm as she scarcely dared to breathe.
The vampire's eyes glowed red, then redder, then softer again as he seemed to contemplate his options.
But at last he pulled away. "It is fortunate for you, Venator, that I value my own existence more than what delights you offer," he said, looking down at her. "Perhaps later, when Vioget tires of you… but for now… I must regretfully decline." He said this last over his shoulder as he walked away; and she relaxed, watching as he went back out the door.
If it hadn't been for Sebastian—and possibly his grandfather's influence—she would have been in trouble. The vampire's actions put quite a damper on Sebastian's arguments: the vampire was clearly ready to take from a helpless woman, and only fear for his own safety stopped him.
But now… now she must attend to finding a way out.
When she'd pulled hard on the bonds of her wrists, she'd felt something move above her. Giving her attention more closely to her environment, she recognized that she was bound to a bed and that the headboard had become loosened by her struggles. Perhaps she could break it free.
She didn't know if the noise would bring the vampire guards in, but she had to attempt it. Trying to keep the banging to a minimum, she pulled on her wrists, felt the ropes scrape over her skin, and jerked around, trying to see if she could get the top of the bed loose. She wasn't even certain what it was made of; it sounded like metal of some sort.
Victoria struggled, then began to tug on her feet in the same way, causing low, deep creaking sounds to emanate from below—hopefully low enough that it wouldn't alarm the vampires. If she could loosen those ropes, she could bring herself closer to the headboard and perhaps be able to use her hands instead of just pulling on her bounds.
The end of the bed gave way first, and when she finally flipped her feet up, the whole iron footboard came too, and crashed onto her legs. Groaning with pain, she scooted up closer to the headboard and was able to feel around with her fingers, trying to get a grip on the metal.
But then she found something better. The wrought iron was rough and ornate, and the back of her hand scraped against part of it that was rather sharp. If she could position herself and move her wrists to saw the ropes against the edge…
It took a long time. Her arms were already sore from being held in such a position and from pulling; but she wasn't a Venator for nothing. At last the ropes loosened enough that she was able to pull them apart.
Her arms free, Victoria sat up, shook them out, and began to work on her ankles. Soon she was on the floor, hurrying to the window, carrying the rope that had been around her legs. It was still daylight—past noon, if she were to judge by the position of the sun. She had less than twelve hours to get from wherever she was back to the opera theater to try to kill Nedas.
She could go out the door and fight the vampires; there would be a certain satisfaction in plunging a stake into the one who'd sampled her blood. But that would take time and there was the chance that she'd get captured again. Not a good chance, but one nevertheless.
The window was four stories above the ground, however, which was why she was going to put Sebastian's rope to good use. And once she was outside the window, climbing down, the vampires would be helpless to follow her in the full sunshine.
And then she saw it: the silhouette of San Pietro's Basilica. She was still in Rome! That, at least, was in her favor.
When she looked down, she swore and stepped back from the window. But it was too late—Sebastian, who'd just alighted from a carriage, had seen her looking down from the window. He gave her a mocking salute as if to say, Nice try, and hurried up the steps below.
So he didn't think she'd go out the window, did he? She thought he knew her better than that!
Her filmy skirt swirling about, Victoria grabbed the metal footboard that still lay on the bed and smashed it through the window, which had been painted shut. She could hear the pounding of feet on the steps below, and knew she had little time. Swiftly she tied the rope to the stone railing just outside the narrow window ledge at the edge of a balcony the size of a mere pillow.
The door to the room flew open and the vampires rushed in, but she was already out in the pool of sunlight, climbing over the rail, rope in hand. Victoria could hear Sebastian's curses when he came into the room, but she was halfway past the third floor, her skirt gusting in the slight breeze and obscuring her view below. The plaster wall in front of her was scrubbed with a dark orange color that flaked off when she tried to brush her foot against it for a toehold.
Fortunately, the building backed into a small rust-walled courtyard instead of a street, so there was less chance of an alarm being raised about a woman lowering herself down from a window. Nettle bushes grew along in the insides, thrusting up and obstructing the steps and half of the windows. She would have to take care not to land on one of them.
The rope ended just below the third-floor window, and Victoria glanced up. Sebastian was no longer looking down at her; he must have gone back in and was coming down the stairs to stop her below. She had a decision to make: Climb in through that window and try to sneak out another way, or drop down and hope she landed on the second-floor window's tiny balcony. Going back into the building would put her in danger of running into the vampires again, but dropping down was also dangerous—and might not give her time to escape before Sebastian got to the bottom.
She had to make the choice.
Looking down past her skirt, which partially blocked her view, she focused on the window ledge below. It was no more than a man's height away in distance. The pointed arch at the top of the window was just out of reach; but by shifting lower on the rope and reaching out with one hand, she was able to grasp it and hold it to steady herself. Clamping her fingers over it, Victoria shifted her weight toward the building, half leaning on the arch, and let go of the rope.
She fell, using her grip on the slender arch to direct her fall, and she landed on the small edge of the window, barely wide enough for her feet. With nary a moment's thought, she vaulted over the same stone railing as on the fourth-floor window ledge, her skirts tangling and billowing, and dangled from the ledge for a moment before dropping, fortunately, next to a nettle bush on the ground.
She dashed toward the narrow entrance of the courtyard, frightening two cats that had been sunning themselves, and she heard the door slam open behind her and Sebastian calling for her. Rounding the corner, she found herself on a narrow street lined with the same kind of buildings she'd just escaped from. He was right behind her; she could hear his footfalls coming closer.
Victoria was not about to be caught now, when she'd come so far. She dashed across the street, down another alley, and ran and ran, around corners and up streets, past chair weavers and tailors and bakers, until the sound of footfalls were lost amid the noise of midday Rome.
The Quirinale clock tower bonged in the distance: two o'clock.
She had ten hours.
Chapter 22
In Which Mr. Starcasset Fills in a Number of Details
The ruins of the opera theater were still smoking when Victoria arrived at nearly half past three on November first, the day before the Day of the Dead, or All Souls' Day, as it was commonly called. The curious stood nearby and gawked. The busy strode past as if nothing had happened.The fire had destroyed only about one-third of the front of the building, but it was obviously unusable as it was. Victoria wondered how many people had died—either from the fire and smoke, or the fangs of the vampires.
Despite her conversation with Sebastian, she could not accept the idea that vampires were not all evil. It went against everything she'd been taught for the last year and a half, and her own interactions with the creatures.
Victoria pulled her cloak closely about her shoulders in an attempt to cover her unusual garb. She'd dressed to fight, to hide, to run and climb, in loose black trousers and a matching tunic. Her shoes were soled with leather, thick enough for protection and supple enough to allow the same ease of movement as slippers. Her long hair had been braided in one long plait, and stuffed down the back of her shirt so that the tail brushed the base of her back, under her garments. She had holy water, stakes, and a knife secreted in various locations under her clothing. Miro, the weapons master from the Consilium, had given her another weapon that would be of use in this particular situation: a small bow that would allow her to fire a specially carved wooden arrow—a stake—from a distance.