Rises The Night

Page 47

He met her gaze without flinching, without distancing himself from the rage she knew was there; even Nedas's presence faded away from the periphery of her awareness. For Victoria, it was just the two Venators.
Then she was whipped to her feet by a strong, dark hand, and she found herself chest-to-chest with, and less than an arm's length away from, Lilith's son.
"No real threat," Nedas commented, perusing her face as if he were reading the pages of the London Times and it was devoid of any articles of interest. "No, not the woman who fought and killed two of my Guardians, and an Imperial whom I sent to bring Polidori back. No. No threat.
"And most certainly, not the woman who escaped from five vampires, even as they fought over feeding on her, during a Tutela meeting. No." He looked over at Max. "This one is no real threat."
Max arched a brow. "She must have made much improvement in the last year."
Nedas looked at her, and she remembered to keep her vision from getting trapped by his gaze. She focused her eyes on his eyelashes, noticing how thick and black they were, how they brushed his thick, wiry brows when his eyes were fully open.
She and Nedas were nearly of a height, and he barely had to tilt his face toward her. One hand held her arm; she made no move to shake it loose. It would be a superficial, short-lived victory. Better that he think she was frozen in fright. Or held in his thrall.
"I could kill her now—or have you do it, Max, as your first duty in my inner circle… but perhaps I will, instead, take a page from the book of my dear mother. Claiming a Venator of my own, most particularly such an attractive one, would not be such a hardship. And after tonight… well, she will have little to do, won't she? The rise of Akvan's Obelisk will make the Venators inconsequential." He smiled at her again. "And won't you be pleased to be one of the protected, like your colleague here?"
Victoria did not grace him with a reply. It was useless, and she had more to think about than to exchange repartee with the vampire prince.
That thought reminded her that Sebastian had disappeared sometime during the altercation. But before she could make sense of it, Nedas, apparently annoyed that she would not engage with him in a war of words, commanded, "Disarm her."
Thank God Max wasn't part of it—part of the pairs of hands that held her immobile as others felt around and removed the stakes and holy water, and the knife she wore in various locations on her body. She bucked and kicked and twisted futilely, but she could not remain still with those ugly, repulsive fingers on her. They even found the vial of holy water tied to the underside of her thick braid, along with the stake looped beneath it as well.
Her tunic shirt was lifted before she knew what was happening, and then the sudden, rending pain at her navel as one of them—surely a Tutela—tore the vis bulla from her skin.
She cried out, a low moan as she felt the instant evaporation of her energy and strength, and the surge of weakness overwhelmed her. The pain was great enough that this time she did succumb to the black void where there was no pain and no grief.
Chapter 24
In Which Lady Rockley Attempts to Draw Blood
When she awoke, Victoria found herself alone in the dark.She drew in a deep breath, surprised at how much she hurt everywhere; she was not used to such intense, debilitating pain. Her arms were too weak to prop herself up, so she remained prone for a long moment, measuring her breaths, trying to discern shadows in the darkness.
The memory waited before it came upon her; then it flashed in, overwhelming her mind with all its blood and death. The whistling arc of the blade. The hands groping and pulling and punching at her. The red-rimmed blue eyes of inhumanity. The tearing pain at her navel.
It was no surprise she was weak and hurting. Without her vis bulla, she was as helpless as a woman.
It had been a bit more than a year, and already she'd forgotten how much she relied on the strength amulet, how much it ruled her life, and what freedom it gave her. Yes, she had removed it herself, but that had been voluntary, and temporary, and she'd been sequestered and safe.
This was terrifying.
She breathed and tried again to move her arms, and was surprised to find that she could. She was not restrained. Her legs, too, were free to shift and allow her feet to move around enough that she determined she had been deposited on the floor in some kind of room.
But why would they restrain her? She was no threat to them now.
No threat.
According to Max, she hadn't been even before they took her vis bulla.
The renewal of her rage set her breathing off balance and her stomach feeling like a cannonball rested on it. Victoria had to stop and make herself consciously push away the venom.
She would deal with Max in time.
The first thing she must do was find a way out of here.
What time was it? Were they even now with Akvan's Obelisk, releasing the full impact of its evil? The event that would, as Nedas had said, make Venators inconsequential?
Gingerly getting to her feet, using the wall for balance, Victoria tried to stand, but her knees and head would not cooperate. She sagged back to the floor, scraping her hand down the rough wall. It was as dark as it could get, and once she felt the stone wall and the cement beneath, she presumed she was in a cellar beneath the opera theater.
She crawled around the perimeter, bumping into something that she recognized belatedly as a cot or large chair, and determined that two of the walls were stone and the other two wood, one of them with a door.
No sooner had she reached up to blindly locate the door handle and jiggle it in vain, than she heard what sounded like descending footsteps over her head, and she realized she was in a cubby under a staircase.
She didn't have time to wonder whether the steps portended someone coming for her, for moments after they reached the bottom of the stairs, a cast of light glowed from underneath the door; then something jolted it, making a soft thump. And then the door opened.
Max slipped in and shut it behind him.
"You!" Weak though she was, Victoria launched herself at his feet, pulling up using his body and the wall for balance, the fury she'd held in check at his audacity in seeking her out bursting forth, giving her a wave of strength.
He held the lantern well away from himself, as though expecting her attack, and he let her land a few ineffective blows to his chest and face before snatching one of her arms in midair. "That's enough, and for God's sake, keep quiet," he said, and bent to put the lantern down. "You're wasting time and energy." He grabbed her other wrist when she would have flailed it at him, knocking one of her kicking feet out from under her so that she lost her balance and remained upright only because he had her wrists in hand.
"How long have you been Tutela?" she hissed. "You are a traitor and a murderer."
His face was expressionless. "You heard Nedas. I was Tutela before I was a Venator."
"Will you murder me now?" she asked, ignoring the black spots that danced before her eyes and the way her body throbbed in pain. Weakness and fear shivered through her, but she would not allow him to see it. Her muscles trembled and she had to work to form the words. "What reward will Nedas give you for killing another Venator?"
He gave her a little shake that bobbled her head; then as if to collect himself, thrust her from him and stood away, looking down at her as she stumbled back onto the cot. "I have exactly ten minutes to get you the hell out of here, or you will find yourself in a much less appetizing situation than your aunt. For Christ's sake, you can't even stand, can you?"
This last comment was provoked by her attempt to do just that, pulling herself off the thin cot and using her hand to hold herself upright. He reached for her, and she twisted away, tipping back onto the floor in an ignominious heap. "Don't touch me."
He ignored her and unceremoniously yanked her to her feet, pushing her toward the cot. "Victoria, you have to get out of here. There is no time to play the woman scorned."
"After I kill you, and Nedas too, I'll be happy to leave this place."
"Despite the fact that you can't even stand, let alone kill anyone, you can't slay Nedas. Not now," he told her sharply. "There will be another time, but not now." Long fingers were unbuttoning his white shirt, and Victoria gawked, trying to focus around the black dots that obscured her vision.
"What are you doing?"
"He's already begun to activate the obelisk; he cannot be stopped. You will be needed afterward, Victoria. Think about that and not your need for vengeance, for it will soon be moot." He moved toward her, and she shrank back from his tall, looming figure. She'd never been afraid of Max, but something in his expression, the determined, settled line of his mouth and the angry black eyes, made her want to scoot away.
But she was a Venator. Damn it, even without her vis bulla, she was a Venator.
She didn't know what she'd expected when he sat next to her on the cot, but it wasn't for him to take her wrist and force her hand toward him. He moved her reluctant fingers under his unbuttoned shirt, palm open, sliding over warm skin, soft hair, and then brushing against his nipple, and something hard. Metal. He pushed her hand flush against it.
An instant before she realized it was his vu bulla, hanging from the areola on his muscular chest, Victoria felt a wave of strength course through her. Light filled her vision, chasing away the black spots. The pain melted into puddles of annoyance. Even the injury at her navel, where her own strength amulet had been torn away, ceased to throb. Her head felt clearer.
And as her pain and confusion disappeared, Victoria became aware of the fact that her hand was splayed over Max's bare skin. She felt the brush of his linen shirt over the back of her wrist with the rhythm of his breathing, felt the steady, strong pounding of his heart under her palm and the strength of his fingers around her hand. He was warm and solid, and a brief peek at the opening of his shirt told her there was a lot of black hair on his chest.
Another glance at his face told her he was unmoved: His eyes were closed, his mouth still settled and firm. She wondered if the flow of energy she felt weakened him at all. She looked up again and his jaw shifted, once, twice, and as if he knew she was watching, he opened his eyes. She looked away, suddenly conscious of their positions on the cot, him half turned toward her, his knee brushing hers, his strong fingers wrapped around her wrist. Her hand on his flesh suddenly felt as if it were burning. Her throat was dry.