The Bleeding Dusk

Page 52

He didn’t know who was a vampire and who was a man, and therefore what weapon to use against each—but the question became moot as a massive explosion erupted from the back of the room, sending scatters of stone blasting through the air. At last, Briyani!
Max took advantage of the distraction to slip away from the red-eyed creature he’d been battling, using the cover of the sudden smoke to duck low and scuttle his way toward that end of the chamber. Their plan was to meet outside of the room if possible, with Michalas rushing to meet them as soon as he heard the explosion.
He ran into something small and soft, and from the familiar grasping fingers knew it was Sara. She was still a mortal, misguided as she was, but a mortal. Instead of shaking her off, as he wanted to do, he dragged her after him through the smoke and over the piles of rubble, past the bodies buried under it, and out into the hall. Smoke filled the passageway, but when he felt the grasp of sure fingers on his arm, he turned and recognized Briyani.
His face was covered with soot, but his white teeth shone in a complacent smile…and as Max turned to follow him, Michalas emerged from the darkness too.
“Come,” he said, leading the way. Max followed, and as they hurried down the hall, Michalas turned twice more and lobbed something behind him. Explosions followed them, and a sudden loud rumbling told Max that something had finally collapsed the ceiling behind them. The whole villa was going to come down.
“Run!”
They ran, the smell of stone dust billowing through the narrow hall behind them as the ceiling caved bit by bit, each topple bringing down the section after it. He still had Sara by the arm, and she was running as fast as they were, even in her skirts.
They finally reached the cell and burst into the secret laboratory, then more slowly through the Door of Alchemy and out into the night that had fallen.
“You killed him,” Sara said as Max flung off her grasping hands. “How did you do that? It was against the writings of the Shah-Nameh that a Venator could hurt him! It is never wrong.”
He ignored her, looking over the wall that housed the Door of Alchemy. Half of the villa had collapsed in upon itself, sending puffs of smoke that were visible even in the low moonlight.
“How, Max?”
“Let’s go,” he said, turning to Michalas and Briyani. “We’ve finished here.”
Without another word or glance he turned and they started off, leaving Sara Regalado staring after them.
“How?” she called again. “At least tell me that, Max.”
He kept walking away. He would never see her again. Never deal with this again.
His chest was tight. It was over.
Sebastian cursed as he opened his eyes. At least, one eye. The other one was swollen shut. His shirt was wet with blood, and he felt as if a cart had driven over him, more than once. What had he done to himself?Then his eyes widened, even the painful one, and he scrambled to his feet.
Good God.
Victoria.
He was unsteady, but he’d felt worse before, and the throbbing didn’t stop him from rushing toward the door of the room in which he’d been tossed. It was one of the extra chambers that Beauregard used, and Sebastian’s immediate fear that he’d been locked in was unfounded, for the door opened easily. The hallway was empty, and Sebastian hurried out and down the passageway, refusing to think about what he would find.
Gardriel and Hugh, two massive vampires particularly loyal to Beauregard, stood outside the door to his private chamber—not the one with the harpsichord, but one adjoining it through yet another hidden door. Sebastian, however, was fast and determined, and managed to push his way in.
As strong hands locked around his upper biceps, whipping him back to a halt, he stared at the scene before him. His vision dimmed at the edges as he gave a single, futile jerk to try to free himself. “No.”
His grandfather looked up casually from where he reclined on the large, pillow-strewn bed, stroking Victoria’s dark hair. It was long, and rich and thick, and it covered her bare shoulders, streaming over the lush red velvet bedding. Her skin was white, pale in the light cast from a roaring fire—a comfort for her, not for Beauregard—and her mouth was curved in a sensual smile. She looked at Sebastian from her position curled up with his grandfather. Her eyes were horribly bright and seemed deep in her skull.
“You’ve arrived rather more quickly than I anticipated.”
“Let her go.” Sebastian struggled again, but the two who held him were taller, bulkier, and much stronger than he. “Beauregard, let her go.”
Sebastian couldn’t take his eyes from Victoria, his heart slamming in his chest, his gut twisting painfully. Her lips were dark red and puffy, as if they’d been well kissed, and her gown…it sagged at her bodice, leaving no doubt what his grandfather had been doing, what he had planned.
Worst of all, her ivory skin seemed paler than usual, the hollow at the base of her throat darker and deeper. As she moved to kiss Beauregard her hair fell away, and he saw the streaks of blood on the side of her neck. Dark, but still glistening, still thick and rich.
He knew that there was still a chance, yes…he’d drained a good amount of her blood, but as long as she hadn’t drunk from Beauregard, Sebastian could save her.
His grandfather pulled away from the deep, thrusting kiss he’d been sharing with Victoria, a kiss that made Sebastian’s vision dim further and his struggles more desperate. He saw tongues slide and lips mesh, and it was horribly erotic and disturbing and shocking all at the same time.
Beauregard lifted his face, pulling away from Victoria’s lips with a loud smacking sound, and looked directly at Sebastian. She continued to kiss his chin and on down his neck, her small, powerful hands smoothing over the front of his chest in the same way she’d done to Sebastian himself only days ago. “You certainly may join us, if you promise to behave,” Beauregard told him.
Nausea flooded him, and Sebastian couldn’t speak for a moment. This couldn’t be happening. “Why?” he asked finally, his voice low and broken. “Why?”
“I could no longer chance your divided loyalties, Sebastian. Now there will be no question, will there?”
Sebastian just stared, the world falling away and leaving him standing on the edge of a precipice in a cold and angry wind. “Victoria!” he said, his eyes never leaving her as he kicked futilely at the undead who held him. If he could get her attention, pull her from the depths of the thrall…“Victoria, look at me!”
“Do you not fear. She’ll be just as accommodating now as she was before…yet she’ll never change. You’ll thank me in a few decades. If you’d listened to me—”
“No!”
Suddenly, as she moved and her other arm came into view, he saw the copper band biting into her wrist, and realized that was how she’d fallen. It had to be. She was too strong otherwise. “Victoria.” Desperation began to skim his nerves; his voice came out in an agonized whisper.
Her eyes were heavy-lidded and alluring, her dark lashes a thick fringe beneath brows and delicate lavender eyelids, her irises wide-pupiled. Her head tilted back as she smiled up at Beauregard again, reaching to brush her fingers over his jaw and chin in an overtly seductive manner so very unlike the proud, restrained Victoria he knew.
“Let her go,” Sebastian told Beauregard again, hating that there was an edge of pleading in his voice. His body trembled. “Release her.”
“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.”