When Twilight Burns

Page 51

Christ Almighty, his weakness was two bloody women. The vampire and the Venator. The seductive evil incarnate and the feminine warrior.
There was a sudden sharp squeal and a soft explosion. Then quiet.
He surged to the edge again, looking back down into the blackness, hoping. . . . Her white fingers were there, bloody, digging into the small cuts on the side of the pit, pulling her battered body up . . . not so far from the edge, and Max plunged his chained wrists down to help drag her up, heedless of Lilith standing behind him, of her triumph in seeing his weakness. There were no dogs left . . . only the smell of vampire dust on the air.
Victoria collapsed onto the ground at their feet. Her clothing was bloody and torn, her eyes glazed, her loose hair in a long, witchy tangle about her, red-streaked fingers still clutching the stake. Yet she pulled raggedly to her feet and blinked hard; Max could see her struggling to maintain her composure, to clear her vision.
He saw it . . . he recognized the struggle going on beneath her skin, deep within. The need to go on, to destroy, to annihilate. His fists tightened. There was nothing anyone could do for her. She had to fight through herself. Wayren had told him all of the details that Victoria had not.
Holy God, let her be strong.
She drew a deep, shuddering breath and faced Lilith. Her eyes burned with anger, yet there was no red. Not yet.
Thank God, not yet.
Then, suddenly galvanized and hopeful, he fumbled with the ring, reaching toward her, ready to end it before she had to make the fatal choice . . . before she was battered any further, tortured, maimed, beaten . . . pushed over the edge.
But his chains were yanked again and he lost his fingering on the ring as he was forced out of reach of Victoria, tripping and stumbling into a heap. He closed the signet quickly before it cut his own flesh. There was only enough for one of them.
“Marvelous,” said Lilith, speaking to Victoria. “Absolutely marvelous, but nothing less than I’d expected from you. And quite efficient as well. I rather thought you might take longer than you did. Although I shall grieve for the loss of my companions, the outcome will be so much more valuable. And besides,” she said, her fangs pressing into her lip as her smile returned, “I have more to spare.”
As if that were a signal, the door on the other side of the pit opened and in walked the man Max recognized as Bemis Goodwin. He was holding the leashes of four more slavering canines, their ears pricked forward, their eyes burning red as they scented the blood.
“And now we shall finish this,” said Lilith.
Her eyes burned with excitement, and Max felt as though he were going to vomit. The room shifted and he tried one more time to lunge toward Victoria, releasing the tiny lethal blade of his ring . . . he needed only one small cut, just the barest nick. . . .
But something caught around his foot, pulling back, and he slammed into the ground.
And then a woman screamed.
Twenty-seven
The Choice
Victoria was barely aware of Max slamming to the ground at her feet. She felt the need, the anger pulsing through her . . . red burning her eyes, blazing through her.
Her heart still pounded, sweat poured down her back and underarms. Lilith’s red eyes glowed at her knowingly. Reveling in the battle as it billowed and surged inside her. She drew in a deep breath, touched the amulets beneath her torn tunic, and gasped with the power: pure, clean power.
The red faded, the rampant violence eased, she felt as though control was in her grasp. Triumph blasted through her. Lilith had been wrong. She’d underestimated Victoria, and now she’d come through whatever this test was—
And then she saw the four dogs. And Bemis Goodwin, standing on the other side of the pit. The dark, deep, horrible space. Slicing teeth and deep claws, the smell of evil, wet dogs as they came at her again, and again. Not to kill . . . to maim, to torture, to tear into her, but not enough for relief. Not enough to kill. Victoria couldn’t hold back a shudder. It rattled her, made her weak-kneed and dizzy and dry in the mouth as she remembered fighting them back, and back, and back. . . .
She felt the brush at her feet as Max tried to lunge back at her, and she focused on him, saw the blood and scrapes on his shoulder and chest, the torn flesh at his wrists. Yet her world was vague, and she moved as if in a dream . . . as though underwater, fighting through heavy waves, struggling to breathe . . . and then a sharp scream cut through the air.
Victoria whirled in time to see Sara shoved off the edge and tumbling into that horrible pit. The four dogs lunged after her, leaping down into the darkness. The scream filled her ears and Victoria raced to the edge of the pit. The dogs were on the woman, tearing into her as she tried to fight them off. The report of the pistol echoed in the small space, eerie and useless against vampiric canines.
Victoria inhaled bloodscent, felt the rush of fear, heard the screams, and fought it. She turned back to Lilith and found her watching with a slight smile on her face. A smug expression.
Screams, howls, barks . . . Victoria did not want to go back into that horrible place. Those sharp teeth, tearing and mauling . . . Sara begging and crying . . . the soft squeal of a dog hit by the butt of her pistol . . .
The red burned . . . images warred . . . Sara with the knife . . . sharp teeth . . . Sara standing over Sebastian, smiling . . . the blood . . . the smugness . . . cold calculation . . . the tearing of teeth into her flesh, she knew what it felt like . . . the pain, the release of blood. . . . She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t. . . . Kritanu’s severed hand . . . the snarls filling her ears and face . . . pain . . . Victoria felt herself moving away from the pit. . . . She couldn’t go back there . . . pain . . . but Sara . . . her screams . . . she couldn’t bear it . . . she deserved it . . . she would have cut them all . . . teeth, scoring . . .
Victoria leaped, praying and sobbing, falling down, down . . . she fought the fear, battling the red that threatened to overtake her . . . she landed on a furry back and barely had the presence of mind to use her stake. She heard a shriek above her, the fury of Lilith . . . and somehow that penetrated and gave her strength. She’d won.
By God, she’d won.
As she battled those monsters, slashing and fighting, praying and slashing, the red eased . . . it released her from the tension. She felt purity blaze through her, white and clear, pushing away the drive to kill relentlessly . . . the pleasure in pain.
The dogs seemed to sense her renewed purpose, and they became more feral, no longer holding back. They no longer teased and tortured as they had done before, but lashed out, all at once, pulling at her, tearing into her flesh. Her stake tumbled from her hand, rolling to the ground and Victoria felt the soft paws pressing into her face as teeth and claws tore at her legs and arms, pulling at her hair. She rolled and kicked, thrusting at them, struggling to pull her other stake from beneath her trousers . . . and at last it was in her hand, heavy and solid, and she lashed out with it.
She was Illa Gardella.
Power blasted through her, and she kicked and fought, free now, free to be as savage as she could, for she no longer feared the evil. It had dropped its hold, broken by her sacrifice, bleeding from her wounds, pouring out of her with each strong exhalation . . . stronger and purer. . . .
At last . . . silence.
Silence but for gasping breaths, and Sara’s soft sobs and keening cries.
Victoria staggered to her feet and looked up.
Max’s handsome face, still dark and taut, scraped and bloody, stared down at her. She saw the expression in his eyes, read what was there, what he’d tried so hard to hide . . . and then he was gone.
Victoria wasted no time. She heaved Sara’s mutilated body up and over the top of the pit, on the side away from Lilith, clambering quickly after her before the vampiress could act.
Sara groaned, and cried out in agony as she collapsed on the ground, a torn, mangled mess. Victoria pulled herself up over the edge. On the other side of the pit— nothing more than a long jump—she saw Lilith, fangs bared, teeth long and lethal.
“You were wrong,” Victoria said, triumph in her voice as she leaped over the pit. She landed solidly on the other side, steady, her feet planted on the ground. Sure. For the first time certain of her power. Knowing she had won.
From nowhere, from some invisible signal, came a horde of vampires, streaming into the room, swarming toward her. Victoria readied her stake, and the last thing she saw before the red-eyed creatures attacked was Lilith bending to Max.
Her world became a melee of fangs and claws, of pain and thrusts and stakes. She caught glimpses of the room around her as she fought to keep them away, from tearing her . . . but she was no longer afraid of the red and the blood and of herself.
And Max had his ring. He would be safe.
They covered her, as the dogs had, but larger and heavier, though no less feral. She screamed once, when she collapsed on the ground beneath tearing fangs.
“The ring . . . Max!” she cried, shoving her stake up into the red eye of an undead.
She rolled over and glimpsed Lilith’s green gown and white body against Max’s dark one . . . and the impression of blood and lips and tongue, and then the burn of red-blue eyes as the vampire queen turned to look triumphantly at Victoria.
Then her view was cut off when a large undead closed his hands over her throat, squeezing, as another captured her legs, pinning them down as she writhed and fought for air, her stake flailing . . . and suddenly her legs were released and the smell of vampire ash poofed through the air.
A war cry filled the room and she was free. There stood Sebastian, his golden eyes furious and horrified, finding hers from behind the shoulder of an undead . . . the vampire vanished and there he was again, reaching to touch her—just once, a quick caress—and then turning away to fight the undead.
Brim let loose another battle cry, and now he lunged and leaped, throwing vampires out of the way with his massive arms. The silver vis bulla glinted in his dark eyebrow against his black skin, his muscles bulging as he took an undead by the legs and swung him around, knocking vampires to the ground. Michalas was there too, his stake slashing and moving. Victoria and Sebastian backed up to each other, battling the vampires, cutting them down into piles of ash.