Being the devil’s own creation, the vampires felt they should take precedence over the demons; but the demons had existed for so much longer, they believed their race was the more powerful and should inherit the reign of Hell.
Either way, Victoria knew, it was very rare for the two races to be together, or to cooperate in any way.
Then she remembered her mother, and her apprehension exploded into full-force terror. Lady Melly and her two friends could still be in the villa, under the control of the vampires and the demons. Zavier could not have fought off all of the undead that had attacked her and Max. Her only hope was that he’d sensed the presence of the vampires in time to bring the ladies—and the other guests—to safety.
Or…a new thought alleviated her anxiety a bit. If Regalado was after the key, perhaps he meant to use her mother only as a hostage or bait. In which case she wouldn’t be harmed.
She hoped.
“Max?” she said softly. She thought she’d heard a faint shuffling sound, perhaps even a groan. It was either Max or some other creature—either of which was preferable to other options, such as the undead…or those of the eight-legged persuasion.
There was silence, and Victoria closed her eyes again and listened this time for something closer to her. She was sure she heard something, sensed some other presence.
One thing was certain: If Max was indeed here, he must be badly hurt if he made no sound. This greater worry galvanized her into action.
Her legs weren’t tied, so she used her splayed hands on the floor behind to help shift herself from the ground and move onto her knees. Her head began to pound angrily above her brows as she came upright, and there was something wrong with her right leg…it was stiff and it ached. Horrendously.
Victoria tried to follow the wall so she could keep her bearings in the chamber and investigate every part of the room.
Suddenly she heard voices, and the cold prickles at the back of her neck increased. Before she could think of anything to do that might be proactive, a door opened across the room from her. Immediately Victoria sagged against the wall, half closing her eyes, pretending to be unconscious. Even a moment’s reprieve could help her make a decision or gather more information that would help her escape.
With the opening of the door a bit of light spilled into the room. Shadows blocked the entrance, and the rotting death-smell of the demon became a bit stronger—but not enough to alarm her. Whoever or wherever it was, it was not standing in the doorway.
Through her slitted eyes, Victoria saw that the chamber was not much larger than a parlor, and it was fairly empty. There was a large, lumpy shadow halfway across the room that spiked her concern for Max; if she’d kept going on her path around the perimeter, she would have brushed against it at one point. There were no furnishings, one door, and nothing else.
All of this she had taken in during the instant after the door opened. Now Victoria waited, her muscles tense, forcing her breathing to steady.
And suddenly something large and unwieldy came tumbling into the room. It landed on the floor in the middle of the chamber in an ignominious heap, barely illuminated by a small lantern hanging beyond the door.
“Do not fear,” said a voice from the entrance. It sounded familiar, but Victoria couldn’t see enough to recognize the speaker. “You won’t be here long. Akvan will soon be ready for you.”
Akvan? Good grief…was that the demon she smelled?
Before Victoria could react, the door closed. She heard the heavy grating of a bolt being drawn.
“Ouch,” grumbled the heap on the floor. “Wasn’t beating me enough? Why did they have to pitch me in like a horseshoe?”
Victoria’s mouth fell open; fortunately, it was too dark for him to see what must be incredulous shock on her face. “Sebastian? Is that you?”
“In the flesh. Or, rather, what’s bloody left of me.”
“How on earth did you get here?”
“Why are you so surprised to see—er, hear—me? I was under the impression that you were looking for me. Or, be still my heart…was that nothing but a false rumor?”
“I had hoped to see you in a more…conventional situation. But, yes, I was looking for you. I have to ask you something.” She was scooting on her rump as quickly as she could toward where she remembered seeing him fall. The room was, of course, dark now, but that short while of illumination had helped to orient her. At least she knew the location of the door, and how large the chamber was. And if that big lump was indeed Max, she could do more to help him if her hands were untied. “Did he say that Akvan was ready for you?”
“Yes, he—Ow!” he snapped when her shoe rapped sharply against something…soft. “I appreciate your delight in seeing me, Victoria, but can you take a bit more care? That was my…er—”
“Never mind,” she replied, feeling her face heat in the dark. “If you would untie me? Then perhaps we can figure some way out of here.”
“Despite the fact that I find the thought of you tied up and restrained remarkably titillating, I would be happy to release you…if only I could. You see, I am just as bound as you are. Perhaps more so, as apparently my feet are tied, while yours are not. Which was why I found it remarkably insulting that they had to throw me in here.”
Blast it. She’d realized when scooting across the floor that the knife that had been strapped to her thigh was no longer there…and she hoped, profusely, that it had been Sara Regalado who had removed it instead of George Starcasset. Or anyone else. “Sit up then, and we can move back-to-back and work on each other’s knots,” she said.
With much groaning and huffing of breath, Sebastian managed to hike himself up into a sitting position, leaning heavily against Victoria, who’d planted her feet on the ground, knees bent, in order to stabilize herself for him. He was warm and solid against her, smelling familiarly of spicy cloves and a tinge of sweat, along with a faint rusty scent. Their shoulders brushed, the fabric of what must be his shirt against the bareness of her upper back. It was damp.
“I thought Akvan was dead,” she said after he seemed to be settled against her. She groped around behind, feeling his arms as he did the same, and at last their fingers touched. His were slick, but he managed to curl them around to gently stroke the center of her palm in a tantalizing caress. Slip, swirl, stroke.
Surprised at the innate eroticism of this unexpected, simple touch, Victoria swallowed as the light tickle traveled from her palm up along her wrist and arm and made her feel…warm and sensitive, even here in this dark, dank dungeon.
Then his fingers—and again she realized that they felt wet—began to move with purpose, feeling around for the knots in the rope. She sniffed and smelled blood. “Is that blood all over your hands? And your shirt?”
“Ah, well,” Sebastian said lightly, although she noticed a bit more strain than usual in his charming voice, “the vampires became a bit overzealous in their attempts to keep me from finding y—where they were hidden, and I became rather…bloody in the process. I will endeavor to keep from staining your gown, but our positions might make that difficult.”
“They didn’t bite you,” Victoria said. It wasn’t a question.
“No, they didn’t dare. I am, after all, the grandson of Beauregard, as you well know. A fact that didn’t keep me from being relegated to these unwelcome accommodations, but at least it kept me from getting my throat torn out. At least for now. And…Akvan was dead, or at least living in Hell,” he said, at last addressing her question, “until Pesaro destroyed his obelisk. When it was shattered last autumn, Akvan was recalled back here to earth—to Rome, to be more precise, in a weakened form, as I understand it. He’s spent the last four months building up his strength.”