“No matter what you think of me otherwise,” were Sebastian’s first words as Victoria blazed, limping, into the chamber where Wayren had put him earlier, “you must believe me. I took great precautions that no one would follow me, especially Beauregard. I left during the early part of the day, when the sun was still out.” He lurched to sit upright on the bed on which he’d been resting.
The room was small, one level below the rest of the Consilium, and outfitted almost as if it were a prison cell. There was a small bed, a table, a chair, and a thick rug on the cold stone floor. And an unlocked door. She closed the door behind her, locking it, and turned back to face him.
Still energized and alert from the fight, and filled with fury that two of her own had been killed, Victoria stood in front of the door, her hands planted on her hips. She was going to get some answers from Sebastian, and there would be no equivocation.
Wayren had done the right thing, incapacitating him so that she, Victoria, could handle the threat above. It wouldn’t have been prudent to leave him mobile, for even now Victoria wasn’t certain of Sebastian’s loyalties or his purpose in coming to the Consilium. It was best that he, an unknown entity, not be free to walk out when they were fighting a battle for the safety of their stronghold.
“Why are you still here?” she asked, intentionally baiting him. “The door wasn’t locked. You could have left when you awakened. Isn’t that your usual course—slipping off into the shadows at the first sign of danger?”
“I wanted to make certain I spoke to you.” He was propped up on one elbow, his legs in dark trousers stretching the length of the bed, rich blond curls winging every which way about his face. He eyed her speculatively, as if wondering how to approach her mood. “And then there was the fact that I still feel a bit dizzy from whatever it was Wayren did to me.” Ah…now, there was a bit of that self-deprecating humor. “Perhaps you would like to take a seat? I’m afraid I’m not quite able to stand as I no doubt should. Manners and all.”
“No, thank you. I’ll stand. Though I’m certain that if your hide was in danger, you’d find yourself on your feet in an instant, running through the doorway.” She was angry with him. She felt betrayed, and she was still reeling from the furious battle with the demons and vampires, knowing how close they’d come to discovering the Consilium. The wound on her hand had been bandaged, and her wrenched knee had screamed pain with every step down the stairs to this level. Even now it still throbbed.
Yet…she was here.
He was watching her, for once seeming to understand that the moment didn’t need coy comments or halfhearted jokes. He didn’t even take the opportunity to mention that they were alone in a room with a bed, a fact Victoria forced herself to dismiss. After all, the last time they’d been alone they’d been on a bed. Or, rather, she’d been on the bed, tied to it, after Sebastian had kidnapped her so that she couldn’t disrupt Max’s plans.
Annoyance fired in her again. She felt the tingle of it skimming along her arms to her fingers. They flexed.
“It was the shard from Akvan’s Obelisk that drew them here, not you,” she said, focusing on the matter at hand. The shard would have to be moved. But since it was almost sunrise, Victoria knew they had at least until the new nightfall to deal with that problem. She would take the shard away today, and she thought she knew exactly where to hide it.
Sebastian’s full lips tipped in half of a gentle smile. “Ah, my suspicions are confirmed. So the shard is still here. Beauregard is unaware that you have a piece of the obelisk, for no matter what you might think of me otherwise, Victoria, I did not tell him that interesting bit of information.”
She believed him, because once she’d realized what had happened, everything made sense. The small piece of the obsidian obelisk on the leather thong had obviously been near Akvan, and likely he’d roused, or somehow imbued it with power. That would explain the blue sparking that occurred when the two pieces had touched in the storage room—the influence had thus been transferred to the larger one, or at least had triggered its own inherent powers.
“Akvan knew where to send his people because he could sense the location of the obelisk shard,” Victoria said, trying not to notice the deep, narrow vee of Sebastian’s open shirt. Somehow he’d moved, and the shirt, which she could have sworn a moment earlier had still been knotted at the neck, had gaped open, showing rich, golden skin beneath. She remembered with startling clarity that moment earlier today when her hands, sliding over the warmth of his skin and the ridges of his belly, had found the small silver vis.
This was not the time to be thinking of that, although from the sudden upswing in her heartbeat, Victoria knew it was too late to push the thought completely aside. Instead she focused on her anger and the vitality that still sang in her veins.
“Victoria.” His voice, low and gentle, was more sensual. And it contrasted directly with her current on-edge nerves, which she steeled against his sensuality.
“It’s not going to work, Sebastian. You can save your flirtations for another day. And another woman.”
“Your rejection devastates me. I thought perhaps you’d come—”
“I just lost two of my own to demons and vampires who had come after the shard from Akvan’s Obelisk. They could have found us, assaulted our sanctuary, and destroyed what we’ve built.”
“And so now you’ve come to flay me with your frustrations and your anxieties? To vent your spleen about something for which only you can be blamed?” Blast him, but the expression on his face was much too knowing, too complacent. Yes, there was guilt bubbling beneath her animation. Guilt, and an edginess that nipped at her, threatening to burst free.
“Did you know the shard would draw Akvan out, call his people here? You knew I had it; you must know more than you divulge. As usual. You could have told me.”
“I didn’t know you had it here in the Consilium—”
“But you knew I had it.”
He shrugged, graceful and unhurried, unaffected by her anger and her accusations. “I am not your keeper, Victoria. Unless you want me to be. In which case we can certainly discuss the terms.” The smile he sent her was lascivious and meaningful.
She whirled away in frustration, nearly cried aloud in pain from her wrenched knee, then spun back, gesticulating in frustration. “Sebastian, can you never—”
Her words were cut off as she found herself suddenly pitching toward him, yanked off balance by a strong hand closing over her arm as she’d pivoted back. The combination of her weak knee and being taken by surprise landed her half on top of him on the narrow bed, hands splayed one on the blanket and the other, the one he’d pulled on, the unbandaged one, smack in the middle of his chest. She barely missed slamming her head into the wall behind him.
“Do you remember, Victoria,” he said, grasping her wrist before she could pull away from touching him, “that first night in the carriage, in London? Before we were interrupted by the vampires?”
She tried to pull away, but he had no reason to hide his Venator strength now, and it was difficult. Especially since he’d quickly scissored his legs around her good knee, leaving only her injured one with any mobility, wrapped in tangling skirts. His fingers were tight over her wrist, holding her hand stamped on the warmth of his chest, half on skin, half on linen. He was leaning over her from his half-sprawled position, and she looked up into his amber eyes.
“Do you remember? You were just as angry, simmering under the surface with frustration and guilt and need, just as you are now.”
“Let me go, Sebastian. I don’t want to hurt you.” She’d stopped struggling, but the tension hadn’t left her body. His weight, half on her, wasn’t unpleasant; nor was it confining or even threatening. She suddenly felt drained and resigned. And expectant. Alive.