Too long.
Long enough.
Sebastian marshaled his concentration, focusing on their path as they hurried along through courtyards and between closely built buildings. Losing his focus would do no good for her, regardless of what had happened.
Pray God it hadn’t.
How long? How long would Beauregard play with her, kiss her, touch her, before making her drink?
Sebastian’s stomach rolled greasily. Once that happened, there was no hope.
Gritting his teeth again, pushing away the paralyzing worry, he barreled along, keeping his mind on a straight path. What they had to do.
How they could save her.
He couldn’t remember the names of two of the others who’d been chosen to go with him—it had happened so quickly—but one was Michalas. Sly, wiry, and sharp-eyed Michalas he’d met once briefly, many years ago.
“There are two known entrances to Beauregard’s main quarters,” Sebastian said, speaking quickly and quietly as they ducked behind the wall of the courtyard behind his house—the very one into which Victoria had dropped during her escape from his fourth-story window last autumn.
The memory threatened his control, but he recaptured it. “And a third secret entrance that only I know of—besides Beauregard.”
“He’ll expect you to use it.”
“So we must split into two groups. One group will go to make a disturbance and draw away the undead that guard and serve him.”
“How many undead?”
“Ten or more. A dozen—perhaps you can handle that task, Pesaro. You can easily take on a dozen undead, or so I hear.”
For a moment Sebastian thought Pesaro was going to strike him, but he just gave that proud, sharp nod of his.
Michalas spoke for the first time. “We now have a fine way of making a disturbance, do we not, Max? All thanks to Miro. Yes, we’ll draw attention away from you so you can enter the secret way.”
There was a deliberate sneer in Pesaro’s voice. “And what will you do once there? Ask Beauregard to hand Victoria over to you? I’m certain he’ll do that without a thought.”
In this Sebastian was completely forthcoming. “He won’t expect me to fight him, but I will. I’ll kill him if I have to.”
Pesaro looked at him sharply and gave another single nod. “I believe you will.”
Sebastian gave them terse, sharp directions, and they split up appropriately: Michalas and a blond Venator accompanied Pesaro, and the other one called Brim was to follow Sebastian.
As they began to walk away, Pesaro turned back to Sebastian and grabbed his shoulder in a hold that dug in too deeply to be friendly. “Bring her back.” His dark eyes, flat and cold, told him everything that remained unsaid between them—now and in their past. At least in this their wills were united.
And then he spun away, hurrying off with harsh footsteps to follow Michalas and the blond Venator.
And Sebastian, fear banding his chest, started into the deep, narrow tunnel beneath the house where he did not want to go.
Because he was terrified of what he might find within.
They were nearly to the secret entrance when Sebastian heard it: a dull, rolling boom in the distance, above and from the other side of Beauregard’s private chambers. He realized it was the sound of the promised distraction.
There was no worry that the three of them, including the legendary Pesaro, would hold back a dozen undead. For all that he hated the fact that he’d had to ask for his help, Sebastian knew there was no one better for this task.
Another boom sounded a bit closer, echoing in the distance, and Sebastian knew it was now up to him to do his part.
At the secret door he turned for one last look at Brim. The man towered over him, and he was ebony-skinned, with unfashionable close-cropped hair; he wore his vis bulla through a slender, well-tended eyebrow. Like his name, he brimmed with energy. He gave a brief nod of understanding, and Sebastian turned to the door.
He hesitated then, again afraid of what he might find, then steeled himself and barged in, feeling the entrance of Brim behind him, hearing the flap of the tapestry as it closed. A vampire waited just inside, grabbing for him, but Brim had his stake out, and Sebastian heard the quiet poof as he charged toward the red velvet bed and the two figures on it. The sounds of struggle behind him told Sebastian that Brim had found others waiting for them, and was holding them back—but Sebastian had no goal except to get to Victoria.
He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t see—his legs didn’t seem to be moving him closer fast enough…. It was as though he were slogging through a river, trying to rush through pounding water. But the stench of blood was deep and metallic in the air.
Suddenly Beauregard was in front of him, his eyes pink and his fangs long and sharp. “You are too late. Pardon me if I don’t offer my condolences, but that’s because I know that someday you will thank me.”
“No,” Sebastian said, his attention flickering to the prone figure on the bed. Her long hair obscured her face, and a blanket covered her body. “I don’t believe you.” He couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
“Believe what you must, but she is mine now. See?”
He showed Sebastian his arm, a long lean one, bared by a rolled-up sleeve, corded with muscle and decorated with the damned copper band. A deep cut above the wrist, between it and the armband, still oozed dark, glistening blood.
“She drank willingly, greedily. She enjoyed it, Sebastian.”
“No…” He started toward the bed, and to his horror Beauregard didn’t try to stop him. That was the worst sign of all.
So then he knew.
“With her power and my blood, by Lucifer’s sword, she’ll be as powerful as Lilith.”
“Damn you.” Everything slowed again, but this time Sebastian was focused on his grandfather. The stake, the weapon he’d disdained for more than a decade, felt light and useless in his hand after the guns and swords he’d taken to using in hunting and fencing. But it was lethal, and he would use it.
By God, he would.
Beauregard stopped the blow, blocking Sebastian’s wrist with the flat of a sword that seemed to come from nowhere. “Sebastian, you are overwrought,” he said with a calm that burned Sebastian. “I’ll share; I promise you this. And now, with the page you obtained from the journal, we’ll have the power—”
With a grunt Sebastian reared toward him again, caught his grandfather by the neck in his long fingers instead of in the chest, as the older man had expected. With a shove, with power long dormant and a strength he’d forgotten he had, he slammed him back against a tapestried wall. The bed curtains next to them brushed their legs as Beauregard struggled, dropping his sword with a clatter, and trying to pull Sebastian’s hand from his throat.
“Damn you,” Sebastian said, readying his stake.
“You cannot do this,” Beauregard wheezed, his fingers still pulling at him. His sharp nails tore into the tender flesh on the back of Sebastian’s hands. “After all I’ve…done for you.”
“You took her from me.”
“She was pulling you from…me. I did it for both…of us.”
Sebastian tightened his fingers, ignoring the blood that was streaming down onto his wrist. He steadied the stake. One plunge and it would be done.
“I raised you…when no one else…would.” His eyes were no longer pink; his fangs had retracted.
“Because my father was taken by your lover!” Sebastian spat. “She mauled him, remember?”
“She was…jealous…of him.” Beauregard’s throat convulsed under his hand as he coughed. Sebastian wasn’t fooled. He couldn’t strangle a vampire; this would merely slow him down, cause him pain enough to hold him until he could stab the heart. “And he…like any Vioget…could not resist…a beau…tiful…woman.”
Sebastian became aware that the sounds of struggle behind him had ended. He glanced back and saw nothing but the signs of their battle. Brim was nowhere in sight.
They were alone.
“Don’t, Sebastian. Don’t do it.” Beauregard’s breaths were stronger now. His hand wrapped around Sebastian’s wrist instead of pulling at it, scratching at it. Gentle. Imploring. “You’ll regret it. You know it. You’ve lived with it for—”