She could not bear for Lilith to have him again. Victoria had never been able to erase the memory, seeing him-always so powerful, so arrogant and in control- under that creature’s domination. Bare-chested, kneeling at Lilith’s side, a submissive Max with empty eyes and no will of his own… then the way he had jerked helplessly, convulsing, his torso shuddering as the vampire queen bent to sink her teeth into his neck. And drink.
The image haunted her.
And now, he was free-free of a hold Victoria knew she couldn’t begin to comprehend. Even though he was still brusque and arrogant and commanding, she’d noticed an easing in his face, a lessening of the darkness in his eyes. A few more smiles, even. Being released from the vampire queen’s thrall had-not softened him; that wasn’t the word. Max wasn’t soft in any sense of the word.
He’d become… easier. Just a bit easier.
“Would you like a rose?”
James’s voice broke into Victoria’s thoughts, and she realized the carriage had traveled from the park and was now rolling along the street. Other vehicles filled the thoroughfare, and ladies and gentlemen walked along arm in arm, likely returning from Vauxhall or Covent Gardens.
There was a young woman hawking roses on the corner. Victoria had never noticed street vendors about at night-although orange sellers and the like were thick in this area during the day. But how enterprising of the woman to take advantage of couples out for an evening in the Gardens, or other less innocent assignations.
James hadn’t waited for her response; he guided the curricle over to the side of the street. The young woman stood under a lantern, where its light gleamed over her blonde hair. Victoria might have been worried for her safety, there on the street by herself, despite the number of other people about. But when she noticed the hulking silhouette of a man propped against a building behind her, her fears eased.
“Which one would you like, my lady?” asked the girl, thrusting the bunch of roses in her face.
As Victoria leaned forward to select one of the blooms, two things happened: she realized that the back of her neck had chilled, and something sprayed in her face from the midst of the flowers.
She groped for her stake, but it was too late. The sickly sweet smell that had been atomized into her face filled her nostrils and seared the inside of her mouth and throat. She coughed, shaking her head, feeling the increased chill at the back of her neck, struggled to keep her fingers around the stake… saw the dark figure from the building move into the lantern light… and then everything went black.
Max forced himself to sit, unmoving. If he dared rise again, he feared what he’d do-to the room, to the furnishings, to the locked and barred door, to himself.
He kept his mind focused on inane things-counting the lines in the wood-planked floor, the number of neat pleats on the ruffles around the pillow on the bed that had been made so bloody comfortable for him.
A prisoner.
Every time he allowed his thoughts even to start in that direction, his stomach tightened and dangerous bile burned the back of his throat. He couldn’t let himself think about why she’d done it… or even the fact that she had.
Locked him here. A prisoner.
He knew why.
Oh, he knew why, and the fact that he did made it all the more disgusting and loathsome.
Bad enough that she’d broken his trust… but even worse-so damned much worse-was that she’d felt the need to do it.
He forced his attention to the pattern of rosebud wallpaper on the wall and began to count the blooms.
The salvi had not completely relinquished its hold on him, or so it seemed… for he began to feel heavy-lidded in the eyes and weary in the muscles.
The next thing he knew, he was lying on the bed.
And Wayren was there.
She stood in the small room, tall and serene. Her beautiful elfin face bore traces of concern and also a hint of challenge. Thick silver-blonde hair hung, for once, unfettered by small braids or leather thongs. Simple, straight, melding into the pale gold of her gown, which seemed almost to glow. Her whole person seemed almost to glow. “Why do you fight it, Max?”
He sat up, still exhausted. “Get me out of here.”
“I can’t do that.”
“The hell you can’t. I’ve seen what you can do, Wayren.” His head was splitting and pounding at the same time; it was a wonder he could form words.
She smiled, but there was a trace of sadness there. “You deserve happiness after so many years of darkness and self-recrimination.”
“I can’t.”
“You refuse to, Max. Let it all go and stop thinking about it. Stop denying yourself.”
“I won’t.”
“She loves you.”
“She loves Vioget.”
Wayren nodded briefly. “Yes, she does.”
Max closed his eyes. When he opened them, she was gone.
“Get me out of here!” he said to the empty room.
“You must do that on your own.” Wayren’s voice penetrated… from somewhere.
And then Max woke up.
Victoria opened her eyes.
Her first impression was of a warm room, filled with dancing red and orange lights. Smelling of roses. The back of her neck was unbearably frigid and the stone wall close to her nose was immediately recognizable to her. She was in the subterranean abbey Sebastian had shown her, lying in the exact place she’d found Briyani’s body.
“Ah, at last. Our guest awakens.”
Victoria realized she was lying crumpled on the ground, and, from the feel of the intense ache throughout her body, flung there like a sack of grain. Unfortunately, beyond the radiating aches, there was no uncomfortable, hard roundness under her hip or leg that would indicate the presence of her stake. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again, focused… and pulled herself up on her hands, then her knees, and then proudly to her feet. The ache and lingering weakness ebbed into nothing, and she felt a surge of power when she concentrated on the vis bullae, groping for them through the special slit in her gown.
She hadn’t needed to concentrate on the power of the vis bulla for a long time, but now she was flooded with it.
As her mind started to work more sharply, her first thought was of James. Had he been part of the trap, or an unwitting accomplice?
She turned to face Lilith, who had been silent since her greeting.
The room looked much more comfortable than it had when she and Sebastian were there. Fires roared in massive saucers throughout the room, giving off the reddish glow and warmth Victoria had first noticed. There must be some kind of ventilation that allowed the smoke up and out, as in the Consilium. A rug lined the stones in the center of the room.
The vampire queen sat on the thronelike chair Sebastian had moved to find the Ring of Jubai. She looked no different from the last time Victoria had seen her-nearly two years ago, when Victoria had offered the Book of Antwartha as a bargaining chip to free Max.
Lilith was still horribly elegant, still skeletally slender with the whitest skin marked by an occasional blue vein. Her eyelids were onionskin thin, colored bluish-purple, and her lips the gray-blue of someone who cannot get warm. Five dark marks dotted the side of her face, creating the path of a half-moon’s curve.
But her hair and her eyes… they burned, in horrible contrast to the frigidity of her flesh. Brilliant copper, her curls fell about her like a glorious nimbus, and her eyes: Victoria glanced at them just long enough to see the sapphire blue ringed by red.
“I see that you’ve recovered from the accident of our last meeting,” she told Lilith coolly, wondering if the stake buried in her coiffure had been located and removed. She reached up to feel through the mass of curls there… and pulled out the slender stake. Aha. They’d missed that one.