The Rest Falls Away (27 page)

Sebastian moved again, and suddenly Victoria felt cool fresh air splay over her breasts. She gasped in surprise and her first instinct was to struggle away, but when he laughed over her skin and closed his lips over one of her nipples, she fell back against the seat.

Good heavens…she'd had no idea!

He tugged and sucked, and she pulled him closer, and even when his hands whisked impatiently at her split skirt, inching each halfway to the top of her hips, she didn't push him away. There was freedom in knowing she could at any moment.

And for the moment, she was going to indulge in whatever this was. She needed it.

Sebastian had known she needed it.

When his hands slid to the tops of her thighs she pressed them together as much as she could, but one of his legs was trapped between them. He chuckled against the underside of her breast and looked up with gleaming golden eyes. They were half hidden by the jut of his brow, and the tips of the curls fell over his forehead with the rhythm of the carriage movement. “Are you still an innocent, my dear?”

“In some ways,” she replied with more honesty than she should have been able to at that moment.

He withdrew his hands from her skirt and moved to her waist, pulling the waistband down and baring her cotton shift to the bare flashes of street lamps and moonlight. He gave a soft, low sigh when he found what he wanted.

Both hands cupped around the slight swell of her belly and slid together until his fingers touched her
vis bulla.
“Ahh,” he said in a molten voice. And he lowered his face to the warm silver.

The faint brush of lips over her skin made her want to jerk and twist away—and press up into his mouth for more.

But then suddenly, like a dousing of cold water, she realized that the back of her neck was cool.

Victoria stilled, listening. Sensing. Yes, it was cold.

Sebastian stopped as though he too had noticed a change in the air, just as the carriage lurched to a halt.

“Vampires,” Victoria said, pushing him away and her skirts down. She pulled her bodice back up over her breasts and felt the iciness at the back of her neck with an unusual portent. Checking to make sure her stakes hadn't become dislodged during this last interval with Sebastian, she stood, shook out her skirts, and reached for the handle of the door.

The night was uncomfortably silent.

Sebastian reached out just as she would have turned the handle. His fingers closed over her wrist. “Be careful, Victoria.”

She looked down at him. “I am a Venator.” And she opened the door.

Standing in the gray street stood an Imperial and three Guardian vampires. They ringed the door side of the carriage. She understood: This was not a random attack; they were waiting for her.

An ugly yet unsurprising thought snapped into her mind. She turned back to Sebastian, closed the door and barred it. “Did you bring me to them?”

His expression was unreadable. “Why would I have saved your life by telling you about the Book of Antwartha, then do such a thing?”

A loud thud against the carriage door caused the vehicle to lurch to one side, then rock back into place. Victoria reached for the walking stick at the bottom of the carriage and, resting its metal tip at the edge of the seat, slammed her foot down on it. The end broke off, leaving a lethally jagged end and turning it into a stake that could be used to combat a sword like the ones the Imperials carried.

Her hands were damp, her heart racing faster than usual. She'd never fought an Imperial. Nor taken on three Guardians alone.

“Venator! Show yourself!”

She was no coward, but she knew the odds were completely against her.

One of the windows shattered, spraying glass over Sebastian's black wool coat draped over the seat. He hissed angrily and gathered it up, sending the glass tinkling to the floor. Yet he said nothing to Victoria.

A leering vampire face showed in the broken window, reaching in to scrabble his hand around to find the door latch. Victoria reacted, shoving the stake through and miraculously catching him in the chest.
Poof!
One Guardian was gone.

But she couldn't stay in here forever. They weren't going anywhere, and Sebastian didn't appear to be promising any help.

Victoria leaned out of the jagged window and said, “Who calls ‘Venator'?”

“I do.” The Imperial vampire stepped toward the carriage. It was a greasy-haired woman, and her eyes were the red-violet hue of her status. She carried a sword, as had the ones Max had battled, and she wore trousers—slim, leg-hugging trousers that afforded greater movement than the ones Victoria wore.

“What do you want?”

“I have come to bring you to my mistress. She wishes to meet the newest Venator.”

Victoria dodged back in as one of the Guardians lunged toward the carriage in a vain attempt to catch her and pull her out. “Please give Lilith my regrets, but I receive callers only on Tuesdays and Wednesdays between the afternoon hours of two and half past three. Unfortunately, we do not serve her favorite beverage.”

She reached out and grabbed at the vampire who'd just missed closing his hand around her. Her fingers gripped his jacket, trying to pull him into the coach. If she could just…get…them…one by one…

He slipped free of her grasp and thudded to the ground, and suddenly what had appeared to be a stalemate took a turn for the worse. The remaining three vampires moved toward the carriage as though flying, and slammed into it with the entire force of their power.

The carriage rose up high on one side, held for a moment in midair, then tumbled onto its other side.

Victoria and Sebastian landed in a heap on the far windows, her head slamming into the wall. In the furor, a slim pale arm reached in from what was now the top and had been merely a broken window, fumbling around for the door catch.

Victoria scrambled to her feet, climbing on the vertical seats. She ignored the pain in her head and stepped over Sebastian, who lay in a heap on the floor.

The door opened before Victoria could prevent it, but she was ready with her stake and stabbed out at the torso that came through the entrance. With a grunt of triumph she drove it into the body, and blood spurted out.

And then she realized, as it was flung away, that one of the vampires had used what had been Sebastian's driver as a human shield.

But that was her last thought, for suddenly everything went dark and close as something heavy was thrown over her. Victoria struggled, but whatever was holding the stifling cloth down over her person was strong and unmoving.

She couldn't breathe, couldn't take in any more lungfuls of oxygen that weren't laden with lint or dusty or stale or tight…too tight. She struggled against that tightness and tried to pull in more air…and finally lost the battle.

Darkness overtook her.

+ 19 +

The Marquess Cuts In

Something pulled at
her, nudging her into semiconsciousness. But it was too difficult…she couldn't drag her eyes open.

“Victoria!”

There it was again—that hissing voice, bothering her.

Then suddenly she came awake, remembered the Guardians and the Imperial, Sebastian and his coach.

But even with her eyes open, she saw nothing. Blackness. The voice was closer, but she didn't know whose it was…it was too low. She made her mouth move. “Here.”

Something was covering her, wrapped around her so she couldn't move and could barely breathe. No wonder she hadn't wanted to wake up…it was much too difficult to try to draw in air under this heavy cloth. But she had to.

Stealthy movement told her someone was coming toward her. Then hands were moving, pulling at the knots, stripping the ties away, and finally plucking the stifling woolen cloth from her face.

Victoria had never felt anything so wonderful as those deep, clean breaths of air…despite the fact that they were laced with the stench of rotting fish. She was not complaining.

“Max. How did you get here?” she asked, even as she pulled herself to her feet, checking for stakes. They appeared to be in a warehouse, and based on quiet lapping sounds below, not to mention the odors, it was near the wharves.

“They're coming back for you anytime; let's go,” he said, grabbing her arm. “The sun will rise in less than an hour, so they'll hurry.”

He led the way out of the room and she followed, shaking off his grip and trying to figure out how he'd found her. She couldn't have been unconscious for long if the sun hadn't risen yet.

Once outside, Victoria took in greater breaths tinged with the scent of seaweed and salt. Much better.

A hackney was waiting around the corner from the warehouse, and Victoria recognized it as Barth's. She looked at Max, but he was already answering her. “When you didn't show up at your meeting place, Barth came and found me. I learned the rest from Vioget. Climb in.”

He stepped in after her, and the hackney took off with an enthusiastic lurch. Barth was just as ready to call it a night as Victoria.

“They were taking me to see Lilith,” Victoria told him. “Why did they leave me there? Why didn't they just take me right to her?”

“I can only guess, Victoria, since I wasn't there and am not, unfortunately, privy to their plans…but I would assume it was because they weren't certain of her location or whether she was quite available to…er…receive you.”

She settled back in her seat, thankful that for whatever reason, she hadn't been brought face-to-face with the queen of the vampires while unconscious and wrapped up in a heavy black cloth. She would meet Lilith someday, but Victoria truly hoped it would be more on her terms than on Lilith's.

 

+ + +

The last thing Victoria wanted to do was attend the party celebrating the Duke of Mullington's fiftieth birthday. But she had no choice.

Her mother was in a fine fettle, for she'd realized that it had indeed been over a se'ennight since the Marquess of Rockley had called on his betrothed. Victoria had been avoiding the subject and hiding in her room, trying to figure out just what to tell her, but that had only added fuel to the fire of her mother's concern. There was no way on earth Melly was going to allow the engagement to be broken. Rockley was too fine a match to let go. He'd asked for Victoria, and her mother was going to see to it that he would take her.

Thus, on that sticky summer evening, Lady Melly herded her daughter to the Grantworth carriage and watched with a tapping foot as the groom helped her climb aboard. She clambered in after her and settled on the seat across the way.

“Your maid did a fine job dressing your hair this evening, Victoria,” she commented. “Though she seems rather obsessed with those sticks in your coiffure. Why does she not use feathers or beads instead of those Chinese objects?” The ones tonight were painted with pink-and-green swirling designs, Verbena's own creation, of which the maid was quite proud.

“She likes to try different styles,” Victoria replied, hoping to stave off a long lecture. “I think it looks rather unique.”

Fortunately Melly seemed to accept the comment, and turned her attention to fussing with her own gown and fan and indispensable, digging the thick white invitation from its depths and reviewing it once again, and murmuring to herself that it was quite a feat for Duke Mullington to have actually attained the age of fifty, with all of his sins and vices.

Her daughter forbore to mention that his sins, great as they might be, were nothing compared to those of others socializing about London.

Victoria's gown was spring-green silk, a bit heavy for such a warm night, but fashion was fashion. Silk looked and felt expensive, and, according to Lady Melly, Rockley's betrothed must be dressed appropriately. For she was still the fiancee of the marquess, and Melly would ensure she looked every inch of it. Small pink and white rosebuds, trimmed with dark green leaves, blossomed in the lace along her bodice, at the cap sleeves on her arms, and along the furrows of trim near the bottom of the skirt. Now, in the coach, Victoria held a crocheted pink wrap bundled in her lap, and a matching pink indispensable. Her gloves were dark green.

Victoria knew she looked well; if only she
felt
it. It was all she could do to listen silently to her mother prattle on about how she must act if she saw Phillip—no, she must think of him as Rockley again—at the ball; how she must be demure and polite and a hint mysterious so as to recapture his attention—
if
it were indeed waning.

Of course, Lady Melly didn't understand what Victoria had been trying to tell her. His interest hadn't waned so much as evaporated.
Poof!

The ride to the Mullingtons' seemed both interminable and much too brief. Victoria was weary from a week of forays into the night, and the events of early this morning in Sebastian's coach and at the hands of the Imperials and Guardians had left her feeling a bit off.

In fact, although she dreaded what would happen when she came face-to-face with Rockley, she was rather relieved to be thrust into what promised to be an evening of normalcy, when she could eat and drink, dance and flirt, gossip and jest with people who didn't have red eyes and long fangs.

Or angelic golden features and very naughty kisses.

Verbena had outfitted her with her stakes, of course, and there was the chance that a stray vampire might show him- or herself at the ball…but it was unlikely, for Mullington House had formerly been an abbey and bore religious relics and symbols throughout, including at the entrance gate. Along with what Sebastian had told her about the vampires holing up in the Chalice due to Victoria's aggressive hunting, she felt certain it would be an uneventful night. But she was prepared nevertheless.

Sebastian. Victoria felt alternately ill, confused, and uncomfortably warm when she thought about him and what had transpired. He'd kissed her
bosom!
And she'd let him…enjoyed it, in fact. Quite enjoyed it. Quite,
quite
enjoyed it.