When Twilight Burns (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles 4)

He must have understood her desire, for he glanced at Kritanu. “Would you care to surrender the blade to Victoria? I do believe she wishes to stab me.” His smile was nothing more than a flash of teeth.

Kritanu relinquished his weapon and stepped back as Victoria hefted it in her hand. She was used to the shorter kadhara knives, or a long slender épée. But this was a much more serious blade. Heavier, and it would move differently.

“Perhaps you’d best don some protection,” she returned, slicing the blade experimentally in front of her, from shoulder to floor. She adjusted the angle of her wrist and felt the weapon balance more comfortably.

Max snorted. He riposted back at her with a deep swipe that stirred the air. “I look forward to fighting unfettered—for I have no reason to hold myself in check matched against you.” He moved neatly to the side when she brought her blade up again, and the metal weapons smashed together. “And . . . to answer your question . . . it does mean something that they wished to hang you.”

The hem of her chemise would limit her from taking great steps, but it was full enough for her to lunge forward. He skimmed easily aside, his feet leaving the ground in a low glide, and she watched in chagrin. Max landed on the floor, and she saw that he was grinning.

Max grinning was a sight that riled her to the core.

Victoria met his blade and forced him back several steps. “Does it?”

“Yes,” he replied, surprising her by pressing forward into her space. Their blades slid and then he neatly stepped to the side. “But you cannot forget—you are bound to protect mortals from the undead, Victoria. You cannot walk away just because one of them angered you.”

“Angered me?” She sliced more viciously than she’d intended, and he leaped back under her onslaught. “He would have shot me on the street. Or hung me at Newgate.”

“An unpleasant occurrence, to be sure. I don’t fault you for wanting to save your skin. But . . . it was the manner in which you did.” He slashed and she felt the gust of air next to her face. “Venators have superhuman powers. If we—you—begin to use those abilities to pass judgment on mortals . . . that is wrong. It is nothing more than abuse of the gifts given.”

“I’ve never abused my gift,” she replied, knowing that it was untrue. “I wouldn’t.”

Max lunged. “But you did. Last night.”

“And what about your own foolish actions?” she replied, whipping her blade viciously through the air so that he was forced to leap back. His smile flashed, as if pleased that she’d caught him off guard, and he moved forward.

“What foolish actions do you speak of?” he asked, dipping to the side and bringing his blade up sharply. She reacted and the metal clanged and rang in the room.

“Max, Lilith is here in London. Clearly, she would love nothing more than to get her hands on you again.”

She saw his mouth tighten, the glimmer of humor gone. “And of course, I cannot protect myself.” He lunged sharply and Victoria dodged, hearing the blade whistle next to her ear.

“You must admit,” she said, starting back toward him, “that it might be a bit more difficult now.” He met her blade without backing up, and their arms strained against each other before the force of her blade caused his to slide away.

“I have the means to take care of myself.” He came at her again, this time gliding on the air, and she was forced to raise her blade higher to stop his onslaught.

“But if she caught you again . . . and bit you, put you back under her thrall—”

“I won’t give her the opportunity. She cannot do it with a single bite . . . and it required some participation on my part.”

“What?” Victoria stopped, and he caught her unawares, slicing down the side of her arm. The blade brushed along her sleeve, but did nothing more than scrape the fabric. “Participation?”

“Christ, Victoria, it wasn’t willing participation,” he snarled. “If I’d known the salve she was putting on the bites would cause them to never heal, and to bind me to her, don’t you think I would have stopped her?” He slashed violently.

They fought in silence for a moment, Max’s feet back on the ground, and Victoria aware of the trickle of perspiration down her spine.

“Incidentally, I don’t believe he’s dead,” Max commented, easing back after a particularly feisty tip-to-tip dance of their swords.

“Who?”

“The Runner.”

“What?”

“I told you . . . I found nothing and could locate no one who’d seen or heard any disturbances. And,” he said, shifting to the side, and then suddenly around her, dragging the tip of her blade with him, “I have a recollection that might interest you and may clear up the matter even more.”

Victoria pivoted after him, striking out with her weapon as he brought his down. Their blades smashed, caught, and with a great jerk, she gave a powerful twist.

Both blades tangled, their guards twisted, and flew through the air, landing a few feet away with a dull clatter.

“A draw,” he said, looking down at her, barely breathing hard. He’d pulled his hair back in a short, thick stub at the back of his head, but one strand fell over his face. He pushed it back and planted his hands on his hips. His brown feet spread wide, making him look more like a pirate than ever. All he needed was a gold hoop in his ear— although Max would probably opt for silver, if he was thus inclined.

“Your recollection?” she asked, noticing how the vee of his tunic revealed dark hair brushing the curve at the base of his throat. He’d drawn her hand there once, beneath the warm cotton of another shirt, over flesh and muscle, to touch the vis bulla for strength. She stepped back.

“Goodwin, yes? Frederick Goodwin was the Runner’s brother?”

“Yes, Lord Truscott.”

“There was a Goodwin in the Tutela. It may have been him. If so, then I doubt he met his end—he or his cohort—at the hands of the undead.”

Victoria understood, and a flare of anger sparked. “But if not, I’m nevertheless absolved from my sin of passivity if Goodwin was a member of the Tutela? Mortal or no?”

“If he was a member of the Tutela, Goodwin would have been safe with the vampires,” Max reminded her. “You wouldn’t have been leaving him to his death. If he wasn’t Tutela, it wasn’t your place to determine whether he lived or died.”