The three Venators had been met outside of the secret entrance to Lilith’s lair and brought directly in to this private chamber of hers. Of course both Pesaro and Sebastian had been recognized by her guards, and none of the undead had made any attempt on them, although they had relieved them of their stakes. This left Sebastian distinctly uncomfortable, being deep in the lair of the most powerful vampire in the world. The fact that all three of them wore the protection of the vis bulla , as well as larger cross amulets and some small vials of holy water secreted on their persons, was small comfort.
Not that he hadn’t been deep in the midst of a group of undead before, but in those situations, he’d always had the protection of Beauregard. But by causing his grandfather’s death, Sebastian had declared himself firmly in the camp of the Venators, and he no longer had the freedom to balance between the two sides.
Lilith looked exactly the same. Her long, impossibly bright coppery hair fell like burning Medusa coils over her shoulders and the pale, blue-veined skin revealed by her vee-necked bodice. Her gown looked more the style that Wayren would wear than Victoria, for it flowed long and simply against her slender figure. Lilith had obviously been an attractive woman near thirty when she was turned undead by Judas, but what had been ethereal beauty had turned into cold, marblelike skin and gaunt features. Even from where he stood, Sebastian could see on her cheek the five dark freckles that formed the shape of a crescent moon.
“I see you’ve redecorated,” Pesaro observed. “I don’t recall it being so interminably red the last time I was here.”
“I find it quite comfortable, Maximilian.” Lilith’s voice came out in a sort of purr that made nasty little needles prickle along Sebastian’s spine. “I’d be pleased to show you what I mean.”
He’d met Lilith before, of course, but every other time had been brief, and in the company of the powerful Beauregard-or, most recently, in a vicious battle beneath the streets of London. Sebastian wasn’t frightened of her, but, as anyone-mortal or undead-would be in her presence, his vigilance was at its peak.
He glanced at Pesaro, watching for signs of discomfort or weakness. Good Lord, the man must be made of stone. He showed no sign of revulsion, though he must feel it the same way Sebastian did. To be sure, Max had been around Lilith much more than he had… How could he have willingly returned?
To be the object of her obsession, to have been sequestered with her in a cloistered place such as this… how could the man have not gone mad?
“You’re aware of the growing demonic activity,” Pesaro was saying. “The Midiverse Portal is open, causing a threat to both my race and yours.”
“Don’t say you’ve come to protect me, my pet?” Lilith spoke like a simpering woman, but the glint in those dangerous eyes spoke otherwise. She had more cunning than any woman he’d ever met.
“You could interpret it that way, if you wish,” Pesaro replied coolly. He stood square in front of the chaise on which the vampire queen half reclined, as if to draw her attention to him, and keep it from the others.
Sebastian wasn’t quite sure how he felt, being thus shielded. But he took the opportunity to examine the chamber and its contents, seeking anything that could be an advantage. To his dismay, he realized nothing in the room was made from wood, so there would be no opportunity for makeshift stakes. He noted stone chairs and tables covered with an abundance of cushions and pillows, along with the chaise, which was made from slender golden rods lashed together. Bamboo, he thought it might be called.
Nothing in this room that could harm an undead-no windows to allow sunlight in, no swords to behead a vampire.
What the hell had Pesaro been thinking to bring them in here, unarmed?
“Your vampires are threatened as well as my people. They’ve been attacked by the demons, and run from their hideaways. That isn’t news to you,” Pesaro had continued.
“No, of course not.” Lilith sat upright and for the first time dropped the sultry expression that she’d adopted the moment she saw Max.
“Surely you don’t plan to step aside and watch them continue to slip from the portal into your domain here on earth.”
“It amuses Lucifer to watch us battle among ourselves,” Lilith said. Pale, bluish lips, which had once been full and sensual and likely a luscious red, twisted. “I’ve dispatched armies, but they’ve not been as successful as I hoped.”
“So here you sit, hiding in your lair?” Max said, a note of challenge in his voice. “I expected more from someone with your power. From you.”
“But, my dear Maximilian… don’t you see? I’ve barely lifted a finger, save sending a few of my most worthless minions-and here you are. You and your companions. Saviors, one and all. For mortal and undead alike.” Her eyes narrowed in delight. “And you cannot think that I’d decline your offer for assistance.”
Sebastian looked sharply at his companion. Hell. She’d been expecting them.
Instead of appearing taken aback, Pesaro lifted his chin, looking down at the vampire queen with an air of arrogance. “That’s precisely why I’ve come.”
“And here I thought it was because you missed me, my dear, mortal Maximilian.” Lilith rose smoothly, sending a renewed swell of roses wafting through the air. Sebastian thought he might choke.
In an instant, she’d moved in front of Pesaro, her silky forest green skirts dragging across the floor in a short train. The vampire queen stood as tall as Max, taller than Sebastian himself. She reached for Pesaro, the sleeve of her gown sliding back to reveal the pale, blue-veined flesh of an impossibly thin arm. Looking at the unfortunate man, trying to capture him with her enthralling gaze, she curled her skeletal hand around the back of his neck, fingers sifting through the dark hair that brushed his collar.
How could he abide those hands on him? Had she enthralled him so easily with her gaze?
Sebastian watched sharply, his heart pounding harder, and exchanged a glance with Michalas. They had agreed-or, rather, been informed-that Max would handle Lilith. But now…
Pesaro continued to stand still, without even the hitch of a breath, despite the brush of bone-white flesh against his much darker skin. Sebastian watched in horrified fascination as her hand trailed down around the collar of his open shirt and along the length of his arm to grasp his wrist. She touched him as if he was her possession, as if she knew every ridge of every muscle in his body, every hair on his head.