He bounded up the steps and started down the hall that made an ell turn after only three doors. The hair on the back of his neck was standing now, and at least he knew he was on the trail. The fact that Victoria was missing from the ballroom intensified his urgency; she was either with the vampire—or vampires—or outside kissing one of her beaux. Either way, Max would have to handle the problem.
A novice Venator was no match for a Guardian vampire; God help her if she was battling both of them.
As he hurried down the hall, he saw one of the English fops Victoria had been swooning over at her ball.
"Miss Grantworth?" the man called, tentatively opening one of the doors.
Either he had an assignation with the girl or he was chasing her on her assignation. Regardless, Max had to get rid of him, for it was now obvious that Victoria was in this proximity.
"Are you perchance looking for Miss Victoria Grantworth?" asked Max pleasantly, belying his urgency. His nape was positively icy.
The man—the Marquess of Rockford or something of that nature—straightened as if caught with his hand down a lady's bodice. "Indeed I am. " He looked at Max with a hint of challenge in his deep-set eyes.
"I believe I just saw her walking that way… She appeared to be returning to the dance," Max told him. The last thing they needed was an interfering hero type, which was exactly what the Marquess of Wherever appeared to be. "She looked to be making much haste. "
The marquess measured him, then gave a brief nod. "My thanks to you, sir. "
Max barely waited until the man had passed him before hurrying off down the hall. His instincts pushed him on and he knew when he found the right door.
Flinging it open, he rushed in, pulling a stake from his pocket.
He was just in time to see a vampire poof into dust across the room; but he had no chance to take in the details, for a second Guardian had turned as he burst in and flew toward him with instantaneous speed. He stopped her in midleap with a stake to the chest, and she was gone.
Shutting the door behind him, for it had all happened so quickly he'd left it wide-open, he stepped in and surveyed the scene.
Victoria was in a tumble of skirts on the floor; but she was pulling herself to her feet by the time he took two steps. Her curling black hair was still anchored high at the back of her head, intertwined with some fripperies that appeared to glint when she moved. One thick corkscrew had escaped and fell over a white shoulder. The delicate fabric of her skirts was crinkled beyond repair, and her fair English skin cast a paler glow than usual.
"Maximilian," she said, standing straight, holding on to the back of a settee. He noticed that her hand trembled ever so slightly as she pushed away a loose black wave that dipped over her eye. "How fortuitous that you should arrive just in time to see my great escape. Or"—she lowered her chin and looked at him from under her lashes—"was it that you came to rescue me? Sir Stakes-a-Lot saving the helpless damsel?"
She was white. And the faint quaver in her voice gave away her strain. And… "Bloody hell!" Max was at her side, roughly pushing away the errant black curl that hid… "You've been bitten!"
"Ouch!" She jerked away, still clutching the settee. "I'm well aware of that… and it hurts, so don't touch it!"
Maximilian ignored her and pulled her toward one of the gas lamps so he could get a better look. "He didn't feed much. " He smoothed his fingers gently over her warm skin, feeling the steady pumping of her vein under his rough fingerpads. When he brought his hand away, a smudge of crimson colored his fingers. "Damnation!"
He jammed his hand in his pocket and scrabbled his fingers around until they pulled out the vial. "Do be still, Victoria," he snapped, twisting the cork from the small bottle. He pushed her head none too gently aside so he could see the wound. Before she could react, he had sprinkled the four small red circles of the bite with the water.
Victoria shrieked in pain and jumped away, clapping her hand over the wound. "What are you doing?"
"Washing the bite with holy water and salt, of course. And yes, it does sting, but it's the only recourse at this time. You'll be all right, but we've got to get you to Eustacia immediately. She has a salve—"
"Of course. I know that. " The look she gave him was dark. She let go of the settee and shook out her skirts. "My gown is ruined! I cannot walk out of here and through the party in this condition! Everyone will think… Well, they'll think the worst!"
Max closed his mouth. When he spoke, his jaw was tight. "I will fetch your cloak—"
"No, you'll never be able to find it. I'll go with you and we can cover up my gown. But my mother—"
"Eustacia will send her a note explaining," Max replied, ushering her toward the door. "Come, we have time, but not that much time. The holy salt water will only slow the Guardian's poison for a short time. " He fairly pushed her out the door and followed her directions down the hall, back toward the party.
When she'd found her cloak and arranged it to cover her gown, he took a moment to adjust the fallen piece of hair, tucking it firmly into the collar of her cloak so that it would hide the bite.
Moments later he was propelling her across the ballroom, dodging anyone who appeared eager to stop and talk, when the Marquess of Rock-somethi
ng materialized. Victoria froze; Max could feel it all the way along the arm he'd been using to steer her through the crowd.
"Miss Grantworth. And… er… ahem. " He looked pointedly at Max. "I was looking for you. "
"Lord Rockley," Victoria said, with a gentle note in her voice that Max had yet to notice in any of his conversations with her, "I apologize for disappearing, and I regret even more that I am being called away to my great-aunt's bedside. She is ill again. "