Rises The Night (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 2)

It was done.

The powerful arc of the sword set him off balance enough that by the time he’d regained his footing, the vampires were rushing toward him.

Max caught a glimpse of a shocked, feral-mouthed Nedas, and at last the fury was allowed to rip through him: anger at what he’d done, for what he’d been forced to do by that creature. He whipped around with the sword, which was made of pure silver, and beheaded one of the vampires who’d leaped toward him.

Another one came at him, and he met him with the same, and then another, and another. They were climbing onto the stage from the audience at Nedas’s frantic command. There were too many to fight, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before they overpowered him, but until then he would use the acrimony of regret and madness to fuel as much revenge as he could.

He’d do what he’d been unable to for nearly a year.

A year—an eternity—of watching these evil creatures, these vampire-loving members of the Tutela—of living with them, jesting with them, pretending to scheme with them, professing love for one of them. He’d had to submerge his loathing and disgust, and some days it was all he could do not to explode.

He had succeeded in his deception. He would die with a clear conscience, and leave Beauregard and Nedas to fight between themselves.

And Victoria to lead the Venators in defeating them both.

The sword sang in his hand, but even with the weapon forged specially to conquer evil, blessed and containing a vial of holy water in its handle, he could not fight them all back. He was too exhausted, both in mind and body, to use his qinggong skills to rise, slip, and glide through the air as an Imperial vampire would do.

But his body was conditioned to fight. Despite that he knew he wouldn’t leave here alive, that he had sealed his death sentence when he first swung the silver sword after the great black sweat began to pour down the obelisk, he kicked and swiped and spun and sliced as though there was hope.

At last he fell, tumbling to the stage floor, and used his legs to thrust at the undead as they lunged down toward him, and then, lying there on his back, struggling to get up, he saw something that made everything else fall away.

Above the stage.

Victoria.

Something slammed into him, bringing him back, and the world tipped, went black, then came back with a vengeance of tearing hands and pummeling fists. And the reality that Victoria was still here.

The sword was gone. He’d dropped it, and he was at the mercy of the undead.

She hadn’t listened.

After what he’d done, after what had been sacrificed, she hadn’t done the one thing she needed to do.

Hands were clawing at him, fangs gleaming, red eyes burning. They dragged him to his feet, brought him to stand in front of Nedas in the center of the stage.

At any moment the vampire prince would order him beheaded, or allow the undead to tear into him. They’d never touched him before, even when they weren’t sure whether to trust him, because of Lilith’s marks. That dubious protection wouldn’t save him this time.

And once he was gone, there would be no one to help Victoria.

He looked squarely at Nedas’s nose, taking care to stay away from those enthralling eyes.

“How did you know?” Nedas’s voice was deceptively smooth and soft. The auditorium had grown silent, watchful. The only sound was Max’s rough breathing. “I am the only one who knows how Akvan’s Obelisk might be destroyed.”

Max dared not look up, though he burned to know where she was, what she was doing. If she had gained her sense and left. He wanted to shout at her to run, to escape. He wanted to shake her until her elegant white neck snapped.

Instead, he had to focus on Nedas, distract him for as long as he could.

“But it has been destroyed, and not by you.” Max’s voice sounded hollow even to his own ears. He drew in a deep, fortifying breath and added, “You have obviously miscalculated.”

Nedas’s hand shot out and closed over Max’s throat. Long nails bit into the tender skin on the sides of his neck, and Max felt them puncture his flesh. “Who told you?”

“Was not my return to the Tutela a gift to you?” The grasp around his neck made his voice raspy. “Perhaps you ought to look toward the one who offered it.”

It took a moment; then Nedas understood.

“Lilith?” The vampire was so shocked he released Max with a shove, and his head whipped back painfully. “My mother sent a spy to destroy Akvan’s Obelisk?”

“Why else would she gift a son such as you?” Max mustered a mocking smile. “She bears as much love for you as you for her. Apparently she has not forgiven you for the incident in Athens.”