Rises The Night (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 2)

“How dare she! With the obelisk, I would have ruled the world. And what did she promise you in return? Everlasting life? Well, I shall put an end to that possibility right now.”

Max had anticipated his attack. He’d bunched the muscles in his deceptively sagging legs and, using his vampire captors as leverage, kicked out with every bit of his great strength and sent Nedas spinning into the air and off the stage.

And then, as if it had been rehearsed, something came hurtling from above and thudded onto the cluster of vampires behind Max. It took him only an instant to recognize that it was one of the heavy canvas backdrops, and its solid wooden beam had landed directly on four vampires, knocking them to the ground.

Victoria, of course.

Max pulled loose from his startled captors and reached for his stake—but it was gone. He’d given it to her earlier. He kicked at a vampire, blocked another from lunging at him, spinning around and looking for an opening of escape, so he could find Victoria.

“Max!” He heard her shout, and looked up in time to see her half swinging, half sliding down on a rope. She was above him, heading toward the side of the stage.

As she came near she dropped something, and he caught the stake as if they’d practiced the move, and spun in time to slam it into the heart of a vampire grabbing his arm.

Running toward the wings, where Victoria had landed in an awkward heap, Max saw Nedas climbing up over the edge of the stage. He was tempted—but only for the breath of a moment—and kept on toward Victoria. It was more important to get her out safely than to play to his need for vengeance.

But to send that creature to Hell…His fingers tightened around the stake.

He glanced back. Nedas was coming toward him, his red-ringed blue eyes burning with hatred. He fairly flew across the stage, and the other vampires scuttled out of his path. Max saw a flash of silver out of the corner of his eye and looked back to see that Victoria held a sword—the sword. Her face was set, her dark eyes shadowed with the same grief and anger that fueled him. Even without her vis bulla, she was every bit a warrior.

“I want him!” she shouted, running forward with none of her usual grace and strength.

Max hesitated. He understood her need, but she could barely lift the blade. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement, and turned to meet two vampires who had circled around and were coming from behind.

He had no choice but to fight them off, and noticed that his movements were slowing and his breathing becoming more labored. He actually missed the heart of one vampire the first time, and had to waste precious seconds and energy to bring his arm back up and stake the undead properly.

There was a loud cry behind him, and Max whirled in time to see Victoria rush toward Nedas, clumsy and awkward, with her sword. The blade was pure silver, and the vampire halted in front of her, but did not back away.

As she reached him, just as his hand whipped out to grab her, Victoria’s awkwardness caused her to trip. Max watched in horror as she seemed to lose her hold on the sword, and it jolted dangerously in her hand, the tip striking the floor…then stared in abject disbelief as she used her stumble to duck under Nedas’s arm and pivot around behind him with surprising dexterity, and he realized with surprised admiration that the chit had faked her stumble.

With obvious effort and great relish, she rose up from the back of the vampire prince before he could turn, and swung the heavy sword in the same, but slower, lethal movement Max had used only hours before.

The blade severed Nedas’s neck before he realized she’d come up behind him, and in an amazing, frozen moment, he exploded into foul-smelling ash.

Max had been running toward Victoria to interfere; now he was intent on sweeping her up and getting them both to safety before Nedas’s followers comprehended what had happened.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her, sword and all, and blasted between two vampires, who stood as though turned to stone, and off into the wings of the stage. A loud bellow sounded behind them; it sounded as if Regalado was calling the undead to action, and Max did not slow.

&nbs

p; They ran through the backstage, Max practically carrying Victoria, for she couldn’t keep up, and he knew the effects of touching his vis bulla had worn off.

It was fortunate he knew his way around the theater, for the passageways turned and ended and branched and cut into each other, but he always knew where they were. The sound of approaching vampires echoed in the empty halls behind them, far distant, but always in their wake.

When they finally reached the back door, the one the vampires used because bushes and trees and the small hillock into which the theater was built obstructed it, Max released Victoria.

She stepped away from him, still holding the sword, and they looked at each other, panting, the relative safety of exit a hand’s breadth away. Everything was silent but their labored breathing—even the sounds of pursuit had faded.

One glance told him what he’d already known: she might have saved his life, but in her mind, it was on principle only.

She wasn’t about to forgive him any more than he would forgive himself.

+ 26 +

A Case of Mistaken Identity

* * *

Victoria turned from Max to place her hand on the door, lifting the latch. The sword still hung from her numb fingers.