Victoria wanted to argue. She wanted to snap at them and tell them they were wrong. The sudden wave of black fury was so surprising that her breath caught and she coughed on the malignant words she’d wanted to speak.
Max looked at her strangely; then he grabbed her arm and began to pull her after him. Not the least bit gently.
She remembered little of the next few moments, and then suddenly they were out of the villa, out into the crisp dawn air where the faint yellow in the sky brought texture and shape to the unkempt gardens.
Max whirled her around to face him, his hands on her shoulders as his eyes blazed down into hers as if trying to find something that was missing. As if he wanted to shake her. Victoria dragged in a breath of clean air, and the dull fog slid away taking with it that frightening anger. She blinked.
He released her abruptly, muttering something she couldn’t hear, and turned to Sebastian, who’d stood there watching. “Go back to Beauregard,” he told him shortly. And then something else, low and staccato.
“No,” Sebastian said quietly, and with unusual brevity. Then he turned away. He looked at Victoria, and she realized they’d all begun walking and were approaching the wall of the villa’s grounds. Beyond it was the street, and perhaps even Oliver, waiting with the carriage.
Or—Victoria’s thoughts flew away as she was caught up in Sebastian’s strong hands and pushed against the stone wall. He’d surprised her, and before she could shove him away, he was holding her shoulders there, pinned under his fingers as he leaned close. She drew in her breath, half wanting him to kiss her and half wanting to send him spinning away for his effrontery.
But before she could make her decision, he spoke. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again, but stay away from my grandfather. ”
“He deserves to be staked,” she replied smartly, just before he bent to kiss her, catching her off guard again. When, moments later, he released her, Victoria opened her eyes to see both Zavier and Max standing there.
Sebastian was gone.
Max looked bored.
And Zavier looked as though she’d just turned into a demon herself.
Twelve
Lord Jellington Acquires a Rival
Victoria clawed her way out of the dream and came back to reality, panting as though she’d been running.
Her skin was slick and her fingers fisted so tightly she could barely pry them open. The images stayed with her, even as she tried to focus her gaze on the familiarity of her bedchamber. But all she could see were the vestiges of glowing red eyes, glittering black shards, an ebony face with twisted green horns and an evil smile. Max, Sebastian, Aunt Eustacia…even Phillip…all with drawn, elastic faces in horrific expressions, and claws, and streaming blood. She made herself sit up, shake off the terror of the nightmare, and tried to slow the rampant pounding of her heart. She reached for the bellpull to call for Verbena.
The bedclothes were rumpled and twisted, half sagging from the bed, and sunlight—so clean and pure in comparison to the horrific malice in her dream—blasted through the filmy drapes. By the color and angle of the sunbeams, Victoria knew it was well past noon.
She started to climb from the waist-high bed, but a twinge in her side reminded her that Verbena had put her to bed very early this morning after much clucking and salving and bandaging.
After passing through the vampire, the bullet had shaved the edge of her right hip, leaving a deep red track in her skin. Her left leg had had claw marks and bruises on it that would already have started to fade this morning.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, her toes barely brushing the floor, Victoria looked at herself in her dressing table mirror. She had dark circles under her eyes and one slight bruise on her right cheek. She didn’t look that bad.
But then there was Max.
Last night, after directing her toward the carriage where Zavier and Oliver waited, he’d attempted to send her off without him. “I’m not leaving you here,” she told him flatly, walking back in his direction. “You’ve lost too much blood and you need to have those wounds seen to. ”
His mouth moved in annoyance or amusement as they faced each other, both bristling with obstinacy. “Don’t be a fool, Victoria. This isn’t the first time I’ve lost a great deal of blood, and I doubt it will be the last. ”
“I am Illa Gardella and I—”
“Don’t attempt to order me about, Victoria, for the only result will be your own mortification. Now be off and have your own injury seen to. ” He turned and faded into the shadows, and she heard the unmistakable sound of a bridle clinking, then the soft snort of a horse.
Left with no other choice, Victoria climbed into the carriage, where Zavier waited. He said little during the ride back to Aunt Eustacia’s villa (Victoria didn’t believe she could ever come to think of it as hers, despite the fact that it was). Zavier merely watched her, as if trying to assimilate who she really was.
It had been unfortunate that he’d seen her kissing Sebastian (or, rather, Sebastian kissing her, for she’d been more a recipient than a participant in that particular instance), but there was no help for it. Sebastian had no doubt planned it thus, at any rate, although whether his intent was to annoy Max by wasting time with such frivolity or to stake his claim, so to speak, for Zavier’s sake, Victoria couldn’t say.
But the thing that bothered her most about the situation was that Max had been right. Zavier was not only hurt and offended, but Victoria knew that he wasn’t the right man for her to become intimate with in any fashion. He’d developed into a good friend and was a brave and skilled Venator, but his kiss had meant nothing to her. Having been kissed by two men last night, she knew there was only one of them she’d want to kiss again.
Now, however, as she slipped from h
er bed, feet touching the flat, hooked rug that wasn’t quite as welcoming as the thick Aubusson one back at home, she realized with great disgust that she’d been diverted from getting information from Sebastian about Aunt Eustacia’s bracelet.