“Right there. ” He reached toward her, his large, rough thumb brushing the side of her cheek before she could blink. “You’ve got the piece of the obelisk with you?”
She shouldn’t be surprised. She wasn’t surprised. “And the last key. ” She bumped into a tall sapling with a few leaves still clinging to it, and a light shower sprinkled over her arm and onto the ground.
Max was nodding. “A good strategy. Use the last key to open the Magic Door, retrieve whatever is inside that we want, and then lock the obelisk piece safely in. Not only can it not be removed without the keys, but Akvan’s own proximity will not allow him to sense the additional source of power from the pieces. ”
“Or the power from any other splinters or shards he might have will mask the presence of this one. ” She realized they were still standing next to the large oak, the wall behind them and a trickle of wind sending its branches dripping old rain down on them. It was utterly quiet, and there among the gray and brown bushes they were well hidden from any prying eyes in the villa. “How did you know what I planned to do?”
“It was the logical thing, of course. You found the last key and you realized the danger of the obelisk. Very simple to put the two together. ” Normally he’d sound arrogant in such a discussion, but today he seemed rather subdued.
She thought she understood why. “You spoke to Wayren about the attack. ”
He nodded again. “Earlier today. ” Then he made an impatient Max gesture. “Well, let’s be on with it. Unless you’re waiting for someone else? Zavier, perhaps? Or…no…it must be Vioget who has you hesitating. ” Now the familiar edge was back in his voice.
Victoria had started to walk into the brush but at his words she stopped and turned back. Max loomed over her, nearly on her heels. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about Sebastian?”
He raised one dark eyebrow. “About…Sebastian? He’s not generally my preferred topic of conversation. ”
“He’s a Venator. You never told me. ”
Again that supercilious brow. “What difference does it make? He might have the blood of the Gardellas, might even be called to the duty…but he chooses to ignore it. He’s worth little of my thought or concern. ”
“He saved your life. ”
“For which I am eternally grateful. ” The bitterness in his voice belied that statement. “He could have saved many other lives if he’d taken his rightful place in the Consilium. ”
“He still wears the vis bulla,” she said.
Now both brows rose, and she felt her cheeks warm at the knowing expression there. “Ah. That explains your delay in taking the shards from the Consilium. You were otherwise…engaged. ”
She held her breath to force away the blush. There was no reason for her to play the modest miss with him; he already knew she and Sebastian had been lovers. “And so I was. But I’m here now. ”
Max looked at her, his dark eyes unreadable. Then his lips quirked in a hard smile. “So it is to be Sebastian. Have you left Zavier intact, or are there pieces to pick up there too?”
Victoria couldn’t feign a cool response to that, remembering the anger and pain on the Scotsman’s face. Nevertheless, she lifted her chin, shoving her hands restlessly into the two side pockets of her coat. She wished suddenly for an undead to appear so she could stake it. Do something other than stand face-to-face with the man who bloody always seemed to be right.
“I warned you,” Max said, correctly interpreting her silence. “And who will it be next, Victoria? Surely you won’t destroy your entire army of Venators, one after another, because you cannot keep your—”
He stopped, biting the words off, and seemed to draw himself up and away from her, cloaking what had been sudden ire. “This is a waste of time. We have only a short while until sunset. ”
Brushing past her, he started off on those long legs, moving rapidly through the brush along the stone wall, leaving branches and tall grasses shivering and dripping in his wake. Droplets rained down on Victoria’s hair and arms as she turned to follow, wishing she too had a hat.
She felt the heavy metal of her pistol and the warm sleekness of the obsidian shard in each of her pockets. The not wholly idle thought of which one would invoke the most long-lasting pain in the back of his broad shoulders entertained her as she strode after him.
She dropped the pistol back into the depths of her pocket, but did not release the shard. It felt good in her hand, solid. Weighty. She’d never noticed how well it fit, how it seemed to mold into her palm. She’d thought before what a good weapon it would be, but had never held it long enough to really notice its strength.
The stone warmed under her grip, and she pulled it out to admire its shiny black length. Wicked. Gleaming blue-black even in the low light of a dreary day, even in the shadows of the sprawling, unkempt gardens, it seemed to burn from within.
Her steps slowed as she examined it, fascinated by the shimmer and shine coming from within the opaque object.
A great weapon. Something strong sizzled along her arm from where she held it, up and along her shoulder, surprising her so that she almost dropped it.
Sudden crashing through the brush drew her attention away from the shard. She realized why Max had stomped off as he had, and she looked up as he came back into view. He was missing his hat, and his hair dripped dark and stringy in a face shadowed by a day’s growth of beard. He looked annoyed.
No more annoyed than she felt.
“Victoria,” he began, and then saw what she was holding. “What—”
But she interrupted him, stepping forward. “You’re merely jealous,” she said, stopping a short distance away, looking up into his sharp-planed face.