Rises The Night (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles 2)

However, since she was lying on her back, the pillow tucked into the curve of her nape, Victoria knew that was not the case.

If Sebastian was to be believed, the vampires had found Polidori.

Even if he wasn't to be believed, the fact remained: Claythorne House had attracted some unwelcome guests.

Flinging the blankets away, along with her confused feelings about Sebastian, she rolled from the mattress, planting her feet silently on the floor. Victoria tucked her long braid down into the back of her gown (all the better to keep it from flying into her face during any ensuing fight) and shoved her arms back into her pelisse. The sleeves caused her nightgown arms to bunch up again, but she was in too much of a hurry this time to fix them. In the bottom of her trunk she scrabbled for her stakes, grabbed one, and also a small vial of holy water, which she tucked into a bulked-up sleeve. Slinging a palm-sized silver crucifix around her neck, she rushed out of the bedroom, not pausing to check whether the door closed behind her.

Out in the hall she hurried along, measuring the chill at the back of her neck. Too soon to tell how many there were. Did they know where Polidori was? Was it truly the author that the vampires sought?

Once at the staircase she had to make a decision: up, down, or continue straight along the corridor? Nerves singing and pulse jumping, nevertheless she made herself pause, draw in a deep breath, and wait. Feel. Listen and smell.

Down.

Victoria fairly flew down the wide, sweeping staircase, stake clutched in her hand, leaping the last few steps and landing light-footed on the floor below. She hadn't felt so alert and in control for months… months! This was what she was born to do.

Here again, she had to pause to sense the undead. Perhaps they had not found a way into the house yet. They had to wait for someone to invite them in; a vampire could not enter a home, even if the door was open, unless asked by someone with authority to do so.

Since someone with authority could include personages as random as butlers, footmen, or even maids, that requirement did not provide the level of protection one would expect or hope for.

But, there was the amulet to consider. Whoever had lost the amulet was sure to be the one to invite them in.

Then she heard it. A clink, then a low, soft scritching sound from the library.

The library. Where she had left George Starcasset!

Victoria slipped behind the tall, thick column at the base of the stairs, her heart ramming in her chest. Resting her cheek against the chalky plaster, she peered from the shadow and could see into the open door of the room. Was he still there? Surely he was… he had been deeply asleep when she left him.

Try as she might, she could not see the chair where he'd slept; it was in the shadows and facing the fireplace, away from the rest of the room. In his sleep, George would be helpless against any threat, but perhaps unnoticeable if he was not snoring.

She saw movement at the window and held her breath. She counted them. Four. Four figures slipping through an open window one by one, silently and without hesitation. The back of her neck was cold. They were all vampires; she could see the faint glow of four sets of eyes… yet they'd come into the house on their own. There was no other movement in the room… either George was still asleep, or he was no longer there.

The vampires must have been at Claythorne House before. That was the only way they could have entered as they did. Someone had invited them at an earlier time, when they were in their human form, and now they were back… with or without that person's knowledge.

Victoria waited, watching them as they conferred with hand gestures and the faintest of whispers, praying that they would not see George in the chair nestled in the shadows. Then, as they began to move toward the entrance, away from the armchair, she felt a wave of relief, a zing of excitement.

She could take on four of them with little trouble. Her eyes narrowed in anticipation; she adjusted her grip on the stake.

Then she saw their faces, their burning eyes, as they turned to move out of the library, only a breath away from where she hid. These were not normal vampires with blood-red irises.

Two of them had pinkish eyes, the color of rubies. Guardians.

Two of them had eyes of a red-purple color. They had long hair and carried gleaming metal swords. Imperial vampires.

Victoria swallowed, her dry throat crunching in her ears. Her palm grew damp, and the stake shifted in her uneasy grip. One could always tell where a vampire was in the hierarchy of his race by looking at his eyes. Pink-eyed Guardians, members of Lilith's elite guard, were dangerous enough, with their poisonous bite and capacity to enthrall with great ease… but Imperials, with magenta irises, were the most powerful of the undead—with the exception of Lilith, of course. Imperials wielded swords like second hands, and their strength and speed were beyond measure. They could fly when fighting, and could pull the life energy from a person without touching them.

The first and only time she'd encountered an Imperial vampire, Max had been with her. The match had been difficult, frightening for her to watch… but Max had been victorious.

There was no Max tonight—no one but herself.

They could see in the dark—all vampires could—but, thank heaven, they could not sense the presence of a Venator as she could sense theirs. Her presence as a mere human might be scented, but because the house was full of them, the vampires would not necessarily know exactly where the sensation was coming from or be able to sense her particular proximity as long as she was silent and still.

Victoria held her breath as the four undead swept from the library, doing nothing to muffle the sounds of their footsteps.

The four moved past her hiding place, close enough that she could have reached out and snatched at the boot of the last one as they swung past her and up the stairs. Her best hope was for them to separate, and for her to take them on one by one.

Victoria eased from her hiding place, staying in the shadows, but shifting so that she could see through the stair railing curving above her. The four did not appear to be interested in separating, so she would have to assist them in breaking up their party.

Slinking from the shadows, she moved along the wall in the foyer to a small table near the library door. The bust of a Claythorne ancestor sat upon it, and Victoria shifted it on its pedestal, creating the soft grating of marble against wood. Then she backed down along the hallway, away from the foyer and the staircase, standing in the middle of the corridor just out of sight of the stairs. She kept the stake hidden in the folds of her pelisse and wrapped one hand around the crucifix, obstructing its form from view.