Rises The Night (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles 2)

"Wayren is here?"

He smiled, taking her arm and slipping it through his as though to stake his claim. His muscles were so large, her fingers felt as though they would be squashed in the cleft of his elbow. "Aye, of course she is. She is nearly always here, ye ken. Or, at least, it seems that way."

He swept her away, and as they walked off one of the others called, "Do not dare to monopolize the signorina, Zavier!"

Ah. Zavier. That was his name.

"How kind of you, Zavier. I am very interested in learning all about the place." It felt odd to be calling a man she'd just met by his familiar name, but apparently Venators didn't stand on ceremony—except with her and Aunt Eustacia—as he had not been introduced with a surname.

Zavier took her first to the fountain and bade her put her hand in it. "It is the most holy of water," he told her when she'd dipped her fingers. "Do ye feel your vis bulla now?"

Victoria wanted to blush at the mention of the silver cross because of where it dangled; he was a gentleman, after all, and a stranger. But he seemed so casual about it that she didn't allow herself to feel uncomfortable. Much, anyway. And, yes, he was correct. "I do feel it. It's as if it knows we are here."

"Aye. Ye might wish to have it blessed again before you leave today. I would be happy to assist if you like." His eyes twinkled as they swept over her, and Victoria could not hold the blush back any longer. She might be used to Sebastian's overt comments, but she was still not comfortable with such teasing from other men.

"I think that I should be able to manage it all on my own," she told him reproachfully.

He laughed and tugged her closer to his side, so that she bumped into his tree-trunk arm. She could only imagine how horrendously strong he was! "I kenned you would say that, but I could not resist making the offer. It is so very rare that we are honored with the presence of a female Venator that one often forgets oneself."

Although she was sure it was not the case of him "forgetting" himself, Victoria forbore to comment. Instead, she said, "How many other female Venators have you met?"

"Well, as ye and your aunt are the only living female Venators—only two thus far," he replied with a smile. "Of course, only a woman directly of the Gardella line can be a Venator. The rest of us… well, we are diluted Gardellas, from the very furthest branches of the family, spread or sent all over the world. And some of us—of course you know Maximilian Pesaro—are not of the Gardella blood at all, but have been called in a different way, and have met the deadly trials and tribulations that allow them to wear the vis."

"Indeed."

"I have not seen Max in some time. The last news I had of him was that he had traveled to England. That is where you have come from, aye?"

"Yes, of course. I had the pleasure of working with Max to retrieve the Book of Antwartha before Lilith obtained it." Calling it a pleasure to work with him was a bit of a stretch, but Victoria was attempting to be polite.

"Ah, aye, we have all heard the story of your adventure, and your sacrifice." The teasing had gone from his face now, as they walked away from the fountain, and was replaced with a soberness that made him look more like a warrior than the flirtatious humor had. "I am quite in awe." And he was so serious that she believed he was not merely flattering her.

"Thank you," was all she said.

"Since ye asked about women Venators, perhaps ye would like to see the gallery?" Zavier asked, leading her toward one of the arches that contained a heavy mahogany door.

He opened it and gestured for her to precede him in. This chamber was long and low, more of a hallway or passage than a chamber. Portraits and sconces alternated on the walls. Occasionally there was a hip-high pedestal with a statue or bust on it, or a glass cabinet, or shelves.

"Every Venator since the first stake was given to Gardella has a portrait here. And we have some other artifacts and mementos as well. It is a bit morbid, perhaps—more like a museum than anything—but it is important that we do not forget those who have given of themselves before us."

Victoria walked slowly along the line of portraits. They all seemed to be done in the same hand, by the same artist, though some of them were obviously centuries, perhaps a millennium old.

She stopped in front of the painting of a striking woman. " 'Catherine Gardella,'" she read aloud. Catherine's hair was bright, shining like polished copper, looped and curled and coiled at the sides of her head with ribbons and jewels. She was dressed in court clothing from perhaps three or four centuries ago, with a ruff fringing her neck and split velvet sleeves, puffed, with red satin behind them. She looked more like a queen than a Venator. In her lap, amid reams of skirts, she held a stake. A large emerald glinted on her other hand, painted so realistically that Victoria almost expected the hand to move and the facets to shine in a different direction.

"Our Cat," Zavier said with a smile in his voice. "She was well named. A spitfire if there ever was one, from tales I've heard. Her temperament matched her hair."

"Lilith's hair is the same hue," Victoria commented, remembering the glowing beacon of the vampire queen's hair, unholy in the way it lit the room.

"You are not the first to have commented on that, and you have seen Lilith, and are here to tell of it. I had forgotten that." Zavier's voice hushed. "Ye and Max Pesaro, and your aunt, of course. Some of the few, the very few of this era, who have walked away from her. I dinna ken how Max has remained so strong all of these years."

Victoria remembered what Max had said last night, about making a bargain with Lilith to be released from her thrall if he joined the Tutela. She'd wondered what he'd meant; surely he'd never shown himself to be under any kind of control by the vampire queen. His skill at stalking and hunting vampires was legendary; how could he be controlled by Lilith and still be so fearsome? There had not, of course, been time to ask him—and, of course, she knew better than to expect him to answer her. He had been intent on getting her out of the opera house, out of Rome, out of Italy.

"What hold does Lilith have over him?" she asked. "I have worked with Max, but he is not terribly forthcoming about… certain things."

"Of course. Ye ken that is Max's way." Zavier looked over at her; he did not have to look down, as they were of a height. "Her bites dinna heal, even for a Venator. Even with the balm we use, or the salted holy water. They are always there, and cause him pain when she wishes, for she chooses to remind him of her influence over him."