When Twilight Burns (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles 4)

“Which I’m certain your grandfather told you as he dandled you in your leading strings on his knee. What a terrible choice for bedtime storytelling.”

“Bedtime story? Now that you mention it, I have a few I’d like to share with you.”

Victoria heard his soft chuckle as she followed him across the small antechamber, her lips twitching in spite of herself. At a solid stone door, he paused. Although his body blocked her view, she heard the faint clunks of something tumbling into place. “You know the way to unlock the door to a vampire lair. It is a vampire lair, I presume. Why should that not surprise me.”

“Well, dash it all. My plan to fascinate and mystify you into a more accommodating mood is obviously not working. And yes, it is a vampire lair. One of the oldest in England.” He turned to look at her, their faces close in the small yellow light. His eyes glowed like a hungry cat’s. “No vampires around?”

“None that I can feel,” she replied.

“Good.” Before she could wonder why he had to ask, he grasped her by the shoulders, pushing her back against the rough wall. He followed the momentum of her movement, lining his warm body against hers as he lowered his face.

She met his mouth, her body pressed between Sebastian and the wall as their kiss eased into a long, loose tangle of lips and tongue. Heat seeped through her clothing, into br**sts and belly and thighs as he pressed against her, just as the cold ooze from behind chilled her. She closed her eyes, let her knees give a little. It was good . . . good to be held, good to feel the spiral of desire curling through her, good to know that she was still alive. Still human and able to feel her own heartbeat lift and pound.

But the kiss dug up memories, frightening and dark images that threatened to overwhelm the pleasure of the moment . . . of needle-sharp fangs piercing her skin, the chill and warmth of the undead’s lips as they mauled at her flesh, seducing and culling her consciousness . . . luring her into a funnel of malevolence and darkness. . . .

She nudged the unpleasant images away and delved more fiercely into the taste of Sebastian, reveling in his smoky, lemony smell and the heat—heat, uninterrupted by chill or pain.

He pulled away, tugging her lower lip gently between his teeth in a little nick of surprise, then surging back to fully cover her mouth again, leaving her breathless. And then he eased back, releasing her from the kiss. She felt the curve of his lips as he smiled faintly against her, and the soft whisk of his clove-scented breath.

“Ah, then,” he murmured, loosening his hold on her shoulders. “You haven’t forgotten.”

“No, of course not.” Her voice was too husky, and, by God, her knees felt much too unsteady. She straightened them and stepped away from the supporting wall.

“I’d begun to wonder.” He moved back, looked down at her. She hadn’t even noticed when he slid the torch into a holder near the door, and now its light embraced them and their uneven breaths. His smile was crooked and his eyes burned amber, leaving no mistake about what he wanted.

“What’s behind the door?” she asked briskly, to break the mood. “What are you looking for? Although it wouldn’t surprise me to learn I was wrong, I’m fairly certain you didn’t bring me here merely for seduction purposes.”

“Of course not, but I couldn’t resist the opportunity. You’ve kept me at such arm’s length these last two months, since . . . since you woke up.” His voice faltered in a rather un-Sebastian-like manner. She felt him draw in a breath and then he cautiously pushed the door inward. “And you’re right, of course—I am looking for something,” he said over his shoulder.

“And you needed me to help you.” She followed him, shifting out of his way when he reached to close the door behind them.

“Well, it might get a bit messy, and you know how I deplore drawing blood or exploding ash.”

Her lips quirked in a smile as she looked around the room. There were no torches in here but she was able to discern more than shadows and shapes in the darkness before a tiny light flared to life in Sebastian’s hands.

“Using the little light sticks Miro created, I see,” she commented. “Do you carry them in your boot heel as Max did?”

“If I had,” he replied, lighting a sconce near the door, “they’d be wet and sloppy after slogging through that mess. I did have the foresight to keep them in a dry place, my dear Victoria. Much as it might surprise you that I think ahead—”

“Oh, there’s no doubt that you think ahead, Sebastian— usually about where to disappear to when things get dangerous.” And that was why, even though she knew he was a Venator, Victoria couldn’t quite trust him. He’d been too unreliable in the past.

As Victoria scanned the dark chamber, she saw the influence of the monks in the simplicity of what must have been some sort of main hall. The floor was uneven beneath her feet, and she could see some old furnishings— broken chairs, an upended table—near one end, as though they’d been tossed there during a bout of cleaning. Other than that, the room was empty but for a few tattered tapestries hanging from the wall, and a dozen scattered stones. The walls were the same charcoal and black shade as the sewer tunnel, slate discolored by years of dirt and smoke. There were, of course, no windows, and only a small fireplace that must have some sort of chimney. There was only a single door, this one made of stout wood, beyond the one through which they’d come.

She followed him as he made his way across the abandoned room toward the door. And just then, the ruffle of a chill slipped over the back of her neck. Victoria readied her stake. Perhaps the place wasn’t as abandoned as it appeared.

Sebastian didn’t have to unlock this door and, when it cracked open, Victoria wasn’t surprised to see a warm glow of light bleeding through. The chill on her neck had intensified slightly, yet she didn’t think the undead— perhaps one or two of them—were in close proximity.

“Are you going to tell me what you’re looking for before the vampires appear?” she asked.

“Perhaps. It may take a few moments. I’m not sure exactly . . .” Sebastian said this as he prodded the door open further, and Victoria saw a much more inviting setting than the chamber behind them. Though it might not be as comfortable as a parlor in St. James, with its upright chairs, tables covered with a variety of objects, and several torches, this smaller space was obviously occupied. Or had been recently, if the bundles of clothing and blankets littering the room were any indication.