And then they pushed past her, thrusting themselves through the messy rows of chairs, one by one, six of them, striding toward the dais. Victoria felt cold rush over her entire body. She had never been so close to a vampire that she had not been fighting, that had not been on the attack.
Fingering her vis amulet, she thanked God that vampires could not sense the presence of a Venator.
Five of the six vampires had not fed. She saw that from the moment they stepped onto the dais and turned to face the room. Their eyes, pure bloodred, had the hunger in them that would drive them to find nourishment at any cost. The sixth vampire, whose eyes were also red, turned to speak with Zinnani.
Zinnani, who had the same unblinking expression on his face as Alvisi, made room for the vampire guests next to him. Even from her position in the back, Victoria could see him vibrating with emotion and pleasure at the proximity of the creatures he so obviously worshiped. His eyes glistened with what must have been tears, and his mouth was stretched in a wide, wet smile that made him appear as if he were about to partake of some rich and sinful pastry.
The sixth vampire turned from him and spoke to the room. “We have come to receive your commitment and promise to the Immortals. Who of the First Trial shall be the first to receive this honor?”
There was a hesitation; then a man stood near the front of the room. “I shall.”
“Come forward.”
The man, who was little more than a youth touching adulthood, maneuvered himself between the chairs until he stood at the dais. The vampire leader, the one Victoria had come to think of as the Sixth, effortlessly pulled the young man up onto the stage.
She could see the pulse pounding in a distended vein on the man’s forehead, and the way his Adam’s apple jerked and jumped. He faced the room, and the Sixth opened his mouth, extending his lethal fangs, and pulled the man’s head to the side.
He bent and, as Victoria watched, sank his teeth slowly into the exposed neck. The young man started, his shoulders snapping back, but he did not fight. His eyes closed, his mouth opened. He would have sagged to the floor had the Sixth not held him upright. The victim moaned, twitching, his fingers convulsing at his sides as though reaching for something, his chest moving rapidly as though he were running. Yet he seemed to welcome the sensation.
Behind them, the other five vampires, the ones who had not fed and would be highly susceptible to the scent of blood, stood and watched avidly. Their noses twitched as though the scent of fresh blood called to them. Victoria could feel their hunger. She could nearly smell their obsession and she waited with trepidation to see whether they would succumb to the temptation and the need.
But though their eyes burned like the hottest coals of Hell, they did not, and the Sixth did nothing to alleviate their agony. Instead, after he had fed from the young man for a few moments, he turned to face him, swiping a tiny trickle of blood from his lips. “You have now entered the Second Trial. When you have completed what is required of you in the next two trials, and have proven your service, you shall be brought into the Center.”
The man, shaking but glowing with a sort of accomplishment, hurried back to his seat and received the congratulations of the men sitting beside him.
“Who shall be next?”
Another man stood and came forward, and the same process ensued. The Sixth fed from him as he had from the other, ignoring the increasing depravity and impatience of the five other vampires. This time when the man was being fed upon, Victoria, who now knew what to expect, felt herself becoming enraptured along with the man. His cries were not of agony but of ecstasy, his eyes closed in pleasure rather than pain. His hands reached back behind the vampire, who fed from his neck and fondled his shoulder-length coils of hair.
When he moaned, she felt it rumble through her veins. She felt his shivers and the waves of pleasure, felt her own body begin to awaken. What should have been grotesque and frightening became inviting.
She realized then that the sweet, cloying scent had become stronger and noticed Zinnani moving back behind the stage. Reaching beneath her gown, she felt again for the vis bulla and closed her eyes.
This went on for a time. Victoria felt as though hours had elapsed since she and Alvisi had arrived: the Sixth feeding for a short time with each of the men who volunteered to come forward. None of the three other women that Victoria had seen stood and asked to complete their First Trial, and she began to wonder if only men were given the opportunity to get to the Center.
She must find out, for the Center must be where Nedas was.
To her surprise, Alvisi did not volunteer to go forward, and she remembered through her haze (for she still held her vis bulla) that he had said something about a “level.” Perhaps the trials were the levels of which he’d spoken. That brought her to wonder what level or trial he had attained. He’d shown her his bite marks, so he must have passed at least the First Trial.
When all of the volunteers from the First Trial had come forward, the Sixth stood with his hands on his hips. He’d forgotten to wipe away the last vestiges of blood from his final feeding, and a small trickle curled down his chin. His lips were full and moist and red, and his matching eyes glowed a complacent blood color. “Now we have finished the First Trial. We have brought sixteen new members into the Tutela. Sixteen new men who shall help to protect and serve the Immortals!”
A cheer rose in the chamber, followed by that same chanting she had heard at the beginning of the meeting. As before, it started off low and deep, undulating throughout the space, catching her up in its rhythm. She could not fathom the words, but this time the volume swelled and peaked and reached a froth of emotion that sent cold, curling shivers down her back. It was uncontrollable. It was loud—and the ebb and flow of syllable and breath rumbling into and around her was combined with yet another increase of the sweet, hypnotic scent in the air.
The men surrounding Victoria shouted, punching their fists high. Everywhere about her, she saw eyes lit with fanaticism and fervor.
The chanting continued, rolling into a soft accompaniment to the Sixth’s next words. “The Second Trial! Who shall begin the Second?”
The chanting built, the scent sweetened, the fervor escalated. Someone stood, a man near the front—one who had not been fed upon this night. “I shall!” he shouted joyously.
And then, instead of stepping forward, as Victoria had expected him to do, he bent to the side and grabbed the arm of the woman who sat next to him. Muscling her to her feet—for by now, she was trying to pull away, obviously apprehensive of what was to happen next—the man shoved her forward.
She stumbled and would have fallen, but the man grabbed her arm again and manhandled her in front of him toward the dais.
“I offer my commitment and promise to the Immortals,” the man said, shouting to be heard above the rising chanting. And he pushed the girl hard.
The Sixth reached down from the dais and easily plucked her up before she fell, dragging her up onto the platform. Her creamy white gown swept along with her, spilling over the edge of the stage as she tripped again.
“Your commitment is accepted!” shouted the Sixth above the room’s frenzy, effortlessly holding the woman’s wrists behind her back. He then released her to two of the unfed vampires.