Rises The Night (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 2)
He didn’t move except for his sword hand, neatly blocking her machete. “Nor am I.”
They parried and teased for a bit, their feet remaining in a stationary position for the most part as their blades slid along each other, clanged each hand guard against the other, then fell away. Victoria held back, wanting to gauge her opponent’s skill. Though she wanted to best him, she didn’t want to injure the arrogant fop who disdained padded armor. Certainly he must be more used to handling an épée or other fencing blade, which was lighter and more flexible—yet he kept pace with her, even as she increased her speed and the power of her lunges and thrusts.
Soon they were dancing about the room in an odd sort of waltz, and Victoria felt herself needing to concentrate to stay with him. He was quick and inventive, and she was by no means outmatching him. In fact, she was beginning to wonder how he kept such pace with her and blocked her so easily. But then she caught his machete at just the right angle and flipped it from his hands, sending it tumbling to the floor.
She barely registered the fact that she had won when he somersaulted, swept up the still-vibrating sword, and came at her, lunging fiercely enough to back her toward one of the crates.
Their blades clashed and clung together as though glued, pausing in midbattle, their faces so close together Victoria could see one golden copper hair from his eyebrow curling out of place and catching in the bangs that had fallen over his forehead. A line of sweat trickled down one temple. He grinned and her stomach dipped.
Then, as if reading the other’s mind, they both moved at the same time, and in a frenzy of blades and a dangerous tangle of sliding metal they caught again, stuck, heaved, and then one machete went flying, and the other clattered to the floor at their feet.
Sebastian slammed his foot down on the blade that fell and kicked it aside before she could reach for it. “Victory is mine, my lovely. I shall claim my prize!”
“No victory for you. The battle ended in a draw.”
“Indeed. Well, as long as I may claim my boon, I do not much care if you wish to call it a draw.”
“But what if my request is that your boon be null and void?”
“But you would not, ma chère. You are not a coward.”
Her eyes narrowed but she stepped back, nodding. “Yes, then. Name your prize.”
“I wish” —he stepped toward her, capturing her hands before she could react, and tugging her gently in his direction— “an honest answer to the question I am about to ask you.”
“No kisses? No viewing of my vis bulla?No lewd propositions? Sebastian, you are frightening me!”
He reached, closing his fingers gently around her chin and lifting it. “If you are disappointed, recall that you still have a prize to collect.” He gave a small, affectionate jerk to her chin, then released it, brushing his fingers over her cheek. “I wish to know why you married Rockley. Was it out of familial duty or out of love?”
The question surprised her, and she hesitated. Then: “It was no duty. I loved him.” Her voice sounded rusty, and suddenly the room felt stifling. Why would he ask such a question? Why would he care?
He squeezed her hands, then released them and stood waiting. She looked at him in his white shirt, damp in places and veed open to show the sheen of sweat at his throat and bronze-haired chest. She’d mused more than once over the way he reminded her of a golden angel, all tawny haired and golden skinned and tiger eyed. The darkest aspects of his face were slashing brows, of walnut mingled with blond and auburn, and the lashes that framed his eyes. Otherwise, he was all bronze.
But certainly not an angel, particularly when he looked at her as he was now…as though he was expecting her to collapse into a pile of lust at his feet.
“Victoria?” he prompted.
She smiled at him, a smile she’d used only with Phillip…one that she’d learned after discovering how a man’s desire worked, and how a woman could use it to her advantage. And pleasure.
She smiled that smile at him; perhaps there was a name for the type of expression it was, but she didn’t know it. She stepped up to him, close. She smelled clove, and man, and perhaps some other scent that might have been on his clothing or in his hair…bay?…and put her hands on his shoulders. They were broad, wide and solid, and his skin burned damp and warm through the fine, thin shirt he wore.
She could see the gold, copper, and brown of stubble beginning to show beneath the skin of his jaw, and feel the expectancy in his breathing. His eyes were half-closed, but she felt them watching her, heavy. He wasn’t smiling.
Victoria drew herself up on her toes, bringing her mouth to his neck, and whispered, “I want to know how you know so much about vampires.”
Then she let her heels thump to the floor and stepped back, releasing his shoulders as they sagged with discharged tension. His eyes opened fully.
“How you do tempt a man,
Victoria,” he said lightly. But his expression belied amusement. “The answer to your question is much more involved than I can or will share at this time, but I will tell you this: Like you, I lost someone I loved to the vampires.”
“Your wife? A lover?”
“My father.”
+ 14 +
In Which Mrs. Withers Has Double the Fun