The opera was long. The box became warm. And Victoria became squirmy. She wondered why she had decided to come after all. It had mainly been so she would see Max again, and hope to have an opportunity to speak with him, but that was obviously not going to come to pass.
At the end of the first act she heard movement behind her and glanced back to see Sebastian leading Placidia from the box, his head bent solicitously to her face as they left the stifling room. Unfortunately it wasn’t a formal intermission, or Victoria would have been able to go with them. As it was, it would seem odd for her to insist on joining them.
If she’d known Sebastian would be there, she might have stayed home, just to avoid the awkwardness.
No, on the other hand, she would have come regardless, for she hadn’t stopped thinking about him and his sensual mouth and talented fingers, and the fact that it really was a shame he’d gone all cold and proper on her. And had chosen to sit beside one of the twins. And escort her out.
Then, suddenly, her mind sharpened, pinpointed, and she realized that the back of her neck was cool. The hairs were rising as though a chill breeze was brushing over them. Vampires. Somewhere nearby. One, perhaps two.
Victoria held her breath, keeping her attention focused on the stage. Thinking. She had to do something.
Despite the fact that Aunt Eustacia had impressed upon her the importance of not giving away the fact that she was a Venator, Victoria had not been allowed—by Verbena—to leave the villa without one stake, slipped into a garter under her gown.
It was the beginning of the second act; the curtain had just risen. The single intermission wouldn’t occur until the end of this act, which could be an hour away. She couldn’t wait that long.
The sensation grew stronger.
Max would feel it too.
She shifted in her seat, trying to figure out a way to make eye contact with him where he sat directly behind her, and bumped Galliani’s arm.
“Are you uncomfortable?” he murmured, leaning toward her. “Would you like to get some air?”
Thank you. She nodded and replied, “That would be wonderful.” She could somehow slip away from Galliani once out of the box and investigate.
Victoria started to rise and found she could not. Something was holding her gown in place. From behind. Low on the seat.
Conte Regalado was looking at her now. “Is something the matter, Mrs. Withers?” he asked, placing a heavy hand on her arm.
“I just…felt the need for some air. It is so stifling in here. Lord Galliani has been so good as to agree to escort me.” She tried to rise again and once again discovered she could not.
Galliani was waiting, looking at her expectantly.
Her neck was colder. The prickles had begun to rise along the back of her shoulders, telling her the vampire was drawing nearer.
The diva onstage below sang on, her voice clear and true, her pudgy hands glittering with rings and bracelets.
Victoria had to resist the very strong urge to turn to Max and command him to release her gown. She wanted to, but something held her back—besides his grip.
He was stopping her for a reason. He had to be.
Aunt Eustacia had warned her she could not reveal she was a Venator, even if danger approached. She would have to let the threat pass by, let it play itself out.
But how could she?
Galliani nudged her gently. “Mrs. Withers? Have you changed your mind?”
“I’m feeling better now,” she replied reluctantly, making the decision to follow Aunt Eustacia’s direction. Her stomach felt odd, as though some thick and heavy liquid sloshed inside it.
What if the vampires attacked and killed some of the patrons, and she did nothing? Could she sit here and let it happen? Did she have that kind of resolve?
The chill deepened, and Victoria fisted her fingers into her skirts, crinkling the light silk and staring straight down at the stage, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, aware of nothing but the growing cold at the back of her neck.
And then the door of the box opened.
Two men came in.
Their eyes were not red, their fangs were not extended, but Victoria knew they were vampires.