She was alone.
Macey leaned against the counter. Cold settled over her: the chill of solitude, of loneliness. Pain throbbed in her neck. When she reached to touch the wound, her fingers came away glistening with blood.
Blood.
Bile surged in her belly. The creature had fed on her. Had drunk from her veins, violating her with his odd lips that were cold and warm at the same time. He attacked her with his tongue and fangs. At the memory, her vision tipped and wavered with shadow. Macey squeezed her eyes closed and breathed deeply, curling h
er fingers deep into her palms, still gripping the stake.
No. I survived.
Her eyes flew open, determined. She looked around her small living quarters, seeing the space with different eyes. It was no longer her cozy sanctuary, but it was still a symbol of her independence. She'd defended it. And herself.
Her gaze fell on the old book, still sitting on her nightstand. A rush of clammy heat, like fever, surprised her. The Venator. The vampire hunter. She felt lightheaded and dizzy.
Macey reached to touch the side of her neck again, feeling four small bumps beneath sticky, iron-scented blood. Still staring at the book, she tottered over to her bureau and scrabbled through the small jewelry box, feeling around for. . . yes. There it was.
She pulled it out-a rosary she'd been given by an old lady as she walked by Old St. Patrick's Church just last week. She checked: yes, it had a cross on it. A big silver one, dangling from the end.
Glancing at the book as if for confirmation, Macey walked over to the shattered window, skirting the shards of glass with her bare feet. She arranged the holy object on the unfettered windowsill.
She was safe.
She curled up on the bed, wrapping her arms around her legs like a small shield, and stared into the waning darkness.
She was safe, but she'd never felt so alone.
"You didn't get there in time? How the bloody hell could it be that you weren't there in time?" Sebastian barely controlled himself from lunging across the counter and grabbing Woodmore by the throat. His vision tinged red and he curled his fingers into the sleek mahogany bar as he forced his breathing to slow and his fangs to retract.
If something happened to Macey Gardella, everything he'd sacrificed over the last century would be for naught. Everything.
Chas Woodmore, his features obscured as always by the shadow of his low-riding fedora and the high collar of his trenchcoat, rested a gloved hand on the bar. "She's alive and well," he told Sebastian in a mild but unrepentant voice. "If she'd needed help, I would have interfered. But you know as well as I do a Venator must slay his-or her-first vampire unaided before being considered worthy to receive the vis bulla. I simply gave her that opportunity. "
"By allowing a Guardian vampire to get past on your watch," Sebastian replied evenly. "Such a convenient excuse, but I suspect that only happened because you were otherwise distracted, non, mon ami?" He found and held the other man's gaze. "Too long at the damned club, weren't you?"
The other man's dark eyes flashed, then turned flat and cold as he eased back. "If you want my assistance, Vioget, you'll get it in the manner I choose. If you don't care for my methods, then you can-"
"I see now that dawn has broken," said a voice flavored with Creole, "all the entertainment has moved in here. And I thought The Silver Chalice closed when the sun came up. "
Sebastian glanced over at Temple as she strode across the room. Her heavy, chunky heels clunked purposefully on the wooden floor as the interior door slammed closed behind her. She'd come from one of the freight tunnels rather than street level. She met his eyes, unmistakable invitation lingering in their coffee-colored depths, and he smoothly pulled his gaze away. She was lovely. Elegant. An amazing specimen of woman.
Sebastian didn't normally like to mix business with pleasure, but in this case, he might make an exception. And he could, without fear. Temple was lovely, but she wasn't Giulia.
"The entertainment is long done, Temple," Chas said sharply, pushing away from the bar with a violent gesture that revealed a flash of skin between glove and sleeve. Sebastian wasn't surprised to see a smallZc something, crusty wound in that brief moment and he drew in a long, deep breath.
Everyone had their own demons. Some of them just weren't as visible as fangs and red eyes.
And copper rings.
"Is Macey here, then?" asked Temple, positioning herself between Chas and the exit. "I'll see to her-"
"No," said Sebastian in a carefully modulated voice. "Macey Gardella isn't here. She remains at her flat, I believe. Alone. Unprotected, and-"
"Surrounded by the dust of an undead," Chas finished, striding smoothly past Temple. "That she staked herself. "
"She did? With no training? Fancy! Then she's ready to-"
"One can hope," Sebastian interrupted, and the ever-present rings on his hand glinted, "that now she'll be more interested in listening to what I have to tell her, yes, but I suspect she's inherited more than a bit of stubbornness and independence from her great-great-grandmother. It might not be quite as simple as we might think. "