Sebastian realized he'd been staring. Flaring a burn in his eyes at Chas, he moved, gesturing the pair into his private parlor. As she walked past him, he scented the essence of fresh blood at her neck. The shock of awareness took him by surprise, causing him to salivate and his pulse to speed up. Fresh blood. Her blood. Dangerous.
But he quickly regained his head and gave a little bow. He'd controlled himself for more than a century. Now that he was so close to his goal, he must be even more vigilant and strong.
"Ah, cherie, I'm delighted you've returned. I'm afraid you took me by surprise during your exit last night-otherwise you would have been safely ensconced here, and wouldn't have had to attend to your unexpected visitor. " He smiled at Macey and closed the door. The scent of her blood tugged at him again.
"Unexpected visitor?" she said, looking around the room. "Is that what you call it? I was nearly "I'm quite cert-climbing through your window?" Sebastian frowned. "But the undead cannot enter your home uninvited. " He looked at Chas, his eyes burning hotter with displeasure. By God, if that man's negligence had caused harm to Macey Gardella, Sebastian would have killed him. Venator or nay.
The other man ignored him, walking over to the liquor cabinet. He opened it without waiting for an invitation and Sebastian gritted his teeth. Chas had many beneficial qualities, and he was a damned good Venator, but all too often, it was impossible to remember them. If Wayren hadn't sent him, Sebastian would have divested himself of Chas's presence years ago.
"Well, someone must have invited him-or it-or whatever it was. Because he climbed in through my window. And I'm on the third floor. " Macey, so delicate and petite she would barely reach Sebastian's chin, was indignant. And yet there was an underlying fear beneath her bravado. "I don't know how he could have gotten up there. "
"But you staked him. " Chas turned, holding a glass of Sebastian's best Scotch-contraband smuggled in via the Great Lakes with great difficulty. "And now all is well. "
"All is not well. I came here so I could make you realize I'm not this Macey Gardella everyone thinks I am. I don't want to be involved in-in whatever is going on here. " She was still standing, using her hands and shoulders for emphasis. "I've got a job and friends and-and things to do. I don't want any of my friends to get hurt. "
"Too late," Chas told her abruptly, and downed his drink.
Sebastian wanted nothing more than to send the man away, but he couldn't. Not yet. Instead, he turned his full attention on the young woman. The scent of her blood still lingered, but he had himself under control and the aroma became little more than a faint tease.
"Please, cherie, sit, and I will tell you all. But first-ah, Chas, something for her bites if you please. You must surely carry salted holy water with you. . . but, oh, of course, you wouldn't. How foolish of me. " Sebastian's smile was cold and false, and he was rewarded for his parry and thrust when the other man's expression darkened. The whiskey bottle clinked as Chas poured himself another generous drink, and this time, Sebastian didn't care. He turned back to Macey. "Did you receive the book?"
For a moment he thought she would ask what he meant. But then before his eyes, she wilted. . . and then straightened up, drawing her shoulders back. He nearly smiled. By God, it's like Victoria come to life.
Except for the eyes.
Oh, the eyes. He could drown in them. And if he was not careful, he would.
"I assume you are speaking of The Venators. By George Starcasset. "
"Indeed. And have you read it?"
"Much of it. Which is how I knew what to do last night. When the. . . whatever it was. . . came in my room. "
"Vampire. It was a vampire. You can say the word. " Chas had a small, dark vial in his hand, and he brought it over to Macey. "Pour this on your wound. And take care not to splash. You might injure someone. " He slanted a suggestive glance at Sebastian.
"Salted holy water. " She looked at the vial, which was the size of her small finger, then began to work the tiny cork free. When she poured it on her neck, Macey's eyes widened in shock and she gasped, then began to pant, flapping her hand as if to ward off the pain. "You didn't tell me it was going to burn!"
Chas's lips twitched behind his glass and his only response was to drink. Long and heavily.
"Now that we've attended to your injury, I shall tell you everything. Please, cherie, sit. " Sebastian patted the sofa near his chair and waited while Macey settled in. Though over a hundred years old, he was still most definitely a man. Thus he couldn't help admiring her slender, shapely legs and elegant ankles.
One of the things about living an immortal life was the experience of radical fashion shifts over the decades. He'd been born in 1790, and thus had seen-and unbuttoned, unlaced, untaped, unhooked-everything from high-waisted Empire gowns with bosoms spilling out over low necklines to tight corsets and full skirts with cagelike hoops that made it impossible to discreetly make love to a woman while tete-a-tete at a party or ball. And then there were the ridiculously narrow skirts and ungainly bustles of the late previous century. . .
Current fashion provided tantalizing views of sleek, silk-stockinged legs and bare ankles, but the dresses were little more than shapeless sacks, hiding the curve of breast and hip. And for these reasons, Sebastian found flapper fashion both titillating and disappointing. In the past, he rather enjoyed the chase, the coaxing and seducing. . . and the pleasure of finding out just what was beneath the complicated package of skirts, corsets, and petticoats.
As Macey smoothed her skirt over a pair of shapely knees, Sebastian conceded privately that one shouldn't complain about the lovely sight of bare legs, at least-and offered so readily.
"I received the book-or rather, the library received the book. It was only by chance I happened to read it-otherwise, I would have been completely offguard last night. " Again her eyes were troubled.
"But no. Not at all. You have Gardella blood-Venator blood-and you have instinct. All born Venators do. The book surely helped you, but it was your own skill and innate abilities that came alive when it mattered. "
Macey was shaking her head. She'd removed her close-fitting hat and set it on the sofa next to her. Her hair was a jumble of throbbing sly dark curls. "But that's the problem. I'm not a Gardella or a Venator. There's been a mistake. "
"No, ma petite, there is no mistake. You are most definitely a born Venator. You've been having the dreams, no?"
"Dreams?" Her expression was arrested. "What sort of dreams?"
"About vampires. Being chased or attacked by them. Every born Venator has a series of those dreams when it is time for them t