Rises The Night
Page 50

"How dare she! With the obelisk, I would have ruled the world. And what did she promise you in return? Everlasting life? Well, I shall put an end to that possibility right now."
Max had anticipated his attack. He'd bunched the muscles in his deceptively sagging legs and, using his vampire captors as leverage, kicked out with every bit of his great strength and sent Nedas spinning into the air and off the stage.
And then, as if it had been rehearsed, something came hurtling from above and thudded onto the cluster of vampires behind Max. It took him only an instant to recognize that it was one of the heavy canvas backdrops, and its solid wooden beam had landed directly on four vampires, knocking them to the ground.
Victoria, of course.
Max pulled loose from his startled captors and reached for his stake—but it was gone. He'd given it to her earlier. He kicked at a vampire, blocked another from lunging at him, spinning around and looking for an opening of escape, so he could find Victoria.
"Max!" He heard her shout, and looked up in time to see her half swinging, half sliding down on a rope. She was above him, heading toward the side of the stage.
As she came near she dropped something, and he caught the stake as if they'd practiced the move, and spun in time to slam it into the heart of a vampire grabbing his arm.
Running toward the wings, where Victoria had landed in an awkward heap, Max saw Nedas climbing up over the edge of the stage. He was tempted, only for the breath of a moment; but kept on toward Victoria. It was more important to get her out safely than to play to his need for vengeance.
But to send that creature to Hell… His fingers tightened around the stake.
He glanced back. Nedas was coming toward him, his red-ringed blue eyes burning with hatred. He fairly flew across the stage, and the other vampires scuttled out of his path. Max saw a flash of silver out of the corner of his eye and looked back to see that Victoria held a sword—the sword. Her face was set, her dark eyes shadowed with the same grief and anger that fueled him. Even without her vis bulla, she looked like a warrior.
"I want him!" she shouted, running forward with none of her usual grace and strength.
Max hesitated; he understood her need, but she could barely lift the sword. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement, and turned to meet two vampires who had circled around and were coming from behind.
He had no choice but to fight them off, and noticed that his movements were slowing and his breathing becoming more labored. He actually missed the heart of one vampire the first time, and had to waste precious seconds and energy to bring his arm back up and stake the undead properly.
There was a loud cry behind him, and Max whirled in time to see Victoria rush toward Nedas, clumsy and awkward, with her sword. The blade was pure silver, and the vampire halted in front of her, but did not back away.
As she reached him, just as his hand whipped out to grab her, Victoria's awkwardness caused her to trip. Max watched in horror as she seemed to lose her hold on the sword, and it jolted dangerously in her hand, the tip striking the floor… then in abject disbelief as she used her stumble to duck under Nedas's arm and pivot around behind him with surprising dexterity, and he realized with surprised admiration that the chit had faked her stumble.
With obvious effort and great relish, she rose up from the back of the vampire prince before he could turn, and swung the heavy sword in the same, but slower, lethal movement Max had used only hours before.
The blade severed Nedas's neck before he realized she'd come up behind him, and in an amazing, frozen moment, he exploded into foul-smelling ash.
Max had been running toward Victoria to interfere; now he was intent on sweeping her up and getting them both to safety before Nedas's followers comprehended what had happened.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her, sword and all, and dashed between two vampires, who stood as though turned to stone, and off into the wings of the stage. A loud bellow sounded behind them; it sounded as if Regalado was calling the undead to action, and Max did not slow.
They ran through the backstage, Max practically carrying Victoria, for she couldn't keep up, and he was certain that by this time the effects of touching his vis bulla would have worn off.
It was fortunate that he knew his way around the theater, for the passageways turned and ended and branched and cut into each other; but he always knew where they were. The sound of approaching vampires echoed in the empty halls behind them, far distant, but always in their wake.
When they finally reached the back door, the one the vampires used because bushes and trees and the small hillock into which the theater was built obstructed it, Max released Victoria.
She stepped away from him, still holding the sword, and they looked at each other, breathing hard, the relative safety of exit a handsbreadth away. Everything was silent—even the sounds of pursuit had faded.
One glance told him what he'd already known: She might have saved his life, but in her mind, it was on principle only.
She wasn't about to forgive him any more than he would forgive himself.
Chapter 26
A Case of Mistaken Identity
Victoria turned away from Max's steady look to place her hand on the door, lifting the latch. The sword still hung from her numb fingers.She was out of breath, weak and unsteady, but under it all there was a wave of satisfaction. She'd killed the vampire prince without her vis bulla, using only her meager woman strength, her agile mind—and what Kritanu would have to consider the most unpredictable fighting move she'd ever executed.
Satisfaction, yes, it simmered through her.
But when she looked at Max it fizzled away into a mass of uncertain emotion: nausea, grief, and shock.
And she knew he saw the anger that still burned in her eyes. Knew that she didn't know how to look at him, how to feel toward him. How could she? He'd spent a year living with the Tutela, pretending to be one of them so skillfully that even she'd questioned his loyalty… yet in the end he'd destroyed the obelisk and saved them all.
Except Aunt Eustacia. Could she ever forgive him for that?
"What the bloody hell did you think you were doing?"
His words—not the humble ones she'd expected—startled her, but when she looked back at him, the rage in his dark eyes was enough to make her take a step away.
He was angry with her?
"I was saving your miserable life!" she shot back, her trembling hand tightening on the latch. "You destroyed the obelisk and I wanted—"
"You wanted? Yes, it was all about you, wasn't it?" he snarled. "You gave no thought to anything but what you wanted. Revenge—on me, on Nedas, on whoever got in your way. Never mind the fact that you're helpless as a child now, that I risked my bloody neck to get you out of here, nearly lost the one chance I had to stop Nedas. If you don't survive, everything we've accomplished tonight will be in jeopardy."
He stood tall and threatening over her, his dark hair falling over his face, bloodshot eyes flashing anger, and fingers planted on the wall next to her as though to keep himself from throttling her. "You are The Gardella now, Victoria. You have an obligation to the Consilium and the rest of the Venators. You can no longer think only of yourself, of your needs and desires, but of the far-reaching consequences of your actions. Or inactions." He pulled away, straightening, as the sounds of shouts and dashing feet sounded again in the distance. "It's time you learned to sacrifice."
"As my aunt sacrificed?" Victoria spat, anger, grief, shock, all barreling through her, making her weak and disoriented. Her animosity grew, burning along her nerves. "You made that choice for her, Max. I made the choice to save your life when you would have died back there."
"And by doing so, you forced me to live with what I've done. You've done me no favor, and done nothing for the Consilium."
"Why didn't you tell me that you planned to destroy the obelisk?"
"Hmm. Could it have been because you either would have demanded to know how, and every single detail, and insisted on assisting, or that you would not have believed me? I told you in every way possible that you needed to leave, and apparently even blatant rudeness didn't work."
"So you had Sebastian kidnap me. But why didn't you tell me when you came to release me? You could have told me then."
"Yes, and you would have left, wouldn't you? You would have trotted out the door with the stake and pistol like a good chit and that would have been that."
"I didn't anyway, did I? You could have told me more when you came."
"Victoria, they were waiting for anything—any hint or breath or anything from me that would give them reason not to trust me. I couldn't take the chance that they thought something else was going on other than… other than the fact that I didn't want you killed. For whatever reason," he added sharply. "I let them think it, for it was better than the alternative. I suspected they even gave me the opportunity to free you in hopes of hearing me tell you something to confirm their suspicions. I didn't dare. I couldn't risk it."
The vampires were almost upon them. There was no time to linger any longer. It would either be sunrise or starlight, certain freedom or more running. Victoria whipped the latch open.
The door flew open into a dark night. The stars spread across the sky in a wide diamond scarf that, normally, Victoria would have found beautiful, but tonight found disappointing. She had been hoping for pinks and oranges.
Her body gave a sudden lurch as Max shoved her through, and she tumbled out onto the dirt-worn area outside the door. She heard the door close behind her, and she twisted around on the ground.
But no, he was there, standing at the door, looking past her. Still.
Victoria swiveled back around, there on her knees, sword grasped in her hand, panting. A pair of boots stepped out of the shadows and stopped in front of her.
She looked up and saw the shadow of an elegant chin, with silver-tipped hair curling in a moonlit halo around it.
"Sebastian." The accusation in her voice was unmistakable. "Once again, your timing is impeccable."