The tension drained from her, then surged back.
They were safe. For now.
Victoria saw Max’s attention shift to Sebastian, who sagged against her, an arm around her neck while she steadied him with one around his waist. She suspected he was exaggerating his weakness just a bit, for his fingers had been tracing little designs under her braid for the last fifteen minutes. The gentle caresses sent shivers skittering over her shoulders, and down along her arms, reminding her that Sebastian, unlike Max, had no problem with intimacy.
At least with her.
When they left the cemetery, Sebastian had been unable to walk on his own, due to a deep slash from hip to knee. Though his face had creased with pain, his eyes gleamed with delight when she suggested that he ride pillion with her so that she could keep him balanced on the cantering horse. His leg was still bleeding; she’d felt the warmth of his blood soak through the back of her left trouser leg as they rode.
And though his leg was immobile, his hands had not been. Settling at her hips, those strong fingers had curled around them like the handles of a teacup as he leaned gently against her wounded back.
Max turned away, moving toward Brim, leaving Victoria and Sebastian to make their way up the three steps onto the front stoop. Kritanu waited in the doorway.
The sun seemed to move suddenly, and all at once, clear yellow beams shone between rooftops and chimney peaks as though the earth’s lamp had been turned brighter. Victoria found it difficult to believe that only hours before, she’d dressed to attend Lady Winnie’s dance and had walked down these very steps in that crimson gown.
Now it felt as though many things had changed, in some indefinable way.
Inside, Victoria went directly to Wayren, who, though she appeared fully recovered, did not rise when they came into the small room.
“Thank you,” she said to Victoria, extending her slender hands.
Victoria took them, feeling the warmth, the peace that always came with Wayren’s touch. She didn’t know as much as she’d like to about the woman. But based on what she’d seen of her at the hands of the demons, she felt as if she’d learned quite a bit tonight. She shook off the older woman’s gratitude. “It was Max who got you to safety.”
Wayren’s fingers tightened over Victoria’s, and their eyes met. “It was both of you. You had to let him go… and he had to go.”
Victoria felt a sudden unexpected flush warm her face, and an automatic desire to pull away. The feelings were still new to her, and so deeply buried that it felt uncomfortable to have them spoken of so easily. So openly. Yet Wayren understood how difficult it had been to send Max away, where she could no longer watch over him… and how, at the same time, she’d known he was the one she could rely on to succeed in taking Wayren to safety.
“What happened?” Victoria asked, easing her aching body onto the floor next to Wayren. She was strangely loath to release the woman’s hands, though her muscles reverberated with the remnants of battle. She ached, she bled, she trembled… yet the protective vis bullae had ensured that it was so much easier than it could have been.
“They took me when I wasn’t expecting it,” Wayren said simply. “I had gone to an old graveyard to see to… something. Not the one in which you found me, I don’t believe. But it’s a bit of a muddle in my mind. The black shadow demons pummeled me, flying into me, weakening me so I couldn’t call on my power, cutting off my resistance.”
Victoria nodded, remembering the feel of those winged creatures shoving into her body, through her, leaving her cold and paralyzed, and shuddered. It was a miracle Wayren hadn’t been killed.
But… she hadn’t been breathing when Victoria found her. No heartbeat. Yet… she moved. Lived.
“Max explained how you found me. Thank God for Myza.” Wayren looked over, and Victoria noticed for the first time that Kritanu cradled the small bird against his body.
“Who or what was it?” Victoria asked. She felt Sebastian brush against her as he limped to a chair nearby, his hand lightly touching the top of her head.
Wayren looked around the room, her serene face grave. “Brim, Michalas… you returned to help. Thank you. And Sebastian.” She looked at him steadily, then nodded. “My thanks.” Her eyes lingered on him a bit longer than necessary, then slid away. “Fallen angels. Demons. They took me… For what purpose, I’m not yet certain. But the very fact that they dared to touch me…” Her eyes looked like cool moonstones for a moment, clear and colorless, as she faded into silence.
Suddenly, she seemed to come back to herself. “I am tired, Victoria, and you must have your injuries seen to. All of you. And some rest. I am safe here… and it will keep until we’ve all had a chance to rest.”
Victoria pulled slowly to her feet, her hand squeezing, then finally releasing Wayren’s. “I’m glad you’ll stay here tonight,” she told the older woman. “We’ll all rest easier.”
The draft that Kritanu had given him leeched away some of the agony radiating through Max’s body, though it pained him to admit it was needed. But it was.
His muscles trembling, his salved wounds still oozing stubbornly, he changed out of his dirty clothes, all the while grimly considering Wayren’s request.
Become a Venator again.
He’d not need the bloody draft if he did. He’d not need to step aside and let a faster, stronger Vioget save a comrade. He’d have no reason to leave.
Yet he couldn’t bear to stay.
Even if he got his Venator capabilities back, he couldn’t. He couldn’t trust himself to be strong enough, to do the right thing.
To share her.
Pouring the still-hot water into the basin, Max felt a wave of steam rise. He splashed it on his face and chest, gasping at the sudden twinge of pain when he moved his arms too vigorously in his ablutions, and pausing to catch his breath.
His face was buried in one of Kritanu’s lemon-scented towels when there came a knock at the door. He flung the door open, startling the twitchy red-haired servant, Oliver. The groom who’d taken his mount earlier tonight had obviously been pressed into other service within the small household.
“Beg your pardon, sir, but my lady wishes you to attend on her,” Oliver said most correctly.
Max glowered at him. “My lady?” Wayren or Victoria?
Oliver looked confused for a moment, then recovered, offering, “Lady Rockley.” Apparently, he didn’t consider Wayren a lady, which wasn’t surprising. Only the Venators-and the evil ones-knew what she was capable of.