And if Vioget didn’t understand that, then perhaps he was not wholly prepared to handle Victoria.
Max looked at her, noticed that while she wasn’t looking at him , she was looking extremely innocent. Blast it. Blast her.
“Pardon me,” said Vioget, standing abruptly. He gave a little bow to Victoria. “Are you quite finished?” he asked.
She looked directly at him and replied, “For now. But I will be here if you wish to return.”
Max blinked and nearly missed the sharp look Vioget sent toward him. He edged toward the door, ready to make his exit. Vioget stepped aside, quite willing to let him pass.
“Max.”
He turned, his fingers tightening. Their eyes met, and he knew she wasn’t about to let him leave.
Vioget could delay no longer without looking the fool, and so he left, leaving the door ajar behind him. Victoria walked over and closed it, brushing against Max as she did so.
He steeled himself, remembering those moments in the carriage. She’d looked up at him, everything written on her face that he knew was also engraved deep inside himself. “What is it?” he said, his voice hard. Angry.
Why did she persist?
“Thank you for taking Wayren last night. I knew… you were the only one I could trust to do it.”
“I was the one you had to protect.”
“I knew you were the one who would succeed in bringing her back, Max. Vis bulla or no. We spoke last night. She told me she asked you to return to the Venators.”
“I won’t.” The words were out of his mouth before he could consider them.
“As she told me.” She stood there, far enough away that he couldn’t reach to touch her-if he’d wanted to-but close enough that he could smell the remnants of her bath. “You don’t have to risk your life and become a Venator again. It matters not to me.”
Max snorted. “I risk my bloody life every damn day, Victoria. As if that fear would keep me from the Trial.”
“Ah, that clears things up for me, then.” Her voice grew cold, and she turned slightly away. A damp curl clung to her bruised cheek. “It’s not fear of death. It’s that if-when –you succeeded in reinstating your Venator powers, then you would have no excuse to leave. No reason to hide. To shunt me off on Sebastian. Isn’t it, Max?”
He opened his mouth to speak, anger driving through him. He didn’t want to talk about this. “You should cut your hair.”
She looked at him in surprise, but accepted the change of subject. “I’ve thought of it. It’s too long and dangerous.”
That was not the response he’d expected. He didn’t like it.
Damn it to Hell. He didn’t like anything right now.
“Max, you’re right. As long as Lilith is obsessed with you, there is an added danger.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, an uncomfortable feeling rising inside him again.
“So I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands.” She smiled. It wasn’t a seductive smile, or even a pleased one. It was feral. Bestial. “Once I’m sure Wayren is safe, I’m going to find Lilith, and kill her.”
Seven
Wherein Sebastian Swears Off Women
Sebastian did not return to Victoria’s chamber after all.
He thought to have had his mount saddled in order to take himself off to the rooms he let while in London, but something drew him back to the sitting room. He had a compelling desire to see if the Gardella Bible, about which he’d heard so much, was there. An odd thought, to be sure… It certainly wouldn’t be sitting out, and, furthermore, why did he feel the need to see it? It had never occurred to him to care before.
Nevertheless, that persuasive thought directed him to the small room when he would have left the house, plagued by other unpleasant thoughts instead.
Though Victoria had said that Wayren was resting, she seemed to be waiting for him. He would have backed out of the room if she hadn’t fastened those all-seeing blue-gray eyes on him from her half-reclined position on a chaise.
“Sebastian. Come.”
“But you’re weary.” Something niggled uncomfortably inside him, something that told him he would be happier if he left.
“Please.”
Before he realized it, he was limping into the sitting room, as though drawn by some invisible thread. Wayren had always unsettled him-from the first time he met her, years ago, when he first learned of his Venator calling… to less than six months ago, when he was discovered sneaking about in the Consilium, the secret headquarters of the Venators in Rome.
Yet she seemed to mean him no harm, and unlike Pesaro, she had no condemnation in her eyes. They were peaceful. Serene.
And perceptive. His self-deprecating charm would be out of place in the face of such bald honesty and sincerity.
“Do the dreams still plague you?” she asked as he began to sit.
Startled by her question, Sebastian froze, half poised above the seat cushion. “Dreams?” How could she know?
But as soon as he thought it, he knew the question was foolish. Wayren knew many things-of past, present, and future. Of truth and deceit, of promise and threat.
Her weakness wasn’t knowledge. Wayren’s limitation was her inability to change what she knew-or portended. Or even, sometimes, to simply divulge her information.
She didn’t respond-merely looked at him. Sebastian allowed himself to sink into the chair. Devil take it. He should have left when he had had the chance. But now he had become entwined.
“I dream of Giulia, if that’s what you mean.” Sebastian could hardly believe he’d admitted it aloud. The dreams he had of the woman-girl, really-he’d loved all those years ago were a private thing. By admitting it aloud, he felt as though he tainted those nocturnal images and memories-at least, the pleasant ones. Yet he was compelled to speak honestly and without prevarication.
Wayren nodded. “Tell me about the dreams.”
Sebastian looked down at his hands. His fingers trembled in his lap. “I dream over and over again of the moment when I saw her… and realized she’d been turned undead. Her eyes turned red for only a moment, then dissolved back to normal mortal ones.”
Normal mortal ones that he saw every time he looked at Giulia’s brother. Max Pesaro.
“Your antipathy for him has not affected your work as a Venator… now that you’ve returned to us,” Wayren said quietly. It did not surprise him that she knew the trail on which his thoughts had gone. “I find that commendable.”