Victoria jumped to her feet, shooting a glance at Sebastian. “Now that you’ve decided to slay vampires, you’ve really committed to it,” she said, not quite successful in keeping all of the annoyance from her voice. “I didn’t need your assistance.” She spit out a mouthful of dust as she brushed the rest of it from her face and shoulders.
“Oho, so that’s how it is. Shall I never please you? For months, you disparage my disinclination to slay vampires . . . and now that I’m doing so, you rebuff me. Tsk, tsk, Victoria. I thought that you, of all women, would not be fickle.” He turned and walked back toward the comfortable room.
Victoria resisted the urge to tell him that it wasn’t that he was staking the vampires; it was that he’d interfered when she hadn’t needed him to. Max would have stood and watched, criticizing her technique all the while, but only stepping in if things got out of hand.
And she wasn’t quite sure, as she stood there looking after Sebastian, which type she preferred.
The temperature at the back of her neck had returned to normal, indicating that there weren’t any other undead in the vicinity, so Victoria decided she ought to examine the parlorlike chamber a bit more closely.
The oldest vampire lair in England, he’d said. Clearly, Beauregard had been busy educating his great-great-great- (some number of greats)-grandson about his demonic heritage.
Victoria pursed her lips as she looked over at Sebastian, who’d opened a small door that had been revealed with the movement of the throne. It would be best if she tried to find out what he was after, even though he was obviously not inclined to tell her.
She started toward him, but her attention was caught by what she had originally thought were bundles of clothing or blankets. But from this angle . . .
“Dear God.”
She was at the side of the bodies in an instant, Sebastian and his cubbyhole forgotten for the moment.
He looked over. “What is—oh. Damnation.”
There were three of them in heaps on the floor, tossed near the wall like trash. Blood—dried, congealed, pooled—was on their ravaged faces and hands, on the floor, spattered low on the wall. The stench filled her nose, and her fingers closed into each of her palms as she fought to stay steady, keep her breathing even.
“Victoria.” Sebastian was there, his face suddenly close to hers.
She grabbed in a deep breath and shook her head. “I’m fine.”
He knelt beside the bodies, heaped on top of each other haphazardly, and gently moved them so that their faces were revealed—or what was left of them. They were all men, and their clothing was in shreds. The vampires hadn’t merely fed on them, they’d mauled and destroyed them. Even tortured them, if the rawness of the wrists was any sign.
“This is what you allowed to walk free when you turned your back on the Venators,” Victoria said, her voice cold. “How many innocents have suffered like this when they could have been saved?” The fury burned through her, and her fingers were shaking. The haze colored her vision and she felt rage surging through her like a team of horses gone wild.
And then she turned over the last body, and saw the familiar face.
Three
Wherein Our Heroine Succumbs to a Maternal Threat
There was nothing to wrap the corpse in but her coat, and Sebastian’s too, which Victoria immediately demanded. Although the body was cold, he couldn’t have been dead for long, as the pools of blood around him had not yet completely dried. Oddly enough, neither bugs nor other vermin had yet discovered the destroyed flesh.
“Who is it?” Sebastian asked. His sensual voice was clipped, no doubt by anger at her sharp accusation. It wouldn’t be guilt. Not Sebastian.
Victoria cared little for his sensitivities. She had said what needed to be said, even though it angered him.
“It’s Briyani, Max’s Comitator,” she told him. “Kritanu’s nephew.”
Victoria carefully wrapped up the young man, who’d been perhaps only five years older than her own two decades. He’d been a smart, sharp fighter, brave and skilled. It had been he, along with his uncle, who had helped her and Max escape from Lilith during a terrible fire.
Not a Venator, no, but Briyani had been just as important in the fight against the undead. He had been Max’s Comitator—his assistant, valet, and an expert who trained him in the Indian martial art of kalaripayattu.
Truth be told, both Max and Briyani had learned their skills at the hands of Kritanu, who had been Eustacia’s companion and trainer for fifty years. But Briyani, who had been training since he was ten, had been working with Max to keep his skills honed for more than eight years.
And now he was gone.
She hoisted Briyani’s body over her shoulder, frowning when Sebastian made a move to assist, and said, “I’ll do it. Heaven forbid you should get blood on your shirt.”
“I’m exceedingly appreciative of your consideration,” he replied. But the usual self-deprecating tone was missing. “I’ll just be a moment.” He loped back over to the throne and began to put it all back the way it had been.
The burden heavy on her shoulder, Victoria walked slowly toward the exit as thoughts tumbled through her mind. She could find out later from Sebastian what he’d found behind the throne—if anything. But for now, she had other worries.
The last time she’d seen Briyani, he’d been in Rome. How had he come to be in London? Was he with Max? Did that mean Max was here? Why would he come to London when he hated England?
Did Max know Briyani was missing?
How was she to let him know about his trusted friend and companion if he was in hiding from Lilith? And she had to tell Kritanu, as well.
Tears welled at the corner of her eyes. She used her free hand to swipe angrily at them. This was part of her life, part of her choice. It would never get easier.
While the London ton danced and ate and copulated and gossiped, this evil happened. All the time, beneath their silken slippers and buffed boots.
Sebastian returned to her side, silent and grave.
“Did you get what you came for?” she asked, unable to keep a fringe of disgust from her voice.
He gave a brief nod and, to her surprise, held up a ring between his thumb and forefinger. She caught his gaze, one of those rich topaz eyes framed almost perfectly by the ring, which was thick and made of copper. She’d seen one exactly like it, braided with twisted copper strands, hidden away at the Consilium.
“One of Lilith’s rings,” Victoria breathed. There were only five in existence, and the Venators were in possession of one of them—now, two.