Both of her hands were on him now, flat palmed, sliding up and over his shoulders to cup the bare skin of his neck. Max felt the tiny, warm drip of blood from his cheek where she’d cut him, and the unbearable closeness when she leaned forward and pressed an openmouthed kiss to the edge of his jaw, over the trickle of blood.
The flood of sensation staggered him. Her lips—one cool and firm, the other warm and soft—bussing against his skin set his fingers to trembling against the sides of his trousers. Her teeth were slick and smooth as they slid against his jaw, ending in a tiny nibble. His breath caught, and he drew it in sharply, deeply, and felt the beginnings of response simmering low inside him, behind the weakness in his knees, and his lips parted with a soft puff of air.
When she kissed him he tasted his own blood, and he kissed her back, unwillingly, yet willingly.
Then through the haze of desire that pummeled him, Max remembered who he still was, and managed to slide his hand up between them, brushing against her br**sts as they pressed against his shirt. He tore at its ties and at last closed his fingers over the tiny silver cross that hung from his areola.
Strength from the vis bulla surged through him, and he drew in his first clear breath since she’d stepped near him. He pulled his face away as she realized what had happened and stepped back. Her fingers tore at his shirt, pulling it open, and with a shriek of surprise, she jerked away.
“So you have come armed.” At first she could not look at him, could not look at the large silver cross that hung on a heavy chain around his neck. Hidden beneath his shirt, it was the only weapon he’d been able to bring into her presence aside from the tiny vis bulla. It wasn’t as effective as an ash stake, but it had produced the effect he’d desired.
“I am not so foolish as to come to you unprepared,” Max replied, his voice easier now, although his blood still leaped and his chest was tight. “A stake would have been preferable, but your Guardians would not allow me to pass with one. I tried.”
“I would expect nothing less from you, Maximilian.” She kept her distance, kept her eyes slightly averted, but was not the crumpled heap of weakness a lesser vampire would have been. The surprise had sent her spinning away, but the mere vision of the cross was not enough to frighten a vampire of her caliber for long. As one’s eyes became used to sudden light in darkness, so would she soon be able to look at him again.
But the large cross would keep her from touching him—or touching him much. And the delicate silver vis bulla—blessed with holy water and forged of silver from the Holy Land—gave him his Venator speed, strength, and fast-healing capabilities. But neither would damage Lilith in any other way.
Now, as she looked at him again, her eyes narrowed and seemed to focus on his half-bare chest. “That is not your vis bulla,” she said suddenly, her eyes widening.
Max looked at her.
“You are surprised that I would have noticed. Why should you be, Maximilian? I notice everything about you.” The purr was back in her voice again, and despite the hand-size cross hanging there, she stepped toward him. “This one is different. It is smaller.”
“But no less powerful.” It was true. He’d given his vis bulla to Victoria, then walked away from her on the streets of Roma a month ago. And later, when he’d decided to make this mad trip, he’d replaced it with this one, one that did not belong to him.
“No, I would expect not. But still.” Her eyes narrowed again, and she tried again to catch his gaze, but he would not play. “Not dead, and wearing someone else’s vis bulla,” Lilith mused. “And demanding that I comply with your wishes. Maximilian, you absolutely fascinate me. Are you quite certain you do not wish to remain here with me? Forever?”
“I have no wish for immortality.”
“But you did at one time.”
“I did. Long ago.” There was no glossing over it. Max had learned to live with his choices.
“Not that long ago. Merely fifteen, perhaps sixteen years ago. And this last year you spent living among the members of the Tutela did not raise that desire in you again?”
The mark of the Tutela had first been burned into the back of his shoulder when he was a young, naive man of sixteen and had foolishly joined them and their cause: to protect and serve the vampires in the hopes of attaining immortality and power. Now the tattoo of the writhing dog—for that was really what the Tutela were: mortals who acted as bitches and whores for the undead—seemed to itch on his skin.
This last year when he’d lived among the Tutela again had been Hell on earth. Max had had to pretend not only to be one of them, desiring power and immortality while bowing and scraping to the vampire Nedas, but he had also carried on the charade of being engaged to Sarafina, the daughter of Conte Regalado, who had been the mortal leader of the Tutela.
He replied to Lilith, “I did what you asked because of your promise to release me if I succeeded with the task you set me to. Now I am here to collect on it.”
“And what of the woman you love? You left her?”
Max lifted an eyebrow in question, but did not speak.
“The girl you were to marry? Shall I be jealous of her? Is that why you wish to be released?”
His breathing smoothed. “I would not expect you to be jealous of a mere mortal.”
“Her father is a vampire now, and he might well sire her in his footsteps.”
“But she will be young and weak.”
“True.” Lilith looked at him, reached out her hand to touch his arm. “I cannot let you go, Maximilian, my Venator pet.”
“You lied, then.” He’d known it, known she would not release him. “I did your bidding and you never intended to do as you promised.”
“Come, now, Maximilian. You are fully aware that the secrets I gave you, the knowledge you had that enabled you to see to the destruction of Akvan’s Obelisk, were just as much to your benefit—and that of your race—as they were to mine. I would not say you have come out of this so very badly.”
Black bile burned the back of his throat. Oh, but what he had been forced to do to carry out Lilith’s desires and to save Roma—and the world—from the malevolent power of Akvan’s Obelisk…executing Eustacia, accepting her willing sacrifice by swinging the sword himself in the presence of Nedas. It had been the only way to prove his loyalty to the Tutela, the only way to get close enough to destroy the obelisk.
And Victoria. She’d seen it happen. She’d never forgive him.