by Колин Глисон
Too late.
I’m too late. Just like for Phillip.
Hands grasped and grabbed, shoving her, and she caught herself before falling, kicking out swiftly before she tumbled onto something soft. Like cushions, pillows. Soft and smelling horribly of roses and blood and death.
All of a sudden, the memory… the terrible, red-hot memory of Beauregard, assaulted her. Hands, nails, teeth… lips… on her, something soft beneath her, red eyes glowing with pleasure. No, no… those were Sebastian’s eyes.
And Lilith. Red eyes… not pink ones. Beauregard had pink ones.
Victoria tried to blink, felt the strong rough hands pressing on her and something linking around her wrist. Metal, cold and heavy, and she thought suddenly, clearly, of Max, and how he’d worn manacles when Lilith had had him in her presence. She kicked out blindly, catching something soft, but she couldn’t see, for the red eyes had her again.
They had her… trapped, lulled, loose, and murky.
Hands on her clothes, pulling them away from her neck, tearing the cotton away from her chest. Her cross was gone, torn off during the fight with the Guardian. She felt the heat of the room on her damp skin, felt the brush of wiry copper hair over her throat and cheek, then the smell of roses stronger.
She couldn’t move. Her legs were held by a heavy weight. Hands grasped her head, pinning it still to the cushions beneath. One hand held by a heavy cuff, attached above her head; the other hand left to flail free, to catch at Sebastian’s soft curling hair and vainly at the stone wall… A bit of a tease, she thought sluggishly, leaving one hand free to try to fight.
Vaguely, she realized this was important… She tucked her hand under herself in an effort to keep it free, to hide the fact that it was loose, make them think it was trapped beneath her.
But then the rose smell, and the intense heat of the room clogged her nose, slowed everything along with those hot red eyes, burning, lusting, in a face that had been dear… was so dear.
“Sebastian,” she cried. “No.”
“Oh come now,” whispered a voice near her ear. Not Sebastian, but Lilith. Crooning lovingly into her flesh. “You will enjoy it, Victoria Gardella. I understand you know Sebastian quite well. And he is very hungry. He has refused to feed since he drank from me, the poor darling.”
Victoria twisted powerfully, freeing one leg from the weight on it, using the hand beneath her for leverage, and slammed her foot into something living that she couldn’t see. It might have been Sebastian, for he was right behind Lilith. His red eyes showed the jolt from the impact of her foot.
He refused to feed.
Thank God. Still a chance.
She bucked and twisted again, and then that heavy weight came on her legs once more, and there were hands smoothing the hair away from her face, scraping it back harshly so that her skin spread taut beneath those skeletal fingers.
And then Lilith moved closer, and Victoria felt the leap of her veins as the fangs came out, came close, and the warm hot breath. She struggled, looking up beyond the coppery hair coming closer, trapped by the red eyes, hot red eyes… lustful and needy.
No, no, not Sebastian, please…
The fangs slid into her skin, and she jerked at the sudden pain… then a rush of horrible pleasure. The blood burst from the wounds as if freed from its confines, and she felt the horrible sensation of one cold, one warm lip suctioning on her flesh. Lilith’s warm breath on her skin, the proximity of her body, her hands pushing the hair away, positioning her head, holding it harsh and in place as Victoria strained beneath her.
Victoria smelled the blood, and there beneath the thrall, she saw the craving leap in Sebastian’s eyes. She saw them narrow, and his fine nose flare, the beauty of his face still as angelic as before… except for those eyes. And the slender fangs that tipped gently into his lower lip.
No.
She felt the warm blood draining from her, and deep inside she pulled all of her energy, gathering it into her belly, imagining it settling below her strength amulets, drawing from them. She had to fight free.
Please, God.
She marshaled all her power, let her free hand shift under her, into the back of her trousers. She might… She gasped, hesitated, as Lilith sucked harder, suddenly, and she felt the awareness begin to drain from her.
No. I am Illa Gardella.
Victoria slipped her hand from beneath her, moving as though she were underwater, as quickly as she could but oh so slowly… to the duo of vis bullae beneath her torn shirt. She touched the holy silver, and felt a jolt of strength blast through her. She breathed deep, pushed away the scent of blood so close to her, the feel of lips on her skin, fought to sever the connection with those hot red eyes burning behind Lilith’s head.
That wasn’t Sebastian anymore. Not the Sebastian she knew.
Like Phillip.
Anger roared up from beneath the thrall, the sluggish red world, and galvanized her. Giving a great, last, harsh buck and twist, she managed to slip her hand beneath and under her hips, scrabbling for the stake behind there as Lilith forced her back into place. Her only chance… Had the demon spoken the truth?
Victoria’s fingers closed around the wood of the ash stake, made from a fresh branch on the mountain only a short time ago, and relief surged through her when she slipped it free of her waistband. The bark and point scraped against her skin, already raw from claw marks, as she forced it from beneath her prone, weighted body, sidling it under the edge of her hip.
It seemed to take forever for these little movements, and Victoria felt the strength draining from her as the blood coursed from her veins, straining for relief, for release.
Then Lilith stopped. She gave one last, gentle, sensual suck, then withdrew her fangs. Settling back, she looked down at Victoria, whose chest rose and fell as though she’d been running. She could barely focus. The red eyes lulled. The heat pressed down on her… She felt warmth trickling from her neck, leaking down, iron-scented, into the crease of her shoulder and seeping into the fabric beneath.
“There, now,” Lilith said in a husky voice, looking back at Sebastian. “See how I’ve prepared her for you. The fight is gone from her… Perhaps now you’ll not be so reluctant to feed.”
He didn’t speak, but through the fog, Victoria saw the need… the deep lust and craving in his eyes. His nostrils flared wide, as though drawing in the scent of blood like a man draws in oxygen, and he was breathing just as harshly as she was. His lips, as full and sensual as they’d been when he wooed and coaxed her, parted.
No.
Sending up a last prayer, she drew in a deep breath and tore her eyes fully from Sebastian’s enthralling red ones. It was a physical break; she felt the ties loosen, but not completely disappear, as she pulled away. The incessant tug eased… The stake in her hand rose, flying up as if of its own volition. She saw it as if from underwater, from a distance: slow and foggy… the point slamming into the white skin in front of her.
Lilith jerked aside in time, and the stake pierced, not her heart… but the soft part above her collarbone, slamming in deep. Victoria cried out in frustration as the vampiress froze above her.
Froze, and was, indeed, still. Her eyes wide, shocked, her bloodless lips parted.
The green ash stake protruded from her skin, and Victoria had a last bit of consciousness left to yank it free, then drive it directly into the vampire queen’s heart.
Brushing away the last of the vampire ash, Max tucked the stake into his trousers and turned back to the door. Using a knife blade, he wedged it down under the metal to work the lock’s hasp free. He shoved and jimmied, and at last the groan of the brass came free. Working as fast as he could, he pulled the lock off and tore the door open.
The people poured out, more than a dozen of them, terrified and blank-eyed.
“This way,” Max said, trying not to think about what else was going on deep in the chambers of this mountain. She wears two, dammit. “Hurry.”
But somethin
g pushed at him, nagged… Impatience screamed as he urged the captives out of their prison; many of them stumbled or were too dazed from shock to understand. As they streamed out of the room, a vampire made the mistake of coming around the corner, apparently running from some other threat. The undead found himself skewered on Max’s stake before he realized it.
“Is that everyone?” Max asked one of the men who seemed somewhat lucid.
“Yes,” the man managed. “But this one can’t walk.”
Without another word, Max slung a tottering woman with glassy eyes up over his shoulder. “Here,” he said, fumbling for the cross around his neck. With a good yank, he broke the heavy chain and handed it to the man. “Hold this in front of you if you see any of them.”
He gave another woman a vial of holy water, and yet another vial to a second man. The back of his neck chilled, shifting, portending the approach of more undead. The would-be victims had moved out into the corridor, and he heard shrieks and screams as he came around the corner.
The prison behind him, a deadweight woman on his shoulder, Max found himself back in the melee again.
Stake in hand, he pushed through the terrified mob, which had been stopped by three large vampires blocking the corridor. Damn and blast.
“Throw the water!” he shouted as the crowd surged back, away from the vampires. He pushed forward, they stampeded back, and he felt the woman over his shoulder begin to awaken and fight his hold. The vampires lunged toward the group, fangs out, eyes burning, and the prisoners fell back, into Max, and he nearly lost his balance.
Bloody damn hell. Idiots.
“Let me through,” he bellowed, but no one heard him over the panic.
He couldn’t put the woman down, or she’d be trampled in a moment, but she severely limited his movements. And now she was fighting him, like a crazed cat, pummeling his back already sore from claws and talons.
And beneath all of that, also pounding at him, was the need to find Victoria.
He shoved the woman at the nearest man, ordering him fiercely, “Hold her!”
And he pushed his way through the surging crowd, ramming people into one another and the walls to get by, to get it through their thick heads that he was there to help them.
As he reached the trio of vampires in the front, he saw the tall, dark figure of Brim appear from behind them.
“Where is Victoria?” Max shouted, barely looking at the undead he was striking. The poof and subsequent explosion told him his black stake had done its trick as he sought Brim’s eyes.
Brim staked another of the undead from behind as his mouth tightened in worry. “Thought she was with you.”
Max’s world stopped, then released into the fury around him. “Take this,” he said, shoving the last vampire toward Brim, who easily dispatched the undead before Max had even passed him.
He calmed himself even as he ran off. She’d be all right. She had to be.
Twenty-Five
The Temptation of Sebastian Vioget
The blood.
He breathed the iron scent, felt the driving need for it. A red haze filled the room, clouding his vision, his senses.
Victoria’s blood.
He swallowed, the unfamiliar fangs nipping his lips.
Oh God.
Could he even say that anymore, with a damned soul? Oh God?
Would He hear? Would He care?
No… Sebastian drew in a breath that felt like no breath he took when he lived. He wasn’t damned yet. Not yet.
It enraptured him… the smell… the sound, the faint whistle, of Lilith’s gentle sucking. Each low gulp pounded in his ears, drummed through his body.
He could fairly taste the thick, heavy iron, feel it running down his throat. His heart pounded, its rhythm matching that of his sire, of Lilith… but fighting to control Victoria’s. His hands closed around her slender ankles, holding her prisoner as she writhed and bucked and twisted.
The little noises she made under Lilith’s hands and mouth, the little gasps and heaving breaths, reminded him of other things, other writhing and bucking, and he felt the need pound through him even stronger.
The haze grew heavier. Darker. Burning.
Lilith pulled away from Victoria’s neck, leaving Sebastian with a full view of the hot crimson blood, shining in thick trickles down her flushed, damp skin. Her grimy shirt was torn away, by his own hands, and one white breast half bared from the struggle. Black hair plastered to her jaw and neck, a mass of curls on the pillow beneath her, and her lovely red lips parted, gasping and panting.
He swallowed again, felt the trembling of his fingers.
Lilith said something he barely heard, but he knew it was his turn. She wanted him to feed.
He wanted… Oh, he wanted.
He couldn’t.
But his mouth watered; his fingers shook. He felt the burn in his eyes grow hotter, stronger. His heart pounded, echoing through him to his fingers, his knees.
He had to. He must.
Then a sudden sharp movement from Victoria, her arm winging out from nowhere. Lilith froze, her eyes wide as she looked at him over her shoulder… and then, unbelievably, she jerked from some great force… and then… poof.
She was gone.
Unbelievably gone.
The control, the power over him waned… released. He breathed on his own. He smelled ash and roses and… blood.
Still, the blood.
The craving hadn’t eased. No, it pounded just as fiercely.
“Sebastian.” Victoria’s voice penetrated the haze, just a bit. She twisted and moved, and he saw that she was trying to free her manacled hand while she kept her eyes on him. She had a stake in her hand.
A stake that, he realized, could kill him now.
He didn’t remember moving, but then he was on her, his hands holding her delicate shoulder to the pillows stained with her blood, knocking the stake from her hand. His weight pressed her into the softness as he’d done before, and he smelled her… She surrounded him, her blood, her scent, her skin.
She fought against him with one hand; he heard her say his name, urgent… pleading. Victoria, pleading.
But he didn’t care. He couldn’t stop himself… The red haze blazed through him as he covered her mouth, tasting her, smelling the blood that would soon ease his craving. He crushed her lips, his hands sliding over her skin even as she arched and twisted, her stake just out of reach, his weight and vampire strength… and the manacle… holding her in place.
Overcome by unbounded craving, he needed to taste, to kiss, to fuck, to possess, to control…
“Sebastian.” Her voice was sharp, a bit thready, in his ear as she yanked her face away.
The blood was there, beneath her ear, there in front of him. He lost everything else, everything but that beckoning red streak.
It was there… teasing, taunting… he shouldn’t. There was a reason… He shouldn’t, he couldn’t… but saliva pooled in his mouth, and the blood coursed from the wounds in her neck, the distended vein that swelled, teasing him, even as he watched, as she writhed beneath him.
“Giulia,” she gasped. “Sebastian, remember Giulia.”
She moved sharply, knocking him askew, and he felt her hand moving toward that stake.
No.
He grabbed her wrist, but she twisted and yanked, forcing him to release her grip. He moved forward, into her throat. His lips brushed against her hot, salty skin, and the blood… He touched it, warm and sleek, with his mouth.
Pleasure, lust, craving blasted through him at the faint iron sense on his lips. More. More.
He opened his mouth, his fangs, still so odd, slipping out, sliding against her skin.
And then he felt something in his back. Sharp.
“Sebastian.” Her voice, low, gasping, pleading. “You cannot.”
He scraped his fang over her skin, sliding over the saltiness, a bit of that luscious blood slipping with it. The stake pushed harder-how had she gotten it?-but she sa
id, “I’ll do it. I don’t want to, but… I’ll do it.”
He needed this… He couldn’t see, think, conceive of anything but this… The blood on his lips touched his tongue. Pleasure burst inside him, and he nearly shoved his fangs in right then. Nearly.
“Sebastian, think of Giulia. You can’t. Please. Don’t. You’re stronger than this.” Her breasts moved against him as she drew in the breaths to plead. “You wear the vis bulla.”
The vis bulla that burned every time he touched it now; it annoyed the skin at his belly when it touched, a constant burn. But he wore it…
Wayren. Her face popped into his confused, red, blazing mind. The heavy silver ring on his left hand.
His head felt heavy, but… Giulia.
He didn’t care. He cared about nothing, nothing but the blood. The need, the driving pull.
It called to him. That siren song lulled and teased and pulled, and with one movement, it would be over. Pleasure coursing through him. The need sated-the need he’d fought.
Victoria heaved suddenly, powerfully beneath him, shoving him off balance. He slipped to one side, and she slammed him with a knee, in the side of the face, then followed with her other foot.
He tumbled onto the floor, and she scrambled on the bed, frantically working on the manacle. It fell away with a clink, and the stake was in her hand by the time he gained his footing.
Breathing hard, he looked at her: the face he would never forget, the woman he loved, the eyes, sharp but pleading.
“You’re strong, Sebastian. Don’t.”
She sat there, unafraid, free now, waiting. Stake in her hand. A breath away.
He swallowed. Reached for her.
His fingers closed around her arm, her warm arm.
“I’ll kill you before I let you feed. I won’t let you damn yourself. But I want to know why.” She beckoned, gave him a look that burned through him.
The desire bumped again, and he thought he might move, lunge toward her. Get one taste before…