That she would irrevocably change things between them—allowing him to know her most precious secret?
She decided that, yes, she had known. And she’d consciously allowed it to happen.
His reaction when he discovered she was wearing a vis bulla pierced through her navel: so beautiful. So…right. He’d been awed, and yet not the least bit intimidated—even when he asked her how strong the amulet made her, and she replied: I could throw you across the room.
Instead of being shocked, he’d smiled, long and slow and sweet. Grinned with absolutely delicious delight…and then knelt and went down on her, kissing her, making love to her…delighting in her—to show her how much he loved her. All of her.
Oh, dammit. What a fool she was!
“Am I hurting you?” Savina stopped what she was doing, looking at Macey in alarm.
“No—oh no. I’m only a little sore, which is quite miraculous, considering. Thank you for doing that,” she added, blinking quickly to rid herself of the tears.
“Max told me what happened. He was horrified. He knows how close he came to— Well, thankfully, you’re going to be fine. But wouldn’t that have been terrible: the day after he finds you—after thirteen years—and he stakes his own daughter?”
Macey couldn’t help it: despite her maudlin emotions, she laughed. “That would have been one for the Venator history books, wouldn’t it? Poor Max…he would have gone down in history in quite a different way than his namesake Max Pesaro.”
Savina smiled too, then became dreamy-eyed. “Ah…Max Pesaro. All you have to do is mention his name in the presence of any female who knows of the Venators, and she tends to swoon and get all fluttery.”
Macey laughed again. “Really?”
“Oh, he was quite something. Arrogant as hell, always had to be right about everything—though I understand Victoria was good at demonstrating otherwise—rigidly black and white, and as true and loyal and fierce as they came. And he was a brilliant Venator. He could even glide through the air!”
“No…that must be an exaggeration.” But Macey was intrigued.
“Not at all. It’s an old Chinese fighting technique called qingongg, and he mastered it.” Savina looked bashful for a moment. “I grew up listening to stories about him—and Victoria and Sebastian Vioget, and Lady Cat and Andreas, too—but I was always simply enthralled by anything related to Max Pesaro. He was like my…my Noel Chavasse, I guess. A perfect hero.”
“Yet he was harsh and arrogant.” Macey had heard Sebastian complain about her great-great-grandfather often enough to know of his faults and foibles, but it certainly was enlightening hearing about him from a different perspective. “And who were Lady Cat and Andreas?”
“Oh, yes, Max Pesaro had his faults—no one denied that. But inside, he had a heart as soft as cotton candy—especially when it came to his wife and girls. He never had a son, you know. Only daughters. I once heard Bellitano—he’s the acting summas at the Consilium, because your father…well, he’s been…doing his own thing. Anyway, I once heard Bellitano telling someone that according to Victoria Gardella, it served him—Max Pesaro—right to have only daughters, since he needed lots of practice in dealing with strong women.”
Macey could only blink and stare at Savina, and wish desperately that she wasn’t as exhausted as she was. This was fascinating—and a side of her family and the world of the Venators she’d never heard about. Savina certainly brought a different—and more interesting—perspective than the cynical Sebastian and sarcastic Chas.
Temple—God rest her soul—had mostly been interested in teaching Macey how to fight and defend herself, and everything she knew about the undead and their strengths and vulnerabilities. Not gossipy stories about her family.
“Who were Lady Cat and Andreas?” she asked again, quite willing to be distracted from reality for the moment. She’d had enough reality for the day.
Having finished her work with Macey’s bandages, Savina settled back onto the bed near the foot, drawing her feet up next to her and reclining on a pile of pillows. “Lady Catherine Gardella. She’s where the red hair in your family comes from—Isabella Pesaro had red hair too, you know. Max’s youngest daughter? Anyway, Cat lived in the Tudor court of Queen Elizabeth. I have no idea how she managed to fight vampires while wearing ruffs, stomachers, and panniers—let alone walk in them, or get through a doorway, for that matter—but she was just as fierce and fiery as her hair would suggest. And Andreas…” She sighed. “He’s my second favorite Venator to swoon over. Very mysterious. In fact, Lady Cat didn’t even know his true identity at first.”
Macey leaned up against the headboard, more pillows propped beneath her, desperately trying to stay awake to hear all of Savina’s stories. “Andreas. Was he a Venator too?”
“After a fashion,” Savina replied with a crafty smile. “Apparently, their story—Cat’s and Andreas’s—is quite dramatic, taking place mostly in the Elizabethan court. I’ll have to get Paolo to tell you—” She stopped abruptly. “You’re getting tired. I should let you sleep.”
Macey didn’t argue. Her eyelids were drooping. Her body was sore and exhausted.
But just as she was about to lie down and allow herself to drift off, her eyes popped open. “That photograph. At the exhibit. That’s my father, isn’t it?”
Savina didn’t hesitate. “You must have realized it somehow, don’t you think? That was why you found it so compelling.”
Macey nodded. Then she looked up. “Was it…well, it’s titled A Letter Long Due. Why?”
“I think you know why.”
She nodded again, her head scrubbing against the pillow. Yes, she’d discerned enough of what was written to know that it could have been—it was—her name.
Dear Macey…
“I never received a letter from him, you know.” Macey felt a prickling of the old anger again. “He never sent it.”
“He sent it. Several of them. But…they weren’t delivered. I should let him explain. I really should— But since we’re talking about it…it was Al Capone. He never gave them to you.”
“What did Capone have to do with any of this?” Macey was suddenly wide awake and outraged. “Why would my father trust him with anything?”
“Alphonse is—was—a Venator. Max is the summas. Why shouldn’t he have trusted him?”
Macey sagged back against the pillows. She certainly knew Capone well enough to understand where things had gone wrong. And now she understood why her father might have paid a visit to the man. If Capone had, for some foolish reason, decided not to do something the summas had requested—like deliver a letter to his daughter—that could be a reason for a severe talking-to. Or worse.
“I’m not trying to defend your father, Macey. I’ve told him numerous times what a terrible parent he is. How cowardly he is”— Macey huffed an appreciative laugh at that— “and what an arse he can be. But he’s the bravest, most dangerous and brilliant vampire hunter in the world. He’s given his life—and more—to protect mortals and to keep the undead at bay. Without him…well, the world would be a much more dangerous place. But he’s not perfect. None of us are.” Savina seemed to be speaking to herself as much as to Macey.
“Are you married to my father?”
Savina gave a pained laugh. “No.” She rose from her place at the foot of the bed and brought her pillows up to the other end, clearly ready to go to sleep herself—or perhaps simply to avoid answering. “I don’t think a second marriage is in his future. And I don’t mind. He has enough to attend to in his life.”
But Macey didn’t think that was true. There was something in her voice, something in her eyes, that bespoke some great pain.
“At the photo exhibit when you asked me whether I’d ever loved someone it was safer not to love…you were talking about him, I suppose.”
Savina sighed and paused, then flung back the bedcovers on her side and climbed abed. “Yes, of course.” Then she looked at Macey keenly. “And you answered yes.”
Macey suddenly found the French knot design on the coverlet extremely fascinating. “Right.”
“Chas Woodmore?” Savina asked.
Macey looked up. “No. Not him.”
Savina seemed satisfied. “That’s probably just as well. He seems as if he has as much junk stuffed in his figurative suitcase as Max Denton.”
“He does. But we’re…close. At least, as close as one can get to Chas.” She gave a sad laugh.
“Right. He seems a sad sort of chap.” Savina pulled the covers up over her as she turned toward Macey. “It’s very nice of Grady to give up his bed to guests. He’s an exceptional man.”
Macey nodded, then realized she wasn’t supposed to know him well enough to know whether that was true or not. “I… Well, when I saw you at the photo exhibit with him, I thought you two were…uh…” She shrugged and gave a half-smile.
“You weren’t the only one,” Savina said wryly, shaking her head. “But no. Not at all. It’s your father for me, Macey. There won’t be anyone else, ever again. No matter what happens.”
A shaft of pain and remorse caught Macey by surprise, and Savina looked over at her. “Are you in pain? Do you want more of that sticky salve?”
“No. It’s not that. It’s…”
Macey closed her eyes. She’d been just about to confess everything to Savina. But no. Not a good idea.
The woman was kind and funny, and she seemed genuine…but what would the benefit be if Macey told her about Grady?
“Good night, Savina. Thank you. It’s been…nice talking to you.”
“Same here, Macey. I’m very, very glad to have met you. Finally.”
Macey closed her eyes, her thoughts in more turmoil than her healing body.
Tomorrow, she would once more face the reality of a world in which her former best friend had brutally murdered two people…and that she had possession of one of the most powerful objects of evil in the world.
Sweet dreams, Macey, she told herself.
TWENTY-ONE
~ Wherein the Summas is Given a Set-down ~
Macey and Savina went upstairs and Woodmore bade them good night while Max and Grady finished their whiskey.
The Irish bloke was looking pale and sickly, and Max realized what a fool he’d been to expect as much from him as he would from a vis bullaed Venator, or even a Comitator. The man wasn’t equipped in the same way, and he’d nearly died earlier today.
“I’m going out,” Max told him abruptly. If he was quick enough, he could catch up with Woodmore. With all the horror at The Silver Chalice, he’d temporarily put aside the message he had to deliver. “I may not be back until morning.”
Before Grady could ask more, Max slipped out the door and started off in the direction Woodmore would have gone—assuming he was, in fact, returning to his own place.
He hadn’t gone far before he caught sight of the broad-shouldered figure, for the man was ambling along as if deep in thought, rather than walking with a purpose.
“Woodmore,” Max called out as he approached. After the day he’d had, he didn’t feel like having to defend himself from a surprised Venator.
“Denton. I thought you were in for the night. Wanted everyone to stay together.”
There was a definite sneer in the man’s voice, and Max bristled. “I have a message for you. If you want it.”
“I don’t know. Do I?”
Max gritted his teeth. He’d half a mind to start a brawl, right here and now with the bastard. The man had no right to be putting his hands on his daughter the way he had—and he sure as hell had no right to be snide and cutting simply because Max had done the fatherly thing and interrupted their plans for a cozy little love-nest tonight. Macey needed her rest, goddammit.
And Chas Woodmore was simply bad news—for anyone…at least, as far as women went. He was too damned handsome and far too arresting for his own good. It hadn’t escaped Max’s attention that Savina had noticed Woodmore. Really noticed him, if the way her eyes traveled up and down over the dark and muscular Romanian were any indication.
Why couldn’t Macey be attracted to someone like Grady, for example? Nice chap, funny, talented, and relatively polite—a little quick with the hands dipping in the pockets, but at least Max and Grady generally saw things the same way.
“Well, what is it?” Woodmore asked.
He hadn’t stopped, and had actually sped up to a faster pace. Thus, Max was forced to walk abreast with him along the edge of a sidewalk that wasn’t wide enough for two people, which in turn required him to dodge bushes, trees, mailboxes, and other obstacles along the way. That didn’t make him feel any friendlier toward the man, especially when he tripped on a tree root in the dark and nearly took a header.
Bugger it.
“First things first,” Max said, suddenly out of patience. “Are you in love with my daughter?”
Woodmore snorted. “Why do you care?”
“Just answer the bloody question—and without commentary, if you please. You might not like it—hell, she might not like it—but I’m not only her father, but also the summas. I need to know these things. She is the heir apparent to the Venators.”
“No. I’m not.”
Max felt a wave of relief, then a burst of fury. “Then why the bloody hell did you have your hands up her buggering dress?”
Woodmore cast him a glance. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business, father or summas-in-name-only notwithstanding.”
Max felt a definite crack in his jaw, and hoped he hadn’t actually broken a tooth. Damned Venator strength. “Look, you might have a problem with me and my decisions, but I don’t give a devil about that. All I want is my daughter to be safe and happy—”
“Then where the hell have you been for thirteen years? She thought—we all thought—you were dead. And why in the hell did you make her go to Grady’s house tonight?” Woodmore stopped at last, swinging to face Max.
He halted just before he slammed into the other man. “What do you mean?”
“She’s in love with Grady, you pompous arse. That is why I wanted her to go to my place tonight. Not for any other reason. She doesn’t need any other pain in her life tonight.”
“What the devil are you talking about? She and Grady have never even met—except at the exhibit.”
Woodmore was shaking his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. They’ve met. But she asked Wayren to use the golden disk to erase herself from his memory. Like father, like daughter,” he added snidely. “Making godlike decisions for everyone else just to make it easier for themselves.”
Max wanted nothing more than to take a swing at him—and he just might have done so if he hadn’t thought he might need the man who’d obtained the tongue of the ruby-eyed skull.
“I’ll overlook your disrespect this time,” Max said, causing Woodmore to snort again. He gritted his teeth—damn, he might have broken a tooth after all—and continued, “Because I appreciate the information.”
And as he said those words, the meaning sank in. Now he was going to have to object to Grady—and dammit, he was rather fond of the bloke.
Oh…but Macey had had the man’s memory altered, and so he didn’t know their history.
That was good.
“The message, Denton. What is it?” Woodmore had started walking again.
“Right. It’s from Bell, at the Consilium. Cezar Moldavi has escaped from his prison in Siberia, and no one knows where he’s gone.”
Now it was Woodmore’s turn to stumble. “Impossible. Narcise and Cale and I designed it ourselves. It’s impenetrable. Moldavi’s been there for more than a century—how could he have escaped?”
“I would agree, but there’s no disputing the facts. Moldavi is gone. And since you’re the one most familiar with the creature, you should be the one tasked with finding him.”
Woodmore swore under his breath, but nodded. “Very well. I’ll head to Siberia.”
“Not until we’re done here,” Max tol
d him, and he was admittedly relieved when the other man agreed.
He wanted every bit of help possible until the threat from Macey’s best friend was over.
+ + +
Macey dragged herself out of the dream and lay there, heart pounding wildly, body clammy and weak.
It took her a moment to realize where she was, who was sleeping next to her…then the terror of the dream seceded and was replaced by grief.
It should be Grady beside her in his bed.
Macey stared at the ceiling for a moment, aware of the aches and twinges from a body that had been brutally abused less than twenty-four hours earlier. She found it easier to think about that pain than the emotional strain of knowing her former best friend had destroyed two people—at least—and that her former lover was sleeping one floor below her.
Along with the myriad of emotions that kept her miserable and confused, she found that her belly was very insistent on being fed. Macey couldn’t remember the last time she’d had anything to eat—maybe some sort of soup in the hospital?—and when her stomach snarled for a second time, she slid from beneath the blankets and put her feet on the floor.
Savina was sleeping soundly and she didn’t stir as Macey padded silently down the stairs. A glance at the sofa told her Grady still slumbered there—a long, lumpy figure beneath a blanket. She didn’t see her father in a chair or on the floor, and allowed a moment to wonder where he’d bunked down, then shrugged.
He knew what he was doing. At least, when it came to hunting vampires.
Making her way through darkness broken only by a streetlight glancing through the window, Macey found a box of crackers. She winced when the packaging crinkled, then winced again when her glass made a soft clink as she pulled it from the cabinet. The water pump thunked on and went into a low hum when she turned on the tap, and to her ears it sounded like an elephant lumbering around the room.
But the house remained silent and still, and after a moment, she breathed more easily. Standing at the kitchen window, she looked out over the park in the next lot. The swings hung empty and straight, and the trees were just beginning to show their leaves against a dark gray sky. Dawn threatened, and with it would come a new day of challenge and conflict.
Roaring Dawn: Macey Book 3 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 10) Page 22