The Bleeding Dusk (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles #3)

The Bleeding Dusk (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles #3) Page 37

“Hence the reason for the event at the villa. He needed to feed.”

“We cannot wait for the vampires to come together to fight him. He must be slain before he reaches his full power.”

“I called him back. I’ll do it.”

“It will be no easy task, Max.” Wayren looked at him so long and seriously—almost sorrowfully—that Max felt the urge to twitch.

“What is it?”

“It’s written—”

“That I’ll die doing it? I’ve no fear of that. You know that, Wayren.” It was true. He’d be free, and he’d willingly give his life, as Eustacia had, as countless others had, for the mortal world’s safety. “I’m bound as a Venator to give my life in the fight.”

“It is written…in a prophecy translated from the Persian by our own Lady Rosamunde Gardella…‘Neither Venator nor undead immortal shall slay Akvan; ’tis only a mortal man shall send him permanently to the bowels of Hell, using his own strength against him.’”

Max’s mouth dried and he felt energy drain from him. Who else would be equipped, trained, prepared enough to slay a demon? Surely not any mortal man. Only a Venator would know how, would be brave enough. Would have the skills.

Only a Venator who was not a Venator.

Wayren leaned forward to touch his hand, but he pulled away from her slender fingers, reaching for his black stake. “You knew it would come to this. You knew it when I first brought you the salve.” Though he tried, he couldn’t summon the anger. It was what it was. His path would be thus.

He lifted his eyes and met her blue-gray ones and gave a short nod. “Tomorrow.”

Fifteen

In Which Our Heroine Becomes Quite Provoking

Once she considered it, Victoria was relieved that Sebastian had slipped away from the Consilium and was no longer around when it was time for her to leave.

They had so much unfinished business between them, so many things she wanted to say and to demand…but until she figured out how she felt about everything she’d learned in the last half day, Victoria didn’t want to try to confront him. Her body still sizzled and hummed from the release of their lovemaking—if one could call it that.And that was one path on which she wasn’t ready to tread. Was it love that drew her to Sebastian? That caused her to open up to him, to share that part of herself?

How could it be, if she didn’t trust him?

She might not trust him, but despite that and his predisposition to taking the easy way out of any situation, she found she could be happy, even relaxed, when she was with him.

It had been so much easier with Phillip. He was handsome and charming, wealthy and trustworthy. He obviously loved her, even adored her. He wanted to marry her—and at that time she foolishly thought she could agree, that she could have it all, that both sides of her life would remain intact, safely separate.

So she fell in love with him. Married him.

And destroyed him.

Victoria blinked back the tears. This wasn’t the time to berate herself for her mistakes; God knew she’d done enough of that. All she could do now was continue on. And not make the same mistake again.

Which was why, if she were going to have any kind of relationship with a man, someone like Sebastian—one who knew her world, who understood it, who accepted it—would be a ripe candidate. Someday she might have to stop taking the potion that kept her from getting with child, and consider having one of her own. There was no other Gardella that she knew of to continue their lineage. But now she couldn’t even contemplate how she could do so.

All of these thoughts rambled through her mind as she left the main area of the deserted Consilium. It was late afternoon. She’d slept for a few hours after Sebastian left, and she’d met with Wayren and Ilias. The others had also gone home to sleep until later that night.

She passed Wayren, who was in her library quietly studying some ancient manuscript and didn’t appear to notice her slinking by, and continued to the storage room. Victoria had one more thing to see to at the Consilium, although everyone else thought she, too, had already gone. They all planned to meet at dawn to go with her to open the Door of Alchemy—Zavier, who would still barely look at her, Michalas, Brim. Perhaps Max, whom she hadn’t seen since they parted ways at the Palombara villa early yesterday morning, but who Wayren said would be there.

Victoria had already retrieved the silver armband that belonged to Aunt Eustacia. It was just where Sebastian had told her he’d put it, behind the portrait of Catherine Gardella and her boxy emerald ring. Loved her jewelry, indeed.

The thought brought a wavering smile to her lips, and a tangent on which she was happy to travel. In her portrait the woman was as bedecked in jewels as her liege, old Queen Bess. How she ever fought vampires in that massive gown and neck ruff, Victoria couldn’t imagine.

The heavy armband was already on Victoria’s upper left arm. As she closed the storage room door behind her, she felt its cold grip finally ease to match her body’s warmth. The key was safely inside, and now all she had to do was to retrieve the pieces of Akvan’s Obelisk and remove them from the Consilium.

Victoria quickly pulled the stake-size shard from its hiding place. She felt a sizzle of warmth as she did so, and its malevolence seemed to filter into the air. Victoria quickly slipped it into the large pocket of the long coat she wore over her split-skirted gown. The coat was too masculine-looking to pass muster with Lady Melly, but the gown, if Victoria was careful, might fool her into thinking her daughter was properly dressed.

Of course, the best course of action would be to keep Lady Melly from seeing her garbed in such a manner, and that was Victoria’s intent. If all went well she would be returning to the Gardella villa much later tonight or early in the morning, and likely the ladies would be sleeping.

The little leather strip and its pendant of obsidian went into a small breast pocket on her coat. Victoria didn’t want to chance the two pieces rubbing against each other again; nor did she want to put it in a pocket with her other weapons. It would be too easy for it to get lost if she suddenly had to yank out a stake, for example.

Closing the door behind her, she left the storage room, but instead of turning left to return to the fountain room of the Consilium and leave through Santo Quirinus, Victoria went to the right to exit through the other hidden passage that released her several blocks from the small church.

The late afternoon was dark and gloomy, the sun blanketed by heavy clouds, and the air damp with a cold drizzle. The obelisk shard clunked against her thigh, heavy in her pocket as she hurried along transporting a piece of evil in the midst of the few pilgrims and shopkeepers who were out on such a dank day.

Victoria had a pistol and several stakes as well: one hastily shoved in her hair in a manner that would have sent Verbena into fits, and the other in a small loop at the waist of her skirt. The heavy silver cross she favored sat directly on the bodice of her high-necked walking gown, and she also had three vials of holy water in various locations on her clothing.

And underneath it all she wore her special corset.

Victoria felt confident and prepared to face whatever she might as she made her way from the Borga across the Tiber River to the Esquiline District, where Villa Palombara sat. She could have ordered Oliver to pick her up and take her in the hack, but someone might have seen him waiting and asked…and this was a job Victoria wanted to do alone.

She’d brought the danger of the shards to the Consilium all on her own, and she would draw that danger away while safely securing the pieces of the obelisk. Moving quickly through the streets, passing among shopkeepers who’d begun to close for lack of customers on such a day, staying away from the carriages that rumbled along carrying more affluent Romans, splashing through chilly, dirty puddles, Victoria waited to feel the shift of cold air over the back of her neck, or the prickling awareness that someone—or something—followed her. Even though it was daytime, the sun was hidden, and some vampires could make their way about during cloudy days such as this.

But nothing stirred the air, tipping off her senses. She kept her head down but her eyes wary, scanning ahead and to the sides as she hurried along. Her fingers were a bit cold, as were her ears, for the collar of the coat wasn’t tall enough to cover them, and her hair had been pinned up quickly and haphazardly and didn’t provide any protection either. Victoria preferred not to wear gloves when she might be fighting, for they made her grip too slippery to handle the stakes.

She didn’t know how fast or how easily Akvan could trace the location of the shard, but based on the speed with which the Consilium had been attacked after the shard had touched the splinter, she didn’t think there was much time to spare.

If she could have waited until dawn, she would have. But to give the vampires and demons the cover of another night to track and come after the shard would be foolish. If she hurried she would have the task complete before the sun went down.

At last she reached the ragged part of the wall of Villa Palombara, at the backside of the elongated pentagonal estate. Far on the other end of the property, beyond the tops of the heavy thicket of trees, was the roofline of the villa itself.

She would have to traipse through the overgrowth again, and, just her luck, it was on another wet day. But the Magic Door was situated approximately in the center of the property, its crumbling stone wall a short perimeter around a smaller yard that belonged to the villa. Still, getting wet was better than trying to approach from the front, where someone in the villa might see her.

Climbing over the stone wall was rather difficult, even with the tree to assist, but Victoria managed it after nearly falling on her face when the heel of her boot caught in the back of her hem. As it was, she landed in wet grass on her knees, palms slamming one onto a branch and the other into a small thrush of weeds. Unfortunately, her wrenched knee landed on the corner of a sharp rock and sent a stab of pain blazing through her.

Swearing under her breath, she started to scramble to her feet when a pair of scuffed black boots stepped into view.

“I expected you hours ago.”