When Twilight Burns (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles #4)

When Twilight Burns (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles #4) Page 47

“James.” Gwen kicked out, but Victoria was ready. The little pointed foot, strong with undead power, merely grazed the side of her target’s leg. “You killed him too! You killed my love.”

“So that was it.” Victoria knew she was taking up valuable time . . . but she had to know more. And why. “You helped set him in place as the new Rockley heir.”

“I had no choice, since the first one was dead. I wanted to marry Phillip and you stole him from me. I’d seen him first, and then you made your debut, and immediately he was stumbling all over his feet for you. I didn’t have a chance.” Gwen’s voice was rough from the hand at her throat, but her tone was petulant. “And now James. We were going to be so happy together. Eternal youth! And wealth.”

Victoria looked at the girl who had been her friend and wondered how such a lovely young woman could have turned so evil.

Self. The seed of everything evil begins with self.

“You never intended to marry Brodebaugh?”

Gwen gave a squeaky laugh. “Oh, yes, we were to wed. And then he would die a sudden death, and I would find solace in the arms of the Marquess of Rockley. We’ve been planning this for months!” she ended on a shriek.

“How long have you been undead?”

“Only since George returned from Italy. He brought Malachai—you knew him as James. And when I met him, I knew the Tutela wasn’t enough for me. I wanted immortality.” Her laugh was grating and malicious. “I wanted revenge on you for years, Victoria Gardella . . . since you married the man I desired. I planned for you to die when you came to the house party last summer . . . when the vampires came for Polidori. But you fought them off. You and that blond Frenchman.”

“You’re dying from the elixir, Gwen. Did Lilith tell you that?”

Victoria felt, rather than heard, the front door open silently behind her. The gasp of fresh air was a relief.

“Ah. I see you’ve confirmed your suspicions,” said Max. “There’s no one about on the grounds; all the servants appear to be gone. And I wasn’t seen, for the windows are shrouded.”

“Good,” said Victoria.

“You lied!” screeched Gwen. “You didn’t come alone.”

“So sorry.” Victoria gave her a cold smile, and slammed the stake home. Dusting her hands off—gloveless, of course—she turned to Max. He’d pulled his hair back into a tight queue, and his countenance was tight with focus. “I probably could have gotten more information from her, but she was becoming tiresome. There are other undead here. Five or more.”

He gave a sharp nod, and they started off down the main hallway, following the smell of blood.

Just as they reached the end of the corridor, facing two massive wooden doors, Max stopped. He took Victoria’s arm and turned her to face him. Her heart started to pound. “I know you’re in charge, and we have a plan,” he said quietly, “but listen to me.” His eyes burned with determination, and Victoria’s mouth went dry. She knew what he was going to say.

“Max, no,” she began, anger surging.

“Quiet,” he said, his voice still soft, but with sharpness. His hand tightened on her arm. “You have to get yourself and Vioget out of here. You’re Gardellas. That’s the most important thing.”

“We have a plan,” she began, but her protest was cut off by a man’s agonized cry. It came from beyond the doors. They both turned, and Max released her.

There was no more time for talk.

As before, Max remained out of sight, sticking for now to their plan. Victoria was the one who threw the doors open and stood boldly in the entrance.

The stench of blood hit her like a wall, filling her nostrils, slogging into her lungs.

“At last. Our guest has arrived. Benvenuto.”

Sara, of course. She stood directly across the room from the doors. Her smile was beatific, her hair properly coiffed, her day dress a simple yet stylish pale green lawn. There was blood on it.

“Cara mia, Victoria,” she said in a shocked voice, looking at her tunic and trousers. “Whatever are you wearing? It is abominevole!”

Victoria scanned the chamber quickly. What she saw made the red blossom over her vision, coloring her whole world for a frightening moment. She focused on the feel of the stake in her hand: its square edges, the smooth wood, the inlaid cross on the top. With her focus, the haze ebbed, leaving only the faintest tinge.

The room would have been used as a small ballroom, or for a musical performance. It was large, with little furniture, and a polished wooden floor. The windows were shrouded, blocking the sunlight. Several lamps burned, however, so the chamber was not the least bit dark, revealing every detail of the garish scene.

To the left were several creatures: Brodebaugh and George Starcasset, along with four or five vampires with blazing red eyes—she didn’t have time to count. George and the earl were sitting in facing armchairs. Brodebaugh’s face was streaked with blood and his clothes were mussed. George, on the other hand, appeared patently uninterested in his surroundings, and had adopted a look of boredom on his boyish face. Two vampires stood near them. But that wasn’t the image that would later give Victoria nightmares.

On the other side of the room, just out of sight until she stepped in, were Sebastian and Kritanu, also flanked by undead. The two men were seated in chairs at either end of a rectangular table. Their bodies faced the doorway, immobilized by a labyrinth of crisscrossing restraints. Kritanu slumped in his seat, sagging forward, held in place only by the straps around his torso. The vampire next to him held a heavy knife. Its blade was bloody.

Sebastian was looking at Victoria, fury in his face. There were fang marks, many of them, on his neck and the part of his arm bared by a rolled-up sleeve. He was pale. He, as well as Kritanu, had the hand closest to the table strapped onto it. Blood pooled on its surface, dripping from the edge to plop onto the rug below. Victoria tore her eyes away, but not before she saw the stump where Kritanu’s hand had been. It was still bright with fresh blood.

“Get out of here, you damned fool,” Sebastian shouted, veins bulging in his temples. Gone was the charm, the confidence, the irrepressible gleam in his eyes. He was bloody and dirty, his clothes were torn, his hair hung in his face but for the space where the lock had been snipped in the center of his forehead. The hand fixed to the table rested next to a dark stain.

“Silenzio,” Sara said with a coy smile. “Be grateful that she arrived to keep you from the same fate as your compagno eccellente.” She glanced at Kritanu, who appeared to have fainted from pain or blood loss, moving her lips into a little moue and tsking. “He has been so quiet since the last stroke of the blade.”

Victoria swallowed hard, choking on the bitter taste at the back of her mouth. Calm. Breathe deeply. Fight the red. Remember the vis. Your vis. “I’m here. What is it you want from me?”

“Grazie, for you to respond to my message,” Sara replied ingenuously, her brown eyes wide. “Oh, and . . . mi dispiace . . . for the lack of servants. And there was no one to greet you at the door? They all have been dismissed. Permanently. Lilith wished to have them . . . for dinner.” She giggled, but Victoria didn’t see a hint of humor—or even madness—in her eyes. She was very lucid and very determined. Cold fear gripped her. “It has made the preparation of our meals rather difficile. For we who don’t dine on blood, naturalmente.” Then Sara made a point of looking around as if in confusion. “But where is your dear friend?”

“Those are my friends,” Victoria said. She looked at Sebastian and Kritanu. “And you’ll pay for what you’ve done. Release them or you’ll die.”

“But what about your amica Gwendolyn? That silly chit was to greet you at the door. She could not have failed in her task. It was so simple.”

“I regret to inform you that Gwen is a pile of ash.”

“You killed my sister?” George cried. “How dare you!”

“Silencio,” Sara ordered. “Have I not told you she slays at will? After what happened to mi papa . . .” Her eyes narrowed at Victoria. “Davvero. You are a smart one. It is no wonder he loves you.”

“And so are you. Smart enough to know when you’ve overstepped. Release them now, and it will go easier for you.”

“And so you’ve come charging to the rescue—da solo.” Sara chuckled as she walked over to the vampire near Kritanu. “How difficult it must be for fusti such as these to know that you—a mere woman—must save them. A shame, that. But you neglected to bring anything for barter. Now I shall be forced to continue with mio divertimento. And it may be quite an . . . inconveniente . . . for your friends.” She took the large knife from the vampire and, smiling at Victoria, moved to stand next to Sebastian.

Her hand moved to touch the top of his head, as if she were caressing a pet . . . then slid down to his shoulder and along to grip the arm fixed to the table. She looked up at Victoria, her brown eyes gleaming with pleasure. “Have you ever heard him scream?”

“Stop. You needn’t play the game any longer. I’m here. What is it you want?” Victoria’s mouth was so dry she could hardly form the words. The stake hung uselessly in her pocket.

“You fool, Victoria!” Sebastian shouted suddenly, urgently. “You have to go.”

The blade flashed as Sara raised it. She was still watching Victoria. “What have you to offer me? Pronto! Before my patience is gone.”

“One of the Rings of Jubai,” said Victoria quickly. “Lilith will be delighted for you to return it to her. She will reward you greatly.”

The blade wavered. A trickle of perspiration rolled down Sebastian’s face, yet he glared at her. The room was silent. Where was Max? If he didn’t make the disturbance soon . . .

“I know not what it is.” But Sara was interested, and Victoria was glad to have her attention. Just keep the blade up.