When Twilight Burns (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles #4)

When Twilight Burns (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles #4) Page 50

“Of course I want the ring . . . but I’ll get it eventually. Soon, you won’t be able to deny me anything. And this is so much more entertaining. Are you quite certain you don’t wish to join me?” Lilith moved her hand possessively over the front of Max’s chest, her long nails threading through hair and over the plane of muscles, carefully avoiding the vis bulla on one side . . . then back up into the thick strands that brushed his neck.

He remained unmoving, stoic, but unwilling to meet Victoria’s eyes. Yet she saw the pulse in the veins of his throat, and the visible tension in his arms as they tightened, the press of his lips. She felt the revulsion and horror emanating from him, and yet he displayed no reaction.

She realized in that moment that whatever had happened with Beauregard three months ago, whatever he’d done to her—and she’d accepted—during his attempt to turn her, had been nothing compared to what Max experienced at the hands of the vampire queen. Her stomach pitched at the thought of such ugliness.

“I didn’t think you were willing to share,” Victoria replied, trying a different tack, concentrating on her breathing. Keeping it easy, slow, smooth. Trying to ignore the smell of blood.

“For a Venator turned undead, I may perhaps make an exception,” Lilith admitted. “You are very close, Victoria Gardella. Can you not feel it burning inside you? The need? I see it in your eyes.”

“You see nothing,” Victoria told her, wondering how much time had elapsed. Sebastian and the others should have been able to find the entrance to the secret passage behind the throne by now . . . they could be nearby. She simply needed to kill more time. “You merely see what you want to see.”

“Indeed.” Lilith sat straight in her chair. “Let us find out about that.” She stood abruptly. Her long emerald gown, which was more in the style of Wayren than her cohort Sara, cascaded to her feet.

The vampire queen gave a subtle jerk of her head, but Victoria was ready. She whirled as two undead swarmed behind her. Stake in her hand again, she knocked away the hands that grasped for her, grabbing one of the vampires and shoving the creature toward the other. Then, quickly, before they could regain their balance or react, she stabbed one. He poofed into ash, and the other stumbled backward. Victoria followed him with her own lunge, pushing him to the ground then following through with her stake.

Standing in the pile of ash, she faced Lilith. “Keep your goons away from me.”

The tall vampiress looked at her with burning red eyes. The blue had narrowed to the thinnest circle. “That was incomparably rude, Victoria Gardella. But don’t worry . . . I won’t allow you another chance to misbehave. Come with me, or I shall take out my frustrations elsewhere.”

Max stood as though pulled by a puppet string, and Victoria did not miss Lilith’s implication. She watched him move, still smooth and graceful, yet reluctance be-laboredevery step. The vampire queen was tall, nearly as tall as he, and she circled his wrist with her skeletal fingers.

Sara moved toward Victoria, and she saw that the blonde woman still carried the pistol that had stopped their escape earlier. Using its barrel, she pushed Victoria toward the door at the opposite side of the chamber.

Victoria hadn’t been in this room before; in fact, she’d hardly noticed the entrance to it the two previous times she’d been in the throne room. The smell of blood was stronger here, and the space was lit, unlike the other, by two massive fireplaces—one at each end—and wall sconces. The flames danced black shadows on the stone walls so that they seemed to undulate in every direction. This chamber was much warmer than the other, nearly stifling with its heat.

Or perhaps it just felt that way because of the thick bloodscent, the leaping shadows, and the warm light.

The furnishings in this room included a long, low divan piled with cushions, tables and chairs, and, in the center, a dark shadow in the floor. On the other side of the shadow was another doorway.

A low growl caught Victoria’s attention, and she turned to see three pairs of red eyes burning near the floor in front of one of the fireplaces. Six pointed ears cocked toward them, and then the three dogs rose, massive nostrils quivering.

The hair on the back of Victoria’s arms lifted. They were huge wolflike canines with vampiric eyes and long fangs that curved outside their muzzles when closed. The head of the smallest one would be as high as her waist.

They streaked over to Lilith, who commanded them with a mere flick of her fingers. The dogs sat promptly, but their attention, Victoria now saw, was focused on Max . . . on the fresh blood that oozed down his skin. One of them was furiously licking, half biting, at the finger Lilith had drawn through the blood moments before, but the other two sat at attention: eyes sharp, ears perked, mouths closed, fairly vibrating with bloodlust.

“Now,” said Lilith almost kindly. “We shall see how strong you are, Victoria Gardella. And then it will be all over.”

A cold web of fear covered her as she breathed hot, bloody, sluggish air and felt a drop of perspiration roll down her back.

Everything happened very quickly, but Victoria could have done nothing to prevent it. Sara’s gun barrel poked her in the side, and the dogs sat sentry in front of her as three vampires moved forward at Lilith’s command. They placed heavy, clinking manacles on Max’s wrists, crossing them together at his lap. When they first approached, he stepped back, his teeth baring ferally . . . but when Sara prodded Victoria with the gun, he acquiesced.

“That’s it, Maximilian. Don’t put an end to the experiment before it begins,” said Lilith. “And you need not worry, Victoria Gardella. I have no intent of harming your lover. This is merely a precaution so that he does nothing foolish.”

Victoria looked at Max. His stony face gave no indication of what was in his mind. Even his eyes were flat and emotionless, and though he met her gaze, he gave her nothing else.

Nothing for her, but also nothing for Lilith.

The shadow in the middle of the floor turned out to be not a shadow at all, but a pit. As she realized this, Victoria turned cold again. She knew what awaited her.

Before she could think further, the three vampires who’d chained Max came toward her. She fought them with stake and foot and red-clouded desperation, but in the end she was subdued by two of them. She took little satisfaction in the pile of ash that the other had become. Red burned her vision and her body trembled. Her mouth salivated. It took them all of their might to hold her steady when Lilith approached.

Her fangs dipped into her thin lower lip. It was purplish in color and the incisors left little dark dents, revealed when she smiled. Victoria held her breath, expecting anything . . . but not the sudden swipe of nails over her cheek and neck.

She felt the three claws dig into her face, and the burst of blood that followed as though it had been simmering below the surface . . . waiting.

And then, before she knew what was happening, she was flying through the air, falling down, down, down . . . into the black pit.

Twenty-six

A View from the Stands

Max saw the scarlet weals of blood erupt on Victoria’s skin. It would be over very soon. Whatever it would be.

Damn her. Why in God’s name did she come here?

At the scent of such fresh blood, the dogs surged to their feet, heedless of their mistress’s command. They snarled and drooled and tore after Victoria, leaping into the hole where she’d been flung.

“Open your eyes, my dear Maximilian,” crooned Lilith near his ear. Her breath was hot over his flesh, almost liquid in its promise . . . and malignance. The scent of roses was nauseating. “You needn’t worry that she’ll die down there. I have the utmost confidence in her abilities. Now, come closer, so you can watch her at her best. She truly is magnificent.”

She prodded him forward, and he obeyed. He understood what Lilith meant to do, and his palms grew damp as his insides churned. Hot tears burned his eyes. The silver ring was heavy on his finger, yet useless, dammit. Bloody useless.

If there’d been one chance to get close enough to Victoria, he’d have lashed out, sliced her with it, eradicating Lilith’s opportunity for entertainment.

Damn you, Victoria. Why didn’t you stay away? It could have been over by now.

He didn’t want to look in the pit, yet he could not keep from doing so. You’d be safe. It was a mass of snarling teeth and writhing fur, slender white limbs, flashes of pale skin and fabric. Victoria had her stake; he saw it rise and plunge, awkward and desperate, even as the dogs snapped and bit and surged. He cringed at her gasps and cries, and hoped when there was a canine squeal or shriek. God, he hoped.

Rather than mauling her all at once, the mastiffs seemed to come in waves . . . one after the other, lunging, biting, snarling, scratching, then rolling or dodging away in the pit to let the next come. The attack was so fast and relentless that Max could make out no details . . . only that Victoria had not been able to rise from beneath them. And her stake had not yet been effective.

He didn’t realize he was jumping forward, down, until a horrible jerk on his wrist manacles whipped him through the air, then slammed him back onto the ground, fairly yanking his arms from their sockets. Rough stone tore his skin raw as he skidded across the dirt and rock. Blood oozed from his wounds as he crawled rapidly back to the edge of the pit, feeling the strain of hard breathing coursing through him. If he could get down there, he needed only a moment, and the ring would do its job.

But another powerful drag pulled him back, sending him sprawling onto his spine, head whipping back hard onto the stones. He breathed heavily, looking up into the furious face of Lilith. “Do not try such a foolish thing again,” she said. “Or I’ll release them fully.”

Max clambered to his feet, head pounding, fists clenched. He wanted to beg, his mouth formed the words, he drew in the breath to plead . . . but he knew it would do no good. Lilith would lap it up like her vampire dogs and stroke him like the pet he was . . . and she would do what she wanted anyway, reveling in his pain and using his weakness to control him, to destroy them both.