The wrist manacles clinked as she drew him away from the wall, reeling him toward her. He didn’t fight it, but took his time walking toward her, tall and easy.
Max had learned when to fight and when to submit. As long as she remained amused and didn’t become frustrated by his power and strength, he had a chance. The balance was delicate.
The problem was, he didn’t know how long he’d have to play the game. He could end it all at any moment… but there was always hope. Hope alternating with fear.
He didn’t want Victoria to come… yet he did. And he knew she would.
It was simply a matter of when.
And, oh God… whether she’d succeed.
He prayed that she’d do the right thing, and close the portal first.
Lilith indicated for him to kneel at her side, and she leaned toward him, her mouth brushing his neck. As always, the revolting sensation of one hot, one cold lip smoothing over his skin made his stomach tighten. Her hands slid up the back of his scalp, threading into his hair.
“I think I won’t allow you to cut your hair again,” she murmured near his ear, playing with the ends that curled under his jaw. He remained impassive, despite the horrible slithering sensation under his skin. “I do like it long. We’ll have to let it grow a bit more.”
That was a good sign, then. She didn’t plan to try to turn him anytime soon. At least until his hair was the length she required.
Thank God that the hair and nails of the undead didn’t grow.
“I know you think that she’ll come after you,” Lilith said companionably, her fingers smoothing over his chest. She avoided the
Now his only protection was the
“She is
Her nails suddenly dug into the skin of his back, then jerked down, hard. A little warning. He complied by producing a soft groan, knowing it would please her that she caused him pain.
“Why must you be so cruel and cutting? Can you not accept your fate?” she asked.
Now he was certain the trickle down his back was blood. Lilith slipped her fingers through the moisture and brought them delicately to her mouth, licking his blood from each of them as though she’d just finished a frosted cake.
She jolted back and looked at him, her eyes narrowing. Ah. “What is this?” she asked, fury burning in the blue-ringed red. Her lips shriveled into an angry pucker.
“Do you taste it, then?” he asked, shifting away from her. “Did you truly think I’d come to you unprepared?”
“What is it?” she asked, her eyes widening, and the veins in her face showing like blue lines.
“A newly anointed Venator,” he replied. “I drank a good portion of blessed water before and after the Trial, and it still runs through my veins.”
She hissed at him, her irises impossibly red, her fangs long and wicked… Then her fury eased into a feral smile that bothered him much more than her anger. Death would be so much easier.
“Indeed, Maximilian, pet, you continue to surprise me. I wonder if you shall continue to do so as the centuries progress… or if I’ll become bored with you.”
She pulled him closer and looped a link from his chains high on the wall so that he couldn’t move away.
“So I cannot feed on you until your blood is no longer diluted by holy water. How very clever of you to create such anticipation.” Her cool, skeletal fingers cupped his shoulders, then smoothed down the curve of his biceps. “There are many other ways to pass the time until then, my dearest.”
And so continued the second day of his captivity.
Sebastian sat upright, pulled abruptly from sleep.
Sweat poured off his skin, partly from the blaze of noontide sun pouring from the window of an inn, and partly from the dream that still pounded him. His heart raced, his fingers dug into the fabric around him.
Good Lord, would it never end?
This series of nightmares had come with stronger images and a deeper sense of urgency than the others. Shaking his head to dispel the last tendrils of the dream of Giulia begging him to save her, he drew in a long, deep breath and closed his eyes. What was he to do?
He couldn’t help but wonder if it was related to the events of last night, when he stuck his beringed hand into the pool and felt himself sucked into a vortex of memory and images. She’d never begged him to
Was it possible that he even could?
Was there some event that might allow him to do so, after all these years?
Or was he simply going mad?
As he lay there, wisps of words and phrases mixed and mingled like threads of smoke in his mind.
He shoved away the unnecessary blanket that had stuck to his perspiring flesh and sat up, his heart pounding. Brim, who’d been keeping watch while the others rested, glanced over at him.
Sebastian stood, unsteady on his feet, and hissed, “Rest. I’ll watch now.”
The rings glinted on his hand as he reached for the pitcher of water. Damn rings. Would they never come off?
What did it mean?
He gulped the water, lukewarm in the heat, and glanced out the window. They’d found the orb last night and left immediately, traveling until late this afternoon. The sun burned hot all the rest of the day, leaving its heavy imprint even on the night, making sleep miserable even when he could turn off the disturbing images.
Giulia’s face still haunted him, the phrases paraded around in his mind as though trying to embed themselves like a burrowing worm.
If she were here, Wayren might be able to interpret the words.
Sebastian looked out the window again, his eyes going to the mountain far behind them. Pesaro, poor devil. How long would it take for Lilith to turn him? Surely she wouldn’t allow him to escape again, but he’d fight it.
No one understood that more than Sebastian, the fear of being turned undead. The fear of losing one’s soul, having it twisted and perverted… and damned, the moment he gave in to the craving to feed from a mortal.
Could an undead resist the burning need to drink? That driving, bullying desire? Could it be ignored, that horrible craving, that demonic taint?
A tainted soul?
Sebastian’s heart began to pound. The deepest taint… a twisted, undead soul.
Good God… immortality. Someone who gave up his soul, freely… in a long promise.
How long?
His mouth felt as though he chewed on a wad of cotton, and he swallowed hard. His fingers were shaking, and the middle of his belly felt full and unsteady. His head lightened, and a renewed sheen of sweat dampened his forehead.
And the reverberation of Rosemunde’s prophecy sang in his head like a tune that would not be silenced.
Then, finally, he understood. Those words had burned into his brain for a reason.
