small, hidden stake from her coiffure without messing it up.
“And along the way accosted a vampire? Or was that the purpose of the meeting?” He seemed to relax more, settling those wide, square shoulders against the velvet squab behind him. “You might wish me to believe that you had a tкte-а-tкte with George Starcasset, but the thought is utterly ridiculous.”
“If I were to have an assignation in a carriage, it would most definitely not be with George Starcasset.”
His elegant fingers, spread over the back of the seat, straightened. Then curled. “Viog-”
“Nor would it be with Sebastian,” she continued coolly, refusing to drop his gaze.
“Victoria-” His voice was strained. Laced with anger, real anger. He looked away, out of the window. His fingers relaxed again.
She wanted to reach across the gap between them and grab those shoulders and shake him until some sense filtered down through that stone-filled, honor-bound,
And she could do it, too. She was so much stronger than he.
But what good would it do?
Silence, full and heavy, sat in the carriage with them.
“This reminds me of the night we had to go to Bridge and Stokes,” Victoria said after a moment. “Do you remember?”
“I remember,” he snapped, still gazing out the window. “We had to save your husband from a vampire attack.”
She took the opportunity to shift in her seat, arranging herself subtly, so that the small lantern light fell just so, cutting a swath of pale gold over the front of her gown. “I had to change in the carriage, remember? Into men’s clothing, because it was a men’s club, and of course I couldn’t enter dressed as I was.”
“My memory is perfectly clear; you needn’t review the details.”
“Then I’m certain you recall having to unlace my corset-”
“Victoria.” Now he looked away from the window. “What are you about?”
She couldn’t make out the expression in his eyes; they were muted by shadow. But by the set of his mouth, she knew he was angry. She knew how his eyes would glare, flat and black and cold.
“I’ve always wondered about something,” she continued as though he wasn’t looking murderously at her. “When I was undressing, and you were sitting shoved back in the corner, studiously looking out the window, or with your eyes closed as you claimed… did you peek?”
She heard what sounded like a stifled snort or strangled cough. Then… “Of course not.”
At that moment, the carriage eased to a halt, and Victoria realized in dismay that they’d arrived at Aunt Eustacia’s town house already. Max fairly leapt to his feet, looming like a full-winged bat in the small enclosure.
But although he stood in such a way that did not permit her to rise as well, he didn’t leave. Instead, he turned to face her, looking down from his half-stooped position. His hands moved to the wall above her head-a position of power that he must have felt he needed-and he looked down, his feet spread on either side of hers.
For the first time since they’d climbed into the vehicle, she could see his face clearly. Emotionless, sharp, closed. So empty it made her heart ache.
Her head tipped back, her neck cradled by the top of the cushion. Her fingers twisted in the shadows, burying in her thin, silky skirt, and her heart thumped audibly in her chest. At least, it was audible to her.
“Max,” she said. Whispered. Begged.
“I can’t, Victoria.” His voice was just as unsteady, but deep. And low.
“You
“Don’t be a fool.” He’d regained control, and his words were clipped, cool. “You are obliged to do what’s right for the Venators-just as I am. And what’s right, Victoria, is for you to be with Vioget. A man who is your equal, who can stand at your side and doesn’t have to hide from the bloody queen of the vampires.”
“Max-” she began.
But he spoke over her. “Victoria, understand. You are the last of the Gardellas. You have to do what’s right for them, for the world. It’s your duty, your calling. You can’t ignore that because we”-here his voice dipped even lower-“spent the night together. I told you then, it changes nothing.”
“Coward!”
“Good night, Victoria.”
He snapped open the door and was out before Victoria could respond.
She pulled to her feet, suddenly frustrated to exhaustion. How could a man who did what he’d done, faced what he’d faced… made the decisions he’d made… be such a bloody coward?
Then all other thoughts fled as Max’s head came back around into the carriage. His eyes were fierce and dark as he reached forward to grab her by the arm.
“Victoria. Wayren’s gone missing,” he said, dragging her from the vehicle so quickly that she lost a slipper.
Victoria caught her balance once her feet were on the ground. At the same time as she assimilated Max’s words, she registered the fact that Sebastian and Kritanu, whose arm was curled up to hold something close to his body, were standing next to the carriage. All three of the men appeared tense and concerned.
“What?” she said sharply, ignoring the damp on her silk-stockinged foot. “What’s happened?”
Wayren was a woman of an indeterminate age-she looked older than Victoria, but much younger than Lady Melly, yet she’d been Aunt Eustacia’s friend and mentor for more than fifty years. The keeper of the Venator library, records, and many other secrets protected in the catacombs of Rome, she dressed like a medieval chatelaine and always carried a leather satchel that held many more books and manuscripts than could possibly fit.
She had been a source of information, advice, and guidance to the Venators for as long as anyone could remember. Yet no one knew very much about her.
“Inside,” Max said, looking around sharply, his hand over Victoria’s elbow. “Who knows what’s lurking about?”
Moments later they were gathered in the small study, and Kritanu, who was still a bit awkward with his missing hand, told them what he knew. He sat, his spry, seventy-year-old body straight, his wiry legs bent in their customary loose trousers, ankle stacked above ankle. The small burden he’d been holding outside was revealed to be a bundle of white feathers with a single beady eye peeking out. A pigeon.
“I have not seen Wayren today, but I thought nothing of it,” he said, glancing at Victoria.
When Wayren visited London, she took her own accommodations, their location unknown to the rest of them. She required her privacy and a place to study, but she often visited the house where Victoria and Kritanu-and, for the time being, Max-lived. “When Brim and Michalas received their summons back to Paris, they left straightaway. Max and I felt that you should be notified immediately, and Wayren as well. We sent a message to Wayren, and Max went to inform you.”
“You sent Myza?” asked Victoria, looking at the bird in his lap. “But she returned without a message?” Myza, one of the many pigeons the Venators used for communication, was the one Wayren preferred.
“No, Myza was not here at the time. That is how I know Wayren is in trouble, for Myza returned with the bird I sent. Her wing is injured.” He gently stroked the top of the pigeon’s head with one of his five remaining fingers. The quiet bird’s eye blinked and looked about sharply.
Victoria looked at Max for confirmation of her thoughts. He nodded, and she felt an uncomfortable chill descend on her. If Wayren’s pigeon was injured, it was likely she was also in trouble.
“Myza can lead us to where she is,” Max said. “If she can fly.”
Kritanu nodded. “Indeed, that is what Sebastian and I were discussing when you arrived home. The bird is hurt, but seems eager to leave, and I can only believe she wishes to take us to Wayren. She will be able to hop a bit, and I’ll help her.”
“We’ve also sent the other bird off with a message to catch Brim and Michalas and bring them back. They left under an hour ago, and could not have gone far,” Sebastian said.
“Good, but we cannot wait for them. It will take only a moment to change,” Victoria replied, then slid her glance delicately over to Max. “I’d prefer not to do it in the carriage.”
Max’s mouth quirked, but he didn’t smile. “Then be off and get it done.”
“What a shame,” Sebastian said as Victoria sailed past. “I rather like that gown.” But even he, the consummate flirt, still held worry in his expression.
