The Rest Falls Away

Chapter Seventeen

In Which Miss Grantworth's Bedchamber Sees Much Activity

The next thirty minutes were a blur of activity. Max, although confused and weak, was still coherent enough to explain that he'd managed to stop a vampire in the midst of an attack on Phillip.

'Was he bitten?' asked Victoria, wrapping one of his heavy arms around her shoulders so that he leaned against her and one hand dangled free just below her left breast. She was helping him out to his unmarked carriage—not as difficult a task as it would have been if she didn't wear a vis bulla.

'No… got there in time. Staked the bastard.'

Victoria assumed he meant the vampire, not Phillip. Although she wasn't completely positive.

Max had saved Phillip, hustled him into Barth's hackney, and given the driver explicit instructions on how to get him home and what to do once there. Phillip was unhurt, but confused and nearly unconscious from the ensuing scuffle.

'What will he remember?' asked Victoria as she helped Max climb into his carriage.

'Nothing. Used the… pendant.'

She pushed him into his seat, then climbed back out of the carriage to say good-bye to Sebastian, who, although he hadn't been much help getting Max outside, had not hindered her effort either. He'd come along, showed her another way out from the back area, and helped to call Max's carriage around.

'Thank you,' she told him, although she wasn't sure what she was thanking him for.

'Until we meet again,' he said simply. He made no move to offer her glove, and she didn't ask. Victoria turned and climbed into the vehicle. Sebastian closed the door behind her.

The carriage lurched as they started off, and she tipped onto the seat across from Max.

He was slumped in the corner, a rumpled lump of black and gray. As the street lamps flashed into the interior, she saw that his eyes were closed.

Had he been bitten? She hadn't even thought to ask… she'd been so worried about Phillip since Max's dire announcement.

Victoria stood carefully, coming over to his side of the carriage, and nearly fell in his lap when they went around an unexpected corner.

She was just reaching for his collar when he opened his eyes. 'What are you doing?' he asked, pushing himself upright.

'I thought you might have been bitten.'

'Sit down.' He glowered at her. 'I haven't been bitten in… years.'

'Then why do you carry salted holy water? And why does that bite look like it's new?'

'So that if I am with anyone who's bitten, I can pour it on their bite.' He seemed to be suddenly more alert.

'What happened to you, then, if you weren't bitten?'

He drew in a deep breath, folding his arms over his middle. 'I was drugged. By your marquess.'

Victoria's eyebrows rose. 'Really. So a mere slip of a marquess got the best of you, when a nasty vampire couldn't? And you freely admit this?'

Max opened his mouth as if to speak, but appeared to change his mind. He turned to look out the window, his profile flashing every time a street lamp illuminated the carriage interior. She looked at the haughty slope of his nose, the set ridges of his mouth, the unruly mess of dark hair. He looked beat.

'What happened, Max?'

'I did what you asked, Victoria. We needn't discuss it further.' He did not look away from the window. 'Your marquess is safe and will suffer no ill effects—and very little memory of what happened, because I took care of that too. He was trying to shoot a vampire with a pistol.' Scorn laced his voice. Then, 'Where is your glove?'

Victoria looked down; both of her arms were hidden under her cloak, the bare one and the gloved one. 'I… Sebastian took it.'

Max turned to look at her. 'And what else did he take?'

Victoria's heart thumped faster. She shook her head.

'He expected payment for his information; what else did he take?'

Liberties. Liberties her fiance hadn't taken. And in a way, he'd taken yet another piece of her naivete. Shown her exactly why women wore gloves. All the time.

'Victoria.'

'Nothing. He has my glove, and has taken nothing else. I am a Venator, Max. He is no match for me.'

It might have been a laugh that issued from his lips; Victoria wasn't sure. But he said nothing, just turned and looked back out the window.

They rode in silence for a time; then she spoke. 'Thank you. For what you did tonight.'

That drew his attention from the passing scenery. He looked at her, dark and angry, from his corner across the narrow space. 'Rockley had no idea what he'd walked into tonight. This is exactly the reason you cannot marry, Victoria. Your two worlds simply cannot intersect as they did tonight. Continuing on this path will only cause more destruction.'

And with that, he turned back to the window and said nothing more.

Victoria did not sleep well that night. Her dreams were filled with a storm of images melding together: Phillip and Sebastian, Aunt Eustacia and Max, and words and voices running together: I've always wanted to taste a Venator… You cannot marry… That is something I would pay dearly to see… Does he know you walk the streets at night?… What else did he take?

She woke to find sun streaming through the window, nothing at all like the dark dinginess of her clash of memories. It was nearly eleven o'clock. Madame LeClaire would be arriving in two hours for her gown fitting.

Her wedding gown fitting.

Victoria passed a hand over her eyes. Was Max right? If she married Phillip, was she attracting more destruction?

Emptiness clawed her belly, and it was not because she'd had nothing to eat. How could she not marry Phillip? Charming, funny, handsome Phillip? The man who made her laugh, who jested with her, who helped her to see the humor in the society she was forced to live in. Who'd brought her flowers after she lectured him. The man who did the right thing, what was expected. A man she could understand.

He had followed her last night. Followed her into a den of vampires with little thought for his safety and no understanding of the world he was entering. If she married him, would she be able to keep her secret? Would she have to? If he knew she was a Venator, and safer than anyone on earth, would he understand?

He had made his confessions… harmless they were. Did she owe him the same?

Sebastian's words haunted her. Does he know that it means his love walks the streets at night? That she must mingle with those from the dark side to learn their secrets? That she kills every time she raises her weapon? That she has a strength he cannot hope to possess?

How could he understand? It had taken her weeks to understand, and she was called to this duty.

He was so good, so proper. How could he be married to a woman who stalked evil? Who was violent… who killed? He could never accept that in a wife—he should not have to.

He couldn't understand her world. Aunt Eustacia, and Max, and Kritanu… even Verbena and Barth… they understood. They were all a part of that world, that life.

Phillip was not, and could never be.

She drew a deep breath, knowing what she would do.

A heavy knot settled in her middle as she began to consider life without Phillip. A life that consisted of lurking in dark streets, in subterranean pubs, the need to always hunt and kill. The end of dancing and laughing and no hope of having someone to love, someone to care for her.

Perhaps that explained Max: his demeanor, the undercurrents of anger, and his ripping sarcasm. He was so alone. Victoria had believed it was by choice. Perhaps she was wrong.

Perhaps she had no choice either.

A loud slam from below, and the sound of pounding footsteps rushing up the stairs, caused her to turn toward the door to her bedroom.