Rises the Night

He bent and, as Victoria watched, sank his teeth slowly into the exposed neck. The young man started, his shoulders snapping back, but he did not fight. His eyes closed; his mouth opened; he would have sagged to the floor had the Sixth not held him upright. He moaned, twitching, his fingers convulsing at his sides as though reaching for something, his chest moving rapidly as though he were running. He seemed to welcome the sensation.

Behind them, the other five vampires, the ones who had not fed and were susceptible to the scent of blood, stood and watched avidly. Their noses twitched as though the scent of fresh blood called to them. Victoria could feel their hunger; she could nearly smell their obsession; and she waited with trepidation to see whether they would succumb to the temptation and the need.

But though their eyes burned like the hottest coals of Hell, they did not, and the Sixth did nothing to alleviate their agony. Instead, after he had fed from the young man for a few moments, he turned to face him, swiping a tiny trickle of blood from his lips. 'You have now entered the Second Trial. When you have completed what is required of you in the next two trials, and have proven your service, you shall be brought into the Center.'

The man, shaking but glowing with a sort of accomplishment, hurried back to his seat and received the congratulations of the men sitting beside him.

'Who shall be next?'

Another man stood and came forward, and the same process ensued. The Sixth fed from him as he had from the other, ignoring the increasing depravity and impatience of the five other vampires. This time when the man was being fed upon, Victoria, who now knew what to expect, felt herself becoming enraptured along with the man. His cries were not of agony but of ecstasy, his eyes closed in pleasure rather than pain. His hands reached back behind the vampire, who fed from his neck and fondled his shoulder-length coils of hair.

When he moaned, she felt it rumble through her veins. She felt his shivers and the waves of pleasure, felt her own body begin to awaken. What should have been grotesque and frightening became inviting.

She realized then that the sweet, cloying scent had become stronger and noticed Zinnani moving back behind the stage. Reaching beneath her gown, she felt again for her vis bulla and closed her eyes.

This went on for a time; Victoria felt as though hours had elapsed since she and Alvisi had arrived: the Sixth feeding for a short time with each of the men who volunteered to come forward. None of the three other women that Victoria had seen stood and asked to complete their First Trial, and she began to wonder if only men were given the opportunity to get to the Center.

She must find out, for the Center must be where Nedas was.

To her surprise, Alvisi did not volunteer to go forward, and she remembered through her haze (for she still held her vis bulla) that he had said something about a 'level.' Perhaps the trials were the levels of which he'd spoken. That brought her to wonder what level or trial he had attained. He'd shown her his bite marks, so he must have passed at least the First Trial.

When all of the volunteers from the First Trial had come forward, the Sixth stood with his hands on his hips. He'd forgotten to wipe away the last vestiges of blood from his last feed, and a small trickle curled down his chin. His lips were full and moist and red, and his matching eyes glowed a complacent blood color. 'Now we have finished the First Trial. We have brought sixteen new members into the Tutela, sixteen new men who shall help to protect and serve the Immortals!'

A cheer rose in the room, followed by that same chanting she had heard at the beginning of the meeting. As before, it started off low and deep, undulating throughout the room, catching her up in its rhythm. She could not fathom the words, but this time the volume swelled and peaked and reached a froth of emotion that sent cold, curling shivers down her back. It was uncontrollable; it was loud, its ebb and flow of syllable and breath rumbling into and around her combined with yet another increase of the sweet, hypnotic scent in the air.

The men about her shouted, punched their fists high. Everywhere about her, she saw eyes lit with fanaticism and fervor.

The chanting continued, rolling into a soft accompaniment to the Sixth's next words. 'The Second Trial! Who shall begin the Second?'

The chanting built, the scent sweetened, the fervor escalated. Someone stood, a man near the front, not one who had been fed upon this night. 'I shall!' he shouted joyously.

And then, instead of stepping forward, as Victoria had expected him to do, he bent to the side and grabbed the arm of the woman who sat next to him. Muscling her to her feet—for by now, she was trying to pull away, obviously apprehensive of what was to happen next—the man shoved her forward.

She stumbled and would have fallen, but the man grabbed her arm again and manhandled her in front of him toward the dais.

'I offer my commitment and promise to the Immortals,' the man said, shouting to be heard above the rising chanting. And he pushed the girl hard.

The Sixth reached down from the dais and easily plucked her up before she fell, sweeping her up onto the platform. Her creamy white gown swept along with her, spilling over the edge of the stage as she tripped again.

'Your commitment is accepted!' shouted the Sixth above the room's frenzy, effortlessly holding the woman's wrists behind her back. He then released her to two of the unfed vampires.

They fell upon her, one at each side, tearing their fangs into her white flesh, one at the side of her neck, one at the juncture where neck met shoulder. The woman screamed, kicked, bucked; but a third vampire came behind her and pulled her arms back, holding her steady while his companions fed.

Victoria watched in abject horror, her mouth drying and her heart pounding. This was so different from the scenes before. The unwilling victim at the mercy of the two vampires who ravaged her neck and shoulders, made crazed by their need to feed, by the smell of blood, and by the agony of having watched sixteen others being fed upon.

But what could she do? One against a room of men, against six vampires. Her mind was still foggy; her limbs didn't want to move. The instant she was discovered to be a Venator, she would be killed before she could take her next breath.

She looked back up at the stage and saw that the woman's bodice had been torn away and one white breast, streaked with blood, bounced and swayed as she twisted and fought. These vampires did not bite delicately; they were starved, so they gouged and tore and destroyed. The woman's moans were choked, her cries fading. The stench of blood filled the air, just as the chanting continued.

And then Victoria noticed that another woman was on the other end of the stage. Two more vampires were sharing her, but she did not fight with the same vehemence as the other. Her flesh was torn, and blood streamed from her neck and bosom, and she cried, and suddenly Victoria felt a great, hard jerk on her own arm.

She pulled away from Alvisi, whose face had become determined and fanatic, whirling from his grip, but she slammed into another man, who shoved her forward. Victoria sidestepped him, swinging out with her fists, but she faced another one. Everywhere she turned, another man stood, blocking her, shoving her forward toward the stage.

The chanting continued as Victoria was spun around, trying to fight her way through the wall of men, but there were too many. She was pushed and prodded, pulled and tripped. She kicked and fought, her head swam, the sweet smell built back in her nose again. She could not touch her vis bulla; she could not stand straight; she could not see where she was. She couldn't breathe.

Suddenly hands, many hands, grabbed her—too many to fight off. She felt herself being lifted, and the roaring fire to her left tipped in front of her, then around to her other side as she kicked and bit and bucked. Then she felt herself launched through the air, and landed on her hip and shoulder on something hard, her cheek smashing onto the floor. The smell of fresh blood filled her nose.

The sea of chanting, bright-eyed faces was at her eye level for only a moment before she was dragged to her feet. Victoria had an instant to grope for her vis before she swung out at the vampires who came at her. She kicked and dodged and punched, had the satisfaction of meeting one of them in the face, and was reaching back to yank a stake from her hair when her arms were grabbed and pulled down to her sides. Dimly aware that it had taken two vampires, one at each arm, to do so, she ducked and tried to twist free.

The grip was too strong; she couldn't break it. She couldn't get to her stakes, her holy water, her crucifix…