grasping his bulky arm.
Max could have kissed her at that moment, not only for her confidence in his skills, but also because the timing could not have been more perfect had he paid her. “I will give you the shard,” he said. “I do not wish to fight you. Only let us go free.”
“I have no fear of you, Venator. You cannot harm me, but there is nothing writ that says I cannot draw you into pieces. But perhaps I should fight your friend first, and then when I win, you shall tell me where the shard lies.”
“If you wish,” Max said, trying to sound a bit eager. “That is more than fair.”
“But he is not a Venator,” cried Sara. “Is he?” She spun a look at Max, who refused to answer. “You are not fully recovered from your return, Master Div,” she said. “And he is not a Venator. Do not jeopardize our plans by putting yourself in danger.”
Akvan had pulled his bulk from the large chair and now he towered over all in the room. His muscles, bare beneath a short-sleeved tunic and traditional Persian skirt, rippled. If he was not fully recovered from being recalled to earth, Max was loath to imagine what he would look like when he was.
“I shall fight you, Lilith’s concubine. And when you die—”
“When I die you shall not know where the piece of obelisk is,” Max said.
Akvan lumbered to a stop. “You do not wish to fight me. If you tell me where the piece of my obelisk is, I will not fight you.”
“And you will allow me to go free? And my companion?”
Akvan settled back in his chair. “Of course. Now tell me.”
“I will tell it aloud, where all can hear.” Max looked at him, tensing inside. This was about as far as he could go; they’d gone back and forth, around in circles so much that he hoped Akvan was now thoroughly confused about what he wanted and what he feared. “So that you may send them out to obtain the shard and wait here with me for them to return with it in their possession.”
Akvan’s eyes narrowed. “Draw near to me, Lilith’s concubine.”
Max blanched. “I cannot. The bites…she can sense it, and they sting and burn if I—”
“Draw near! I command you, or your companion will be my next meal.”
Max looked around, visibly disconcerted, but then regained his courage. “Send your people from the chamber so I can speak freely.”
“I shall not! Draw near me and speak in my ear.” Akvan glowered at Sara, who peeled herself from his arm and moved away. “You as well, all of you, step back. Allow him to approach.”
Max took measured steps toward the demon, gasping once and pressing his hand to the bites that still oozed blood. He stopped in front of the dais, slightly to the left side, where the table of obsidian splinters rested and looked up at the massive creature. “I cannot move…any closer…. The pain…is unbearable.”
The stench was awful too. Max wasn’t completely feigning discomfort as he drew near, but he was tense and prepared. One chance.
When Akvan’s haunch-size hand lashed out, Max took the opportunity to dive to the ground, his hands busy under his long coat as he rolled. The demon grasped him by the arm and hauled him easily onto the dais as Max winced, pretending to hold an injured arm.
“Tell me where the shard is!” demanded Akvan, his breath spewing a hot, sickly death-smell over Max’s face.
“It is here!” Max said, whipping his arm from beneath the folds of his coat and plunging the shard into Akvan’s chest as if he were staking a vampire.
The demon shrieked, his eyes goggling, his mouth gaping; but Max didn’t hesitate. He was already pulling the short sword from his other trouser leg and, as the demon remained paralyzed by the stab of the shard, he sliced through his meaty neck with a blade barely long enough for the job, and then he turned to the pile of splinters.
Everything happened so quickly that before anyone in the room could react, he had the time to dump the table and its cache of obsidian, as well as the splinter necklace, onto the shriveling, blackening mass of Akvan as the demon bubbled into the floor.
But no sooner had he done that, letting every piece of the obelisk melt into its maker, than Max was turning to defend himself from the hoard of guards that descended upon him.
He didn’t know who was a vampire and who was a man, and therefore what weapon to use against each— but the question became moot as a massive explosion erupted from the back of the room, sending scatters of stone blasting through the air. At last, Briyani!
Max took advantage of the distraction to slip away from the red-eyed creature he’d been battling, using the cover of the sudden smoke to duck low and scuttle his way toward that end of the chamber. Their plan was to meet outside of the room if possible, with Michalas rushing to meet them as soon as he heard the explosion.
He ran into something small and soft, and from the familiar grasping fingers knew it was Sara. She was still a mortal, misguided as she was, but a mortal. Instead of shaking her off, as he wanted to do, he dragged her after him through the smoke and over the piles of rubble, past the bodies buried under it, and out into the hall. Smoke filled the passageway, but when he felt the grasp of sure fingers on his arm, he turned and recognized Briyani.
His face was covered with soot, but his white teeth shone in a complacent smile…and as Max turned to follow him, Michalas emerged from the darkness too.
“Come,” he said, leading the way. Max followed, and as they hurried down the hall, Michalas turned twice more and lobbed something behind him. Explosions followed them, and a sudden loud rumbling told Max that something had finally collapsed the ceiling behind them. The whole villa was going to come down.
“Run!”
They ran, the smell of stone dust billowing through the narrow hall behind them as the ceiling caved bit by bit, each topple bringing down the section after it. He still had Sara by the arm, and she was running as fast as they were, even in her skirts.
They finally reached the cell and burst into the secret laboratory, then more slowly through the Door of Alchemy and out into the night that had fallen.
“You killed him,” Sara said as Max flung off her grasping hands. “How did you do that? It was against the writings of the
He ignored her, looking over the wall that housed the Door of Alchemy. Half of the villa had collapsed in upon itself, sending puffs of smoke that were visible even in the low moonlight.
“How, Max?”
“Let’s go,” he said, turning to Michalas and Briyani. “We’ve finished here.”
Without another word or glance he turned and they started off, leaving Sara Regalado staring after them.
“How?” she called again. “At least tell me that, Max.”
He kept walking away. He would never see her again. Never deal with this again.
His chest was tight. It was over.
Sebastian cursed as he opened his eyes. At least, one eye. The other one was swollen shut. His shirt was wet with blood, and he felt as if a cart had driven over him, more than once. What had he done to himself?
Then his eyes widened, even the painful one, and he scrambled to his feet.
He was unsteady, but he’d felt worse before, and the throbbing didn’t stop him from rushing toward the door of the room in which he’d been tossed. It was one of the extra chambers that Beauregard used, and Sebastian’s immediate fear that he’d been locked in was unfounded, for the door opened easily. The hallway was empty, and Sebastian hurried out and down the passageway, refusing to think about what he would find.
Gardriel and Hugh, two massive vampires particularly loyal to Beauregard, stood outside the door to his private chamber—not the one with the harpsichord, but one adjoining it through yet another hidden door. Sebastian, however, was fast and determined, and managed to push his way in.
