now, hot and furious, at Pesaro.
The men listened as Victoria explained, quite clearly and concisely despite her obvious anger.
“Then you left them?” Pesaro said at the end. He rose from his chair, smooth and tall, and stood over Victoria.
“What the hell else was she to do?” Sebastian snapped. He had taken Victoria’s hand during her story, and felt the chill in her fingers. “He was going to have her hung. I’d have killed him myself.”
“Where did this happen?” Pesaro said in a calmer voice than Sebastian had expected, shrugging into his coat. “Where did you walk away?”
Victoria’s lips seemed to have a hard time moving, but she replied, giving him the direction of an address in Whitechapel. “I couldn’t,” she said, pulling away from Sebastian. “I had to leave.”
“Leave them to die?” Pesaro turned back to her, and for a moment they stood, facing each other as if ready to come to blows. Something snapped in the room, tightened, and stretched. He looked as though he was about to wrap his fingers around her throat, and Sebastian closed his fingers into his palm. “I thought better of you, Victoria. It was as good as murder.”
“They were alive when I left.”
“With no chance of survival. Their fate was sealed.” Pesaro turned away, then stopped suddenly, pivoting back to Victoria, his eyes narrow and sharp. He looked at her again, delving long and hard, then he raised his eyes to meet Sebastian’s. The bald condemnation Sebastian expected to see had gone; instead, it was a knowing look, filled with meaning. And then Sebastian understood.
This wasn’t Victoria-not the Victoria he knew.
Pesaro pushed between Sebastian and Victoria, marching toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
Pesaro didn’t break stride. “To see if there is anything to salvage.”
“I’ll go with you,” she said. “You can’t go alone.”
That insult stopped Pesaro, who turned back, his hand on the doorjamb. Even Sebastian was taken aback by the ferocity in his expression. “No. I don’t want you with me.” He flung the door closed behind him.
The room settled into quiet again. Sebastian saw Victoria’s stricken face, and familiar discomfort curdled in his belly. The way she looked after him, the way she’d looked when Pesaro had miraculously appeared after the fire… Sebastian didn’t like it.
He didn’t like it at all.
Which was why he was very glad he’d told Pesaro that Victoria knew everything about Giulia, and what her reaction had been.
A bit of an exaggeration, of course, but all was fair in love… and war.
Victoria dreamed of blood.
Rivers and ribbons of it, the smell, the thick coagulation… it filled her nostrils, settled on her tongue. She bathed in it. Choked on it.
She opened her eyes to find the sun streaming into her bedchamber. The bedclothes were twisted and wrinkled, cocooning her legs and wrapped togalike around her middle. Her head pounded, and her face felt tight and sore.
But she had to rise.
Even knowing that her wounds would heal within a day, seeing herself in the mirror did little to improve Victoria’s spirits. Her face was mottled with bruises, and there was a long scrape on the side of her jaw.
Downstairs, dressed in a simple gown that was barely more than a chemise, her hair pulled into a single braid, Victoria found Kritanu in the
She didn’t expect to see Max, but he was there in a mock battle with Kritanu. Both men held long slender swords, blades curved in a gentle arc, and they clashed and slid and gleamed.
When she stepped into the room, Max stepped away from the exercise, letting the tip of his weapon bump to the floor. He was dressed in loose, ankle-length brown trousers and a cream-colored tunic streaked with sweat. His hair was pulled back like a pirate’s. His large feet were bare, but a slender cord encircled one of his ankles. A small silver cross hung from it.
“I found nothing last night,” he said abruptly. “I wonder if you gave me the correct direction.”
“Of course I did.”
“There was no sign of any destruction, nor had anyone heard any unusual disruption.”
“Does it mean nothing that they would just as easily have hung me?” Victoria asked, suddenly wanting a sword in her own hand. She’d like to make Max dance at the other end, and she knew she had the strength and speed, if not the skill.
He must have understood her desire, for he glanced at Kritanu. “Would you care to surrender the blade to Victoria? I do believe she wishes to stab me.” His smile was nothing more than a flash of teeth.
Kritanu relinquished his weapon and stepped back as Victoria hefted it in her hand. She was used to the shorter
“Perhaps you’d best don some protection,” she returned, slicing the blade experimentally in front of her, from shoulder to floor. She adjusted the angle of her wrist and felt the weapon balance more comfortably.
Max snorted. He riposted back at her with a deep swipe that stirred the air. “I look forward to fighting unfettered-for I have no reason to hold myself in check matched against you.” He moved neatly to the side when she brought her blade up again, and the metal weapons smashed together. “And… to answer your question… it does mean something that they wished to hang you.”
The hem of her chemise would limit her from taking great steps, but it was full enough for her to lunge forward. He skimmed easily aside, his feet leaving the ground in a low glide, and she watched in chagrin. Max landed on the floor, and she saw that he was grinning.
Max grinning was a sight that riled her to the core.
Victoria met his blade and forced him back several steps. “Does it?”
“Yes,” he replied, surprising her by pressing forward into her space. Their blades slid and then he neatly stepped to the side. “But you cannot forget-you are bound to protect mortals from the undead, Victoria. You cannot walk away just because one of them angered you.”
“Angered me?” She sliced more viciously than she’d intended, and he leaped back under her onslaught. “He would have shot me on the street. Or hung me at Newgate.”
“An unpleasant occurrence, to be sure. I don’t fault you for wanting to save your skin. But… it was the manner in which you did.” He slashed and she felt the gust of air next to her face. “Venators have superhuman powers. If we-you-begin to use those abilities to pass judgment on mortals… that is wrong. It is nothing more than abuse of the gifts given.”
“I’ve never abused my gift,” she replied, knowing that it was untrue. “I wouldn’t.”
Max lunged. “But you did. Last night.”
“And what about your own foolish actions?” she replied, whipping her blade viciously through the air so that he was forced to leap back. His smile flashed, as if pleased that she’d caught him off guard, and he moved forward.
“What foolish actions do you speak of?” he asked, dipping to the side and bringing his blade up sharply. She reacted and the metal clanged and rang in the room.
“Max, Lilith is here in London. Clearly, she would love nothing more than to get her hands on you again.”
She saw his mouth tighten, the glimmer of humor gone. “And of course, I cannot protect myself.” He lunged sharply and Victoria dodged, hearing the blade whistle next to her ear.
“You must admit,” she said, starting back toward him, “that it might be a bit more difficult now.” He met her blade without backing up, and their arms strained against each other before the force of her blade caused his to slide away.
