As Shadows Fade (29 page)

Taking a deep breath, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, Sebastian plunged his hand in once more. This time, the cut of the water hardly bothered him. His fingers moved deftly in this area of the pool, sifting over the soft piles of sand until at last they brushed something hard and smooth. Rounded.

The orb.

He covered it with his hand; it fit into his palm neatly enough, and felt warm and…pleasant. Gently tingly, lightly comforting, and solid.

Settling back on his haunches, he pulled his hand out, and there it was. The shining blue Tached's Orb.

Its glow illuminated Victoria's face as she bent closer. It bathed her cheeks and lips, the tips of her curls, with rays of silvery aqua. As he held it, he felt the continued heat of comfort and…peace. It was the only word he could think of to describe the well-being that trickled through him.

“Now remove the rings,” said Mercy in her grating voice. “I'll have them.” Her eyes glowed greedily red-violet, and her fangs poked into her bottom lip. “There is one other item I wish to retrieve from below.”

Sebastian thought of the prism he'd touched earlier. “What is it you seek?”

“Take off the rings,” Mercy repeated, but then her words trailed off.

Victoria had moved and now had a stake in her hand, and a sword in the other. “You seem to have forgotten your manners, vampire,” she said. Her eyes glittered, and Sebastian could see that she spoiled for a fight.

“It's of no use to mortals,” Mercy said. “Only to the undead.”

“I see no reason to accommodate your undeadness,” Victoria replied. “Now move away, and we'll be off to the portal. Or…Brim?”

Sebastian looked to see that Brim had, for all of his massive bulk, moved quickly and quietly to capture the Guardian vampire. He held him from behind, stake poised over his undead heart.

Mercy cast a quick glance, then shrugged. “You'll face Lilith's wrath if the three of us don't return.”

“Oh, dear. Lilith's wrath? I don't believe I've ever faced that in my life.” Victoria moved her head in permission, and Brim slammed the stake home. The damned Guardian never had a chance. “Now do you wish to take us to the portal, or will you be next?”

As the undead dust settled, Sebastian saw Mercy take a step back. The vampire pressed her lips together, fury burning in her eyes.

But Sebastian saw Victoria wasn't about to forgive her insult, and she whipped out her own stake. Michalas moved quickly as she did so, shoving the other Imperial toward the pool. He screamed as he fell, catching himself on the side. Brim planted his foot in the back of the undead and gave a solid push, quickly removing his foot before the boot burned away.

Mercy shrieked, “Lilith will kill him!”

But Victoria had already leapt toward her, over and away from the pool. Sebastian watched warily, but he also thought he understood why Victoria wanted this battle, here and now. She had to relieve that coiled tension and worry somehow.

The battle was short; whether because it was a surprise or so furious, it didn't matter. Victoria took a few blows, gave some of her own, and then had and took the opportunity to shove the stake through Mercy's heart.

“No more Mercy,” she said grimly, standing and dusting her hands off.

Sebastian gave Victoria the orb, and she wrapped it carefully in a cloth and slipped it into an inside pocket of her trousers.

“What else was in the pool?” she asked softly as they stood, preparing to mount their horses.

“It felt like a small pyramid of some sort. That was the only other thing I found,” he said. “And I'm not sure what it is. I could take it out, but without knowing what it is or if it has powers, I think it best we don't. Perhaps Wayren will know, and we can retrieve it later.”

“Each of us should take one of the rings then,” Victoria said quietly. “The last thing we need is for anyone to get all five of them together again and be able to breach the pool.”

Sebastian agreed wholeheartedly and slipped his fingers around the band on his thumb. But it wouldn't move. At all.

“What the bloody hell?” he muttered. He tried to pull another one off, the one that had seemed the loosest. It wouldn't budge, not even to twist around his finger.

The rings were stuck fast to his skin.

+ Eighteen +

A Parting of Ways

She hadn't bitten him yet.

Max leaned against the wall, the silk coverings smooth over the rough stone beneath. His forehead pressed into the cloth, and he felt a long trickle of sweat roll down his spine.

Or perhaps it was blood.

He'd lost track, and allowed it all to ebb into a blur of memory rather than accept the reality.

“Come now, Maximilian,” came that hated voice. “Join me. You must be hungry.”

Hungry? Food was the furthest thing from his mind.

All he wanted was fresh, cool air. Any color but red. Anything but heat and the sweet smell of roses. And the feel of her hands on his skin.

The wrist manacles clinked as she drew him away from the wall, reeling him toward her. He didn't fight it, but took his time walking toward her, easy and smooth.

Max had learned when to fight and when to submit. As long as she remained amused and didn't become frustrated by his power and strength, he had a chance. The balance was delicate.

The problem was, he didn't know how long he'd have to play the game. He could end it all at any moment…but there was always hope. Hope alternating with fear.

He didn't want Victoria to come…yet he did. And he knew she would.

It was simply a matter of when.

And, oh God…whether she'd succeed.

He prayed that she'd do the right thing, and close the portal first.

Please. Do not let this be for naught.

Lilith indicated for him to kneel at her side, and she leaned toward him, her mouth brushing his neck. As always, the revolting sensation of one hot, one cold lip smoothing over his skin made his stomach tighten. Her hands slid up the back of his scalp, threading into his hair.

“I think I won't allow you to cut your hair again,” she murmured near his ear, playing with the ends that curled under his jaw. He remained impassive, despite the horrible slithering sensation under his skin. “I do like it long. We'll have to let it grow a bit more.”

That was a good sign, then. She didn't plan to try to turn him anytime soon. At least until his hair was the length she required.

Thank God the hair and nails of the undead didn't grow.

“I know you think that she'll come after you,” Lilith said companionably, her fingers smoothing over his chest. She avoided the
vis bulla,
and had forced him to remove the larger cross he'd been wearing earlier.

Now his only protection was the
vis,
and the four small vials of holy water secreted in each of the heels of his boots. The boots stood at one side of the chamber, near the pallet where he slept. He'd not had to resort to them yet, but once she bit him he would.

“She is
Summa
Gardella, and has other tasks to attend to,” he replied coolly. “Unlike you, she is dedicated to protecting her race.”

Her nails suddenly dug into the skin of his back, then jerked down, hard. A little warning. He complied by producing a soft groan, knowing it would please her that she caused him pain.

“Why must you be so cruel and cutting? Can you not accept your fate?” she asked.

Now he was certain the trickle down his back was blood. Lilith slipped her fingers through the moisture and brought them delicately to her mouth, licking his blood from each of them as though she'd just finished a frosted cake.

She jolted back and looked at him, her eyes narrowing. Ah. “What is this?” she asked, fury burning in the blue-ringed red. Her lips shriveled into an angry pucker.

“Do you taste it, then?” he asked, shifting away from her. “Did you truly think I'd come to you unprepared?”

“What is it?” she asked, her eyes widening, and the veins in her face showing like blue lines.

“A newly anointed Venator,” he replied. “I drank a good portion of blessed water before and after the Trial, and it still runs through my veins.”

She hissed at him, her irises impossibly red, her fangs long and wicked…Then her fury eased into a feral smile that bothered him much more than her anger. Death would be so much easier.

“Indeed, Maximilian, pet, you continue to surprise me. I wonder if you shall continue to do so as the centuries progress…or if I'll become bored with you.”

She pulled him closer and looped a link from his chains high on the wall so he couldn't move away.

“So I cannot feed on you until your blood is no longer diluted by holy water. How very clever of you to create such anticipation.” Her cool, skeletal fingers cupped his shoulders, then smoothed down the curve of his biceps. “There are many other ways to pass the time until then, my dearest.”

And so went the second day of his captivity.

 

+ + +

Sebastian sat upright, pulled abruptly from sleep.

Sweat poured off his skin, partly from the blaze of noontide sun pouring from the window of an inn, and partly from the dream that still pounded him. His heart raced, his fingers dug into the fabric around him.

Good Lord, would it never end?

This series of nightmares had come with stronger images and a deeper sense of urgency than the others. Shaking his head to dispel the last tendrils of the dream of Giulia begging him to save her, he drew in a long, deep breath and closed his eyes. What was he to do?

He couldn't help but wonder if it was related to the events of last night, when he stuck his beringed hand into the pool and felt himself sucked into a vortex of memory and images. She'd never begged him to
Save me…
Not until now.

Was it even possible he could?

Was there some event, some trick that might allow him to do so, after all these years?

Or was he simply going mad?

As he lay there, wisps of words and phrases mixed and mingled like threads of smoke in his mind.
A long promise
…
a savior.

Those for whom he lives…shall be saved.

He shoved away the unnecessary blanket that had stuck to his perspiring flesh and sat up, his heart pounding. Brim, who'd been keeping watch while the others rested, glanced over at him.

Sebastian stood, unsteady on his feet, and hissed, “Rest. I'll watch now.”

The rings glinted on his hand as he reached for the pitcher of water. Damn rings. Would they never come off?

What did it mean?

He gulped the water, lukewarm in the heat, and glanced out the window. They'd found the orb last night and left immediately, traveling until late this afternoon. The sun burned hot all the rest of the day, leaving its heavy imprint even on the night, making sleep miserable even when he could turn off the disturbing images.

Giulia's face still haunted him, the phrases paraded around in his mind as though trying to embed themselves like a burrowing worm.

A savior who carries the deepest taint. A long promise.

If she were here, Wayren might be able to interpret the words.

Sebastian looked out the window again, his eyes going to the mountain far behind them. Pesaro, poor devil. How long would it take for Lilith to turn him? Surely she wouldn't allow him to escape again, but he'd fight it.

No one understood that more than Sebastian, the fear of being turned undead. The fear of losing one's soul, having it twisted and perverted…and damned, the moment he gave in to the craving to feed from a mortal.

Could an undead resist the burning need to drink? That driving, bullying desire? Could it be ignored, that horrible craving, that demonic taint?

The deepest taint.

A tainted soul?

Sebastian's heart began to pound. The deepest taint…a twisted, undead soul.

A long promise.

Good God…immortality. Someone who gave up his soul, freely…in a long promise.

How long?

His mouth felt as though he chewed on a wad of cotton, and he swallowed hard. His fingers were shaking, and the middle of his belly felt full and unsteady. His head lightened, and a renewed sheen of sweat dampened his forehead.

Those for whom he lives…shall be saved.

Save me.

And the reverberation of Rosamunde's prophecy sang in his head like a tune that would not be silenced.

Then, finally, he understood. Those words had burned into his brain for a reason.

And in the new world shall be a savior who carries the deepest taint. A long promise shall the savior make and in the end those for whom he lives will be saved.

It wasn't Pesaro who was the savior.

It was he.

Sebastian rose, suddenly more clearheaded, more purposeful than he'd been for years. Even, despite the task ahead, light in the heart.

 

+ + +

Victoria awoke when the sun had lowered enough to blaze directly in her face, angling perfectly through the window. She had been so damn tired, her weariness laced with worry over Max—and though she hated to admit it to her companions, she'd been relieved to rest in the middle of the day.

But now they would move on and perhaps reach Midiverse by late tomorrow. Hurry, hurry, hurry. The sooner they finished, the sooner she could get back to Max.

She sat up and looked over the room, counting the lumps on the floor—one—and on the pallets. Another.

Who was missing?

Maybe he'd gone to buy provisions. She rose from her pallet and rushed over to look out the window. The shadows had grown long from the lowering sun, but she could still see the road leading north, empty of any travelers.

As she turned back, she saw the note, pinned to the wall by a knife. The paper was folded in half, with a large
V
on the outside.

Victoria tore it off the wall and unfolded it, noting the signature—a large, sweeping
S
—before reading the letter.