As Shadows Fade (37 page)

And beneath all of that, also pounding at him, was the need to find Victoria.

He shoved the woman at the nearest man, ordering him fiercely, “Hold her!”

And he pushed his way through the surging crowd, ramming people into one another and the walls to get by, to get it through their thick heads that he was there to help them.

As he reached the trio of vampires in the front, he saw the tall, dark figure of Brim appear from behind them.

“Where is Victoria?” Max shouted, barely looking at the undead he was striking. The poof and subsequent explosion told him his black stake had done its trick as he sought Brim's eyes.

Brim staked another of the undead from behind as his mouth tightened in worry. “Thought she was with you.”

Max's world stopped, then released into the fury around him. “Take this,” he said, shoving the last vampire toward Brim, who easily dispatched the undead before Max had even passed him.

He calmed himself even as he ran off. She'd be all right. She had to be.

+ Twenty-five +

The Temptation of Sebastian Vioget

The blood.

He breathed the iron scent, felt the driving need for it. A red haze filled the room, clouding his vision, his senses.

Victoria's blood.

He swallowed, the unfamiliar fangs nipping his lips.

Oh God.

Could he even say that anymore, with a damned soul? Oh God?

Would He hear? Would He care?

No…Sebastian drew in a breath that felt like no breath he took when he lived. He wasn't damned yet. Not yet.

It enraptured him…the
smell
…the sound, the faint whistle, of Lilith's gentle sucking. Each low gulp pounded in his ears, drummed through his body.

He could fairly taste the thick, heavy iron, feel it running down his throat. His heart pounded, its rhythm matching that of his sire, of Lilith…but fighting to control Victoria's. His hands closed around her slender ankles, holding her prisoner as she writhed and bucked and twisted.

The little noises she made under Lilith's hands and mouth, the little gasps and heaving breaths, reminded him of other things, other writhing and bucking, and he felt the need pound through him even stronger.

The haze grew heavier. Darker. Burning.

Lilith pulled away from Victoria's neck, leaving Sebastian with a full view of the hot crimson blood, shining in thick trickles down her flushed, damp skin. Her grimy shirt was torn away, by his own hands, and one white breast half bared from the struggle. Black hair plastered to her jaw and neck, a mass of curls on the pillow beneath her, and her lovely red lips parted, gasping and panting.

He swallowed again, felt the trembling of his fingers.

Lilith said something he barely heard, but he knew it was his turn. She wanted him to feed.

He wanted…Oh, he wanted.

He couldn't.

But his mouth watered; his fingers shook. He felt the burn in his eyes grow hotter, stronger. His heart pounded, echoing through him to his fingers, his knees.

He had to. He
must.

Then a sudden sharp movement from Victoria, her arm winging out from nowhere. Lilith froze, her eyes wide as she looked at him over her shoulder…and then, unbelievably, she jerked from some great force…and then…
poof.

She was gone.

Unbelievably
gone.

The control, the power over him waned…released.

He breathed on his own. He smelled ash and roses and…blood.

Still, the blood.

The craving hadn't eased. No, it pounded just as fiercely.

“Sebastian.” Victoria's voice penetrated the haze, just a bit. She twisted and moved, and he saw she was trying to free her manacled hand while she kept her eyes on him. She had a stake in her hand.

A stake that, he realized, could now kill him.

He didn't remember moving, but then he was on her, his hands holding her delicate shoulder to the pillows stained with her blood, knocking the stake from her hand. His weight pressed her into the softness as he'd done before, and he smelled her…She surrounded him, her blood, her scent, her skin.

She fought against him with one hand; he heard her say his name, urgent…pleading.

Victoria, pleading.

But he didn't care. He couldn't stop himself…The red haze blazed through him as he covered her mouth, tasting her, smelling the blood that would soon ease his craving. He crushed her lips, his hands sliding over her skin even as she arched and twisted, her stake just out of reach, his weight and vampire strength…and the manacle…holding her in place.

Overcome by unbounded craving, he needed to taste, to kiss, to fuck, to possess, to
control.
. ..

“Sebastian.” Her voice was sharp, a bit thready, in his ear as she yanked her face away.

The blood was there, beneath her ear, there in front of him. He lost everything else, everything but that beckoning red streak.

It was there…teasing, taunting…he shouldn't. There was a reason…He shouldn't, he couldn't…but saliva pooled in his mouth, and the blood coursed from the wounds in her neck, the distended vein that swelled, teasing him, even as he watched, as she writhed beneath him.

“Giulia,” she gasped. “Sebastian, remember Giulia.”

She moved sharply, knocking him askew, and he felt her hand moving toward that stake.

No.

He grabbed her wrist, but she twisted and yanked, forcing him to release her grip. He moved forward, into her throat. His lips brushed against her hot, salty skin, and the blood. He touched it, warm and sleek, with his mouth.

Pleasure, lust, craving blasted through him at the faint iron sense on his lips. More.
More.

He opened his mouth, his fangs, still so odd, slipping out, sliding against her skin.

And then he felt something in his back. Sharp.

“Sebastian.” Her voice, low, gasping, pleading. “You cannot.”

He scraped his fang over her skin, sliding over the saltiness, a bit of that luscious blood slipping with it. The stake pushed harder—how had she gotten it?—but she said, “I'll do it. I don't want to, but…I'll do it.”

He
needed
this…He couldn't see, think, conceive of anything but this…The blood on his lips touched his tongue. Pleasure burst inside him, and he nearly shoved his fangs in right then. Nearly.

“Sebastian, think of
Giulia.
You can't. Please. Don't. You're stronger than this.” Her breasts moved against him as she drew in the breaths to plead. “You wear the
vis bulla
.”

The
vis bulla
that burned every time he touched it now; it annoyed the skin at his belly when it touched, a constant burn. But he wore it…

Wayren. Her face popped into his confused, red, blazing mind. The heavy silver ring on his left hand.

His head felt heavy, but…
Giulia.

He didn't care. He cared about nothing, nothing but the blood. The need, the driving pull.

It called to him. That siren song lulled and teased and pulled, and with one movement, it would be over. Pleasure coursing through him. The need sated—the need he'd fought.

Victoria heaved suddenly, powerfully beneath him, shoving him off balance. He slipped to one side, and she slammed him with a knee, in the side of the face, then followed with her other foot.

He tumbled onto the floor, and she scrambled on the bed, frantically working on the manacle. It fell away with a clink, and the stake was in her hand by the time he gained his footing.

Breathing hard, he looked at her: the face he would never forget, the woman he loved, the eyes, sharp but pleading.

“You're strong, Sebastian. Don't.”

She sat there, unafraid, free now, waiting. Stake in her hand. A breath away.

He swallowed. Reached for her.

His fingers closed around her arm, her warm arm.

“I'll kill you before I let you feed. I won't let you damn yourself. But I want to know why.” She beckoned, gave him a look that burned through him.

The desire bumped again, and he thought he might move, lunge toward her. Get one taste before…

His hand fell automatically to the
vis bulla
at his belly. He touched it, winced at the pain, but felt…something—power? relief?—mixed with the pain.

The need ebbed that little bit.

“Why did you do this? Let me help.”

He could breathe now. Words floated through his mind, filtering through the haze.

The long promise. The new world. A savior.

Rosamunde's words came back to him.

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.

A long promise…and in the end those for whom he lives will be saved.

In the end. Was this the end?

The door burst open, and the next thing Sebastian knew, he was yanked from Victoria, thrown against the wall. Whipped, like a sack of flour. And Max Pesaro had him pinned there by the throat.

+ Twenty-six +

Two Farewells

and a

Shocking Instance in Which Victoria and Max Agree

“Max,” Victoria said, stepping
toward them. He had Sebastian by the throat, his stake ready. “Release him.”

Not only did she not need his help, but the imminent danger was past.

She'd seen Sebastian's eyes fade from the burning, needy red into their normal amber color, and knew his moment of weakness had past. Whether he would face that temptation again in the future remained to be seen, but for now, he controlled it.

And before she sent him to his rest, she wanted to learn why he'd done this, taken on this burden.

Max ignored her command, holding an unmoving Sebastian pinned. Instead, he asked, “Did he feed on you?” His words came out tight and more clipped than usual. “Or…anything else?”

“No.” She took a moment—just a moment, now that the danger was past—to admire Max in all his dark fierceness. She was, after all, a woman. And she was completely besotted with the man.

Max adjusted his stake as though reluctant to put it away unused; then he dropped his hand and turned from Sebastian. He looked around the room, his gaze skipping over Victoria as if afraid to land there. The same as it had after he succeeded at the Trial, but this time she thought she understood why. “Lilith?”

“She's dead,” Sebastian replied. True to form, he'd merely stepped away from the wall and adjusted his clothing, as though nothing more traumatic had occurred than an askew neck cloth.

“Dead?” Max's voice held rare surprise. “Truly?”

“Dead by Victoria's hand, of course. Did you ever doubt the woman could do what she set out to?” If it hadn't been for the terrible situation moments earlier, Victoria wouldn't have known Sebastian was changed, for he replied in the same offhand fashion he might have done if this conversation had happened two months ago.

His blank-eyed look had disappeared, likely because Lilith no longer existed to hold thrall over him, and he seemed more conscious of his surroundings.

With that revelation, Max seemed to have the courage to look at her, and when he did, his brutal expression became darker. “Christ, Victoria, cover yourself.”

She looked down and realized her tattered shirt exposed half of her chest, including one breast—with the other fairly ready to pop out of its sagging bindings if she were to raise a stake. She was amazed at the amount of blood streaking her skin and shirt, and as she gathered the pieces together as well as she could, she glanced up at Sebastian.

His eyes had narrowed, and she saw the beginning of a glow starting there. His breathing quickened just a bit, his lips parted.

“Sebastian,” she said sharply.

Her former lover looked at her, and she felt the faintest tug there in his eyes. More than a simple tease.

“He needs to drink,” came a familiar—but wholly unexpected—voice.

Victoria turned to look and saw Wayren standing there. She didn't bother to express her surprise or delight at the woman's presence. There was no point in doing so.

“He needs blood,” said Wayren, moving into the center of the room. She looked around as though curious about the lair that had belonged to the demonic Lilith. Victoria supposed that wasn't terribly surprising for a scholarly angel.

“I am feeling a bit…deprived,” Sebastian agreed. “I think I must feed, and soon. A revolting but wholly necessary aspect of my new…shall we say…life?” His lips twisted unpleasantly, then smoothed into a self-deprecating smile. “I do apologize for the previous…scene, Victoria. My base emotions got away from me.”

Though he spoke lightly, she saw a combination of hunger and disappointment in his face. Victoria gave a little shiver. Sebastian had a difficult path ahead of him, if he chose to remain as he was. Had he truly chosen this?

Wouldn't it be best to put him out of his misery before he gave in to his urges? Save his soul, as she'd done for Phillip? She hefted the stake in her hand, ready to put it to use.

At that moment, Michalas charged into the chamber, stake drawn. Brim came at his heels. When they saw the tableau, both stopped and gave little bows to the ageless blond woman.

And then Michalas asked what Victoria had declined to: “Wayren, how did you come to be here?”

The angel gave him a beatific smile. “I knew it was time. Sebastian needed me.”

Max stifled a snort, and Victoria could imagine what he was thinking.
A vampire in need of an angel's guidance. A bloody understatement.

Wayren shot Max a glance that did what Victoria had been unable to do: wipe the arrogance from his expression. Then her pale face smoothed, and she said to the newcomers, “If you haven't recognized it from the chill at the back of your necks, Sebastian has allowed himself to be turned. He needs blood, or Victoria will continue to need to defend herself from him. Michalas?”