As Shadows Fade (38 page)

If Michalas thought that an odd request for a Venator, he didn't show it. And in fact, as he disappeared from the chamber—presumably to find something for Sebastian to drink—Wayren turned to the rest of them. “Sebastian accepted this change willingly, unlike you, Victoria, when you were faced with the same. The situation is wholly different from your battle with Beauregard. There is a purpose for it.”

Victoria nodded, remembering awakening from the slumber after nearly being turned undead to find Max with a stake, ready to plunge it into her heart. She would do the same for Sebastian—in fact, would have already done so if she hadn't needed to understand why. To make certain he'd completed whatever task he'd set out to.

“He didn't have to be turned,” she said, speaking what had been on her mind. “He might have offered himself in Max's place, but come ready to…take care of himself.”

“To die, rather than be turned,” Max said. “As I'd been prepared to do if necessary.”

Wayren stepped near Sebastian, who seemed to be made a bit uncomfortable by her proximity. “He chose this path as a sacrifice. By putting himself in Max's place, he gave up his freedom, and then he gave up his soul in exchange for Giulia's. She'll be released from her damnation once his task is finished.”

“His task?” Victoria asked. “Can we not just stake him now so he won't be tempted again?”

“Er,” Sebastian interrupted, “I prefer not to have my demise, such as it would be, discussed so casually. But I do have a question, Wayren, if I may. I read Rosamunde's prophecy, and understand that it did—or could—apply to me. But how long is this ‘long promise' and when might my task be done?”

Wayren smiled, and the warmth of it seemed to flood the room…not in the same sweltering, suffocating way Lilith's fires and presence had done, but in a soft, pleasing manner. “You'll know when it is time,” she told him. “But I suspect the Venators will have need of and welcome your assistance well into the next century. Particularly since my time has now come to leave them and return to my place.”

Victoria looked at her. “You'll be leaving us?”

“And Vioget is to take your place as adviser?” Max sounded exactly as if it had been suggested that he, too, might join Sebastian in a state of undeadness.

Wayren shrugged, and her smile continued to warm the rest of the room. She seemed clearly pleased with the turn of events. “He has knowledge of the vampires even you don't have, Max, and he'll be around long after you and Victoria and your children. I'm certain he'll find some way to be of assistance to theVenators.”

“Never fear, Pesaro,” drawled Sebastian. “I'll be taking myself off to America in short order. I doubt that I'll be here when the child comes.”

Victoria glared at him, knowing Sebastian had purposely chosen to drop that piece of information at this moment as a last one-upmanship to Max.

How did he know she hadn't told him yet? Likely because Sebastian knew that if Max were aware she carried a child, he'd have become much more protective of her.

He grinned at her, in his Sebastian way, still making warm flutters in her stomach. And that was when the realization struck her. Really struck her.

Sebastian was gone. For all intents and purposes, he was gone.

He had given his life for her, and for Giulia, and taken on a more dangerous, challenging task than she and Max would ever do. She'd had only a short while of fighting such deep cravings, such instinctual needs, the deep potential for evil that vampire blood had brought.

How could Sebastian think to live years, decades…perhaps longer…without giving in to those base instincts?

Their eyes met, and he allowed only a flare of glow to color his, as if to remind her of what they'd shared…and what they could still share, if she were willing. One last bit of that devilish side of him.

Victoria made a decision at that moment. “I'll send someone with you, Sebastian. Someone to stay with you, at least…at least for a while.”

He gave a wry smile. “My own Tutela member?”

She understood his attempt at humor and let it pass. “A Venator protector. You're still a Venator, Sebastian. You wear the
vis
.”

“I do. And will. Though I don't know if it will be enough.” Sadness graced his eyes, and Victoria felt her heart pang.

Let him be strong.

“And the ring,” Wayren said. “The ring you wear is there to give you strength, as well.”

Michalas returned at that moment, and Sebastian looked over at him as though drawn by a string. His nostrils flared as though to scent blood on the air, and even Victoria could smell the faint rust. “Come with me,” said Michalas.

Sebastian nodded, murmuring something about preferring venison blood to that of beef, and Victoria was glad he wouldn't have to feed on whatever animal Michalas had found in front of the rest of them.

Then a thought struck her, and she looked at Michalas, then glanced meaningfully at Wayren. The angel nodded. Yes, he would be a good person to send with Sebastian, as odd as that might seem for a Venatorial task.

Sebastian left the room, and a silence fell over the chamber. Victoria felt the sharp sting of a tear and, annoyed with herself, dashed it away. She looked up to find Brim easing out of the room, and Wayren following him in a smooth glide.

When she glanced at Max, she saw why.

His face was thunderous.

“Are we going to fight now?” she asked impudently.

“Tell me…just tell me you didn't know.”

“Max,” she said patiently, “I am not going to sit back for nine—rather, eight…mmm…perhaps seven—months and do nothing.”

She heard the grinding of his teeth from where she stood, several feet away. She narrowed her eyes in delight. Max speechless?

“This is going to be an ongoing argument, isn't it?” he said at last.

“Max, really. I'm not like other women.”

He snorted. “Is that so?” Then he was across the room, pulling her into his arms. “I am delighted. But there's one thing you'll need to understand.”

She looked up at him. “I'm sure you're going to tell me.”

“The child will have Gardella blood. But it will also have my name. Do you understand?”

For once, she was in complete agreement.

+ Epilogue +

Wherein We Are Assured That Though Nothing Will Change,

All Will Be Well

Lady Winnie and Lady Nilly
gushed over Victoria, smoothing her hair—which had grown nearly to her shoulders—and fussing with her skirts.

“You couldn't look lovelier, my dear,” Lady Winnie said, backing away to look fondly at Victoria. There might have been the gleam of a tear in her eye, or it may simply have been the fact that she spied the new tray of biscuits that Verbena had carried in. Chocolate iced pumpkin. One of her favorites.

“Indeed,” sniffled Nilly, under no pretense whatsoever. Her handkerchief was damp, and her narrow shoulders shuddered a bit as she tried to hold back the tears from pink-rimmed eyes. “I just adore weddings.” She burst into renewed tears as Winnie patted her back while continuing to eye the biscuits. “And babies.”

Victoria, for her part, felt like an ungainly sort of cow. The size of her belly, fortunately hidden beneath the yards and yards of sea green fabric, couldn't possibly grow any larger…but she had been assured she had at least another month to expand. The very thought was inconceivable.

It was a very good thing the vampires seemed to have remained out of London since Lilith's death. Victoria couldn't imagine trying to wield a stake, or kick, or even run in this sort of condition. In fact, the last time she'd tried to train with Kritanu in the
kalari,
Max had walked in, taken one look at her front-heavy figure and uncomfortable pose with a
kadhara
blade, and immediately backed out.

She thought she might have heard the rare sound of his laughter, but decided it was in both of their best interests to decline to investigate. After all, she still did wear two
vis bullae,
and she might hurt him.

“And here is the bride!” squealed Nilly, her tears momentarily forgotten.

Victoria looked up as the door to her mother's dressing room opened and Lady Melly stepped into the small adjoining parlor.

She beamed and glowed like any bride would—particularly one who'd managed to snare one of the most eligible bachelors in all of London. For a moment, Victoria felt a bit envious of her mother's slender figure…but not the least bit put out by the fact that Lady Melly would be taking over the title of Marchioness of Rockley, and her daughter would merely remain the dowager.

This was an odd happenstance that had been remarked on over and over in the
on dit
section of the papers, but other than feeling a bit sorry for the poor rejected Lord Jellington, Victoria felt nothing but happiness about her mother's new match.

She might have felt a pang of remorse for the delight in knowing that Lady Melly's maternal attentions would now be divided among three daughters—two of whom had come with the widowed Rockley when he returned to claim his title—but that was to be forgiven.

“Why, Mama,” Victoria said, eyeing her parent's intricate hairstyle as she bent to hug Winnie. “Your coiffure…it is most unusual.”

“Do you not like it?” Melly said, her face shining with joy. “I particularly asked your maid—Violet, is it? No, Verbena—if she would do it. I have always loved the way she arranged those little sticks in your hair.”

That was another thing about Melly's newfound love match. Her memory of certain instances seemed to have softened or even completely altered. And Victoria was so delighted for her mother she wasn't about to remind her of her previous criticisms of the feathered or decorated stakes that Verbena had secreted in her own curls on more than one occasion.

Instead, she merely admired the pearly white ones that gleamed amid Melly's similar dark curls, complete with flimsy feathers and diamonds.

“It looks lovely,” she said, catching Verbena's eye as the maid came in to admire her handiwork.

Verbena, who'd always been a lusciously stout woman, had become a bit more stout in the last few months herself. Since she and Oliver, the groom-cum-footman, had gone to Vauxhall Gardens on the evening Victoria had come to think of as the Night of the Frothy Pink Night Rail, they had been inseparable. By the time Victoria and Max had returned from Romania, Verbena and Oliver had needed a wedding themselves.

Speaking of Max…Victoria turned to the twittering ladies and excused herself under the pretense of not wanting to ruin the bride's entrance by slogging awkwardly down the stairs in front of her.

Nilly and Winnie patted her stomach several more times, and allowed Victoria to escape as they fussed and pecked and picked at their friend's hair and skirts and jewels.

“I hate weddings,” Max murmured when Victoria found him skulking at the back of the chapel at St. Heath's Row, the Rockley estate. A garden wedding had been out of the question in January, and despite the fact that it was out of Season, Melly and her fiancé had been so besotted they didn't care about the timing of the nuptials. “They could simply have eloped and put an end to this.”

“My mother was traumatized enough by our elopement,” Victoria reminded him. “It was only the fact that she had her own wedding to plan, and the promise of two more in her new stepdaughters', that we remained unscathed.”

“I would have remained unscathed regardless,” Max reminded her. “I do believe your mother is still a bit intimidated by me.”

Victoria smiled. “A bit? The way you looked at her when she suggested naming the baby Ermintrude? I was surprised she didn't faint dead away right then.”

“A ridiculous name. And I'm—we're—perfectly capable of naming our own child.” He shifted, leaning back against the stone wall of the chapel and eased her so that she rested her weight against his hip. “When is this bloody thing going to start?”

“Soon, I expect.”

“Not soon enough,” he grumbled. “The last time I was at a wedding was yours, and it started late as well, as I recall.”

She looked up at him. “I'd forgotten about that. You were just as irritated as you are now.”

“You'd invited me to stand guard for vampires,” he reminded her. “I didn't want to be there in the first place, and then you had the effrontery to ask me to watch for undead while you married yourself off to—someone else.”

Her eyes narrowed in delight. “So you were jealous.”

“No. Of course not.” He looked at her as if she'd grown two heads. Perhaps three.

“Of course. Just as you didn't peek while I was changing in the carriage. Come now, Max, admit it. You watched me change. You couldn't resist.”

“Absolutely not,” he said, but he was smiling now, little crinkles showing at the corners of his eyes. “I would never have done something so crude.”

The music began, wheezing from a small organ at the front of the chapel, and Victoria saw the groom had taken his place at the altar. “I do believe I shall find a seat. It wouldn't do for the daughter of the bride to be hovering in the back. Are you coming with me?”

“Anywhere, and everywhere,” he said, holding her gaze. And then he ruined it by adding, “Someone has to keep a bloody eye on you.”