Roaring Shadows: Macey Book 2 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 8) (12 page)

Even now, Sebastian remained unsteady and off balance. He poured a too-large glass of the bourbon he’d brought in—smuggled was too complicated a word; he’d merely shipped it from France and convinced the customs officers it was nothing but a case of communion wine (the ability to enthrall did have its benefits)—then set the glass aside.

The last damn thing he needed was to impair himself even further.

He looked up as Temple came into view without Macey and Woodmore. She met his eyes and seemed relieved that he at least
appeared
steady, but ire flashed there. Sebastian didn’t have to think hard to wonder who had caused it. Woodmore was even more of an arse than Max Pesaro had ever been, and that was saying a lot.

“We’re closing up,” Sebastian announced loudly, aware of the alarming thuds now coming from the private rooms he kept adjacent to the pub. “Everyone out.”

The bitter grumbling that started was put to rest as Sebastian scanned the place with an unyielding expression. He didn’t even need to spark a glow in his eyes. “Your accounts will be settled later,” he added, knowing half of them never would. That, too, helped clear the place more quickly than anything other than a warning of “Fire!”—or “Raid!”—would do.

Just as the last few patrons made their exit, Macey stalked out of the back rooms with Woodmore in her wake. She was, thankfully, cleaned up and no longer looked as if she’d been devoured by a lustful vampire.

Sebastian relaxed even more and trusted himself to pour a finger—just a finger—of the bourbon in a fist-sized glass. Then, thinking even more clearly, he added a large slop of fresh cow’s blood to the whiskey and sipped.

Immediately, the lingering tension and the need for sustenance eased even more…though as Macey walked across the pub toward him, the low, golden light made her look even more like Victoria. Victoria’d even had short hair like that for a time, when they were in Prague to retrieve the second Ring of Jubai, and it sprang up the same way in thick, inky curls around her jaw and bared her long, slender neck.

Sebastian’s fangs pulsed, threatening to erupt again, and he surreptitiously reached for the
vis bulla
dangling beneath his shirt. The extra jolt from holy silver against the pads of his fingers served to remind him of his promise and gave him a surge of strength, so by the time Macey climbed onto a stool in front of him, Sebastian was able to smile at her with ease.

“Well, now—to what do we owe this pleasure,
ma cher
?”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been in contact,” she said immediately.

He noted an unusual bashfulness clinging to her, and recognized it was a little difficult for her to meet his eyes. Devil take it. Had he frightened her, or was it Woodmore who’d done the honors? He’d told no one about the dreams, that was damn well sure. Despite her reticence, there was a sort of underlying rage clinging to her as well as Woodmore.

A little uncertain himself, Sebastian chose not to reply; instead, he brought up three more glasses and poured a round for the trio now settling on stools at the corner of the bar. Temple, Macey, and Chas, clustered one by two.

Woodmore and Temple sipped without hesitation, but Macey looked at the bourbon as if it were poison.

“Come now,” Sebastian told her smoothly. “Let’s not be shy and demure,
petit
. We all know you left that carriage behind some while ago, and you clearly need a bracing drink. No one will know. And then you can tell us what happened.”

“I’m sure Chas would love to fill you in. I…I can’t stay.” She looked as if she were about to slide off the stool.

A snort from Woodmore drew Sebastian’s attention, and he moved automatically to refill the man’s glass. “Macey claims Capone is a Venator.” His lethal gaze settled accusingly on Sebastian. “A fact I suspect is not news to you, Vioget.”

Sebastian shrugged. “I suspected, but didn’t know for certain. There is an Alphonsus listed in the Bible.”

“A prevarication if I ever heard one. Not that I expected anything more from you,” Woodmore replied.

“I don’t understand. How can he be a Venator—be like us—and not do his
job
?” Macey seemed to have decided to stay. She sipped her drink, and Sebastian was pleased to see a little more color returning to her face. He avoided looking into her eyes for too long, however, knowing that was a trip he dared not take.

Not when he was feeling this vulnerable.

“Why don’t you ask Vioget here about Venators who shirk their duty?” Chas was clearly still in a foul mood, and he was doing his damnedest to bring Sebastian down into it as well.
Bastard.
“I’m sure he can enlighten you.”

Sebastian swallowed his fury. “Woodmore is referring to a period of time in which I declined to employ the stake,” he replied. “For a number of reasons that are no longer relevant, more than a century after the fact. But to answer your question, Macey, it’s actually not all that surprising for someone who’s been granted the power and abilities we have to use them to benefit themselves, rather than for the purpose for which they were given. It’s much easier—and less dangerous—not to hunt the undead, but instead use the
vis bulla
for other reasons. We all have free will, you know.”

Macey nodded. “Have there been other Venators who…well, became villains? Used their abilities for selfish reasons?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I haven’t ever encountered them myself, but there was Frederick, for one. Surely there were others, but history isn’t one of my strong suits. Now, back to the most pertinent question: why do you think Al Capone is showing so much interest in you?”

“He believes one of Rosamunde Gardella’s prophecies applies to us—to Big Al and me.”

The absurdity of the idea was beyond comprehension. “Indeed? And did he happen to tell you which one it was?” Sebastian didn’t attempt to hide his derision. If it was true Capone was one of them, Sebastian found it difficult to believe he could be much of a scholar about the family legacy. The bastard struck him as someone who had even less time for such mundane topics as history as Sebastian did.

“I have it written down,” Macey replied. “But it’s something about a dauntless one. He claims I’m the dauntless one, and he is the other half that makes the whole. But I don’t know what would make him believe it was about him.”

Sebastian looked at Temple, who nodded and rose gracefully from her seat. “I’ll see what I can find. Don’t wait up for me, boys.”

Out of habit, Sebastian watched her tall, elegant figure as she walked across the pub. How did women manage it on those high, chunky heels—especially to appear both graceful and sensual at the same time? Her hips moved sleekly; the silk of her dress slid over a sassy arse with every step. She was a hot piece, and he knew she found him attractive. But it wasn’t Temple he wanted.

Hell, it wasn’t even Macey. Not really. Not when it came down to it.

Not even Victoria, if she walked in the pub right this moment—well, perhaps that wasn’t strictly true. After all, he
had
loved her. Although, after more than ten decades of self-examination, Sebastian supposed part of the motivation for that love might have been to taunt Max Pesaro.

But it was Giulia who filled his dreams. Giulia who held his heart. It was for her he’d done this.

But by
God
, if it didn’t end soon, Sebastian didn’t know if he could manage it.

What if it were another hundred years before his “long promise” was fulfilled? What if Macey walked in here again, all blood-covered—and with her own blood this time? Sebastian lifted his glass and took a long draw.

God help me. I’m done with this. I don’t know how much longer I can go on.

TEN

~ Of Questions, Answers, and Assumptions ~

Macey took another drink
of whatever it was Sebastian had poured her. She was warmer now, looser…yet beneath it all she felt a sense of foreboding. The clock was ticking. What would Capone do when he realized she was gone?

How long did she have before he made good on his promises? Maybe he’d think she’d gone to the morgue to take care of Fanalucci’s body? If he did, that would give her more time…wouldn’t it?

Chas, who seemed to have shed most of his angry, challenging mood, fixed Macey with his attention. “What happened with your friend Flora at The Music Castle? Yes, of course I bloody well recognized her.”

Macey nodded and collected her thoughts—or tried to. This was the reason she’d come here tonight anyway. Even without Flora, she had questions. And she needed to talk to Sebastian and Chas—the only two people who really understood her situation. Temple, too, of course, but she wasn’t a Venator, and so she couldn’t wholly understand.

This time, Macey took a big gulp of the whiskey—or whatever it was—and drained the glass. It burned her throat and she had to stifle a cough, but even as her eyes watered, she set the glass down with a thunk. “More.”

While Sebastian, who didn’t bat an eyelash, filled hers and Chas’s glasses, she began to talk—grateful to be able to do so with two people she trusted.

If only Wayren were here.

“Flora wants me to help her. She wants me to save her from her—uh—undeadness, I guess you’d call it. She realized she made a mistake in getting turned”—Chas made a rude sound, but Macey ignored him—“and she wants to get away from Iscariot and the life of a vampire. She says she’s afraid of him.”

“She damn well should be,” Chas muttered.

“And she said—which is no surprise to me—that Iscariot is after me, and after the Rings of Jubai.” Her attention slid to the five copper rings that glinted on Sebastian’s hand. “I was going to bring her here tonight—I thought she could stay here with you,” she said, looking at Sebastian. “Since you…well, you might understand her predicament.”

Chas slammed his glass on the table. His eyes burned, dark and intense. “No. He doesn’t understand her predicament because Vioget here made a
conscious decision
to relinquish his soul in an attempt to save the soul of Giulia Pesaro—who was a vampire, as you may or may not know, and thus her soul was damned.

“He didn’t choose to become undead on a whim, because he wanted to be immortal, wanted the power, thought it would be
fun
—or to get
back
at a friend.” He nodded at Macey, who was surprised he even knew Flora’s anger with her had been part of the reason she was susceptible to the lure of the undead. “So, no, Sebastian doesn’t really ‘understand her predicament,’” he said, mimicking Macey’s words in his low, gritty voice.

“Well now, Woodmore,” Sebastian said after a startled moment, “I didn’t realize you had an empathetic bone in your body. To surprises.” He slopped more whiskey in everyone’s glasses and lifted his own. “
Salut
.” Then he looked at Macey, capturing her with his warm gaze—though this time, without the edge of the thrall. “And why did you not bring this Flora here after all, then,
cher
?”

“On the way here, we were set upon—or at least, they attempted to set upon us—by three thugs. Of course I—we—fought them off, and when I went to look for Flora, she was gone.” Macey hesitated and lifted her drink.

If she told them what happened, she sensed Chas would be even more accusatory. And what would Sebastian think?

“Ah, I see. She took the opportunity to partake from the man who made the poor decision to attack her, didn’t she?” Chas spoke before she could make the choice. When she looked at him in surprise, he made an impatient gesture. “It’s obvious—you showed up here covered in someone else’s blood. Is he alive?”

“He was…when I sent him to the hospital in a taxi. I didn’t really know what else to do.” Macey’s hand was a little unsteady when she lifted her glass again. When was the last time she’d had something to eat? The whiskey still burned when it went down, but she was beginning to appreciate its warmth.

It dulled everything.

And yet it heightened her senses.

She drank, dimly aware of her two companions trading glances.

Irritated, she set the empty glass down with a dull thunk and gestured to it. In for a penny, in for a pound, she figured. Tomorrow would be soon enough to face the impossible choice that had become her life.

“
Is
there any way to help her?” She pointed to Chas. “
You
told me
he
”—she gestured to their host—“needed my help to save his soul. If it’s possible, then why can’t I help Flora?”

“That’s assuming your friend really wants help to save her soul, and isn’t working for Iscariot.” Chas, of course.

Macey bristled. “As if I haven’t thought of that—”

“I’m not certain it is possible.” Sebastian’s voice was low, tinged with an emotion Macey couldn’t quite identify. Fear? Despair? “To save a soul that’s been—what do the Dracule call it, Woodmore? Damaged? Yes, that’s the term. Damaged. I am acting on faith and hope, and the interpretation of a prophecy. Even Wayren can’t—or won’t—tell me what the result will be. I won’t know until it’s all over.”

“Until what is all over?” Macey demanded. She was
sick
of prophecies and unanswered questions, and answers she didn’t want to hear or think about. And she sure as hell didn’t want to leave here and go back to Al Capone.

“This. My life. Such as it is.” Sebastian smiled his gorgeous, charming smile. “And believe me when I say I am more than ready for it to be done.”

Macey didn’t quite know what to say to that. She’d known Sebastian—and Chas, for that matter—for less than a year, and already she couldn’t imagine life, or being a Venator, without either of them. She simply didn’t know enough, have enough experience—and she would never rely on Alphonsus to help her.

And the thought of facing Nicholas Iscariot on her own was hair-raising.

“That makes two of us.” Chas’s voice was gritty. “To clarify, Vioget—I speak of wishing for my own time on earth to come to an end, not the demise of your charming self.”

“Well, isn’t that nice, to know both the men I rely on the most have death wishes.”

“You rely on us?” Chas, of course, seized Macey’s comment like a dog with a bone. “I would never have guessed. I thought for certain we’d been replaced in your affections by that fat Italian bastard.”