As Shadows Fade

Fifteen In Which Our Heroine Finds Herself Between a Rocky Wall and a Hard Place

By the time Victoria extricated herself from Sebastian, it was over.

She shoved him away, stunned and furious, and terrified by what she’d missed. In the back of her mind, she knew what he’d meant to do-to distract her from seeing the final blow, shield her from the last strike.

But how could he?

Brim and Michalas had moved while she was disengaging herself from Sebastian, and now they stood between her and the iron grate. Her knees felt weak, but Victoria rose and made herself move forward. Because of that, because she simply couldn’t believe it was over, it took her a moment to recognize the smell.

Ash. Undead ash.

Then the iron grate clanged, and suddenly there was Max.

Standing on his own, sweaty, bloody, scraped, but standing. On his own. Tall, imposing, blood-streaked… and without a hint of the exhaustion she’d recognized the moment he walked into the room. Thank God.

The vampire had disintegrated, its dust tufting in the air, and Max held a stake in his hand. Not the long black one he’d carried in, but a shorter one.

The one that had obviously done the job.

Relief and a blaze of joy surged through her, and she pushed between Brim and Michalas to reach Max’s side.

But he didn’t look at Victoria except when his eyes accidentally skipped over her on their way to Wayren.

“You succeeded,” the older woman said to Max. “Congratulations.”

He nodded, and a smile, tinged with relief, lit her face. She handed him a jug from which he drank, long and deep.

Victoria watched a slender rivulet of water trickle down Max’s jaw and throat and over the ridges of his bloody, sweaty chest. When he stopped drinking, he handed the jug back to Wayren and accepted a cloth.

He wouldn’t look at her.

Victoria stood there, right in front of him, and he wouldn’t meet her gaze. Wouldn’t even allow his eyes to skim over her.

She stepped back, all of the relief and joy at his success dissipating into confusion and hurt. Her mouth went dry, and her fury with Sebastian rose anew. He’d eased away, sort of behind the others, as though ashamed of his actions. As well he should be.

What had Max seen, as the final blow of the vampire came toward him? Her in Sebastian’s embrace-whether willing or not, he wouldn’t have known. It would have been the last thing he’d seen. What did he think? That she’d rushed into Sebastian’s arms the moment it looked as though all were lost?

Victoria felt a surge of annoyance with him. With both of them.

Max wasn’t smiling, not quite, but the lines around his mouth and eyes had relaxed a bit, and even though he wouldn’t look at her, Victoria recognized the strength emanating from him, and a sort of rightness about his person. She could see, without being told, that he’d regained his powers, that the vis bulla empowered him again.

But he hadn’t finished the Trial. How could that be?

Her silvery hope filtered away. He still had to undergo the last part, dipping the vis into holy water, then vampire blood, and then reinserting it.

But she realized Max was talking to Brim and Michalas, explaining. “Ylito agreed that I should try to wipe the vampire’s blood on the vis during the battle, and it worked.”

“I saw that you put holy water on the vis just before,” Brim said, nodding. “I didn’t realize it was for any other purpose.”

“Your abilities and powers are restored?” Michalas asked.

Max nodded. “Fully restored.” He poured a healthy slug of water onto his head, wiped his darkly stubbled face, then took the rest of the jug and dumped it over his chest. All without sparing a glance at Victoria.

Despite her confusion and annoyance, she bit her lip and felt that familiar fluttering in her belly. She watched as he toweled himself off, removing much of the dirt and blood. Muscles flexed and shifted smoothly, and now they glistened with water.

As he accepted the clean shirt Wayren offered him, there was again the accidental, sketchiest of impersonal glances over Victoria. His gaze barely touched her, and they weren’t even the flat black eyes that she’d expect him to have after seeing her and Sebastian in an embrace…

Impersonal. As if he didn’t know her.

Not angry at her defection. But as if he had no feeling whatsoever.

A sudden flash of worry coursed through her, and she didn’t speak after all. When he’d lost his Venator powers a few months ago, Max had also lost his memory. With the help of Ylito’s foresight and planning, however, he’d regained his memory almost immediately.

But was it possible that now that he’d restored his powers, some of his memory had gone away?

No. Of course not. He seemed to remember everyone else.

Victoria almost stepped forward, her pain turning to annoyance. She was Illa Gardella. She could say something to him, make him respond to her… but in the end, she didn’t.

Not here, in front of everyone, would she take on the possible razor edge of his disdain. Her unsteady fingers and queasy stomach told her she wasn’t strong enough right now.

So, rocked off balance by Sebastian’s actions and Max’s cool impersonality, she settled into herself and remained uncharacteristically quiet as they left the abandoned building.

The moon rose high and fat, casting its blue-silver glow over the creamy buildings, darkening the red roofs to black once they were back on their horses. Victoria rode alongside Brim and Sebastian while Max and Wayren lagged behind, speaking quietly. Michalas brought up the rear.

Somehow they made their way back to the inn in which they’d let rooms, all without Victoria speaking to Max, or even having more than the chance to watch him, to confirm that beneath the grime and blood he truly was recovered.

But she didn’t really have any question… She’d seen it in his eyes, in his bearing. Yet the base relief she felt at his success waned into dismay. Had Sebastian’s actions sent her relationship with Max back to where it had been only two weeks ago?

The dismounting and stabling of horses happened smoothly and quickly, and beneath her swirling thoughts, Victoria got the impression that plans to eat, drink, and celebrate-and the need to leave early the next day for Muntii Fagaras-were being discussed. She didn’t care. She merely moved silently as they made their way across the small yard to the entrance, trying to decide if she should be furious, joyous, or simply hurt.

When they clustered inside the inn, Max somehow slipped up behind Victoria and grabbed her arm. Hard.

Taken by surprise, she turned, but, though his fingers closed tight around her lower arm, he said nothing. He wasn’t even looking at her. He was looking at Sebastian.

It happened quickly. A look passed between the two men, an instant, silent exchange, and the next thing Victoria knew, a door had opened and Max propelled her into a chamber. She had the wherewithal to recognize it as the one she and Sebastian had shared with Antonнn.

Max closed the door with a deliberate clunk of the latch, his hand still gripping her arm. Anger welled up, and Victoria opened her mouth to speak as she tried to pull from his hold-but he was too strong, and he used the force of her aborted movement to whip her around.

The next thing she knew, Victoria was shoved up against the rough stone wall. Max followed, his long, strong body pinning her there as he covered her mouth with his. He released her arm at last, sliding his hands around to hold the back of her head as he molded into her from mouth to chest to hip to thigh. One strong leg slipped between her trousered ones, and she was completely imprisoned.

It took Victoria a bare second to comprehend, and her brain and body to catch up to the sudden onslaught. Then she closed her eyes, sagging gently against him as his heat and scent and strength surrounded her. Max was back.

One long, deep, ferocious kiss later, he pulled away enough to let her catch her breath and to adjust position. He captured her wrists and spread both wide above her head, clasping them with large hands as he kept her in place against the wall with the pressure of his hips and straddled thighs.

Deliciously dazed by the assault, she blinked and swallowed, realizing that her breathing sounded as though she were fighting a battle. Her lips throbbed, her face burned from sharp whiskers, and the imprint of his body left no illusion about how much he desired her.

His own breathing was unsteady, his beautiful lips full and very, very mobile, his damp hair in deep waves against his unshaven cheek. He looked down, and their gazes met.

And… she saw everything there in his dark eyes that she needed to see.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she said. “Or I’ll kill you myself.”

At that, as if he too had needed to see validation, his eyes gleamed hotter and the set of his lips changed, quirking and relaxing in a way that made her stomach plunge and her mouth dry.

Now Max turned from fierce to languorously intent and deliberate. He released her wrists, but moved in to imprison her head in place against the wall with another staggering kiss while his hands tore quickly and efficiently at the clothing between them.

He worked the button of her man’s shirt collar, yanking at it until it gave way and tumbled to the floor. His fingers slid down into the opening as her breathing quickened, feeling the warmth of his flesh against hers as he slipped and tugged and pulled at the gentle breast bindings she’d taken to wearing.

As her shirt and the strips of cloth fell away in tatters, he never removed his mouth from tasting her lips, her cheek, her jaw… even the soft spot beneath her ear.

That lovely curl of desire flooded her from her center out to each limb and digit. Warmth and relief, mixed with urgent need and rising pleasure, set her to sighing against him. Pinioned by the kiss, she felt his hands slide up to cup both breasts, thumbs fanning briefly over their hard nipples, pausing to stroke the tips just firmly enough to send more sharp, lovely little tingles curling through her belly and lower. Then he grabbed up her wrists again, holding them crossed above her head with one hand so that her knuckles brushed the rough masonry.

His hand slipped down beneath the loose waist of her trousers, his fingers quick and sure. With a few deft movements, he slicked and slid, surprising her into the sudden tumble of orgasm, right there against the wall. She trembled against him, and felt the movement of his cheek against her face as he smiled into the curve of her neck-in satisfaction, no doubt.

She didn’t care. She didn’t care at all, especially as, with those long, elegant fingers, he flipped open the three buttons of her trousers’ fall. The waist thus loosened, the trousers slipped down, and he helped them… and she realized she’d begun to tear at his own waist, pulling the fabric from its button fastenings.

He lifted her into position, and she locked her legs around his waist, feeling the rough prickle of stone and masonry against her bare back as he settled into place. And then he thrust deep… and paused, holding her against the wall, pressing as intimately as one could press, delaying the lovely rise of pleasure for the moment as their breath mingled roughly in the silence.

Then he took her hand and pressed it to his chest, curling her fingers around the vis bulla there, warm from his skin. She felt the sharp surge of power and, along with it, a surprise increase in pleasure so that she gave a little gasp. His mouth, tight with control, eased into a quick smile; then, with a meaningful look in those dark eyes, he slipped his fingers between their bellies to press against her amulets.

An erotic shock sizzled through her, and her gaze flew up to meet his dark, knowing one. “Don’t let go,” he whispered.

With another smile, he closed his eyes and began to move again, at last. Long, deep, satisfying strokes matched the little sizzles of power from the tiny amulets. She cried out softly into his shoulder at the peak, and felt him catch his breath just as he moved one last time and then stilled, shuddering against her.

Quiet, tangled breaths, hot, damp bodies, little quakes of pleasure. She smiled inside herself, and against Max. Max. At last.

He gathered her close now with his arms, pulling her away from the wall, splaying his large hands over her bare skin, gritty with mortar. Max helped her settle back on her feet, and moved with her toward the bed. Not about to give him the chance to slip away again-who knew what went on in that mind of his? For all she knew, this had simply been a way to put Sebastian in his place for the trick he’d pulled.

No. She didn’t believe that. She’d seen the look in Max’s eyes, the look that had blazed there once before when he saw her rise free from Lilith’s pit of hell. Yet…

He tumbled her onto the bed, a narrow, lumpy affair, then stood over her for a moment. Max looked down with eyes that had become inscrutable again, and she thought, Here it is. Now he’ll make the excuse, call it duty, draw upon Lilith…

“Victoria,” he said, his voice rough. She gathered herself up at the tone, ready for it… Then, instead of speaking, he came forward, down to her, his hands settling on either side of her, pressing into the thin pallet. And he kissed her.

His lips moved over hers, soft and sensual this time, tracing the contours of her mouth as gently and thoroughly as one might sculpt soft clay. She could scarcely breathe… the kiss was so exquisite in its long, slow melding and tangling of lips and tongue, the scrape of teeth, the gentle suction. It seemed to go on and on, and her world spiraled around her into this imprint, this learning of gentle mouth to gentle mouth.

After a long while, he moved. Propping a knee on the bed next to her, Max smoothed his free hand up along the side of her throat to play in her hair, lifting her face closer to his. Then he released her mouth. “Perhaps I should have bathed first, but”-he kissed her again-“I was bloody damn tired of waiting for you.”

Victoria nearly laughed in relief, understanding now that earlier, just after he released her from that heated moment against the wall, what she’d seen in his eyes was… not uncertainty-no, Max would barely comprehend that emotion-but perhaps a bit of regret or discomfort for the rough-and-tumble way in which he’d taken her.

She lifted and met his mouth halfway, her kiss telling him that she didn’t care, that his sweaty male scent and damp, hot body were home to her. Home and Heaven.

And she wanted more.

Sebastian watched the door close to the chamber he and Victoria-and Antonнn-had shared, and turned away. Michalas and Brim seemed to be merely surprised and amused as Max dragged Victoria into the chamber, unaware of any undercurrents. But Wayren’s all-knowing colorless blue eyes snagged his.

He pulled away from her gaze, but not before he recognized the look therein: perceptive, and perhaps even satisfied. Perhaps.

What was missing was condemnation, judgment. At least from Wayren.

Victoria had given him enough of that in her steely, furious look, and she had avoided him since. Alas. Perhaps one day she’d understand what he’d given her, besides a long, hot kiss.

And Pesaro. In that brief, measured look before disappearing with Victoria, he’d sent both acknowledgment and warning. Acknowledgment of Sebastian’s purpose in the bold move-but of course not a hint of gratitude. And warning as well.

The warning had been unnecessary.

Even now Sebastian wanted to bristle at the man’s arrogance… but the desire ebbed and faded into something emptier. The trip to Muntii Fagaras to retrieve the last two rings, somehow, from Lilith would be a long one, now that Pesaro had returned to the Venator fold and staked his claim.

That thought gave him a needed distraction. Was Max’s reinstatement bound to be a blessing or a curse when dealing with Lilith?

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Victoria asked, soaping Max’s broad, square shoulders from where she knelt behind him.

The much-needed hot bath had been ordered some time ago, and though he’d settled with a great groan into the steaming water, she still felt the urge to touch him. There was nothing, she found, like the feel of warm male skin slick with lemon-rosemary soap and water.

He craned his head to look at her. “You haven’t figured it out for yourself?”

“Obviously you had something planned, because you missed at least five chances to stake him,” she replied archly. “And I understand now that you were intending to finish the Trial by getting the blood on the vis bulla that you were already wearing… but why? You could have killed that vampire in one or two strokes instead of nearly getting killed yourself.”

Max snorted. “Nearly killed? You’re mistaken. I was not in any danger of dying by the hand of that vampire, Victoria. I knew exactly what I was doing. I had to get blood on the vis and then twist the ring around into my skin, and wait for it to empower me again. It took a few bloody moments for that to happen.”

“Well, you looked as though-”

“And looks can be deceiving, can they not? Speaking of which, Vioget’s… er… shall we say… added incentive for me to survive was completely unnecessary.”

Victoria sat back on her haunches, water dripping all over her lap and streaming down her arms into the rolled-up sleeves of the shift she’d donned. “I rather hoped you’d been too distracted to see that.”

“I was meant to. Was that not the purpose?”

“Not by me.”

“Indeed not, although, from my vantage point, you didn’t seem terribly vexed at his actions. I know why he did it. He had the audacity to think I needed his help.”

From any other man, that might have sounded like so much bravado, but coming from Max it sounded just about right.

Before she could reply, Max slid down into the water, submerging his head completely. This left his knees and a good portion of his powerful legs angling up from the oval wooden tub.

When he reappeared, it was with a little surge that slopped water over the sides, sending a renewed wave of rosemary and lemon scent into the air. His hair was slicked back away from his clean-shaven face, its ragged edges plastered to the sides and back of his neck.

“I was vexed with Sebastian,” she said. “I didn’t want you to think… well-”

Max shifted in the tub, splashing water yet again, so that he was half facing her. “I knew you’d been with him for three days while I was at Tэn, Victoria. And so did he.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Of course it didn’t.”

“Then why wouldn’t you even look at me when you came in for the Trial? And after? Especially after. You acted as if I didn’t even exist.”

Max’s look was a combination of pity and satisfaction. “That bothered you, did it? The truth was, Victoria, I needed no distractions before the battle. You of all should understand that. And after… well”-he lifted that arrogant brow of his-“I knew it was only a matter of time before I had you exactly where I wanted you. There was no need to be exchanging pining, lovesick glances or tearful embraces after the Trial. I had other things on my mind.”

She swallowed hard at the look that blazed back into his eyes. Apparently, he had other things on his mind now, as well.

“Max,” she said, leaning toward him over the edge of the tub, “I’m so glad you’re safe. And a Venator again-only because it will help keep you that way.”

He kissed her briefly, but then she felt his lips settle into a familiar firm line. “You know that Lilith will be pleased as well.”

She felt as though a bucket of cold water had been tossed over her. Lilith did prefer Max as a Venator. She claimed it made it much more interesting to try to subdue him. “You’re not going to disappear again, are you? Leave me under the guise of protecting me?”

“Victoria, you know that this”-he swept his arm to encompass them, the room, the piles of clothing on the floor-“doesn’t mean anything’s changed.”

“Yes, it does,” she said sharply. “You’re a Venator again, Max, and yes, you have your precious duty back. But things have changed-”

“I meant,” he said, his loud voice overriding hers, “that nothing outside of us has changed. The rest of the world.” He moved again, and again the slop of water. At the rate things were going, Victoria would soon be as wet as he.

She calmed a bit, but still, she gave him a look of mistrust. “Max, you have to promise that you’ll never leave like that again.”

“I’m not going to promise that, Victoria.”

She turned away, shocked at a sudden sting of tears, the sharp pain in her belly. She wanted to respond, but she didn’t trust herself to speak.

“Victoria,” Max said in a slightly gentler voice, “you can’t promise either. The future could require anything of us, and what’s the point of making promises that we may not keep?” He reached for her, tugged her peremptorily toward him so that the edge of the tub bit into her ribs. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, Victoria. I’d die first… Do you understand?”

She pulled out of his grip, but remained next to the tub. “That’s the easy way out, Max. Dying and leaving the other to live on. Alone.”

“Have I not admitted I’m a coward when it comes to you?”

She glanced at him, at the black expression on his face: skin stretched taut over his high cheekbones, nary a hint of softness near the corners of his eyes. His mouth that had, moments before, been full and sensual, was now thin and pursed.

Yet, much as it pained her to hear the words, she knew he was right. Aunt Eustacia, and then Max, had been telling her for two years that duty had to come before personal wants and choices. The good of many would always win out over the safety or love of a few. It had to.

It was part of being a Venator-especially for Victoria, who was Illa Gardella. Despite her love affair of fifty years with Kritanu, Aunt Eustacia had understood. That was why she’d ordered Max to execute her.

But if it had been you instead of Eustacia? I could not have done it. Do you understand? I couldn’t have done it. That’s what I’m afraid of, Victoria. A choice like that.

And if she had any intelligent bones in her body, she should be afraid of the very same thing.

Neither of them had spoken, and there was only the tinkling sound of lapping water and the arrhythmic drips from the side of the tub. Then Max moved and pulled Victoria over the edge and into his lap, shift and all, closing his arms around her as the water enveloped her in a softer embrace.

“You won’t agree with every decision I make,” he said. “And God knows I won’t agree with you. But I know you can take care of yourself, Victoria. I’ve seen it, much as it turned my insides to pudding when you came sailing down from the rafters during the battle with Nedas. Among other instances.”

The warm water lapped gently over her cotton shift, and Victoria settled against him, resting her face on his damp neck, smelling the fresh rosemary on his jaw. “Your insides were pudding?” she asked, smiling, tangling her fingers in the wet hair on his chest. She lifted his vis bulla and felt a shock of power.

“Indeed. More than once.”

“Like when else?”

He shifted her slightly, settling her sidewise onto one of his thighs so that he could untie the lace at the neckline of her shift. “When you appeared unexpectedly at Regalado’s art show that first night in Roma.”

“Did Sara know who I was at that time?” The cotton shift was glued to her body from just below the breasts, down into the water, and she lifted her rump a bit so Max could tug it up and over her head. It landed on the floor with a damp splat.

“I don’t believe she did; she knew of Eustacia, of course, and that there was rumor of another female Venator. But since you’d been in mourning for the year since Rockley died, the gossip among the Tutela and undead had died down.”

“You acted so cool and angry that I didn’t know what to think. Even later, you never gave the slightest hint that you were anything but a member of the Tutela.”

“The last thing I expected to see was you, when Sara introduced you as her new friend.” His hands had become busy now, and she felt a renewed rise of lust as he bent to one of her breasts. She admired the long, strong width of his neck and the swath of dark hair, just beginning to dry. His fingers moved to sift through the duo of silver amulets at her navel.

“Well, you hid that fact quite well. And when else?” she asked impishly. “When I had to change in the carriage, and you had to unlace my stays? I know you peeked, Max. Admit it.”

His tongue caught the sensitive tip of her nipple, making her jolt with pleasure, and then he swirled it around languorously. She sighed and arched toward his mouth, her hand sliding down into the water between his legs.

“When else?” she asked, closing her fingers around him, smiling with satisfaction at his sharp, indrawn breath.

“Hmm…,” he said, vibrating against her breast, then lifting to look thoughtfully into space. “There were too many times. And I’m certain,” he said, lifting her suddenly from the water, “that there will be many more times to come.”

Quickly and easily, he settled her in place and slid inside with a smooth movement. Anything she might have said… or even thought to have said… became lost in a damp whirlwind of pleasure and rhythmic splashing.