Rises the Night

Chapter 18 A Most Welcome Interruption

The vampires looked like any other gentlemen, dressed for the opera in dark coats with tan or fawn-colored breeches, adequately knotted cravats, and gloves. "Our apologies for being tardy," one of them said with a bow to Conte Regalado, who had risen to greet the men.

Not men, vampires.

Victoria remained in her seat, turned away from the opera, watching and waiting. Her nerves tingled, and the nape of her neck prickled. Her fingers itched to pull the stake out from under her gown.

There was a sense of expectation in the air, and she did not know where to look. Max studiously refused to turn in her direction as he stood and greeted the newcomers; Regalado and Galliani seemed pleased to welcome the new arrivals.

What did this all mean? Did Regalado know they were vampires? Surely a powerful member of the Tutela would.

"Mrs. Withers, may I present an acquaintance of mine to you… Signore Partredi."

The vampire bowed, took her hand with his surprisingly warm one, and raised it to his lips. "A pleasure to meet you, I'm certain." Being familiar with vampires, as she was, she read an entirely different message in his eyes. And it wasn't pleasant at all.

To her dismay, he took the seat next to her that had been vacated by Galliani. Regalado sat back down in his seat, and there she was, sandwiched between a vampire and a Tutela leader. When the second vampire chose the seat behind her, where Max had been sitting, she felt even more boxed in. Surrounded on all sides by danger. And she could do nothing.

Victoria was uncertain where Max was, and of course Sebastian was still gone with Placidia. She dared not turn around to look about the room. She must appear as though nothing were out of the norm.

As the opera dragged on, with one aria after another, she reflected on that terrible night at the Tutela meeting; remembered the horror of being controlled, of being attacked from every side, of the warm surge of her blood under the teeth of the vampires. Her head felt lighter, easier… her pulse slowed; she had to blink to focus. The small box became stifling and warm.

Victoria closed her fists, digging nails into her palms, using pain to send away the gentle lull she'd begun to feel. Sitting next to a vampire, feeling the sleeve of his jacket brush against her bare arm, allowing his presence to sink into her consciousness… it was a different way of becoming enthralled. Not a common one, for most often when she was faced with a vampire, the moment was all action, movement, battle.

This was a different sort of battle. One of wills.

Thus far, truly, it had been easy. The vampires had made no threats, no move to hurt anyone. She could sit and focus her energy on fighting off the subtle attempts to capture her consciousness, pretend to watch the opera, and perhaps, just perhaps, that would be the end of it.

But it was during a rare, brief moment of silence from the stage that Victoria's hopes deflated. A soft gasp and sigh caught her ears, and she felt the hair along her arms lift, sending a surge of sharp prickles over her abdomen.

She turned in her chair. Behind her, the vampire who'd taken Max's seat had also taken his place at Sara's side. When Victoria looked, the truth of what was happening struck all of her senses at one moment: the smell of fresh blood, the faint, very faint whistle of suction, the dull glow of Sara's white neck and half-exposed bosom with her blood trickling down it, and the renewed rush of sensation over Victoria's own body.

She looked away, her eyes skittering from the scene that appeared more sensual than horrific, and clashed with Max's gaze. He stood near the door at the back of the box in a pose that struck her as being imminently dispassionate. When their gazes met, she looked for something there, some signal or sign… but he merely raised his brows in that sardonic manner of his and casually shifted his glance.

Apparently it was of no concern to him that his fiancee was being attacked by a vampire.

On the other side of the vampire Partredi, Portiera was watching the performance, seemingly unaware of what was going on behind her.

Victoria shifted in her seat and returned her attention to the opera. Her heart was pounding. She made herself think through everything that was happening, even though every instinct in her body urged her to grab for the stake and plant it in the chest of the being that stole from Sara.

But Sara wasn't fighting. She was not restrained. She made no sounds, other than soft sighs and gasps that sounded as though she were responding to a lover rather than an attacker. She did not need Victoria's help. She was not being mauled or torn apart. A vampire could feed without permanently injuring a person, as Victoria well knew.

She could leave it alone. In good conscience, she still did not have to act.

Licking her lips, she tried to watch the opera, tried not to listen to the sounds behind her. Tried not to feel the pull, the incessant pull, of the one next to her.

She knew the moment the vampire behind her finished feeding and braced herself for what might happen next.

Partredi placed his hand on her wrist, holding it on the seat's arm. Victoria's breath caught. She was strong; she could pull away… but should she?

Then on the other side of her, Regalado closed his fingers over her other wrist. "Now, just relax, my dear," he murmured into her ear. "You might find it as enjoyable as my daughter has."

Her heart rammed in her chest. Victoria felt her breath catch as something happened in front of her to obliterate the stage below… someone was pulling the box curtains closed.

Max.

She stiffened in her seat, unable to move, her pulse increasing and her breath shortening. The vampire next to her moved, showing her his red eyes, and she found herself weakening as she was caught in them.

Deep breaths. Close your eyes.

She tried to, but found it impossible to break the connection there. She tried to pry her wrist away from the vampire, from Regalado, but somehow they held them down. Her strength was weakening, but she was still a Venator. She could fight.

But she had to let this happen. She had to listen to Aunt Eustacia. If she fought, her powerful strength and fighting skills would surely give her away. She'd been bitten before; it would heal quickly.

Max was here. Surely… surely he wouldn't let them really hurt her.

Something grasped her head from behind, fingers plunging into the twisted coiffure near the top of her head, pulling it back, jerking her head to one side. The other vampire's blood-scented breath wafted over her tilted face.

Her neck was bare, and she felt Partredi move toward her, shifting in the seat next to hers, his knee bumping her leg. He leaned against her imprisoned arm and brought his gleaming fangs toward her vulnerable throat.

Her pulse thumped harder; she tried to twist away, somehow remaining silent—purposely or not, she did not know.

Now her eyes sank closed. The smooth teeth whispered against her skin. She couldn't control the urge to fight any longer; she strained up, trying to pull free, and found that she could not. The sounds of the orchestra, the rustles in the room, all faded away, until she could hear only the breathing of the vampire as it matched her own. His pulse as it beat with hers.

Her head was held rigid, her arms, her legs, all held fast by unrelenting fingers.

His breath was cold on her skin, icing her throat along with the back of her neck. He sighed and pricked her with his fangs.

"Stop." Somehow the single syllable penetrated her fog.

There was a pause, a hitch in the vampire's movement… then suddenly she was released; the thrall was broken. The weight came off her. She could breathe. Focus.

"This one is mine," the voice continued.

She recognized the voice, the face, as it came into her view. Sebastian had returned.

The vampires had released her on his command?

He appeared calm and utterly in control, but the vampires looked abashed as they moved away from her. "Vioget! We did not know," said Partredi.

Regalado had stood. "What? What is going on?"

"She is not for your use," Sebastian told him coldly. "They will not touch her. She is mine."

Regalado's dark eyes were furious. "You have no authority here!"

Sebastian lifted one brow. "If that is the case, then why do they back away on my command? You do not wish to anger me, Regalado. The Tutela does not wish to displease Beauregard. Or do they?"

"Beauregard?" Regalado stepped back. "How do you—"

"Begone," Sebastian told the vampires, ignoring Regalado's stammered question as though it were that of a two-year-old.

The vampires bowed to him as they left and, absurdly, Victoria noticed that someone—Max?—had reopened the curtains in the box. The orchestra continued to play; the chorus continued to sing.

She did not know what to think. Where to look. Whom to look at.

How to feel about being called mine by Sebastian.

Of course, that was probably just for effect. But it still echoed in her mind, along with the fact that she'd been bitten yet again. Fortunately, it was a shallow bite; hardly worth noticing. A short trickle of blood curved along her neck.

Victoria surreptitiously opened the small vial of holy water in her reticule and dampened her handkerchief with it. Then she took stock of the other occupants of the room as she pressed it to her wound, hardly feeling the salted holy water.

Sara sat in her seat, eyes glazed, holding a white scarf to her neck. She didn't seem to notice Victoria, or if she did, she didn't care.

Galliani and Max stood near the back of the box, half-shadowed. Regalado stared at Sebastian, but made no further comment. He sat in his seat, looking less like a vampire protector than a sulking child whose game had been cut short. Placidia stood behind Sebastian, as though they had just come into the room and he'd stepped in front of her. Portiera was next to her twin.

Victoria looked at Sebastian, who gave her a look that told her he couldn't wait for her to ask him the questions he knew were going through her mind, because he wasn't going to answer them.

She could only imagine what kind of compensation he would attempt to extract from her.

What else could she do? She sat back down in her seat to watch the rest of the opera, relieved that she'd come out of the situation with no one the wiser of her Venator status.

But as she sat in her seat, she realized belatedly that the chill at the back of her neck had not eased. Its persistence told her that the vampires were still nearby.

And, as if to confirm this, only moments later someone screamed. It was a horrible, terrified scream.

Victoria bolted to her feet. Fortunately she wasn't the only person in the box to respond in that manner, and Sebastian was right next to her, slipping his hand through her arm as though to steady her. Or hold her back.

There was another scream, perhaps a bit closer, from the passageway behind their box. A few shouts. The diva continued to sing. The orchestra continued to play. The cold at the back of Victoria's neck had not subsided.

"Who is it?" cried Portiera, clutching at Galliani. "Someone's hurting her!"

"Someone is being hurt!" echoed Placidia, tugging at Sebastian's other arm.

With Portiera in tow, Galliani had opened the door of the box and was peering out. "I see nothing!"

There was another scream, louder now that the door was open. Victoria tugged away from Sebastian, all thoughts of listening to Aunt Eustacia's warning suddenly evaporated. She moved around the seats, heading for the door, and was caught by Max's dark eyes. When she saw the grim expression on his face, she stopped.

As she grabbed at the back of the velvet-covered seat next to her, trying to decide what to do, she glanced at Conte Regalado. He was leaning against a side wall of the box, near the seats. Unconcerned. Watching her.

Victoria took a deep breath and closed her fingers tighter into the velvet cushion, anchoring herself there.

But she wavered. She needed to get out of this room. The vampires had been sent off by Sebastian—only to wreak havoc elsewhere.

The sounds of cries and running feet had grown; yet the opera continued. Perhaps they could not hear, so far away and over the sounds of the orchestra. But it was an odd sensation—from one side of the box was beautiful music; from the other were the sounds of terror and panic.

"Someone must do something!" Placidia cried. "And I do not wish to stay here… What if it is a fire? Or bandits! I do not wish to be trapped!" Her voice rose in a spiral of nerves as she looked up at Sebastian. Apparently vampires were not a concern to her.

Victoria seized upon the opportunity and lifted the back of her hand to her forehead as she'd seen her mother do when complaining of vapors. "I am feeling quite warm," she said, adopting a whiny voice. "Mr. Vioget, I do think I will need your escort out of this small room. You will protect me, won't you?"

And before he could respond, she slid her arm around his other elbow and began to gently direct him toward the door. She heard the other women speaking, but Victoria and Sebastian, along with Placidia, were already out of the box and into the narrow passageway that led behind the lower theater seats. Other doors were opening, people were coming out and looking around in fear and concern, and the hall was filling.

In the distance, Victoria heard the sounds of chaos—running feet, screams and yells, and loud noises that could be doors slamming or large items falling to the floor. As soon as they were out of sight of the opera box door, and the others behind them, Victoria pulled loose from Sebastian and started off down the hallway, slipping betwixt the other operagoers.

She heard the shout behind her, but she didn't listen to him… She listened to the cold on her neck, the barometer that would tell her where the vampires were.

Down the hall, past the doors to the other boxes, toward the staircase that led down to the main entrance… or up to the higher box levels.

Victoria didn't remove her stake as she pushed through the people. There were more than two vampires here, she realized, and she wondered what they were doing—if they were snatching people as they could, feeding on them and then releasing them, or if they were dragging them off as prisoners to feed on later.

Then she heard the shout: "Fire!"

A wave of screams rolled through the narrow hall, and the people began to push and shove to get through.

"Fire!" echoed in her ears, up and down and throughout the theater. The orchestra had stopped playing, and the only sound was that of cries and shouts.

People were leaving the building in droves, which was good. Outside they had a better chance of escaping a vampire attack simply due to the fact that they would scatter. But her neck was still cold, so the vampires were still about.

She hurried down one of the flights of stairs, listening to her instincts, hoping to find them somewhere. A faint smell of smoke told her that there really was a fire burning somewhere in the opera house, but Victoria was not ready to leave yet.

She didn't know how long she pushed her way through the throngs of people, or exactly where she was going as she made her way down hallways and up and down varying flights of steps. But as time passed, the smoke grew thicker, and she could hear the crashes of parts of the building falling, and the muted roar of flames.

At last she burst out of a door and found herself in a balcony on the opposite side of the stage from where the Regalados' box had been. She knew there was a vampire nearby; she looked up and over and saw him, three boxes away and down.

He looked up from the man on whom he'd been feeding and saw her.

The flash of recognition was instant. It was the one Imperial vampire who'd escaped after murdering Polidori.

"You!" he cried, blood streaming messily from his mouth. "I thought you were dead!" He dropped his victim and leaped from the small balcony to the one next to it, clambering along its edge so he could position himself to launch up to her level.

Victoria saw the flames snake up the curtains an arm's length away, saw that it would take the vampire two more inhuman leaps to get to her own box, and made the decision: She had to face him.

He recognized her; if he got away, he would expose her to the Tutela. She had to fight him.

Dipping to pull the stake from under her skirts, she did not feel the movement behind her until she was snatched back from the balcony. A hand clamped over her mouth and strong arms pulled her back, into the darkness of the box.

"Don't," Max snarled in her ear, "fight."

She heard the vampire coming closer, struggled to tell him, but he was strong and relentless, and pulled her swiftly and smoothly out of the box.

The smoke was thicker in the hallway, but Max charged along the hall, pulling her behind him. It stung her eyes and made her cough, but it was not at a dangerous level yet. She could still breathe, still see. The flames were far away.

Max shoved her down a flight of stairs and into a small room, following her in and closing the door silently behind them. He pushed her up against the wall, face-first, sliding a hand over her mouth and holding it there much too tightly. She struggled to force him away, but he did not move except for the rhythm of his labored breathing against her back.

"Go home. Back to London. You cannot do anything here. Nedas is too strong. He is going to win." His lips brushed her ear as he spoke.

She struggled anew, tried her favorite move of slamming her head back into his face, which he easily evaded.

"Do you understand? Nod."

She nodded, then shook her head as much as she could under his hand. His other fingers were clasped around both of her wrists, holding them at the base of her back.

"Of course you aren't going to listen to me, are you? You're too damned naive. And headstrong. Be quiet or I will hurt you," he said fiercely in her ear, then released her. Victoria spun around and faced him.

There was a small window in the room that allowed enough moonlight in to illuminate his face. She saw nothing there that gave her comfort. It was harsh and angry and determined; his eyes, barely discernible, were flat.

"Perhaps this will convince you that I mean what I say." He was pulling at his unbuttoned shirt, yanking it back from his muscular shoulder and turning away from her so that she could see the mark there.

It was dark and heavy, there on the back of his shoulder, just above his scapula, and she recognized it. A T entwined with serpents.

"You see. I'm a member of the Tutela, and I adhere to their strictures. Does that convince you?" He was breathing harshly now, and turned back around to face her. "I'm bound to assassinate Venators. I am one of theirs."

"I don't believe you." But something inside her was turning. They were alone. No one could hear. Why would he lie? "If it's true, you must tell me why."

He drew in a deep breath and took her by the shoulders. His fingers were strong but not painful, and he positioned her so that his unbuttoned shirt brushed against her bosom as he looked down at her. "I made a bargain with Lilith. She promised to release me from her thrall if I joined the Tutela." His fingers dug into her skin and she twisted away. To her surprise, he allowed it.

"Is Lilith here, in Rome, then? Is that where you've been—with her?"

"No." His voice was strangled, as though he could barely force the word out. "She has been in her mountain hideaway far from here. I've seen her only once, when she offered to release me from her influence if I came back to the Tutela."

"So why do you not kill me now if you are bound to assassinate Venators?"

"I am giving you the chance to get away. This is your last chance. If I see you again, I will betray you to Regalado and the others. If I do not, then they will have no reason to trust me any longer."

Victoria laughed, short and bitter. "You've done nothing to protect me, then. That vampire I saw in the theater, the one you took me from when I would have fought him, recognized me. He knows I am a Venator and he will expose me. So the decision has been taken from you."

"So it would seem." He looked at her, stepped away. "All the more reason for you to go back to London. You will be needed after this is all over."

"After what?"

"Go back home, Victoria."

Then he reached over and smashed the window next to her. Before she could react, he picked her up and shoved her out, and she found herself tumbling to the ground below. It was not a long fall, and she landed on a small bush.

Struggling to her feet, she looked up, but Max did not follow.

Max made his way out of the opera house, leaving behind a smoke-filled cave and who knew how many victims of fire and vampire.

He had one thing left to do this evening, and it would not take long.

Indeed, he found Bertrand strolling along toward the place the Tutela and the vampires were all to meet. It was just up one more block and down a narrow alley—Fettuch's Locanda, a place not so very different from the Silver Chalice Vioget had owned.

Max greeted him. "Pleasurable evening, was it?" he asked the vampire.

"In some ways," Bertrand replied. "I did not finish what I set out to do, but I have some glad tidings to bring to Nedas this evening. The woman Venator I thought I'd killed in England is here."

"Indeed? He will be greatly pleased." He made a show of pausing to look into a long, narrow shadow. It was the last alley before the one they must turn down. "What, say? What is this?"

When Bertrand followed him into the darkness, Max spun around, slamming the stake into the vampire's heart before he drew another breath.

Pocketing the stake, Max brushed off the last bit of vampire dust and continued on his way.