Rises the Night

Chapter 25 In Which All Becomes Clear

When Max felt the sword connect with Akvan's Obelisk, a rush of pure relief blasted through him.

It was done.

The powerful arc of the sword set him off balance enough that by the time he'd regained his footing, the vampires were rushing toward him.

Max caught a glimpse of a shocked, feral-mouthed Nedas, and fury ripped through him; anger at what he'd done, for what he'd been forced to do by that creature. He whipped around with the sword, which was made of pure silver, and beheaded one of the vampires who'd leaped toward him.

Another one came at him, and he met him with the same, and then another, and another. They were climbing onto the stage from the audience at Nedas's frantic command. There were too many to fight, and he knew it wouldn't be long before they overpowered him, but until then he would use the acrimony of regret and madness to fuel as much revenge as he could.

He'd do what he'd been unable to for nearly a year.

A year—an eternity—of watching these evil creatures—these vampire-loving members of the Tutela—of living with them, jesting with them, pretending to scheme with them, professing love for one of them. He'd had to submerge his loathing and disgust, and some days it was all he could do not to explode.

He had succeeded in his deception. He would die with a clear conscience, and leave Beauregard and Nedas to fight between themselves.

And Victoria to lead the Venators in defeating them both.

The sword sang in his hand, but even with the weapon forged specially to conquer evil, blessed and containing a vial of holy water in its handle, he could not fight them all back. He was too exhausted, both in mind and body, to use his qinggong skills and slip and glide through the air as an Imperial vampire would do.

But his body was conditioned to fight; despite the fact that he knew he would not leave here alive, that he had sealed his death sentence when he first swung the silver sword after the great black sweat began to pour down the obelisk, he kicked and swiped and spun and sliced as though there were hope.

At last he fell, tumbling to the stage floor, and used his legs to thrust at the undead as they lunged down toward him, and then, lying there on his back, struggling to get up, he saw something that made everything else fall away.

Above the stage.

Victoria.

Something slammed into him, bringing him back, and the world tipped, went black, then came back with a vengeance of tearing hands and pummeling fists. And the reality that Victoria was still here.

The sword was gone; he'd dropped it, and he was at the mercy of the undead.

She hadn't listened. After what he'd done, what had been sacrificed, she hadn't done the one thing she needed to do.

Hands were clawing at him, fangs gleaming, red eyes burning. They dragged him to his feet, brought him to stand in front of Nedas in the center of the stage.

At any moment the vampire prince would order him beheaded, or allow the undead to tear into him. They'd never touched him before, even when they weren't sure whether to trust him, because of Lilith's marks. That dubious protection wouldn't save him this time.

And once he was gone, there would be no one to help Victoria.

He looked squarely at Nedas's nose, taking care to stay away from those enthralling eyes.

"How did you know?" Nedas's voice was deceptively smooth and soft. The auditorium had grown silent, watchful. The only sound was Max's rough breathing. "I am the only one who knows how Akvan's Obelisk might be destroyed."

Max dared not look up, though he burned to know where she was, what she was doing. If she had gained her sense and left. He wanted to shout at her to run, to escape. He wanted to shake her until her long white neck snapped.

Instead, he had to focus on Nedas, distract him for as long as he could.

"But it has been destroyed, and not by you." Max's voice sounded hollow even to his own ears. He drew in a deep, fortifying breath and added, "You have obviously miscalculated."

Nedas's hand shot out and closed over Max's throat. Long nails bit into the tender skin on the sides of his neck, and Max felt them puncture his flesh. "Who told you?"

"Was not my presence back with the Tutela a gift to you?" The grasp around his neck made his voice raspy. "Perhaps you ought to look toward the one who offered it."

It took a moment; then Nedas understood.

"Lilith?" The vampire was so shocked he released Max with a shove, and his head whipped back painfully. "My mother sent a spy to destroy Akvan's Obelisk?"

"Why else would she gift a son such as you?" Max mustered a mocking smile. "She bears as much love for you as you for her. Apparently she has not forgiven you for the incident in Athens."

"How dare she! With the obelisk, I would have ruled the world. And what did she promise you in return? Everlasting life? Well, I shall put an end to that possibility right now."

Max had anticipated his attack. He'd bunched the muscles in his deceptively sagging legs and, using his vampire captors as leverage, kicked out with every bit of his great strength and sent Nedas spinning into the air and off the stage.

And then, as if it had been rehearsed, something came hurtling from above and thudded onto the cluster of vampires behind Max. It took him only an instant to recognize that it was one of the heavy canvas backdrops, and its solid wooden beam had landed directly on four vampires, knocking them to the ground.

Victoria, of course.

Max pulled loose from his startled captors and reached for his stake—but it was gone. He'd given it to her earlier. He kicked at a vampire, blocked another from lunging at him, spinning around and looking for an opening of escape, so he could find Victoria.

"Max!" He heard her shout, and looked up in time to see her half swinging, half sliding down on a rope. She was above him, heading toward the side of the stage.

As she came near she dropped something, and he caught the stake as if they'd practiced the move, and spun in time to slam it into the heart of a vampire grabbing his arm.

Running toward the wings, where Victoria had landed in an awkward heap, Max saw Nedas climbing up over the edge of the stage. He was tempted, only for the breath of a moment; but kept on toward Victoria. It was more important to get her out safely than to play to his need for vengeance.

But to send that creature to Hell… His fingers tightened around the stake.

He glanced back. Nedas was coming toward him, his red-ringed blue eyes burning with hatred. He fairly flew across the stage, and the other vampires scuttled out of his path. Max saw a flash of silver out of the corner of his eye and looked back to see that Victoria held a sword—the sword. Her face was set, her dark eyes shadowed with the same grief and anger that fueled him. Even without her vis bulla, she looked like a warrior.

"I want him!" she shouted, running forward with none of her usual grace and strength.

Max hesitated; he understood her need, but she could barely lift the sword. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement, and turned to meet two vampires who had circled around and were coming from behind.

He had no choice but to fight them off, and noticed that his movements were slowing and his breathing becoming more labored. He actually missed the heart of one vampire the first time, and had to waste precious seconds and energy to bring his arm back up and stake the undead properly.

There was a loud cry behind him, and Max whirled in time to see Victoria rush toward Nedas, clumsy and awkward, with her sword. The blade was pure silver, and the vampire halted in front of her, but did not back away.

As she reached him, just as his hand whipped out to grab her, Victoria's awkwardness caused her to trip. Max watched in horror as she seemed to lose her hold on the sword, and it jolted dangerously in her hand, the tip striking the floor… then in abject disbelief as she used her stumble to duck under Nedas's arm and pivot around behind him with surprising dexterity, and he realized with surprised admiration that the chit had faked her stumble.

With obvious effort and great relish, she rose up from the back of the vampire prince before he could turn, and swung the heavy sword in the same, but slower, lethal movement Max had used only hours before.

The blade severed Nedas's neck before he realized she'd come up behind him, and in an amazing, frozen moment, he exploded into foul-smelling ash.

Max had been running toward Victoria to interfere; now he was intent on sweeping her up and getting them both to safety before Nedas's followers comprehended what had happened.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her, sword and all, and dashed between two vampires, who stood as though turned to stone, and off into the wings of the stage. A loud bellow sounded behind them; it sounded as if Regalado was calling the undead to action, and Max did not slow.

They ran through the backstage, Max practically carrying Victoria, for she couldn't keep up, and he was certain that by this time the effects of touching his vis bulla would have worn off.

It was fortunate that he knew his way around the theater, for the passageways turned and ended and branched and cut into each other; but he always knew where they were. The sound of approaching vampires echoed in the empty halls behind them, far distant, but always in their wake.

When they finally reached the back door, the one the vampires used because bushes and trees and the small hillock into which the theater was built obstructed it, Max released Victoria.

She stepped away from him, still holding the sword, and they looked at each other, breathing hard, the relative safety of exit a handsbreadth away. Everything was silent—even the sounds of pursuit had faded.

One glance told him what he'd already known: She might have saved his life, but in her mind, it was on principle only.

She wasn't about to forgive him any more than he would forgive himself.