The Bleeding Dusk

Thirteen In Which Our Heroine Divests a Gentleman of an Article of Clothing

A chagrined expression flashed over Sebastian’s face for an instant, then was masked. He stepped away from the fountain, his wet hand making a print on his light shirt. She noticed a dark coat hanging over a nearby chair.

“You returned much sooner than I anticipated,” he said, recovering quickly to summon a teasing smile. “I should perhaps have waited a bit longer before coming down here…but I can’t say that I’m terribly disappointed to have you alone at last. After all, last night in the dungeon with Maximilian was hardly—”

“Give me an answer, Sebastian.” Victoria’s heart was pounding, panic replacing bald shock as she realized what this must mean. Her mouth had dried; she felt it shrivel like a pea in the sun. Her fingers were shaking, and nausea curled in her belly. How could it be? “Tell me you didn’t bring your grandfather,” she said in a voice that didn’t belong to her, even as she tried to assimilate what Sebastian’s presence meant. He couldn’t have done.

The Consilium, the safe, secret sanctuary, had been found.

No. Not under her watch. Not after almost two millennia of secrecy.

No.

Victoria felt fear and anger—emotions she’d struggled to keep out of her mind—envelop her, clouding clear thought as she started to dash past Sebastian, desperate to get to the secret storage chamber—and to Wayren’s library—before they could be despoiled.

His teasing smile faded. “I’m here alone.” His voice, urgent and low, stopped her. “I wouldn’t—”

The panic eased enough for her voice to be steady when she snapped, “You wouldn’t what? Infiltrate our sanctuary? How did you find out about this place? How?”

But no, of course Beauregard wasn’t here, she realized belatedly, her mind beginning to function again. She would have sensed him the moment she came into Santo Quirinus. That, at least, was good.

Sebastian was staring at her, his eyes shadowed by the dim light glowing behind tawny curls that made him look so absurdly holy. He seemed to be studying her, waiting for her to speak.

His chest rose and fell easily, but the tension that skittered between them made Victoria restless and unwilling to play the game of silence. “Answer me, Sebastian. At least tell me how you learned of this place, and how it is on my guard that you’ve found us.”

He stepped toward her. “Never fear, ma chère. Your secret shall remain safe with me. I’ve known of these chambers for a rather long time, and I’ve told no one yet.”

A lopsided smile tilted his lips as he reached for her shoulder, skimming his knuckles over her collarbone and then drifting his fingers loosely around the nape of her neck. “Don’t you yet know that I’d do nothing to endanger you? Now, since we are here together and unlikely to be interrupted, there are other activities we might find to divert ourselves. Ones that I, at least, have missed greatly.” His smile, slow and sensual, mirrored the look in his eyes, a look she’d seen more than once before. Despite her anger and confusion, the desire in his gaze had its effect on her, sending flutters through her belly. “After all…you sought me out, Victoria.”

“It was a necessity, Sebastian.”

“Then perhaps you might wish to tell me what was so necessary that you had to kiss my grandfather in order to send the message?” These last words came out sharply.

Victoria shoved his hand away before it closed over her shoulder. “Don’t try to play the jealous lover, Sebastian. It rings a false note. And the reason I needed to speak to you is in regard to something of my aunt’s. You must have seen her…seen her…” Blast. Her voice was rough, and her eyes began to tingle with tears. “You sent me her vis bulla. But there was a bracelet she wore, an armband. It’s very important. Did you see it…when…”

“Silver? Wide at the top of her arm?” he asked. “Yes, I took it also. It was the only jewelry she wore, and the only other thing I could do for her.”

“Where is it? What did you do with it?”

“I didn’t realize it was important to you. It’s…I put it here to be safe from…behind Catherine Gardella’s portrait. Apparently she liked jewelry.”

A wave of relief, followed by annoyance, rushed over Victoria. “But why didn’t you send it to me when you sent the vis bulla?”

His eyes flickered away, then came back to hers with a hint of chagrin in their expression. “I…ah…didn’t think it would have quite the same…flair,” he said with a discomfited expression, “to send both. The vis…well, it was more intimate.” He quirked a smile.

Then, shrugging off whatever bit of discomposure he’d had, Sebastian reached for her again, and this time he caught her upper arms with both hands. “Besides…what if I needed a reason to contact you again?” he murmured as he pulled her close enough that her skirt swished against his trousers. “I’m not one to leave all my cards on the table.”

His grip was strong, surprisingly strong. Victoria was tempted to twist away and send him sprawling to the stone floor, perhaps clipping his head on a table on the way down—but at the same time, looking up into his face, she found herself focused on his mouth. It was close, and she well remembered how it felt sliding and fitting sensually to hers. Warm and mobile, slick and coaxing.

Perhaps it would be prudent to put him off guard. Prudent and enjoyable…and then she could change the subject back to a more pertinent one.

But apparently, for once Sebastian had other ideas; for he sobered, the flirtatiousness fading from his face, as if he’d just recalled something important. “Victoria, you must take care. He’s made it clear that he wants you for himself,” he said, maintaining the distance between them…yet looking at any moment like he might change his mind.

At first Victoria didn’t know who he meant. She looked away from his lips and their eyes met.

“Beauregard,” Sebastian said, his voice tight and without its normal light edge. “I’m speaking of Beauregard. Although from what I understand, you’ve wasted no time in finding other, less dangerous men to amuse you, such as that redheaded Scot.”

Now she shoved hard at his solid chest, and he released her, stumbling back a step but easily remaining on his feet. “You are playing the jealous lover. How can that be, Sebastian, when you’ve been no lover at all these past months? When, in fact, our attachment was of the briefest kind?”

His expression changed, the annoyance easing into a knowing smile. “So you have missed me.” Triumph colored his amber eyes, and he reached for her a third time.

This time she let him bring her so that their bodies were flush: breast to chest, thigh to thigh, feet mingling. Her skin warmed, the flush traveling from her face down to her neck and beyond. It was good to touch him again, to feel the warmth of a man’s body and the strength of his arms about her.

“Hardly.” They both knew she was lying.

She shouldn’t have missed him—she couldn’t trust him, for his loyalty was to Beauregard—but she had missed him, and she did trust him…after a fashion. It wasn’t as if he could replace Phillip and the love and regard they’d had for so brief a time, but she was human.

And she was a woman. A woman who’d grown up cuddled and petted by Melly and her two friends, a woman who liked to be touched, who enjoyed being reminded that she was desirable, and who had made choices that kept her outside normal societal conventions so that she was a lonely outcast.

He made her feel. He’d brought pleasure to a life that had once been so simple, so normal and easy and bland, and had become stark and dark and violent. With his irrepressible charm and unabashed flirtation, Sebastian had made her heart beat faster and her body reawaken from the grief-imposed stupor resulting from Phillip’s death. Even now, as they faced each other, her belly flipped deep inside, knowing there was more to come. And she was ready for it. Her heart rammed in her chest as she remembered the way his hands would glide over her bare skin….

“Believe me, I didn’t want to stay away, Victoria,” he said, his mouth hovering in front of hers, his lips twitching in a racy grin, and the clove scent on his breath a light brush over her skin. “I wished only to keep you safe.”

“Safe?” She reared her head away from him so she could look directly in his eyes, knowing that her own were narrowed in annoyance. “What did you mean to keep me safe from? The vampires I hunt every night? That is a poor excuse and another false note. Can you not even once be truthful?”

“From Beauregard.” His voice had chilled, and eyes that had been soft and coaxing a moment earlier had flattened. “You have no idea—”

“I can protect myself.”

“I am fully aware of your Venatorial qualities, for you see fit to remind me of them—as well as my own shortcomings—at every opportunity.”

“I am who I am,” she told him. “I told you this last autumn—I made the choice, and if it’s too much for you to bear, knowing that I’m stronger and faster than you, that I have no need for you to protect me, that I’m not like other women who will sit at home waiting to be taken care of by the men in this world, then begone with you, Sebastian. I need you no more than you need me.”

She realized suddenly that she was crying. My God, crying! Victoria, Illa Gardella, who’d not even squeaked in shock when her beloved aunt was killed in front of her, had tears rolling down her cheeks.

Now she was angry—at herself, at Sebastian, at the choices she’d made and the losses she’d endured—and she tore herself from his hold, turning away to focus her attention on something else…anything else. Anything.

The sparkling water of the fountain caught and then mesmerized her, soothing in its rhythm, beautiful in its clarity, comforting in its holiness.

And then…the realization came…a suspicion that must have been buried deeply suddenly came billowing out. She whirled toward him just in time to see Sebastian reaching to gather her back into his arms.

She went willingly, meeting his mouth with all of the angst and anger that had built inside her since she’d had those five dreams that called her to her duty as a Venator.

Their mouths slipped and devoured as though released from a great restraint. His hands slid around to pull her hips sharply against his; then one moved up her spine, pushing her closer as he moved his lips from her mouth along the edge of her jaw, murmuring her name against her skin.

Victoria felt the dampness of his wet shirt seep into her hands, the warmth of the texture of fine linen molding to his chest under her palms, and then the direct heat of flesh beneath her fingertips as she slipped them under the hem of his shirt.

Sebastian caught his breath and tried to shift smoothly away, as he’d done every time in the past, but she was too fast for him. She’d found what she sought.

He froze and stepped back. Looking down at her, his face arrested and still, he said nothing.

Victoria’s hands fell to her sides. “So, will you tell me why you wear a vis bulla in your navel? Or will it be more lies and prevarication?”

To his credit, he hesitated for only an instant. “I’m born to wear one just as you are, Victoria.”

Her throat crackled as she swallowed. “You think I’d believe that you—a man who refuses to kill vampires—are a Venator?”

“If you don’t believe me, ask Pesaro. He is well aware of it, as is Wayren.”

It was true then. Max didn’t lie, and Sebastian would know she’d ask him.

Victoria sank down into the chair on which his coat hung. She had so many questions, such a swarm of emotions, that she didn’t know where to begin.

He must have understood, for he stood over her, abashed and sober, so uncharacteristic of the brash Sebastian she knew that Victoria nearly softened. He was like a young boy who’d been discovered swiping biscuits from the kitchen, ashamed and hesitant.

She almost smiled, but her growing disappointment and anger held it back. There were so many thoughts barreling through her mind, so many things that suddenly made sense. But she seized on one. “That was why you never undressed when I…when we—”

“I didn’t want you to know,” he said simply. The fingers of his left hand closed and opened, closed and opened as he looked down at her, still unsure, still caught.

Why? Why would he hide such a thing from her? Then she thought maybe she knew. “Beauregard. He doesn’t know either.”

But Sebastian shook his head, still sober. “He does know, and, as you might imagine, he appreciates the irony of it—the grandson of one of the most powerful undead in Italy is a vampire hunter.”

“You don’t hunt vampires because of him, even though you’re a born Venator?”

“It’s not that simple.” Then, as if shaking off the discomfort of the moment, he bent toward her, resting one hand on each of the chair arms to bring his face closer to hers, a provocative grin lifting his lips. The charmer had returned. “But you need not fear, Victoria, that we’re too closely related by blood to carry on with our…previous activities. The Gardella name hasn’t been part of my mother’s family for centuries, if not longer.” He shifted to one hand, lifting the other to brush it over her cheek. “You and I are only distantly related. And for that I am immensely thankful.”

Victoria jerked her face away, anger spiking through her again. He acted as if that were the most important issue at hand. “If you find it necessary to hide your calling, why do you bother to wear a vis bulla?” That was perhaps what incensed her the most—that he wore it, but didn’t use it. It was blasphemy.

And it also explained, perhaps, the contempt in which Max seemed to hold Sebastian.

Max had handed his vis to her when he walked away from the Venators, and Victoria herself had removed hers when she took a year to grieve for Phillip, knowing that she didn’t trust herself to wear it. She’d almost killed a man—a mortal—because she’d been overcome with grief and anger about Phillip, and the vis was a convenient weapon. It had been much too easy to let her fury get away from her and take over her actions. But once she regained control of herself, she’d worn it again, just as Max had done.

“I move among vampires, and among them it’s known that I’m of Gardella blood, and also that I’ve been Chosen. Beauregard, as I said, appreciates the irony, and the others respect me. I’ve taken great pains to keep it a secret from everyone else.”

“That was why you were so comfortable being around the undead when you owned the Silver Chalice. It was a way for you to protect your grandfather’s friends.”

He must have read the abhorrence in her face, the confusion in her eyes, for he took her reluctant hands and tugged her out of the chair with ease.

And this was why, she realized now, he’d always seemed unusually strong. Even from the beginning.

Anger shot through her, sparking her emotions so that her cheeks burned hot. He’d taken care not to appear too strong or too capable as they’d faced vampires last year when Dr. Polidori was killed by the undead after writing a novel that told too many of the vampires’ secrets. He’d done just enough to let her think she’d saved them both, that she’d been the one to protect them all. She’d almost died, and so had he. And he’d never told her.

And last autumn, at the theater where Akvan’s Obelisk was being kept and when Aunt Eustacia was killed, he didn’t tell her then.

He’d even made self-deprecating remarks about himself in comparison to her, the Venator, the warrior. Now that she thought about it, she remembered bitterness in his voice when he spoke of her skill, and her assumption that he had none.

Anyone can stake a vampire, he’d told her once.

If they can get close enough, she’d replied flippantly, clearly implying that he hadn’t a prayer of doing so.

“You stood by and watched my aunt die last fall,” she said, anger bursting forth. “You watched it all happen, and you did nothing!”

His hands were tight on her upper arms, and this time he didn’t bother to hide his strength. “What could I have done? What could you have done? It was two of us—three, with Pesaro—there was nothing that could have stopped those events. You know it.”

She knew he was right, but the anger didn’t slide away. “That night—when Polidori died…Sebastian, if I’d known you were a Venator—”

His sharp bark of a laugh cut her off. “You wouldn’t have disparaged my skill with a sword? You would have expected more from me? Victoria, it was I who held back the Imperial while you were nearly mauled by that Guardian vampire. If you’d been less self-absorbed you would have realized you could never have matched against a Guardian and two Imperial vampires on your own, and wondered how a fop such as I could have matched swords with an Imperial.”

While the pink-eyed Guardians were powerful in their own right, Imperials were even more fearsome. With blazing purple-red irises, Imperials were the strongest, fastest, and most powerful beings in the vampire race. They were often centuries, even millennia old, and not only glided through the air, but also wielded deadly swords as their weapons.

“I was the one who’d been charged with protecting Polidori, until you waltzed into the picture and insisted on taking charge,” Sebastian continued.

“And you were only too eager to let me! If there was someone else to do the dirty work, you’d step back and let them. If you hadn’t disappeared—run away—from the Silver Chalice when Lilith sent the Guardians after you, Phillip might still be alive! You might have been able to help him!”

“Perhaps. But likely not. There were eight Imperials, along with a myriad of other vampire patrons who would have leaped to their defense, and only Pesaro and myself. I am sorry, Victoria. I’ve told you before that I wholly regret what happened to your husband. I would not have wished that on anyone. Believe me.”

Her face was wet with tears, and she’d stopped trying to pull free from his arms. But though her muscles eased, her fury and disappointment did not. “And that night in the carriage in London…you tried to seduce me and then delivered me to those vampires. You let them take me away!” Once finding herself alone with Sebastian, she’d nearly allowed him to make love to her—until they were interrupted by an angry group of vampires. She’d always suspected he’d delivered her to them on purpose.

Sebastian was shaking his head. “As lovely as that distraction was, do you truly think I’d allow my attempt to seduce you to be interrupted by something as unpleasant as the undead? I realized they were present just when you did. I tried to keep them from taking you, but I wasn’t able to. It was I who found your driver and told him where you were so that Pesaro could extricate you from Lilith’s minions. She was too angry at me for helping you, and was watching me too closely to allow me to do any such thing.”

“You mean you wished not to tip your hand to her that you were playing both sides of the game. What is it, Sebastian? Whoever is winning is the side you choose?”

He looked as though she’d slammed him in the stomach with all of the force of her two vis bullae. “Victoria, you cannot—”

“I certainly—”

A noise behind her had Victoria whirling to see Zavier come to a stunned halt from what must have been a run from the back of the Consilium. “How could you!” His face was tight with accusation, and he was breathing heavily. “Victoria, do ye know what ye’ve done? You may be Illa Gardella, but this is wrong.”

His ruddy face flushed with anger as he strode toward her and Sebastian, his arms bunched in a threatening manner. In his hand he held a stake. “First ye kiss the man; then ye bring him into our sanctuary. And now we are found!”

“Stop yourself there, Zavier,” Victoria snapped, still reeling from the maelstrom of disappointment and fury Sebastian had raised in her. Stepping between the bristling Scot and her lover—former lover—she faced the redhead. “You do not know of what you speak.”

Looking in his eyes, she saw mostly pain, and she realized how it must appear to him: a tryst being held in the most secret of places. As if Victoria were compromising security and secrets in exchange for a bit of a tup, as Verbena would say.

She had difficulty not being furious that Zavier assumed the worst of her, but Victoria managed to tuck that emotion away—for the time being. Her voice gentled, but still kept a hint of steel in it. “It is not what it appears.”

And then she smelled the blood and noticed the stain on Zavier’s torso.

Before she could speak, a low, rolling sound, like the tolling of a bell, clanged. The sound filled the room, dull and ominous, and Victoria turned to look at a large bell high in one of the corners. She’d hardly noticed it before, but now it seemed to swell inside the whole chamber. The deep sound reverberated through her limbs, and she saw the vibration in the feather of an old-fashioned quill that sat on one of the tables. Then more running feet grabbed her attention. Ilias hurried into the room from the opposite direction Zavier had come, Wayren close behind him, her gown billowing behind her.

“What is it?”

“The warning bell. Someone has tripped the alarm above in Santo Quirinus,” Wayren said, hurrying toward them. “There are trespassers near.”

Victoria drew back as if she’d been slapped, whirling to face Sebastian in horror. “You!”

“I swear it was not me, Victoria! I swear it!” He looked as disconcerted as she, his attention flashing to Wayren, who did not appear at all surprised to see him. “It was—”

Wayren reached for him, her fingers closing over the juncture of neck and shoulder. “Later, Sebastian. We will talk later.” She twitched her hand, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he crumpled to the floor. Obviously Wayren didn’t trust him either.

Victoria looked sharply at her—she’d known all along about Sebastian! Why had she never told her?

“The vampires haven’t found us yet, but there are undead and mortals above, in the streets and buildings nearby. Something has brought them here.” It was Zavier, speaking to Ilias as though Victoria were not present. His normally jovial face bore darkness and accusation when he finally looked at her. “We must drive them away.”

He started off toward the alcove that led to the spiral staircase Victoria had descended only thirty minutes earlier, but she called him back.

“No, Zavier, wait. We cannot go that way, for if we suddenly appear from the church they will know our secret.”

Ilias kept hidden guardsmen within the small church and in the areas surrounding it: one Venator along with two Comitators, who were martial-arts experts like Kritanu who taught the Venators their fighting skills. If there were vampires about, threatening their security—which Victoria had no reason to doubt—presumably the guards were already engaged. Still, it would be rash to come from the church and confirm to the undead where the entrance to the Consilium was.

“This way,” Ilias ordered with a sharp gesture. Victoria and Zavier followed the older man, who obviously knew more about the secrets of the Consilium than anyone else, back down the steps and through one of the pointed archways that led to a chamber Victoria had seen only once before. It was bare and dusty. Trunks and several wooden crates were stacked against one of the walls, but Ilias hurried past them toward the back corner. He reached up to one of the iron sconces that were studded throughout the entire Consilium and lifted the torch from its place. Fumbling around with his fingers inside the empty sconce, he grunted in satisfaction, then withdrew his hand.

Victoria watched with increasing tension, impatience nearly sending her back to the top of the spiral stairs. At least there she could hear if the threat was coming closer.

But when Ilias removed his hand from the inside of the sconce, he also pulled back on the iron cup, and it fell away from the wall. A dull grating sound drew her attention, and she saw the wall behind the trunks shift.

Zavier was there before she was, only, Victoria knew, because he’d somehow been looking in that direction. He shoved the wall so that it opened wide enough to get through, and he dashed into the darkness beyond.

She would have followed him, but Ilias caught her arm. “You cannot come back in this way, so take care. It is only an exit.”

“Thank you,” she said, and ran after Zavier, noticing the splatter of blood he’d left on the floor. She didn’t know how badly he was injured, but she must rely on him. It was the two of them and the three guards who watched the church above; Ilias and Wayren would stay below as a last shield in the Consilium.

The secret door had closed behind her, leaving no illumination, yet Victoria did not slow her pace.

Her huntress blood was ready, her instincts on edge, when she saw gray relief ahead. Stake steady in her hand, Victoria slowed as she came around a corner and found herself at the bottom of a set of stone stairs. Up she climbed, the heels of Zavier in front of her becoming more visible as they ascended, and the pungent smell from the nearby umbrella makers more evident.

Then she followed him through a stone doorway that led to the street in front of Santo Quirinus church. The cobblestones were covered by moonglow. The sun had been set for some time.

As Victoria burst across the borghi and up the five steps onto the brick street, she noticed two things: first, the bloody heap of what had been a Comitator, and second, the dank, musty death-smell she’d smelled only last night.

A demon.

Sebastian had brought demons to the Consilium!

This fact was confirmed when Victoria saw Michalas, who must have been with Zavier before he came to sound the alarm, slam his stake into the chest of a red-eyed being. When he withdrew it and stepped back the creature leaped toward him, unharmed. Victoria vaulted herself at them and kicked into the demon, sending him off balance and slamming into the side of a building.

She rolled to her feet and looked around for something to use as a blade; demons had to be beheaded. A great force slammed into her from behind, and Victoria went sprawling onto the dirt, her knee twisting as she stumbled onto a large rock. She rolled away, kicking out with all the strength of her legs and painful knee as the demon with the vampire eyes lunged toward her again.

The shouts and blows around her ebbed into the distance as she fought hand-to-hand with the demon, who matched her in strength.

This one appeared human, except for the red eyes of the undead and his foul, dank smell. Her arms ached where he grabbed them; her stomach burned when he jabbed her with an elbow. His head snapped back as she whipped her arm up under his chin, and he tumbled to the ground when she followed that up with a sharp kick behind his knee. She shoved him into a small bush and whirled around, again looking for something to use as a blade.

“Victoria!” She heard her name and shifted her attention for the barest of moments. Something flew through the night toward her, something long and gleaming. She caught Zavier’s eye with a quick thanks and snatched the sword out of the air, barely feeling the blade as it sliced into her palm.

It was in her other hand a breath later, her fingers safely behind the guard, and Victoria leaped toward the demon with a great swipe toward the creature’s throat.

The blade cut through, and blood from her own wound splattered as she kept her momentum going. She didn’t see the demon freeze and then shrivel into a dark mass before it bubbled into the dirt and old grass; she was already turning toward another creature bearing down on her.

A kick, a shove, a whirl and a slice, and she severed the ogre-faced demon’s head from his doglike body. By the time she whirled back around, everything had stilled but for the ratcheting breathing of her companions. Michalas panted near the threshold of a building, sweat dripping from his tight curls.

“Bloody hell…” Zavier’s barrel chest heaved as he crouched against the corner of a small building that looked as though it might tumble over from his powerful weight.

“It is Stanislaus on the steps in the Icon Hall,” came a voice. Ilias stepped from the small doorway of the church, his face stern and weary. “He is dead. But the door was closed behind him, preserving the secret door in the confessional. From the looks of the blood streaking the tile, he crawled in there to die…and to loose the alarm bell.”

“They nearly found the kirk!” exploded Zavier, staring around with furious eyes. “If we had not been here they could have found it.” He rose to his feet, the man never seeming so large and ferocious as he did then.

Sudden comprehension welled inside Victoria, and she moved toward Zavier. That was when she saw there on the ground at his feet another body. This one had long dark hair in a crumpled braid, and his mahogany-colored face was turned to one side.

“Zavier, I’m sorry,” she said, bending to kneel next to the man. There was nothing that could be done; the blood and the awkward angle of his head told her that in an instant. Mansur had been a Comitator recently assigned as a permanent guardian of Santo Quirinus, but prior to that he’d worked with Zavier. She rose and placed her hand on the Scot’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”

A sick feeling rose in her stomach. Could they have prevented Mansur’s death? And that of the other Venator, Stanislaus? Had she made the wrong decision by delaying their arrival, taking the long way out?

They brought the bodies of the mortals into a nearby building, still taking care to stay away from the church. Their losses were one Comitator and one Venator, two-thirds of the guardians of the church. Victoria finalized the count of two demons dead, two vampires, and three mortals she didn’t recognize, but suspected they might be Tutela. All were slain on the deserted street.

“You are correct. The mark of the Tutela is on the three men,” Wayren said to Victoria after Ilias examined the bodies. There was worry in the older woman’s pale blue eyes.

“Mansur and Stanislaus realized too late that they were fighting demons,” Victoria said, her mind back on the loss of her comrades. While all Venators and some Comitators could sense the presence of a vampire, not many also had the ability to identify demons, many of which could take any shape. “And Stanislaus warned us the only way he could.”

“They found Santo Quirinus, but they couldna find us,” Zavier said, his burr thick. “But ’twas a near thing.” He would not look at Victoria.

She fully understood, and accepted the blame. For, during the heat of battle, somehow her mind had become unfettered, and she realized how it had happened. How it must have happened.

For once she believed Sebastian, and knew he had not led the way or drawn the demons to them.

For demons could mean only one thing: Akvan.

Akvan must have sent them for the shard Victoria had hidden in the Consilium.

And he would be back.