The Bleeding Dusk

Twenty-One In Which Max Befuddles a Contrary Demon

Akvan was just as Wayren had described him: ungainly, horned, and tailed. His body was a solid trunk with thick arms and legs, both of which ended in curved claws. His face was jowled and porcine, with tiny eyes, puffy cheeks, and a large pug nose. Fangs protruded from his mouth like small tusks, and his skin had a bluish cast.

The stench of rank evil hung in the air as Max was ushered fully into the room where the demon was holding court. The room was large and simply furnished. Perhaps ten people were standing about, clustered loosely in front of a low dais on which the demon sat. Max couldn’t identify exactly which ones were vampires any longer, but he recognized some of those present as members of the Tutela, and knew that there had to be at least a few undead among them.

On the dais next to Akvan was a slender stone table, hip high, and on it was a cluster of obsidian shards.

Briyani had been made to stand at the doorway, but Max was allowed to step forward into the center of the chamber.

“So you demand to see me?” Akvan boomed from a large chair. With his return to earth he had taken human form, but in a horrific, distorted manner in that every aspect was exaggerated and awkward. And, by any definition, horrifically ugly. He was much larger than any man, easily half again as tall as Max himself. “And who are you?”

“I am who called you back to this earth,” Max told him, facing him boldly.

“He is a Venator,” came a voice he recognized all too well. “A powerful one. You are right to keep him at a distance.”

“Sarafina,” Max said, turning as the blond woman he’d nearly married appeared, pushing her way through the small throng from the side of the room. George Starcasset was close by her side. “I see you have wasted no time in finding another companion.”

“Do not be jealous, Maximilian…no one could replace you.” She smiled in a manner that was much less naive than any expression she’d worn when he’d first met her, more than a year ago. The glint in her eyes reminded him of the one he’d seen when he’d been unable to extricate himself from a shopping trip with her: sly and covetous. “I’m delighted to see that you’ve returned to us. I was quite annoyed to find you missing after our visit. Is it perhaps too much to hope that you’ve seen the error of your ways and have come back to the Tutela?”

“A Venator?” Akvan’s low, grating voice drew Max’s attention back to the matter at hand. “No Venator can harm me—it is written in the Shah-Nameh. Let him approach.”

“But he is the concubine of Lilith,” Sara, ever the gossipmonger, insisted. She was moving toward him as if she owned the chamber, not Akvan.

“You know nothing,” Max said, turning away from her. “Be still.”

“Hold him,” she ordered, gesturing sharply at four of the others, “and I shall prove it, Master Div.” She gave a short, almost insolent bow to the demon as the guards she’d summoned swarmed toward him.

Max’s skin crawled as four pairs of hands grasped his shoulders and arms, but he stood stoically as Sara’s delicate little fingers pulled at his shirt, opening the collar to show the new bite.

“See? She has marked him, and the bite never heals…and no undead dares to touch him for fear of bringing her wrath down upon them.” Her hands were warm and smooth over his skin, brushing his neck and dipping down beneath the fabric of his shirt as if she owned him. “And here—Hold him, I said!” She yanked on the ties of the shirt, and then the two halves, opening it over his chest, flicking her finger over the vis bulla that hung uselessly from his areola. “How I’ve missed this,” she murmured cannily, giving it a tug—without noticing that it wasn’t his.

It was painful, but he kept his face blank and his breathing steady. He hadn’t expected Sara to be such an asset to his plan, to move things along so quickly and easily. “Tell your fiends to release me,” he ordered Akvan. “I came of my own will.”

Akvan waved his hand and the four men stepped away, but Sara remained. “Begone,” Max told her. “I have things to discuss with your master.” Sara did not like being mastered by anyone; now that her father was gone she was the heir apparent to the Tutela leadership. The flare of annoyance in her eyes told him he’d hit the mark.

“Get away from him.” George Starcasset, the cowardly weasel, spoke. Jealousy colored his voice. “Or you will drive Lilith’s anger down upon yourself.”

“But I am safe here with Akvan,” Sara said pertly, her eyes sliding over Max one last time as she glided back toward her companion. She shot a coy look at the demon, and Max was certain he saw her flutter her eyelashes. “She’d not dare to show her face here, for she’s been hiding in her mountains for almost two years now.”

Max would have laughed at her innocent comment if he’d been in any other situation. How little she knew Lilith.

“Why have you come?” Akvan boomed. “Only three days ago you escaped from my…hospitality.” His laugh was deep and raspy.

“I’ve come because I called you back from nothing when I destroyed your obelisk. And for that you owe me a boon.”

“A boon? I owe you a boon?”

“Without me you would still be trapped in nothing, whilst the son of Lilith would wield your power here on this earth.” Max felt the cool air over his bare skin, but held off the urge to draw his shirt back together.

Akvan’s jowls were shaking, and his eyes had nearly disappeared among the folds of their lids and his crinkled skin. His laugh was silent, yet condescension exuded from every one of his large pores. “And what favor is it that you demand?”

The demon was obviously just humoring Max’s conversation, but that served the plan. Weave the web, one thin skein at a time.

For the first time Max allowed himself to show a bit of a falter, a hesitation. Now he pulled the edges of his shirt together. “What I have to say is for your ears only.” And large, malformed ones they were.

Akvan looked at him, his eyes visible again, and sharp. “No. You speak aloud, here, among all.”

Indeed. “There is no love lost between you and Lilith,” he began, letting his eyes flicker around. “And I bear her no love myself.”

“I knew it was so,” Sara hissed from the side.

“Shut up,” Starcasset snapped back.

Ah. Division among the ranks.

“Those pieces are too small to reconstruct your obelisk,” Max said, gesturing to the small pile of obsidian. “I can obtain a much larger shard that you can use to rebuild and restore your power.”

“The one in the possession of the Venator?” asked Akvan. “I do not need it.”

Max shrugged. “Then our business is concluded.” He turned to leave, his eyes meeting Briyani’s at the back of the room. The other man gave a bare nod of readiness. Now they would see.

“Wait.”

Max turned and faced Akvan, allowing a trace of apprehension to show on his face. “Yes?”

“You have this shard?”

“I can get it for you.”

“Why would you do such a thing?”

“I wish to ally myself with one who has greater power than Lilith. I desire to destroy her hold over me. She promised to release me if I destroyed your obelisk, but she has refused.”

“And if Sarafina is to be believed, once you are set free, Lilith will bring all of her wrath down upon your ally. I am not foolish enough to step into that trap.”

Max nodded, allowing even more concern to tinge his expression. “I presumed she would be no match for you, in any regard.”

“She would not! I merely do not wish to concern myself with her and her puny, half-demon creatures. I have enough of them about me now.” His voice grated harshly. “But I will have the shard. And when you give it to me, I will allow you to leave.”

“I do not wish to fight you,” Max replied, his face tightening. “Not you.”

Akvan considered him again. “A fight, then. A fight for your freedom. If I win, you give me the shard and you serve me. If you win, I allow you to go free.”

“No, Maximilian,” came a shout from the back of the room. They turned to see Briyani straining against the hold of two men. “I will do it! I will fight him. You are still—”

“Silence him,” Akvan thundered, his command reverberating off the walls. “I shall fight him. And if he dies, you die as well.”

“But you cannot endanger yourself,” Sara cried from the side. She ran to Akvan’s chair, her little hands grasping his bulky arm.

Max could have kissed her at that moment, not only for her confidence in his skills, but also because the timing could not have been more perfect had he paid her. “I will give you the shard,” he said. “I do not wish to fight you. Only let us go free.”

“I have no fear of you, Venator. You cannot harm me, but there is nothing writ that says I cannot draw you into pieces. But perhaps I should fight your friend first, and then when I win, you shall tell me where the shard lies.”

Blast.

“If you wish,” Max said, trying to sound a bit eager. “That is more than fair.”

“But he is not a Venator,” cried Sara. “Is he?” She spun a look at Max, who refused to answer. “You are not fully recovered from your return, Master Div,” she said. “And he is not a Venator. Do not jeopardize our plans by putting yourself in danger.”

Akvan had pulled his bulk from the large chair and now he towered over all in the room. His muscles, bare beneath a short-sleeved tunic and traditional Persian skirt, rippled. If he was not fully recovered from being recalled to earth, Max was loath to imagine what he would look like when he was.

“I shall fight you, Lilith’s concubine. And when you die—”

“When I die you shall not know where the piece of obelisk is,” Max said.

Akvan lumbered to a stop. “You do not wish to fight me. If you tell me where the piece of my obelisk is, I will not fight you.”

“And you will allow me to go free? And my companion?”

Akvan settled back in his chair. “Of course. Now tell me.”

“I will tell it aloud, where all can hear.” Max looked at him, tensing inside. This was about as far as he could go; they’d gone back and forth, around in circles so much that he hoped Akvan was now thoroughly confused about what he wanted and what he feared. “So that you may send them out to obtain the shard and wait here with me for them to return with it in their possession.”

Akvan’s eyes narrowed. “Draw near to me, Lilith’s concubine.”

Max blanched. “I cannot. The bites…she can sense it, and they sting and burn if I—”

“Draw near! I command you, or your companion will be my next meal.”

Max looked around, visibly disconcerted, but then regained his courage. “Send your people from the chamber so I can speak freely.”

“I shall not! Draw near me and speak in my ear.” Akvan glowered at Sara, who peeled herself from his arm and moved away. “You as well, all of you, step back. Allow him to approach.”

Max took measured steps toward the demon, gasping once and pressing his hand to the bites that still oozed blood. He stopped in front of the dais, slightly to the left side, where the table of obsidian splinters rested and looked up at the massive creature. “I cannot move…any closer…. The pain…is unbearable.”

The stench was awful too. Max wasn’t completely feigning discomfort as he drew near, but he was tense and prepared. One chance.

When Akvan’s haunch-size hand lashed out, Max took the opportunity to dive to the ground, his hands busy under his long coat as he rolled. The demon grasped him by the arm and hauled him easily onto the dais as Max winced, pretending to hold an injured arm.

“Tell me where the shard is!” demanded Akvan, his breath spewing a hot, sickly death-smell over Max’s face.

“It is here!” Max said, whipping his arm from beneath the folds of his coat and plunging the shard into Akvan’s chest as if he were staking a vampire.

The demon shrieked, his eyes goggling, his mouth gaping; but Max didn’t hesitate. He was already pulling the short sword from his other trouser leg and, as the demon remained paralyzed by the stab of the shard, he sliced through his meaty neck with a blade barely long enough for the job, and then he turned to the pile of splinters.

Everything happened so quickly that before anyone in the room could react, he had the time to dump the table and its cache of obsidian, as well as the splinter necklace, onto the shriveling, blackening mass of Akvan as the demon bubbled into the floor.

But no sooner had he done that, letting every piece of the obelisk melt into its maker, than Max was turning to defend himself from the hoard of guards that descended upon him.

He didn’t know who was a vampire and who was a man, and therefore what weapon to use against each—but the question became moot as a massive explosion erupted from the back of the room, sending scatters of stone blasting through the air. At last, Briyani!

Max took advantage of the distraction to slip away from the red-eyed creature he’d been battling, using the cover of the sudden smoke to duck low and scuttle his way toward that end of the chamber. Their plan was to meet outside of the room if possible, with Michalas rushing to meet them as soon as he heard the explosion.

He ran into something small and soft, and from the familiar grasping fingers knew it was Sara. She was still a mortal, misguided as she was, but a mortal. Instead of shaking her off, as he wanted to do, he dragged her after him through the smoke and over the piles of rubble, past the bodies buried under it, and out into the hall. Smoke filled the passageway, but when he felt the grasp of sure fingers on his arm, he turned and recognized Briyani.

His face was covered with soot, but his white teeth shone in a complacent smile…and as Max turned to follow him, Michalas emerged from the darkness too.

“Come,” he said, leading the way. Max followed, and as they hurried down the hall, Michalas turned twice more and lobbed something behind him. Explosions followed them, and a sudden loud rumbling told Max that something had finally collapsed the ceiling behind them. The whole villa was going to come down.

“Run!”

They ran, the smell of stone dust billowing through the narrow hall behind them as the ceiling caved bit by bit, each topple bringing down the section after it. He still had Sara by the arm, and she was running as fast as they were, even in her skirts.

They finally reached the cell and burst into the secret laboratory, then more slowly through the Door of Alchemy and out into the night that had fallen.

“You killed him,” Sara said as Max flung off her grasping hands. “How did you do that? It was against the writings of the Shah-Nameh that a Venator could hurt him! It is never wrong.”

He ignored her, looking over the wall that housed the Door of Alchemy. Half of the villa had collapsed in upon itself, sending puffs of smoke that were visible even in the low moonlight.

“How, Max?”

“Let’s go,” he said, turning to Michalas and Briyani. “We’ve finished here.”

Without another word or glance he turned and they started off, leaving Sara Regalado staring after them.

“How?” she called again. “At least tell me that, Max.”

He kept walking away. He would never see her again. Never deal with this again.

His chest was tight. It was over.

Sebastian cursed as he opened his eyes. At least, one eye. The other one was swollen shut. His shirt was wet with blood, and he felt as if a cart had driven over him, more than once. What had he done to himself?

Then his eyes widened, even the painful one, and he scrambled to his feet.

Good God.

Victoria.

He was unsteady, but he’d felt worse before, and the throbbing didn’t stop him from rushing toward the door of the room in which he’d been tossed. It was one of the extra chambers that Beauregard used, and Sebastian’s immediate fear that he’d been locked in was unfounded, for the door opened easily. The hallway was empty, and Sebastian hurried out and down the passageway, refusing to think about what he would find.

Gardriel and Hugh, two massive vampires particularly loyal to Beauregard, stood outside the door to his private chamber—not the one with the harpsichord, but one adjoining it through yet another hidden door. Sebastian, however, was fast and determined, and managed to push his way in.

As strong hands locked around his upper biceps, whipping him back to a halt, he stared at the scene before him. His vision dimmed at the edges as he gave a single, futile jerk to try to free himself. “No.”

His grandfather looked up casually from where he reclined on the large, pillow-strewn bed, stroking Victoria’s dark hair. It was long, and rich and thick, and it covered her bare shoulders, streaming over the lush red velvet bedding. Her skin was white, pale in the light cast from a roaring fire—a comfort for her, not for Beauregard—and her mouth was curved in a sensual smile. She looked at Sebastian from her position curled up with his grandfather. Her eyes were horribly bright and seemed deep in her skull.

“You’ve arrived rather more quickly than I anticipated.”

“Let her go.” Sebastian struggled again, but the two who held him were taller, bulkier, and much stronger than he. “Beauregard, let her go.”

Sebastian couldn’t take his eyes from Victoria, his heart slamming in his chest, his gut twisting painfully. Her lips were dark red and puffy, as if they’d been well kissed, and her gown…it sagged at her bodice, leaving no doubt what his grandfather had been doing, what he had planned.

Worst of all, her ivory skin seemed paler than usual, the hollow at the base of her throat darker and deeper. As she moved to kiss Beauregard her hair fell away, and he saw the streaks of blood on the side of her neck. Dark, but still glistening, still thick and rich.

He knew that there was still a chance, yes…he’d drained a good amount of her blood, but as long as she hadn’t drunk from Beauregard, Sebastian could save her.

His grandfather pulled away from the deep, thrusting kiss he’d been sharing with Victoria, a kiss that made Sebastian’s vision dim further and his struggles more desperate. He saw tongues slide and lips mesh, and it was horribly erotic and disturbing and shocking all at the same time.

Beauregard lifted his face, pulling away from Victoria’s lips with a loud smacking sound, and looked directly at Sebastian. She continued to kiss his chin and on down his neck, her small, powerful hands smoothing over the front of his chest in the same way she’d done to Sebastian himself only days ago. “You certainly may join us, if you promise to behave,” Beauregard told him.

Nausea flooded him, and Sebastian couldn’t speak for a moment. This couldn’t be happening. “Why?” he asked finally, his voice low and broken. “Why?”

“I could no longer chance your divided loyalties, Sebastian. Now there will be no question, will there?”

Sebastian just stared, the world falling away and leaving him standing on the edge of a precipice in a cold and angry wind. “Victoria!” he said, his eyes never leaving her as he kicked futilely at the undead who held him. If he could get her attention, pull her from the depths of the thrall…“Victoria, look at me!”

“Do you not fear. She’ll be just as accommodating now as she was before…yet she’ll never change. You’ll thank me in a few decades. If you’d listened to me—”

“No!”

Suddenly, as she moved and her other arm came into view, he saw the copper band biting into her wrist, and realized that was how she’d fallen. It had to be. She was too strong otherwise. “Victoria.” Desperation began to skim his nerves; his voice came out in an agonized whisper.

Her eyes were heavy-lidded and alluring, her dark lashes a thick fringe beneath brows and delicate lavender eyelids, her irises wide-pupiled. Her head tilted back as she smiled up at Beauregard again, reaching to brush her fingers over his jaw and chin in an overtly seductive manner so very unlike the proud, restrained Victoria he knew.

“Let her go,” Sebastian told Beauregard again, hating that there was an edge of pleading in his voice. His body trembled. “Release her.”

“I will not.” Beauregard’s eyes glowed more deeply, and Sebastian felt the edge of his thrall tickle over his shoulders. For the first time in a long while, he recognized the power of his grandfather, and the danger he represented.

“I’ve never asked you for anything. I’ve done what you’ve bidden; I’ve protected you. Now let her go.”

“It’s too late.” Beauregard reached out his long, narrow hand and smoothed his fingers over Victoria’s neck. Blood covered them when he pulled them away, bringing them to his mouth and gently tasting.

“She hasn’t fed from you. It’s not too late.” Sebastian’s neck was prickling and his head pounded. “Please.”

“But she will. She will feed from me. And then you’ll be happy, Sebastian, I promise. Trust me.” Beauregard looked at him. “I never could understand why you did what you did to Giulia, but—”

Sebastian managed to wrench his left arm free from Hugh’s grip, surprising both of the undead as he sent his fist plowing into the vampire’s face, and then twisted to pull free from the other.

But they were on him immediately, pummeling and kicking, fangs bared and eyes glowing, and Sebastian felt the room spinning as he sagged to the floor after a vicious punch in the abdomen.

“Get him out of here,” he heard Beauregard say. The voice was dim and far away, but Sebastian fought to bring himself back to the room, back to save Victoria.

But before he could, strong hands dragged him out of the chamber. And as the door closed behind them, the last thing he heard was a low, feminine laugh filled with pleasure.