"I don't have the same information you apparently have received, but it would be" my expectation that they will not return to Lilith without the book."
"Undead have to remove it from the house. If there are only two or three of them, we should have no trouble relieving them of their burden."
"Theoretically, yes."
They fell silent, waiting, watching, breathing steadily and smoothly at last.
And then… Victoria started when Max's hand appeared in her periphery, a finger, pointing silently.
Three of them, walking toward the house, in the center of the street as if they owned it. Broad, tall, long hair gusting with each stride. Even from where she was, Victoria saw the whiteness of their skin, the deep, violet-red glow of narrowed eyes. And the long glint of metal swords drooping from their hands.
Her neck felt as if a wedge of ice were pressed against it.
Her stomach tightened and she surreptitiously rubbed her damp palm against the rough bark of the tree.
"Imperial vampires." Max's voice was in her ear, barely audible.
But she hadn't needed to be told; Victoria already knew. The vampires closest to Lilith, closer than her elite retinue of Guardians, and so powerful they could pull the life energy from their victims without using their fangs—just their eyes.
Lilith was indeed taking no chances.
They didn't move as the Imperials approached Redfield Manor. It was fortunate they were downwind from the vampires, and that there was a gentle breeze. It might keep the three from scenting her and Max. Victoria watched them, her neck burning with chill. They were still a distance away, but even now she could feel the power, the hate… the evil. She stifled a shiver.
For the first time she was truly glad Max was there.
The Book of Antwartha was still inside the house, and would need to be removed by one of the undead, for Sebastian would not have been able to take it.
But why was he here?
Lilith knew that she and Max would do anything to stop her from getting' the book. Perhaps there were even more surprises awaiting them tonight. Victoria had an uneasy feeling that although they were prepared, the queen of the vampires was one step ahead of them.
If she had gone to Aunt Eustacia or Max to share what she knew, they might have been better able to plan their strategy. After all, Max had some experience with Imperials. But Victoria had gone solo, and so had Max, and now they were at the mercy of Lilith's determination.
How did one fight an Imperial? Her heart seemed to pound through her whole body. Surely the vampires must sense it!
As if reading her thoughts, one of the Imperials paused at the stoop of Redfield Manor, turning toward them and sniffing the air. Victoria held her breath and felt Max tense against her.
Then the vampire turned back to his companions, and they separated. Two went up the steps, and the one who'd faced them remained at the bottom, standing near the street. The length of his sword was a third leg, stretching from hip to ground.
The door of Redfield Manor opened and the two Imperials went in. The third was alone.
She nearly jumped when Max's fingers closed around her arm and he breathed into the vicinity of her ear, "Me first. Wait; then you follow." Without waiting for her response, he stepped from the shadow of the tree and began to walk boldly toward the Imperial.
He had no sword, no weapon but the ash stakes and a long, slender branch that had a jagged end.
Victoria watched as the Imperial turned to face Max striding across the grass that had somehow become damp. His burning eyes no more than slits, the vampire stood ready. Even from her distance, in the glance of light from the moon, Victoria could see the smirk of readiness, the indolent stance that said he was ready for a fight.
When Max came within two arms' breadth, the Imperial lifted his sword. Yes, he had brutal strength that matched Max's, but to fight a Venator, who carried a pike of wood that held death, Lilith took no chances. She armed her vampires with metal pikes, swords. Thus they were evenly matched. Wood to metal. Holy strength to inhuman might.
Victoria understood Max's plan, and though her heart picked up speed as she saw the two tall, broad figures face each other, she waited. The Imperial would have scented their presence; by Max announcing himself and approaching the vampire, it was obvious he hoped Victoria would remain unnoticed.
Metal glinted in the light, and Victoria saw that they were engaged, fighting for life. Or undeath.
She'd been wrong. They were not evenly matched.
Max had the disadvantage. The skin of her palms dampened. While his weapon would kill only if he got a clear slice through the chest, the sword wielded by the Imperial was lethal in any manner.
And if he drew blood, its smell would attract the other Imperials and Guardians from inside Redfield Manor… and any that lurked on the streets.
They moved as if choreographed, seeming to leap and almost glide through the air at times, blocking and thrusting, each with their staff of death, spinning, leaping, banking off a nearby tree one time; gliding up the side of the house and down another time. Almost as if they were puppets on strings, lifting into the air and careening back toward each other in lethal ballet movements.
She watched, amazed, as Max seemed to skim and glide on the air in the graceful movements of an art form she had not yet learned. She kept her eyes trained on them, praying she would know when to step from the shadows and come to his aid. Praying she would be quick enough.
And then the constant ice at the back of her neck changed, pulling her attention from the battle. She felt something behind her and turned just in time, her stake at waist height. With a quick thrust she jabbed it up and into the chest of the very ordinary vampire who'd had the foolishness to come up behind a tense Venator, a woman who he'd thought would be easy pickings.
That would be his last street hunt.
Victoria turned back around, realizing that her movement would have alerted the Imperial to her presence, just in time to see his long metal blade arc through the air and tumble to the ground. In a move that took her breath away, Max vaulted from the vampire and snatched up the blade. Straightening, he turned and, with one clean swipe, cleaved the Imperial's head from his neck.
The vampire poofed.
All was still.
Except for Victoria's ramming heart and dragging breaths.
Max turned as she came across the grass toward him.
"One down. Two to go," he said, meeting her halfway. To her great annoyance, he was barely out of breath. "We're better matched now. You take that side. I'll take this one." He gestured to the boxwoods that flanked the stoop of the house.
"You were flying."
He looked at her, eyebrows raised. "In a manner of speaking, yes. As much as you might think you know, you still have much to learn, Victoria. Now take your place."
"Wait." She grabbed his arm, her breathing steadier now. Something shiny dampened his sleeve, and she saw that it had been sliced open and blood spilled. "He got you."
"Of course he did," Max snapped, pulling his arm back to his side and stepping into the protective shadow of another tree. "How else was I to distract him to twist the sword from his grip? One quick flip of my stake at that angle and he had to drop it." Under his annoyance there was an air of satisfaction and smugness.
"Congratulations," Victoria replied just as briskly. "But if we don't bind it up and stanch the bleeding, it'll attract every other undead in the vicinity… not to mention the ones inside with Sebastian."
She could have bitten her tongue, but that would have meant more blood scent on the air. And Max wasn't about to allow it to slip by.
"How do you know his name?" He rounded on her.
Victoria refused to be cowed. "Later, Max. First, let's take care of—"
But she never finished her sentence. The door beyond them opened and two Imperial vampires stood at the top of the stoop.
The vampires had to step out of the house, carrying the book, before it would be safe for Victoria and Max to take it from them.
They exchanged looks under shadow of the boxwoods, satisfying themselves that the other understood this.
Although the first Imperial paused at the door's threshold, he did not wait long; the one behind him appeared just at his shoulder and they both stepped out. Their hands were empty but for the swords they still carried.
They looked around as if searching for their missing colleague; since he'd popped into ash, they would see no sign of him. But perhaps they would smell the lingering dust in the air.
The Imperials strode down the steps, only feet away from Max and Victoria—they must smell them, Max's blood, too, for certain—looking around, the nostrils of one flaring as if testing the air for scent.
Just as one turned toward the bushy, shoulder-high boxwood that sheltered them, Max leaped from behind it, brandishing the sword, and beheaded the vampire in another clean stroke.
As the third and last Imperial whirled about, holding his own silver blade, another face peered around the doorway. Victoria saw him and crashed from behind the shrub, dashing up the steps before he could close the door.
He came out onto the stoop to meet her, and she saw that he was not carrying the book himself; but that did not matter, as now she had to fight him to his death. Or hers.
Dimly, through her own battle with the Guardian vampire, she was aware of the fierce clashing of swords below as Max and the Imperial faced off. A shout, and the one moment of distraction caused her to glance away. The next thing she knew, her opponent had her by the waist. He lifted and threw her so she half stumbled and half flew down the steps, landing in a breathless heap on the ground near Max and the other vampire.
She scrambled to her feet just as Max shouted her name; this time it was clear, and she looked over in time to see him point behind her; then he was back into the throes of defending himself.
Victoria turned and saw the figure of a man dropping from an open window of the house, carrying something large and bulky under his arm. She turned, and before she could lift her foot to take a step, she was knocked to the ground, facedown on the grass.
Groping hands, colder than the chill at the back of her neck, curled around her hair and pulled it from her nape. She whipped her hand around behind her and stabbed at the vampire.
