"I mean that the undead have made themselves scarce on the streets the last few nights because of the rampage you've been on. They've all been biding their time at the Chalice, padding my pockets." He smiled fully. "So I thought that I might find you walking the streets, frustrated at your lack of success."
"Rampage? Hunting and staking vampires is what Venators do. No different from what Max has been doing for years."
"Maximilian is known for his cold and calculating kills, true, but apparently your particular technique of late has sent the undead scurrying. It may have something to do with the fact that you still have in your possession the Book of Antwartha and are one up on Lilith; I am not certain. I just know that the vampires have been more wont to drink kegged blood than fresh in the last few nights."
"So you've come to take me to the Chalice, so I can hunt there?"
A look of horror washed the charm off his face. "Absolutely not!" And then when he saw the faint smile she'd allowed, he laughed. "Touché, my dear."
"Why do you want to protect the vampires?" asked Victoria, feeling a bit less restive. A little more relaxed.
"I don't protect vampires."
"By offering them a safe place to congregate, you certainly do."
"Perhaps I find it beneficial to provide a place where they will come and take their ease. Perhaps having that public place where their tongues will loosen and information might flow is valuable to me, as well as others. And there is, of course, money to be made—both from the undead, and from the ones who merely wish to interact with them."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Some people find it pleasurable to allow a vampire to drink their blood."
"Pleasurable?"
"You've been bitten by a vampire, Victoria. You know what it felt like just before he sank his teeth into your neck. And how, after he did, you wanted to just let go and let him take you."
He was looking at her in such a way that she felt hardly able to breathe. But she managed to reply, "How do you know I was bitten by a vampire?"
Suddenly Sebastian was on the seat next to her, his walking stick clattering to the floor. His leg pushed into the side of her thigh as he turned to lean over her. Stripping off his glove, he reached for the collar of her cloak and pulled it away. The fresh air rushed over her skin. "Because I saw this the first time we met."
He traced his bare finger over her neck, following the tendon that led to the small pool at the base of her throat. He dipped his thumb there, filling the soft, elastic indentation as the rest of his hand moved to cup the side of her neck that was not scarred.
She couldn't move away. She could barely breathe as her pulse throbbed in the vee of his hand, making his grip tighten and then loosen in rhythm with her heartbeat.
"Remember this?" he murmured, tipping her head so that she rested in his hand, opening the marked side of her neck to the whole of the carriage, open and vulnerable as he bent toward her.
She closed her eyes and felt it: lips, tongue, teeth; biting, licking, scraping gently over her sensitive skin, coaxing and convincing. She wanted to twist from him, to sigh, to press into him for more.
Her cloak loosened and fell away, her shoulders bare to the top of her low bodice. His weight pressed down on her more now, his warm hands—one bare, one gloved—moving over her shoulders. The leather of his covered hand moved like sticky flesh against her skin, the thick seams and buttons rough where they touched her.
Victoria's mouth was still free; she breathed a long sigh; perhaps she said his name, she wasn't sure. He raised her arms above her head, pushing her wrists into the corner of the carriage where she lay. This brought his face close to hers, his clove breath warm on her chin, his fingers tangling in the hair at the top of her head.
Victoria closed her eyes. She could pull away; she could break his grip and sit up and shove him back to the other side of the carriage for the liberties he was taking… but it felt so delicious, so reckless, so right for the way she was feeling.
Phillip—dear Phillip—had made her feel warm and liquid and malleable when he kissed her… but he was gone now, and Sebastian's mouth on her neck evoked a different sort of response… sharper… deeper and improper, and made her hungry for more of whatever he was offering. Or taking.
"So easy," he was whispering into her ear. "You are yearning for passion, Victoria. Is your marquess nothing but a cold fish?"
She was too lulled to experience the annoyance his comment should have sparked. "My marquess is no longer my marquess," she replied in a voice that was not her own.
"Indeed?" Sebastian pulled away so quickly that she opened her eyes. "Well, if that is the case, then I will feel not the least bit of guilt for this incident."
Despite the fact that her lungs seemed too full to draw in another breath, Victoria replied, "I doubt that guilt is an emotion that ever crosses your mind, regardless of the circumstance."
He laughed, dropped a brief kiss onto her lips for the first time, and said, "Well, one must at least appear to make the effort." And then, as if realizing how good her mouth tasted, he kissed her again. Hard and rough were his kisses, and Victoria, as though released from some sort of restriction, kissed him back.
This was nothing like Phillip. In the back of her mind it saddened her, because their passion had been true, without the underlying brutality of the one she shared with Sebastian.
When he moved, releasing her wrists and allowing her hands to delve into his loose curls, she shifted her hips to keep from sliding off the seat, and her foot landed, unbalanced, on the round walking stick. Sebastian pressed his weight into her, as if to implant her into the bench, and matched his hips to hers. A kind of burning tingling between her legs surprised her, and she pushed up closer, wanting more, feeling the hard ridge of him through their clothing.
Sebastian moved again, and suddenly Victoria felt cool fresh air splay over her breasts. She gasped in surprise and her first instinct was to struggle away, but when he laughed over her skin and closed his lips over one of her nipples, she fell back against the seat.
Good heavens… she'd had no idea!
He tugged and sucked, and she pulled him closer, and even when his hands whisked impatiently at her split skirt, niching each half up to the top of her hips, she didn't push him away. There was freedom in knowing she could at any moment.
And for the moment, she was going to indulge in whatever this was. She needed it.
Sebastian had known she needed it.
When his hands slid to the tops of her thighs she pressed them together as much as she could, but one of his legs was trapped between them. He chuckled against the underside of her breast and looked up with gleaming golden eyes half hidden by the jut of his brow and the tips of curls falling over his forehead with the rhythm of the carriage movement. "Are you still an innocent, my dear?"
"In some ways," she replied with more honesty than she should have been able to at that moment.
He withdrew his hands from her skirt and moved to her waist, pulling the waistband down and baring her cotton shift to the bare flashes of street lamps and moonlight. He gave a soft, low sigh when he found what he wanted.
Both hands cupped around the slight swell of her belly and slid together until his fingers touched her vis bulla. "Ahh," he said in a molten voice. And he lowered his face to the warm silver.
The faint brush of lips over her skin made her want to jerk and twist away—and press up into his mouth for more.
But then suddenly, like a dousing of cold water, she realized that the back of her neck was cool. Victoria stilled, listening. Yes, it was.
Sebastian stopped as though he too had noticed a change in the air, just as the carriage lurched to a halt.
"Vampires," Victoria said, pushing him away and her skirts down. She pulled her bodice back up over her breasts and felt the iciness at the back of her neck with an unusual portent. Checking to make sure her stakes hadn't become dislodged during this last interval with Sebastian, she stood, shook out her skirts, and reached for the handle of the door.
The night was uncomfortably silent.
Sebastian reached out just as she would have turned the handle. His fingers closed over her wrist. "Be careful, Victoria."
She looked down at him. "I am a Venator." And she opened the door.
Standing in the gray street stood an Imperial and three Guardian vampires. They ringed the door side of the carriage. She understood: This was not a random attack; they were waiting for her.
An ugly yet unsurprising thought snapped into her mind. She turned back to Sebastian, closed the door and barred it. "Did you bring me to them?"
His expression was unreadable. "Why would I have saved your life by telling you about the Book of Antwartha, then do such a thing?"
A loud thud against the carriage door caused the vehicle to lurch to one side, then rock back into place. Victoria reached for the walking stick at the bottom of the carriage and, resting its metal tip at the edge of the seat, slammed her foot down on it. The end broke off, leaving a lethally jagged end and turning it into a stake that could be used to combat a sword like the ones the Imperials carried.
Her hands were damp, her heart racing faster than usual. She'd never fought an Imperial. Nor taken on three Guardians alone.
"Venator! Show yourself!"
She was no coward, but she knew the odds were completely against her.
One of the windows shattered, spraying glass over Sebastian's black wool coat draped over the seat. He hissed angrily and gathered it up, sending the glass tinkling to the floor. Yet he said nothing to Victoria.
A leering vampire face showed in the broken window, reaching in to scrabble his hand around to find the door latch. Victoria reacted, shoving the stake through and miraculously catching him in the chest. Poof! One Guardian was gone.
But she couldn't stay in here forever. They weren't going anywhere, and Sebastian didn't appear to be promising any help.
Victoria leaned out of the jagged window and said, "Who calls 'Venator'?"
