“I was ordered to go.”

She opened her mouth as if to say something else, then paused, tilting her head to the side like Myza. Her eyes glittered brightly and she exchanged a quick look with Kritanu, who’d received a bowl of water from Charley and curled his maimed arm around it. In his other hand, he held a soft cloth. It dripped, and some pungent smell wafted from it.

Wordlessly, Max took the cloth and buried his face in it, inhaling whatever herbal decoction it had been steeped in, scrubbing away the blood and grime. Every muscle in his body ached, yet they gathered beneath his skin, demanding to be put to use, taut and ready.

He couldn’t sit here. And wait.

And wait.

He rubbed his face harder.

“Thrush has returned.”

Wayren’s quiet words brought Max’s hands down and his face from the damp cloth, which had cooled in the interim. Then he heard a soft clinking tap at the window, but Kritanu was already there, unlatching it and pushing it open.

If Thrush had returned…

Max felt jittery and cold.

“I cannot find a message.” With only one hand, Kritanu couldn’t easily remove the small tube from the bird’s leg; but instead of bringing it to Max, he offered the bird to Wayren.

Hell. Did he look that bad?

Wayren looked up from the pigeon. “There is no message.”

No message .

Max started to rise, but Wayren glared at him, raising a hand. It was surprisingly steady. “Be still. Thrush would not have left Myza alone. They had nothing with which to send a message.”

Was he that damned transparent?

He remained in his seat and tried not to look toward the window, tried not to appear as though every bloody creaking board in the house snapped him to attention.

“Max, it’s time that you returned to the Venators.”

Despite the hollow of pain and pounding anxiety in which he sat, Max heard and understood Wayren’s words. “It’s impossible,” he said, taking no care to hide the bitterness. Lilith had made certain that when he broke her hold over him, he would be unable to become a Venator again. Her bite, enhanced by a special salve that bound him to her, had tainted his blood. “You know it. And without a vis , I am nothing but a liability.”

“Indeed. You were quite the liability tonight,” Wayren said drily.

Max lifted his eyes to meet hers, and his sharp retort remained unspoken. Nevertheless. “My blood is tainted by Lilith. I cannot pass the Trial again, even if I should wish to try.”

“You don’t wish it?”

To become whole again? With all of his being.

And yet… never again.

“I won’t go back… to that.”

Wayren looked steadily at him. “Ylito has been studying your blood,” she said as though he hadn’t spoken.

“My blood?” Then he remembered. He’d sliced his arm open during that black ordeal in Roma. Victoria had needed blood in order to help fight back Beauregard’s blood as it attempted to turn her undead. Because his blood was not of the Gardellas, it was useless, but… “Ylito kept it?”

Wayren nodded. “That was why I asked for you to give some, even though we did not believe it could be used for Victoria. I asked Ylito to study it, to see if Lilith’s taint was real. Or if she lied.”

He didn’t ask. Max closed his mouth.

The Trial to become a Venator for one not called by the Gardella Legacy, one without the blood of the family in his veins, was a life-or-death proposition. Max had not cared about dying the first time he’d undergone the test.

In fact, he’d fairly wished for death. Yearned for it, for years.

But now.

He wasn’t afraid of it.

He just… didn’t want it. Yet.

He looked at Wayren and read the answer to the unspoken question. “Ylito believes there is no taint,” she said, reaffirming his thoughts.

Just then, his keen ears recognized a new sound from the front of the house. Max surged to his feet, ignoring the rush of light-headedness and the renewed flow of warmth down his arm, moving toward the foyer.

Flinging the door open, he saw the shadowy figures sliding from their horses. The big, burly Brim, moving slowly, but on his own, thank God. The tight strawberry blond curls of Michalas as he dismounted his horse.

There was another person turned away, pulling a limp body down from a horse.

Max hurried down the steps… without appearing to hurry. Hiding his fear.

The figure turned, steadying the inert bundle, and Max saw that it was Victoria, bloody and wild-faced, helping Sebastian stagger toward the house.

Six

An Unwelcome Summons

“Wayren?” asked Victoria as soon as she saw Max coming toward her. She didn’t have to ask the other question that had burned in her mind all during the long ride home. Though his face looked haggard in the early dawn, and she could see bloodstains all over his clothing, he was walking. Limping, moving slowly, but walking. Thank God.

Thank God.

“Recovered,” he said.

The tension drained from her, then surged back.

They were safe. For now.

Victoria saw Max’s attention shift to Sebastian, who sagged against her, an arm around her neck while she steadied him with one around his waist. She suspected he was exaggerating his weakness just a bit, for his fingers had been tracing little designs under her braid for the last fifteen minutes. The gentle caresses sent shivers skittering over her shoulders, and down along her arms, reminding her that Sebastian, unlike Max, had no problem with intimacy.

At least with her.

When they left the cemetery, Sebastian had been unable to walk on his own, due to a deep slash from hip to knee. Though his face had creased with pain, his eyes gleamed with delight when she suggested that he ride pillion with her so that she could keep him balanced on the cantering horse. His leg was still bleeding; she’d felt the warmth of his blood soak through the back of her left trouser leg as they rode.

And though his leg was immobile, his hands had not been. Settling at her hips, those strong fingers had curled around them like the handles of a teacup as he leaned gently against her wounded back.

Max turned away, moving toward Brim, leaving Victoria and Sebastian to make their way up the three steps onto the front stoop. Kritanu waited in the doorway.

The sun seemed to move suddenly, and all at once, clear yellow beams shone between rooftops and chimney peaks as though the earth’s lamp had been turned brighter. Victoria found it difficult to believe that only hours before, she’d dressed to attend Lady Winnie’s dance and had walked down these very steps in that crimson gown.

Now it felt as though many things had changed, in some indefinable way.

Inside, Victoria went directly to Wayren, who, though she appeared fully recovered, did not rise when they came into the small room.

“Thank you,” she said to Victoria, extending her slender hands.

Victoria took them, feeling the warmth, the peace that always came with Wayren’s touch. She didn’t know as much as she’d like to about the woman. But based on what she’d seen of her at the hands of the demons, she felt as if she’d learned quite a bit tonight. She shook off the older woman’s gratitude. “It was Max who got you to safety.”

Wayren’s fingers tightened over Victoria’s, and their eyes met. “It was both of you. You had to let him go… and he had to go.”

Victoria felt a sudden unexpected flush warm her face, and an automatic desire to pull away. The feelings were still new to her, and so deeply buried that it felt uncomfortable to have them spoken of so easily. So openly. Yet Wayren understood how difficult it had been to send Max away, where she could no longer watch over him… and how, at the same time, she’d known he was the one she could rely on to succeed in taking Wayren to safety.

“What happened?” Victoria asked, easing her aching body onto the floor next to Wayren. She was strangely loath to release the woman’s hands, though her muscles reverberated with the remnants of battle. She ached, she bled, she trembled… yet the protective vis bullae had ensured that it was so much easier than it could have been.

“They took me when I wasn’t expecting it,” Wayren said simply. “I had gone to an old graveyard to see to… something. Not the one in which you found me, I don’t believe. But it’s a bit of a muddle in my mind. The black shadow demons pummeled me, flying into me, weakening me so I couldn’t call on my power, cutting off my resistance.”

Victoria nodded, remembering the feel of those winged creatures shoving into her body, through her, leaving her cold and paralyzed, and shuddered. It was a miracle Wayren hadn’t been killed.

But… she hadn’t been breathing when Victoria found her. No heartbeat. Yet… she moved. Lived.

“Max explained how you found me. Thank God for Myza.” Wayren looked over, and Victoria noticed for the first time that Kritanu cradled the small bird against his body.

“Who or what was it?” Victoria asked. She felt Sebastian brush against her as he limped to a chair nearby, his hand lightly touching the top of her head.

Wayren looked around the room, her serene face grave. “Brim, Michalas… you returned to help. Thank you. And Sebastian.” She looked at him steadily, then nodded. “My thanks.” Her eyes lingered on him a bit longer than necessary, then slid away. “Fallen angels. Demons. They took me… For what purpose, I’m not yet certain. But the very fact that they dared to touch me…” Her eyes looked like cool moonstones for a moment, clear and colorless, as she faded into silence.

Suddenly, she seemed to come back to herself. “I am tired, Victoria, and you must have your injuries seen to. All of you. And some rest. I am safe here… and it will keep until we’ve all had a chance to rest.”

Victoria pulled slowly to her feet, her hand squeezing, then finally releasing Wayren’s. “I’m glad you’ll stay here tonight,” she told the older woman. “We’ll all rest easier.”

The draft that Kritanu had given him leeched away some of the agony radiating through Max’s body, though it pained him to admit it was needed. But it was.