What if the vampires attacked and killed some of the patrons, and she did nothing? Could she sit here and let it happen? Did she have that kind of resolve?

The chill deepened, and Victoria fisted her fingers into her skirts, crinkling the light silk and staring straight down at the stage, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, aware of nothing but the growing cold at the back of her neck.

And then the door of the box opened.

Two men came in.

Their eyes were not red, their fangs were not extended, but Victoria knew they were vampires.

Chapter 18

A Most Welcome Interruption

The vampires looked like any other gentlemen, dressed for the opera in dark coats with tan or fawn-colored breeches, adequately knotted cravats, and gloves. "Our apologies for being tardy," one of them said with a bow to Conte Regalado, who had risen to greet the men.Not men, vampires.

Victoria remained in her seat, turned away from the opera, watching and waiting. Her nerves tingled, and the nape of her neck prickled. Her fingers itched to pull the stake out from under her gown.

There was a sense of expectation in the air, and she did not know where to look. Max studiously refused to turn in her direction as he stood and greeted the newcomers; Regalado and Galliani seemed pleased to welcome the new arrivals.

What did this all mean? Did Regalado know they were vampires? Surely a powerful member of the Tutela would.

"Mrs. Withers, may I present an acquaintance of mine to you… Signore Partredi."

The vampire bowed, took her hand with his surprisingly warm one, and raised it to his lips. "A pleasure to meet you, I'm certain." Being familiar with vampires, as she was, she read an entirely different message in his eyes. And it wasn't pleasant at all.

To her dismay, he took the seat next to her that had been vacated by Galliani. Regalado sat back down in his seat, and there she was, sandwiched between a vampire and a Tutela leader. When the second vampire chose the seat behind her, where Max had been sitting, she felt even more boxed in. Surrounded on all sides by danger. And she could do nothing.

Victoria was uncertain where Max was, and of course Sebastian was still gone with Placidia. She dared not turn around to look about the room. She must appear as though nothing were out of the norm.

As the opera dragged on, with one aria after another, she reflected on that terrible night at the Tutela meeting; remembered the horror of being controlled, of being attacked from every side, of the warm surge of her blood under the teeth of the vampires. Her head felt lighter, easier… her pulse slowed; she had to blink to focus. The small box became stifling and warm.

Victoria closed her fists, digging nails into her palms, using pain to send away the gentle lull she'd begun to feel. Sitting next to a vampire, feeling the sleeve of his jacket brush against her bare arm, allowing his presence to sink into her consciousness… it was a different way of becoming enthralled. Not a common one, for most often when she was faced with a vampire, the moment was all action, movement, battle.

This was a different sort of battle. One of wills.

Thus far, truly, it had been easy. The vampires had made no threats, no move to hurt anyone. She could sit and focus her energy on fighting off the subtle attempts to capture her consciousness, pretend to watch the opera, and perhaps, just perhaps, that would be the end of it.

But it was during a rare, brief moment of silence from the stage that Victoria's hopes deflated. A soft gasp and sigh caught her ears, and she felt the hair along her arms lift, sending a surge of sharp prickles over her abdomen.

She turned in her chair. Behind her, the vampire who'd taken Max's seat had also taken his place at Sara's side. When Victoria looked, the truth of what was happening struck all of her senses at one moment: the smell of fresh blood, the faint, very faint whistle of suction, the dull glow of Sara's white neck and half-exposed bosom with her blood trickling down it, and the renewed rush of sensation over Victoria's own body.

She looked away, her eyes skittering from the scene that appeared more sensual than horrific, and clashed with Max's gaze. He stood near the door at the back of the box in a pose that struck her as being imminently dispassionate. When their gazes met, she looked for something there, some signal or sign… but he merely raised his brows in that sardonic manner of his and casually shifted his glance.

Apparently it was of no concern to him that his fiancee was being attacked by a vampire.

On the other side of the vampire Partredi, Portiera was watching the performance, seemingly unaware of what was going on behind her.

Victoria shifted in her seat and returned her attention to the opera. Her heart was pounding. She made herself think through everything that was happening, even though every instinct in her body urged her to grab for the stake and plant it in the chest of the being that stole from Sara.

But Sara wasn't fighting. She was not restrained. She made no sounds, other than soft sighs and gasps that sounded as though she were responding to a lover rather than an attacker. She did not need Victoria's help. She was not being mauled or torn apart. A vampire could feed without permanently injuring a person, as Victoria well knew.

She could leave it alone. In good conscience, she still did not have to act.

Licking her lips, she tried to watch the opera, tried not to listen to the sounds behind her. Tried not to feel the pull, the incessant pull, of the one next to her.

She knew the moment the vampire behind her finished feeding and braced herself for what might happen next.

Partredi placed his hand on her wrist, holding it on the seat's arm. Victoria's breath caught. She was strong; she could pull away… but should she?

Then on the other side of her, Regalado closed his fingers over her other wrist. "Now, just relax, my dear," he murmured into her ear. "You might find it as enjoyable as my daughter has."

Her heart rammed in her chest. Victoria felt her breath catch as something happened in front of her to obliterate the stage below… someone was pulling the box curtains closed.

Max.

She stiffened in her seat, unable to move, her pulse increasing and her breath shortening. The vampire next to her moved, showing her his red eyes, and she found herself weakening as she was caught in them.

Deep breaths. Close your eyes.

She tried to, but found it impossible to break the connection there. She tried to pry her wrist away from the vampire, from Regalado, but somehow they held them down. Her strength was weakening, but she was still a Venator. She could fight.

But she had to let this happen. She had to listen to Aunt Eustacia. If she fought, her powerful strength and fighting skills would surely give her away. She'd been bitten before; it would heal quickly.

Max was here. Surely… surely he wouldn't let them really hurt her.

Something grasped her head from behind, fingers plunging into the twisted coiffure near the top of her head, pulling it back, jerking her head to one side. The other vampire's blood-scented breath wafted over her tilted face.

Her neck was bare, and she felt Partredi move toward her, shifting in the seat next to hers, his knee bumping her leg. He leaned against her imprisoned arm and brought his gleaming fangs toward her vulnerable throat.

Her pulse thumped harder; she tried to twist away, somehow remaining silent—purposely or not, she did not know.

Now her eyes sank closed. The smooth teeth whispered against her skin. She couldn't control the urge to fight any longer; she strained up, trying to pull free, and found that she could not. The sounds of the orchestra, the rustles in the room, all faded away, until she could hear only the breathing of the vampire as it matched her own. His pulse as it beat with hers.

Her head was held rigid, her arms, her legs, all held fast by unrelenting fingers.

His breath was cold on her skin, icing her throat along with the back of her neck. He sighed and pricked her with his fangs.

"Stop." Somehow the single syllable penetrated her fog.

There was a pause, a hitch in the vampire's movement… then suddenly she was released; the thrall was broken. The weight came off her. She could breathe. Focus.

"This one is mine," the voice continued.

She recognized the voice, the face, as it came into her view. Sebastian had returned.

The vampires had released her on his command?

He appeared calm and utterly in control, but the vampires looked abashed as they moved away from her. "Vioget! We did not know," said Partredi.

Regalado had stood. "What? What is going on?"

"She is not for your use," Sebastian told him coldly. "They will not touch her. She is mine."

Regalado's dark eyes were furious. "You have no authority here!"

Sebastian lifted one brow. "If that is the case, then why do they back away on my command? You do not wish to anger me, Regalado. The Tutela does not wish to displease Beauregard. Or do they?"

"Beauregard?" Regalado stepped back. "How do you—"

"Begone," Sebastian told the vampires, ignoring Regalado's stammered question as though it were that of a two-year-old.

The vampires bowed to him as they left and, absurdly, Victoria noticed that someone—Max?—had reopened the curtains in the box. The orchestra continued to play; the chorus continued to sing.

She did not know what to think. Where to look. Whom to look at.

How to feel about being called mine by Sebastian.

Of course, that was probably just for effect. But it still echoed in her mind, along with the fact that she'd been bitten yet again. Fortunately, it was a shallow bite; hardly worth noticing. A short trickle of blood curved along her neck.

Victoria surreptitiously opened the small vial of holy water in her reticule and dampened her handkerchief with it. Then she took stock of the other occupants of the room as she pressed it to her wound, hardly feeling the salted holy water.

Sara sat in her seat, eyes glazed, holding a white scarf to her neck. She didn't seem to notice Victoria, or if she did, she didn't care.

Galliani and Max stood near the back of the box, half-shadowed. Regalado stared at Sebastian, but made no further comment. He sat in his seat, looking less like a vampire protector than a sulking child whose game had been cut short. Placidia stood behind Sebastian, as though they had just come into the room and he'd stepped in front of her. Portiera was next to her twin.