“I’ve just arrived, so I haven’t any notion where Sara is, but undoubtedly you have some point to make by mentioning her. If so, then make it, Victoria. Unlike Vioget, I prefer to cut to the quick of the matter rather than banter around it like a May dance.”

“It sounds as if you’re bantering now,” she replied smartly. Then she thought better of continuing the game and said, “Your fiancée attempted to have me kidnapped last night. Do you have any idea why?”

He didn’t respond immediately; nor did he deny that Sara was his fiancée. Max just looked down at her, as though deep in thought. “What happened?” he asked at last.

“She lured Zavier and me from Carnivale up to the Regalado family plot in a graveyard, and four or five men tried to wrap me in a big canvas and spirit me away.”

“And fortunately Zavier came to your rescue.”

“And fortunately I was able to rescue myself and didn’t stake Zavier when he tried to get between me and a vampire,” Victoria replied, realizing Max was succeeding in annoying her already, and wondering why she continued to let him—and why he continued to try.

“Zavier came betwixt your stake and a vampire? Did he get the harsh side of your tongue for his troubles? At least you never need worry about that happening with Vioget.” Then he, too, appeared to ease. “No matter, I’m certain you instructed Zavier on the proper way to accompany you when on the hunt…but back to the important matter, which is: You saw Sara at that time? Has she turned?”

The question startled her, but after a moment Victoria wondered why it should. After all, Sara clearly enjoyed interacting with vampires, and her father, the Conte Regalado, had been the leader of the Tutela in Rome before he was turned into a vampire just before Akvan’s Obelisk had been destroyed. “I don’t believe so. Were you expecting her to? It would make for a considerably interesting marriage bed if she had.”

Max looked at her sharply, his mouth opening as if to say something just as cutting. Victoria cringed inside, knowing he would have every right to do so after she’d baited him. Instead he stated, “It’s obvious you’re wearing a vis.”

Her face blossomed warm and, even though she was certain he couldn’t tell in the low light, she looked away. She was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that his vis bulla, the one that had at one time pierced him in the intimate area of his areola, was now one with her flesh and dangled warmly in the curve of her belly. And she would swear the tiny silver cross suddenly felt warmer and heavier, shivering in her navel.

Would he be able to sense that she was wearing it? Since it was his?

“Yes. I’m wearing Aunt Eustacia’s,” she added.

At the casual mention of her great-aunt, a pall fell over the already awkward moment. Max turned toward the ragged Colosseum, which was only a few yards to her right, and she saw his shoulders lift as he took a long, deep breath.

“Kritanu? How is he?” he asked finally in a different voice. “The others?”

There were many other questions between the lines of those particular ones, and Victoria wanted to answer all of them—but couldn’t fully answer any of them. “He is philosophical and uncomplaining, as only Kritanu can be,” she replied, choosing the easy one. “He grieves, as do I—”

“And I.” The words were a challenge, as if to dare her to presume he didn’t.

“And the others. But she lived a long life, a dangerous one, in which she devoted more than sixty years to the Venators. We miss her—we all do—but…it’s past, Max.”

“Is it?” Now he looked at her fully. Still challenging. And he was right to be so.

Although she finally understood that he’d had to execute Aunt Eustacia, the fact remained that he had actually done it—and she’d witnessed it. There was no glossing over that in her memory.

Once again her gaze skittered away. Victoria was no shy rabbit, no cowering woman…yet the expression on his face made her want to alternately rage at him for his coldness and fold him in her arms to erase whatever it was that gave him the hard edge.

What an odd thing to think about Max, of all people.

She’d once accused him of being unfeeling, emotionless, of being envious of the loving relationship she’d found with Phillip. How ironic that now she was the one who felt cold and empty, while he seemed to be almost tentative, with the slightest hint of vulnerability.

But no, it was grief for the loss of Aunt Eustacia and guilt for the part he’d played in her death that made him seem less harsh. And he was asking her if she’d yet forgiven him for setting in motion the events that had resulted in that horrible ending.

She truly didn’t know if she had. She tried not to think about that night and the part he’d played in Aunt Eustacia’s death, the risks he’d taken, the danger they’d faced. The fact that there had been only a sliver of hope of destroying Akvan’s Obelisk, and that he’d risked everything to do it. And had succeeded.

But she still couldn’t answer him.

When she remained silent, he asked, “You have Eustacia’s vis bulla? How?”

“Sebastian sent it to me. I don’t know how he came to have it.”

He drew back, looking beyond her, toward the ruined amphitheater. “Very clever. I’m certain you thanked him appropriately, just as he no doubt intended.”

Victoria did not mistake his meaning, as Max himself no doubt intended. But she forbore to respond. Now that he was back, they had other important things to discuss. “Max,” she said. “Have you spoken to Wayren? Do you know about la Porta Alchemica?”

“No…I haven’t spoken to her since…since the night the obelisk was destroyed.” His demeanor changed. “What happened?”

She told him about the door, and the missing keys, taking several steps toward the Colosseum as she spoke.

“Eustacia’s armband that holds the key is missing,” he commented. It wasn’t a question, but more of a thoughtful statement. “And so you’re looking for the unreliable Sebastian in the hopes that he might know, since after all he somehow obtained her vis bulla.”

“You were there when I spoke to Beauregard, weren’t you?” she said, continuing to walk across the grass-filled cobblestone square that surrounded the large amphitheater. The ruined building loomed over her, its ragged outer wall cutting in a jagged diagonal to the ground.

“Spoke?” He didn’t appear to be surprised, and suddenly Victoria knew why. He’d been there. He’d seen Beauregard try to bite her. Seen them kissing.

“I knew someone was watching. So you needn’t even bother to ask me what he said.”

“I told you, Victoria…at first I didn’t know if you were wearing a vis bulla.” She paused for a moment to look at him, and he stopped next to her. “But what about you? You don’t have yours.”

He looked steadily at her. “You need not trouble yourself over it.”

She began walking briskly again, but with his long legs he easily kept pace, continuing to speak. “You’re looking to Sebastian for help, but there’s something else afoot. Someone—Sarafina, perhaps, if you didn’t mistake her in the shadows—arranged for what amounted to an ambush. You were lured away and could easily have been outnumbered and killed.”

“I’m not foolish, Max. It was clear they wanted me alive. They must believe I know where the key is. No one raised a hand to injure me, and even the single vampire, who was nothing but a lure, simply ran away. Otherwise would it not have been easier to slay me—or attempt to—right there?”

“Wishing for death already, Victoria?”

They’d reached the Colosseum’s wall. Its three rows of arcades, circling the arena one atop another, rose like dozens of black eyes staring down on them. In the shadows Victoria could see that the walls were overgrown with foliage, sprouting tall plants and grasses along the top and from the sides. It gave the amphitheater a bushy, messy appearance.

“You’re the one who has a wish for death. I have too much left to do here.” She cast him a sidelong glance. He’d had no gratitude when she saved his life the night Aunt Eustacia died; he’d told her it would be easier not to live with the guilt—despite the fact that he’d done what he’d done for the good of their race. What he’d been ordered to do by Aunt Eustacia herself. That was the only reason Victoria couldn’t hate him—she knew he’d had no choice.

“I’m still living, am I not?” He looked at her as she gawked up at the wall. More than four months she’d been in Rome, and she’d not had the opportunity to visit the Colosseum until now. “Do you want to go inside? There will be no vampires there, for all that it’s been consecrated for nearly a century, but if you can step aside from your duty for a time, we can walk through.”

“Yes.”

She felt odd walking companionably with Max into the dark recess of one of the archways, instead of being on guard for a battle with undead. Inside the outer wall they were in a passageway that curved around the entire perimeter of the building, with more arches leading to the seats.

Victoria strolled along the dark passage, Max close enough to brush her sleeve. They were silent, and despite the openings on either side of them, the high ceiling loomed above in a vast cavern.

“Do you plan to walk around the perimeter all night?” he asked brusquely. “Or would you like to see the battlefield?”

Victoria gave a small laugh. She felt a bit nervous, and wasn’t sure why she should. After all, this was just Max. “Yes, of course.” She turned abruptly toward one of the arches just as Max stopped walking, and she bumped forcefully into him. Her forehead slammed hard into his chin as her sudden movement pushed them into an unexpected embrace.

He caught her as they collided, his strong hands finding her arms and steadying her in the moment of her silent mortification. She’d forgotten how tall he was. “Pardon me,” she murmured formally, and pulled away to continue walking through the passage to the interior of the amphitheater. Her heart was beating harder; she couldn’t feel more foolish and clumsy.