Roaring Shadows: Macey Book 2 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 8)(17)
She spun away, pulling loose from his grip, and bolted to her feet. She stood there, panting, hands on her hips. “Don’t touch me again.”
His smile taunted her. “I told you before—the life of a Venator is lonely.” He was out of breath enough to make Macey feel as if she’d won that round at least. “You can’t be with the Irish bloke, Macey. You know you can’t expose him to that sort of threat—whether it comes from Iscariot and his ilk, or that bloody Capone. You’re on your own, lulu.”
NINE
~ Wherein Sebastian Vioget Fails to be Surprised ~
It took Sebastian longer than it should have for his fangs to retract and his pulse to settle back into place. The sight of Macey—bloody and disheveled, eyes bright and determined, lips full and lush and beckoning, her scent carrying to him all the way across the room—standing there had tipped him into a vortex of need and desire.
He had to curl his fingers into the edge of the bar counter to keep from launching himself over it…to her. It wasn’t because he hadn’t seen her for months. It was simply because she was there.
Ready for him.
Damn it. No. Never that. God help me. Sebastian broke out in a cold sweat at the thought.
But the dreams about her had been taunting him for weeks now…and here she was, in the flesh. Returned at last.
No.
Thankfully, Temple realized what was happening and she broke the connection in her understated but effective manner. He owed her one.
Chas Woodmore…not so much. He’d been sitting at the end of the bar counter, having just arrived from somewhere and in a particularly foul mood—even for Woodmore—when Macey walked in.
Even now, Sebastian remained unsteady and off balance. He poured a too-large glass of the bourbon he’d brought in—smuggled was too complicated a word; he’d merely shipped it from France and convinced the customs officers it was nothing but a case of communion wine (the ability to enthrall did have its benefits)—then set the glass aside.
The last damn thing he needed was to impair himself even further.
He looked up as Temple came into view without Macey and Woodmore. She met his eyes and seemed relieved that he at least appeared steady, but ire flashed there. Sebastian didn’t have to think hard to wonder who had caused it. Woodmore was even more of an arse than Max Pesaro had ever been, and that was saying a lot.
“We’re closing up,” Sebastian announced loudly, aware of the alarming thuds now coming from the private rooms he kept adjacent to the pub. “Everyone out.”
The bitter grumbling that started was put to rest as Sebastian scanned the place with an unyielding expression. He didn’t even need to spark a glow in his eyes. “Your accounts will be settled later,” he added, knowing half of them never would. That, too, helped clear the place more quickly than anything other than a warning of “Fire!”—or “Raid!”—would do.
Just as the last few patrons made their exit, Macey stalked out of the back rooms with Woodmore in her wake. She was, thankfully, cleaned up and no longer looked as if she’d been devoured by a lustful vampire.
Sebastian relaxed even more and trusted himself to pour a finger—just a finger—of the bourbon in a fist-sized glass. Then, thinking even more clearly, he added a large slop of fresh cow’s blood to the whiskey and sipped.
Immediately, the lingering tension and the need for sustenance eased even more…though as Macey walked across the pub toward him, the low, golden light made her look even more like Victoria. Victoria’d even had short hair like that for a time, when they were in Prague to retrieve the second Ring of Jubai, and it sprang up the same way in thick, inky curls around her jaw and bared her long, slender neck.
Sebastian’s fangs pulsed, threatening to erupt again, and he surreptitiously reached for the vis bulla dangling beneath his shirt. The extra jolt from holy silver against the pads of his fingers served to remind him of his promise and gave him a surge of strength, so by the time Macey climbed onto a stool in front of him, Sebastian was able to smile at her with ease.
“Well, now—to what do we owe this pleasure, ma cher?”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been in contact,” she said immediately.
He noted an unusual bashfulness clinging to her, and recognized it was a little difficult for her to meet his eyes. Devil take it. Had he frightened her, or was it Woodmore who’d done the honors? He’d told no one about the dreams, that was damn well sure. Despite her reticence, there was a sort of underlying rage clinging to her as well as Woodmore.
A little uncertain himself, Sebastian chose not to reply; instead, he brought up three more glasses and poured a round for the trio now settling on stools at the corner of the bar. Temple, Macey, and Chas, clustered one by two.
Woodmore and Temple sipped without hesitation, but Macey looked at the bourbon as if it were poison.
“Come now,” Sebastian told her smoothly. “Let’s not be shy and demure, petit. We all know you left that carriage behind some while ago, and you clearly need a bracing drink. No one will know. And then you can tell us what happened.”
“I’m sure Chas would love to fill you in. I…I can’t stay.” She looked as if she were about to slide off the stool.
A snort from Woodmore drew Sebastian’s attention, and he moved automatically to refill the man’s glass. “Macey claims Capone is a Venator.” His lethal gaze settled accusingly on Sebastian. “A fact I suspect is not news to you, Vioget.”
Sebastian shrugged. “I suspected, but didn’t know for certain. There is an Alphonsus listed in the Bible.”
“A prevarication if I ever heard one. Not that I expected anything more from you,” Woodmore replied.
“I don’t understand. How can he be a Venator—be like us—and not do his job?” Macey seemed to have decided to stay. She sipped her drink, and Sebastian was pleased to see a little more color returning to her face. He avoided looking into her eyes for too long, however, knowing that was a trip he dared not take.
Not when he was feeling this vulnerable.
“Why don’t you ask Vioget here about Venators who shirk their duty?” Chas was clearly still in a foul mood, and he was doing his damnedest to bring Sebastian down into it as well. Bastard. “I’m sure he can enlighten you.”
Sebastian swallowed his fury. “Woodmore is referring to a period of time in which I declined to employ the stake,” he replied. “For a number of reasons that are no longer relevant, more than a century after the fact. But to answer your question, Macey, it’s actually not all that surprising for someone who’s been granted the power and abilities we have to use them to benefit themselves, rather than for the purpose for which they were given. It’s much easier—and less dangerous—not to hunt the undead, but instead use the vis bulla for other reasons. We all have free will, you know.”
Macey nodded. “Have there been other Venators who…well, became villains? Used their abilities for selfish reasons?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I haven’t ever encountered them myself, but there was Frederick, for one. Surely there were others, but history isn’t one of my strong suits. Now, back to the most pertinent question: why do you think Al Capone is showing so much interest in you?”
“He believes one of Rosamunde Gardella’s prophecies applies to us—to Big Al and me.”
The absurdity of the idea was beyond comprehension. “Indeed? And did he happen to tell you which one it was?” Sebastian didn’t attempt to hide his derision. If it was true Capone was one of them, Sebastian found it difficult to believe he could be much of a scholar about the family legacy. The bastard struck him as someone who had even less time for such mundane topics as history as Sebastian did.
“I have it written down,” Macey replied. “But it’s something about a dauntless one. He claims I’m the dauntless one, and he is the other half that makes the whole. But I don’t know what would make him believe it was about him.”
Sebastian looked at Temple, who nodded and rose gracefully from her seat. “I’ll see what I can find. Don’t wait up for me, boys.”
Out of habit, Sebastian watched her tall, elegant figure as she walked across the pub. How did women manage it on those high, chunky heels—especially to appear both graceful and sensual at the same time? Her hips moved sleekly; the silk of her dress slid over a sassy arse with every step. She was a hot piece, and he knew she found him attractive. But it wasn’t Temple he wanted.
Hell, it wasn’t even Macey. Not really. Not when it came down to it.
Not even Victoria, if she walked in the pub right this moment—well, perhaps that wasn’t strictly true. After all, he had loved her. Although, after more than ten decades of self-examination, Sebastian supposed part of the motivation for that love might have been to taunt Max Pesaro.
But it was Giulia who filled his dreams. Giulia who held his heart. It was for her he’d done this.
But by God, if it didn’t end soon, Sebastian didn’t know if he could manage it.
What if it were another hundred years before his “long promise” was fulfilled? What if Macey walked in here again, all blood-covered—and with her own blood this time? Sebastian lifted his glass and took a long draw.