Roaring Shadows: Macey Book 2 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 8) (26 page)

By now they were in Chas’s bedroom and Temple was digging in the small satchel she brought even as she looked at his unmoving figure. “He don’t look too good.”

“I’ve got to go,” Macey said after she answered a few more questions about Chas’s condition.

“Yes you do. And forget the damned ambulance. I’ll get Aunt Cookie here and we’ll do what we can. Good thing we got a church nearby. That water’s probably the only thing that could save him.” Temple stepped back and eyeballed Macey. “You’re going to want to clean up a little.”

She began to protest, but swallowed it. Right. She couldn’t go on a vampire-hunting rampage dressed in an evening frock. And maybe something to eat would be in order.

And then she’d be off to visit Sebastian and beg his forgiveness.

Then they could figure out what to do next.

Sebastian had awakened late that afternoon (which, with him being a nocturnal, was more like his morning) in a glorious mood. Truly, he hadn’t felt so upbeat and happy in decades…possibly centuries.

The fact that Temple, with her long, strong legs and full, sensual lips—along with several other delicious assets—had joined him in bed for the first time might have had something to do with it. He stretched lazily, smiling to himself. It had been a delightful interlude—and in a bed instead of some cramped mode of transport.

And he hadn’t dreamed about Macey—or Victoria or Giulia, for that matter. He’d slept well. He felt invigorated and revived.

He’d told no one about the loose ring, which had now become even looser. In fact, he was able to work it up and over his knuckle, which meant he could pull it off his finger. He didn’t know what it meant, but surely it had to be a good sign.

This morning—figuratively speaking, for it was nearly four in the afternoon—he sat up in bed with a smile on his face and went through the routine of twisting his ruby ring, and then each of the copper rings.

His heart skipped when he felt a different one turn. It wiggled a little on his pinkie finger, sending him bolting from the bed. Temple was long gone—he’d felt her slip away sometime during his sleep, for she was on a completely different schedule than he—and Sebastian was alone with the cautious hope that shuttled through him.

Two loose rings. Something was definitely happening.

And today…yes, today was the 25th of April, 1926.

On the 26th of April, 1821, Wayren had given Sebastian the ruby signet ring in a dream.
This will help you get through this. It will give you strength.

That was the day he’d left Victoria for good and set out for the raw mountainside cave of Munții Fârâgaș.

That was the day he made the long promise—to himself and to Giulia.

One hundred and five years ago.

He flung the sheets away, washed, dressed, cleaned his teeth, and went from his private apartments to the pub. He saw a scrawled note from Temple on the desk in the back room, but before he got to it, he heard the door from the exterior stairs leading from the street open.

It was Macey.

She looked different somehow. Softer. A little blurry, perhaps. Blurry was a strange word, but—

“Sebastian…I’m back. May I…may I come in?”

“Macey!” Relief burst over him. “Of course. You’re back.”

She smiled with shyness and obvious regret, even a little bashfulness. “I wasn’t sure if you’d ever want to see me again,” she said, closing the door before she strode across the wood-planked floor to him. Her eyes were large and luminous in her face, and his heart creaked a little when he saw Giulia there yet again.

“I’ve missed you,” she said, still holding him with her gaze, as if afraid he’d banish her. “I shouldn’t have left.” Her voice trailed off. “Can you forgive me?”

“You’re here,” he said. “You’re here,
cher
, you’re here now.”

“Sebastian.” She looked as if she were about to cry. “I…”

He came around from behind the counter, hardly thinking about what he was doing. He gathered her into his arms, pulling her close in a fatherly—definitely fatherly—embrace. “Macey,” he whispered into her curls. “It’s all right.” His chin rested on top of her head; her hair smelled clean and fresh, and her body was warm against him—compact and lithe, just as Giulia’s had been.

He suddenly became aware of her…very aware.

Sebastian stilled, trembling a deep inside as he battled grief and curiosity. The memory of those dark, lascivious dreams rushed into the forefront of his mind, swamping his thoughts as he held her. He pushed them back, clearing away the temptation, banishing the tease filtering through his mind.

No
.

Macey lifted her head from his shoulder and looked up at him. She was right there: her lovely face so very close, her eyes incredibly soft and beautiful…and there was something else there… Interest? Curiosity? Heat?

A warning bell rang in the back of his mind, and Sebastian began to push her away, but she gripped his arms.

“What is it?” she asked, and he was suddenly aware of her thighs pressing against his. A hip nestled into his leg. She licked her lips nervously and his mouth went dry, his attention focused there.

“You’re curious too, aren’t you, Sebastian?” she whispered. Her little tongue came out, darting along the seam of her lush pink mouth, sending a stab of lust down through his torso. “You want to know what it’s like to kiss me.”

“No,” he made himself say firmly. Her mouth was close. So close. He could
feel
the warmth of her lips. If he drew in a deep breath, they’d brush against his. “No,” he said again. “I’m not. I never have been.”

But his fangs were in the way, filling his mouth with their sharp, bold lengths. His breathing grew rougher, and desire blazed through him. She pressed against his body; surely she could feel his cock beginning to harden between his legs, the subtle tremors beneath his skin.

“Kiss me, Sebastian. I want to taste you.” She lifted her face, and her mouth brushed his—warm and soft and moist. Her tongue slipped out, sliding over his parted lips, leaving hot, adulterous tingles radiating through his body. Her eyes—Giulia’s eyes; always Giulia’s eyes—captured his, dark and heady and fathomless. “
Please
, Sebastian.”

With a groan of effort, he shoved her away, hard enough to break her grip—and to give him some much-needed space.

She caught herself from stumbling, and when she turned back around to look up at him, her soft, lovely face was melting…and it was no longer Macey’s.

And the back of his neck had gone abruptly cold.

With a tight curse, Sebastian leapt over the bar counter and grabbed a stake, but the creature—it had metamorphosed into some anonymous vampiress or demon who slightly resembled Macey, but was no longer her mirror image—bolted to the door through which she’d come.

He stared after her—it—whatever it was, chest heaving, ever so thankful he’d resisted, that he’d pushed her away and kept himself clean. He knew he should follow her—it—but he was still reeling, still incredibly grateful he’d been strong.

Hands trembling more than they should, considering what he’d lived through in more than 120 years, Sebastian pulled out his favorite liquor bottle—the dark glass one with the black prism-like stopper that fit in his palm. The one even Chas Woodmore didn’t know about.

He poured a generous bit of the special rosy-amber drink into a glass and swigged it down. The exuberance of the day was gone…and yet it had been replaced by something like determination. Relief.

What he’d always feared would happen—in a manner of speaking—had occurred, and he’d fought his way through it. He’d been strong.

“Is this the fulfillment of the long promise, then?” he demanded of the universe at large. Where the hell was Wayren? He could really use her about now… His hand covered the top of the pyramidal bottle stopper, gripping it tightly as he felt its heat and power seep into his skin.

The back of his neck went sharply cold again.

Much too cold.

Sebastian shoved the bottle under the counter and launched himself toward the door through which the faux Macey had just exited, but it burst open before he got there. The tempting vampiress stood there on the threshold, now with her own fangs gleaming and her eyes bold and burning. She wore a hot, knowing smile.

Sebastian had already somersaulted backward, snatching up a chair and a stake as the creature stepped aside to allow her companions to pour in.

Three, four, no, seven, no,
ten
… He lost count as the undead streamed into his pub, with glowing red or Guardian-pink eyes and all with fangs at the ready. There was no subtlety, no dancing around the situation—they were there, and they were there for him.

All thanks to the faux Macey, whom he’d invited in and who had, in turn, thus been liberated to invite her own crew inside…

And then, there in front of him, the faux Macey shimmered, lengthened, broadened in a sort of swirling metamorphosis…and became Nicholas Iscariot.

“Well, well. I had no idea you were so talented, Nicky,” Sebastian said coolly. He counted twelve undead, not including the Macey-turned-vampiress-turned-Iscariot. He eased along the counter, keeping his hands out of sight from the intruders. “What’s next on the agenda…Carole Lombard?”

“Sebastian Vioget. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you—although your reputation does precede you.”

The son of Judas Iscariot was tall, lean, and cold in his male beauty. His hair shone dark, and though slicked back on the sides and back, it rose like a high, smooth wave over his equally tall white forehead. He wore a well-cut suit, red tie, and white spats, with a crimson handkerchief bursting from the breast pocket of his jacket. Sebastian couldn’t fault the creature for his sense of style. Iscariot’s handsome face was smooth as white marble, with a square chin, hollow cheeks, protruding eyes, and strong brows…except for the diagonal cross marking his left cheek and jaw.

Sebastian’s own fangs were long and ready, and he felt the heat of his eyes burning with fury. And even then, as he faced the most powerful and fearsome of the world’s undead—along with a mob of his goons—he slipped his fingers beneath the cotton of his shirt to touch the
vis bulla
…and then to twist the ruby ring on his finger. Strength and comfort rushed through him.

Now. There. He was ready.

Ready to see this to the end.

Sebastian smiled coolly. “I see my Macey has left her mark, Scarface.”

Iscariot’s eyes flared wider and redder, and yet he lifted one slender white finger to keep his minions from surging forward. “I’m not particularly pleased with her, as you might imagine. But, of course, that’s why I’m here.” He bared his fangs in a polite smile. “Though that isn’t the only reason I’ve paid you a visit at last. As I’m certain you can surmise.”

“The Rings of Jubai. Of course.” Sebastian sounded bored as he extended the hand with the copper bands, pretending to admire his fingers. “How unoriginal of you, Nicky.”

“Well, one can only plan so many surprises. Speaking of which, I could tell you
greatly
enjoyed the one I cooked up for you a moment ago. It was very much worth the effort it cost me to mask myself, even for that short while…” Iscariot twirled his finger and spun into Macey once again, writhing his curvy body and parting his lips in a seductive manner. “To see you panting and lusting after me.”

“I didn’t realize you enjoyed that sort of attention from men.” Sebastian whipped a stake across the room like a knife-thrower. It spun through the air, nailing a nearby undead in the heart with a delicious
splat
.

The vampire hadn’t even poofed into dust before Sebastian winged a second pike from behind, sending it revolving in the other direction—directly toward the heart of Iscariot’s sinuous Macey body.

Iscariot-Macey dodged just in time, and the stake plunged into an unfortunate undead just behind him. There was so much fury and power in the stake meant for Iscariot that the unlucky victim was pinned against the wall for a brief instant before he poofed into dust.

Under attack, Iscariot had popped back into himself, and his eyes were surely hotter than the fires of hell. Loathing rolled off him like beads of sweat. “That wasn’t very hospitable of you, Vioget. Not at all.”

“Oh, so sorry…I slipped.” Sebastian grinned. He had several other stakes at his disposal, but he figured he’d showed off enough. He didn’t need anyone comparing him to Max Pesaro. “Now, though I suspect it’ll be futile, I’m going to have to ask you and your mollies—at least, the ones you have left—to leave. The place doesn’t open till sundown and I’ve got work to do.”

Iscariot didn’t bother to speak. He gave some sort of silent command and the vampires attacked.

But Sebastian was ready for them. He was still behind the counter, and as the undead surged toward him, he withdrew the silver-gilt sword tucked beneath the long expanse and swung around, brandishing it in both hands.

Power roared through him as the blade sliced through one, then a second undead throat before being halted in midair by the meaty hand of a third creature. Sebastian released the sword’s hilt and grabbed a stake as he vaulted over the counter, his feet smashing into the shoulder and torso of a startled vampire.

He tumbled to the ground and came up swinging, stabbing one, then a second undead as he dove into the legs of a third, upending the creature. He dusted the first vamp, missed the second, devil it, and then suddenly, as he came back up onto his feet, he was surrounded. Trapped, gripped, held.

Numerous fists pummeled him in the torso, arms, shoulders, back…nails raked down his face and limbs…someone kicked him in the belly, knocking every bit of breath from him. He coughed and doubled over, trying to find his breath as fangs penetrated his arm…his shoulder…a thigh…

Blood flowed from him, blood and power and consciousness.

The world wavered, black and red, swimming silently…

Then everything quieted. Stilled.

Sebastian opened his eyes—one was already swelling from a well-placed blow—and found himself face to face with Iscariot. The heat of the creature’s breath warmed his face. It smelled of death.