Dark and Damaged: Eight Tortured Heroes of Paranormal Romance: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set (141 page)

He set his jaw and stepped out from behind the door. “Rastingard, I presume.”

“Max Denton,” said the caramel-haired woman. She controlled her surprise immediately. “What a pleasure to meet you at last.”

He heard a startled gasp from behind him and turned to see Savina rising slowly from behind the chair. Her face was dead white, and she looked as if she’d just been punched in the stomach. Her hand was clapped to her chest as if to cover her heart, unconsciously hiding the silver cross from sight.

“Carmella?” she whispered.

~ Confrontation ~

Savina was aware of a great roaring sound that filled her ears as she stared at the woman. She couldn’t breathe. She felt as if she were drowning.

Rastingard was Carmella? Her father’s love? The woman who’d helped him out of the grief after he lost his wife?

No. Impossible
. NO.

But everything began to make terrible, horrible, terrifying sense.
No
.

She was shouting something, stumbling out from behind the chair, lunging toward the woman. Her cross pendant bounced wildly around her shoulders, and she brandished her stake like a Fury. Max moved like lightning, snatching her up before she got very far, holding her with a powerful arm around her waist as she began to sob, her stake swinging ineffectively.

“Why, Savina. It’s been
years
.” Carmella—Rastingard—stepped further into the chamber. She didn’t seem the least bit concerned by Savina’s fury or Max Denton’s presence. “You’ve certainly grown up into a lovely young woman—but your unladylike language leaves much to be desired.”

“You…what did you do to my father?” Savina managed to say. “
What did you do to him?
” Max’s arm was like iron, so tight around her waist she was losing her breath. She fumbled for her cross, but it was no longer hanging over her chest.

“My darling girl, you know precisely what I did to him. Just exactly what you attempted to do to the charming Alexander Purcell: used my feminine wiles to get what I wanted.” She glanced at Briggs meaningfully, then added, “Only I had the benefit of my membership in the Tutela at the time. And the temptation of power and immortality.”

“You made him betray us,” Savina cried. She couldn’t take a breath, she couldn’t even think. All she wanted was to scream and sob and tear into that smug, doughy face. “You made him walk away from everything he ever was and betray all of us.”

Briggs moved and Savina saw a flash of metal in his hand. A gun. She glanced up at Max, whose face was expressionless and whose attention was fixed on the three vampires. All he had was a stake, and Savina somehow, in the midst of all the turmoil, somehow had the presence of mind to keep hers hidden behind her.

“Not really,” Carmella told her, walking heavily across the floor away from the door. Her peacock blue dress fluttered around her as she moved and her bracelet—which was decorated with
keys
—jingled. “It didn’t take much persuasion at all. Nellito wanted love—don’t we all?—
and
he wanted power and immortality. We both did,” she added with great irony. “And, don’t get me wrong, Savina darling—I truly enjoyed his company. Nellito was a wonderful, caring, and amusing man. We planned for me to turn him undead, you know—once I had been turned. He didn’t want to die. He was enthralled” —she laughed at her pun— “with me and with the life. All those years of thanklessly serving the Venators, then watching his wife die, and being lonely…well,
I
gave him everything he wanted. And then he returned the favor by obtaining the chest for me—which in turn gave me what I’d always wanted: the gift of immortality.”

Being lonely? What about
me
? I was there. I was always there for him
.

Savina felt as if she were going to be sick. The room spun, and lights flashed before her eyes. Her father hadn’t been a hero. He
had
been a traitor.

All for a woman. For power.

She stood there, panting, tears streaming down her face, glaring at the female vampire with loathing. “I’m going to kill you,” Savina promised.

“You’re going to have to get in line behind me,” Max said smoothly. His arm had loosened around her waist, and she felt his hand easing up over her chest—and then the weight of the cross over her shoulder. It had flipped around when she leapt toward Carmella, and now he was stealthily reminding her of it.

Rastingard laughed and walked over to the bureau. “You won’t be the first to try.” She flapped her pudgy, beringed hand at them. “Briggs.”

Everything happened so quickly, Savina could hardly comprehend it. All she knew was, one moment Max had her in his grip, and the next, she was tumbling to the ground halfway across the room, a gunshot echoing loudly in the chamber. The valet was frozen in place, a stake protruding from his heart. By the time Savina took this in, Briggs combusted into a great puff of dust and Max’s silver-cored stake clattered to the ground.

Rastingard hissed and bared her fangs, lunging for Max, who was diving for his stake. The vampiress slammed into him, shoving him out of the way just before he touched it, and the two fell to the ground, punching, kicking, and wrestling in a writhing mass of fury. Carmella was a large woman, heavy and inhumanly strong, and clearly her fury added to her power. They crashed into the wall and then he reared up and shoved her into the door. The force of her powerful body splintered the wood, and she had hold of Max by his shirt, whipping him around before she slammed him against the wall.

Savina lunged for Max’s stake, but she was caught in mid-air when the third vampire grabbed a handful of her hair. She cried out in surprise and pain as he flung her toward the ground. She tumbled into a chest of drawers and he followed, fangs bared, lunging toward her.

Through the pain and shock, she remembered her cross and managed to drag it out from behind her just as the undead reached for her.

He screamed and reared back, and she fumbled for her stake, which she’d dropped as she fell. On hands and knees, holding the cross in front of her like a fiery torch, she scrabbled around for the wooden spike as Max and Rastingard alternately threw each other into furniture and grappled hand-to-throat.

Savina glanced worriedly at them, for Max didn’t have a weapon, and Rastingard was fully equipped with fangs and nails. Blood flew, and Max seemed to be slowing down. For God’s sake, he already had two bullet wounds, had been fed upon…he had to be weakening by now.

Suddenly terrified about their prospects for coming out of this alive, Savina finally got the stake. But by now, her vampire assailant had swung around from behind and yanked her up off the floor, his arm around her waist just as Max’s had been moments before, his other hand yanking her back by the hair.

Savina tried to fight free, but he shoved her hard, face-first against the wall, and was already dragging her hair away from one side of her neck to bite her as he heaved her against the desk, bending her over it at the waist. She arched her head back, hard, hoping to catch him in the face, but his head was to the side and she barely grazed him. When his fangs sank deeply into her shoulder, she cried out with fury and pain, and yanked the chain from her throat. The cross was thus freed, and she shoved it backward, into the side of the vampire’s face.

His blood-curdling scream pierced her ear, but he released her and staggered back, holding a hand to his face—which was hissing and steaming and red. Savina stumbled around after him with trembling knees and shoved the stake into his chest. Blood spurted from his torso as the vampire cried out, whipping her violently aside with his arm.

Savina slammed into the edge of the high bed, the mattress catching her in the gut and knocking the breath out of her. She rolled around, out of the way, struggling to draw in a breath, and lost her balance.

Tumbling onto the ground, she crawled away from her attacker as quickly as she could, her nose and wounds dripping everywhere, her arms and knees trembling with pain and effort. And then, through the strings of her hair, she saw them: the tall, heavy curtains, directly in front of her.

Galvanized, she sprang to her feet and took hold of one heavy, velvet swath and
pulled
.

Sunlight blazed into the room, spilling onto the floor like a flood of warmth and peace.

Someone screamed in agony, and there was the instant smell of burning flesh, sizzling and frying. Savina glanced over to see her attacker collapsed on the ground, writhing in pain, bathed in the yellow light. He was in so much pain he couldn’t move to a safe area.

But she didn’t wait to see him disintegrate into ash; there were two other windows, and Max and Rastingard were still grappling on the floor.

Savina yanked the second curtain open and heard a grunt from Max. “Nice,” he managed, then his breath was cut off by two big hands closing around his throat.

Rastingard was on top of him, squeezing hard, and Savina could see he was struggling to hold onto his consciousness, losing the battle of breath. Yet his face was determined, and with a great heave, he managed to slam his head up into Rastingard’s nose. She howled and Max heaved them both over so he was on the top.

The vampire hissed and lunged up, her fangs scraping down his arm, but Max held onto her shoulders and now Savina could see what he was doing: rolling, grappling, forcing them toward that pool of sunlight.

Savina rushed over to the curtains, still trembling and panting, and pulled them even wider—making the patch of sunlight even broader and deeper. Max gasped something that might have been appreciation as he avoided Rastingard’s long-nailed hand once more. But the vampiress slashed out with her elbow and caught him on the side of the head. He rolled, but dragged her with her, and then suddenly they were in the sunshine.

Rastingard shrieked. Max shoved her off, rolled to his feet, and before Savina could react, he had his stake.

Plunge
.

The writhing, screaming Rastingard froze for an instant, her mouth in an ugly rictus of agony…and then she was gone in a dusty, lily-scented poof of ash.

Savina collapsed against the wall and looked up at Max, gasping, panting, unable to find any words. He loomed over her, chest heaving, blood everywhere—was that another bullet wound?—and wordlessly lifted his hand.

There, dangling from his fingers was Rastingard’s bracelet of keys.

~ Explanations ~

They stared at each other for a moment, panting, shaking, bleeding. The chamber was silent, filled with the scent of blood and undead dust. The furnishings were in disarray—broken, upended, scattered. The world beyond was silent. The birds had ceased chirping in the face of such violence and unrest.

But even the broad pool of sunlight bathing the room didn’t take away the lingering darkness.

Savina looked around, her eyes filling with tears of pain, exhaustion, and grief. “He…he really did it,” she whispered. “You were…right.”

“Oh, dammit, Savina…” Max said softly. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t wait; she surged into his arms. They closed around her, powerful and strong and warm, and she let go of all the emotions she’d held at bay.

The tears flooded from her eyes, salty and hot, and she sobbed great wracking sobs into his chest. She cried with grief and anger and devastation. Then she curled her fingers into his arms—furious, hurt, and still, after all this, disbelieving.

How could he have done it? How could her father have betrayed them all? How could he have become so corrupted?

And now…it was all over. There was no chance of changing anything. He was dead and gone, and his legacy was not one of loyalty and integrity, but one of shame and selfishness.

Max held her for a long time, stroking her hair, saying nothing.

At last, she pulled away and, sniffling and wiping angrily at her eyes, she glared up at him. “It’s my fault. I could have lived in ignorance, believing the best of him…holding him in my heart as a hero, my father, for the rest of my life. But I didn’t. And now I pay the price, for learning the truth. Now he’s been ruined for me, forever, Max. I can’t…love…him like I did. But he’s still my
father
.” Her words were choked, probably only partly intelligible, but Max seemed to understand.

“He loved you. He was just confused. And gullible. Sometimes a woman can do that to a man.”

“Only if he truly wants her to. Only if he’s not strong enough, if he doesn’t have the integrity, the self-worth.” She wasn’t giving any quarter, she wasn’t making any excuses. Her father had betrayed not only the Venators, but
her
as well.

He’d betrayed Savina most of all.

She swallowed hard and pulled out of Max’s embrace. “At least if…
when
…Macey finds out about her father, she won’t be devastated. She has a real hero for a father.” She sniffled and turned away. “I wish I had.”

***

A short time later, they’d commenced with searching Rastingard’s chamber for the safe. Savina was glad to have something to think about other than her father, and she knew her companion wouldn’t feel comfortable until they found the letter about Macey.

Max stilled suddenly and looked toward the open door. He held out a hand to gesture Savina to stand back, and walked over, stake in hand. He paused, listening for a moment.

Without another word, he stepped into the hall. A moment later, Savina heard a soft scuffle and then a quiet
poof!

But Max didn’t reappear, and she waited impatiently. There were more footsteps and other non-urgent sounds, and then voices. That was what drew her into the hallway just in time to hear him say to a small crowd of people filling the space, “…your master is dead. The guests have gone. You’re in no danger any longer, and you needn’t stay unless you like.”

She caught a glimpse of the maids who’d helped her dress, and the staid butler, and even the man who’d parked their motorcar—and numerous other servants she hadn’t even known were present. How many did it take to run this estate, anyway? And had they all been ignorant of their master’s proclivities? By the stunned expression on their collective faces, she suspected they’d had no idea…and perhaps had even been fully under Alexander’s thrall.