She couldn't exactly stake him in the middle of the ball.
It was a curious thing: Vampires were not allowed to enter the home of someone who hadn't invited them, or someone acting for the owner of the home. Gatherings such as this ball at the Dunstead home were by invitation, and only to the members of the ton, of course. So how did a vampire manage to get himself or herself into the ball?
She supposed it was due to the comings and goings of servants and staff, and the masses of people invited to events such as this. There were many ways to be "invited" into a home… for something as simple as delivering a bouquet of flowers or the side of beef to be served for dinner. And once the invitation was extended, it was permanent as long as the homeowner did not change.
Victoria was thankful when the dance ended, but dismayed when Truscott manipulated their exit from the dance floor to be near the tables filled with drinks and cakes… completely across the room from where the vampire stood, watching.
Watching her.
Victoria realized with a start that his cold eyes had focused on her. Unblinking. Tugging at her from across the room.
He curled one side of his mouth in a half smile, still staring at her. A little nod. And then he slipped his arm around the woman next to him and began to lead her away.
A challenge.
If the chill on the back of her neck had merely raised her nape hair, it was now standing straight up. And ice was forming.
"Lord Truscott, I must excuse myself," Victoria said quickly, pulling her arm from his grasp and ignoring the glass of lemonade he was offering her. "I… I believe my gown has a loose ribbon, and I must… see to it."
"But Miss Grantworth—"
"Please excuse me." She slipped away, hurrying as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself as she pushed through people edging the dance floor. It would be faster to move through the dancing couples, but that would only cause a stir. Pray God her mother or her two cronies didn't see her!
She kept her eye on the vampire's dark head, which was more difficult than when she'd been stalking Maximilian, for this man was only average height, and got lost among some of the other partygoers. The couple walked through an alcove, strolling at a comfortable pace, and turned down what appeared to be a hallway.
Victoria's skirts wrapped around her ankles, and would have been flapping if they'd been made of something heavier than light chiffon. Bending quickly, she slipped her hand under the hem of her skirt and pulled the narrow wooden pike from its garter on her calf.
The stake felt solid and comfortable in her hand. This one was more slender than the one she'd used to stake the vampire at her own coming-out party, but according to Aunt Eustacia, was just as potent as the thicker one. The trick was, she had told her, to find a stake that was light enough to carry and hide easily, but strong enough that it wouldn't break when being stabbed into the vampire's breastbone.
Victoria hurried along the hallway, listening with her ears and her instincts. She wasn't sure which room they had disappeared into… but when the ice at the back of her neck became almost painful in its intensity, she paused outside an ajar door.
He would be expecting her; but stealth wasn't as imperative as skill and cunning. Could he sense her in the same way she could sense him? He must, or how else would he have known her?
She toed the door open and waited. From her vantage point in the hallway, near the wall, she could see into the chamber. It appeared to be a den. A fire burned across the way, and several large sofas flanked a red-and-orange Persian rug. A glimmer of movement caught her eye, and she watched as the faint shadow shifted.
Was the shadow the vampire… or his victim, acting as a lure?
The vampire could be hiding behind the door, waiting for Victoria.
She knew how to solve that. She kicked the door hard, and it swung open, slamming into the wall behind it and leaving the entire expanse of the room to her view.
"Ah. I see you have found us."
The woman sat on one of the settees, and the vampire stood menacingly behind her. Victoria's heart thumped. Here she was, face-to-face with an undead. No advantage of surprise—and the additional problem of a victim.
Then she heard footsteps hurrying down the long hallway. And her name, called low, with urgency. "Miss Grantworth?"
Good gad. Rockley!
She leaped into the room and slammed the door shut, keeping her attention on the vampire, and her fingers wrapped around her stake. Drawing in a deep, cleansing breath as Kritanu had taught her, she froze in an offensive stance and looked at the vampire.
"Release her," she said, gesturing with her head toward the woman, who'd not moved one whit. Scared stiff, she was.
"I think not," the man purred. He stepped from around the settee and Victoria suddenly, fully understood what Aunt Eustacia meant when she spoke of the allure of the vampire. It crackled in the room, this awareness she felt, an inexorable drawing toward him. As if he held her strings in his hands and was tugging ever so gently.
Without conscious thought, she dropped her hand to her belly and touched the vis bulla through the froth of her skirts. The headiness lessened. Her fingers gripped the stake. He stepped closer.
His eyes, still normal, but gleaming with a fierceness she'd seen only once—in the gaze of a mad dog that had had to be shot—never left hers. A smile curled his mouth.
"So you are the one. A woman Venator."
"You seem to have the advantage of me," she replied coolly. "But that's no matter, as you won't be around long enough to enjoy it."
A low laugh issued from his mouth, and she saw the gleam of fangs. His eyes narrowed, the pupils pinpointing and the irises burning pale pink, then delicate ruby red.
"I've never had the taste of a Venator before. I'm sure it will be most fulfilling. Quite delectable."
Without warning he launched himself toward her, moving with such lightning speed that it seemed as if he'd flown on a breath. His hands closed over her shoulders, taking her by surprise. She dropped the stake, and he laughed when it fell onto his boots. His grip was painful, his sharp nails digging into the soft parts of her shoulders as she struggled against the agony and the fear.
Before you, there have been only three other female Venators in the last century of battle against Lilith. Two of them died hideous deaths shortly after they were inducted into the Legacy and received their vis bullae.
She was damned if she was going to give Max the satisfaction of being the third.
Victoria tipped her head back, then slammed her forehead into the face of the vampire, thanking Kritanu for making her practice this move so many times. She felt the squash of his hooked nose giving way beneath the onslaught, and his reaction to the pain allowed her to jerk from his grip. She lunged to the ground and closed her fingers around the smooth ash stick, but before she could rise, he recovered and sent her sprawling.