She swallowed hard at the look that blazed back into his eyes. Apparently, he had other things on his mind now, as well.
“Max,” she said, leaning toward him over the edge of the tub, “I’m so glad you’re safe. And a Venator again-only because it will help keep you that way.”
He kissed her briefly, but then she felt his lips settle into a familiar firm line. “You know that Lilith will be pleased as well.”
She felt as though a bucket of cold water had been tossed over her. Lilith did prefer Max as a Venator. She claimed it made it much more interesting to try to subdue him. “You’re not going to disappear again, are you? Leave me under the guise of protecting me?”
“Victoria, you know that this”-he swept his arm to encompass them, the room, the piles of clothing on the floor-“doesn’t mean anything’s changed.”
“Yes, it does,” she said sharply. “You’re a Venator again, Max, and yes, you have your precious duty back. But things have changed-”
“I meant ,” he said, his loud voice overriding hers, “that nothing outside of us has changed. The rest of the world.” He moved again, and again the slop of water. At the rate things were going, Victoria would soon be as wet as he.
She calmed a bit, but still, she gave him a look of mistrust. “Max, you have to promise that you’ll never leave like that again.”
“I’m not going to promise that, Victoria.”
She turned away, shocked at a sudden sting of tears, the sharp pain in her belly. She wanted to respond, but she didn’t trust herself to speak.
“Victoria,” Max said in a slightly gentler voice, “you can’t promise either. The future could require anything of us, and what’s the point of making promises that we may not keep?” He reached for her, tugged her peremptorily toward him so that the edge of the tub bit into her ribs. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, Victoria. I’d die first… Do you understand?”
She pulled out of his grip, but remained next to the tub. “That’s the easy way out, Max. Dying and leaving the other to live on. Alone.”
“Have I not admitted I’m a coward when it comes to you?”
She glanced at him, at the black expression on his face: skin stretched taut over his high cheekbones, nary a hint of softness near the corners of his eyes. His mouth that had, moments before, been full and sensual, was now thin and pursed.
Yet, much as it pained her to hear the words, she knew he was right. Aunt Eustacia, and then Max, had been telling her for two years that duty had to come before personal wants and choices. The good of many would always win out over the safety or love of a few. It had to.
It was part of being a Venator-especially for Victoria, who was Illa Gardella. Despite her love affair of fifty years with Kritanu, Aunt Eustacia had understood. That was why she’d ordered Max to execute her.
But if it had been you instead of Eustacia? I could not have done it. Do you understand? I couldn’t have done it. That’s what I’m afraid of, Victoria. A choice like that.
And if she had any intelligent bones in her body, she should be afraid of the very same thing.
Neither of them had spoken, and there was only the tinkling sound of lapping water and the arrhythmic drips from the side of the tub. Then Max moved and pulled Victoria over the edge and into his lap, shift and all, closing his arms around her as the water enveloped her in a softer embrace.
“You won’t agree with every decision I make,” he said. “And God knows I won’t agree with you. But I know you can take care of yourself, Victoria. I’ve seen it, much as it turned my insides to pudding when you came sailing down from the rafters during the battle with Nedas. Among other instances.”
The warm water lapped gently over her cotton shift, and Victoria settled against him, resting her face on his damp neck, smelling the fresh rosemary on his jaw. “Your insides were pudding?” she asked, smiling, tangling her fingers in the wet hair on his chest. She lifted his vis bulla and felt a shock of power.
“Indeed. More than once.”
“Like when else?”
He shifted her slightly, settling her sidewise onto one of his thighs so that he could untie the lace at the neckline of her shift. “When you appeared unexpectedly at Regalado’s art show that first night in Roma.”
“Did Sara know who I was at that time?” The cotton shift was glued to her body from just below the br**sts, down into the water, and she lifted her rump a bit so Max could tug it up and over her head. It landed on the floor with a damp splat.
“I don’t believe she did; she knew of Eustacia, of course, and that there was rumor of another female Venator. But since you’d been in mourning for the year since Rockley died, the gossip among the Tutela and undead had died down.”
“You acted so cool and angry that I didn’t know what to think. Even later, you never gave the slightest hint that you were anything but a member of the Tutela.”
“The last thing I expected to see was you, when Sara introduced you as her new friend.” His hands had become busy now, and she felt a renewed rise of lust as he bent to one of her br**sts. She admired the long, strong width of his neck and the swath of dark hair, just beginning to dry. His fingers moved to sift through the duo of silver amulets at her navel.
“Well, you hid that fact quite well. And when else?” she asked impishly. “When I had to change in the carriage, and you had to unlace my stays? I know you peeked, Max. Admit it.”
His tongue caught the sensitive tip of her nipple, making her jolt with pleasure, and then he swirled it around languorously. She sighed and arched toward his mouth, her hand sliding down into the water between his legs.
“When else?” she asked, closing her fingers around him, smiling with satisfaction at his sharp, indrawn breath.
“Hmm…,” he said, vibrating against her breast, then lifting to look thoughtfully into space. “There were too many times. And I’m certain,” he said, lifting her suddenly from the water, “that there will be many more times to come.”
Quickly and easily, he settled her in place and slid inside with a smooth movement. Anything she might have said… or even thought to have said… became lost in a damp whirlwind of pleasure and rhythmic splashing.
Sixteen
The Negotiation
Max refused to feel guilty, though the emotion nicked at him like the tip of a blade. It nagged, but he ignored the incessant prickles and focused on the journey ahead.