Max Stops the Presses: A Gardella Vampire Chronicles Short Story (2 page)

“He’s going to be a fighter
just like his papa,” Victoria said, easing back.

“No…
she’s
going to be a quiet, sedate
little girl,
un
like
her mother,” he said. Then Max was suddenly terrified at the very
thought of a little Victoria toddling about his house…running his
life…looking up at him with big hazel eyes…getting into trouble.
Christ…climbing into carriages with handsome, rakish men like
Vioget.
Bloody hell. I’ll never sleep
again.

“A
girl
?” said Victoria. “If it’s a
girl—which I’m quite certain it’s not—she’s going to be just like
me. Not sedate in the least.”

“By the devil, I’ll be gray
before she’s three,” he said, laughing down at her, relieved that
she seemed to have gotten past her tears. But then her face
pinched. “Victoria? What is it?”

She grimaced and rubbed her
belly. “Nothing. Just a little twinge. I get them occasionally,
which just means the time is getting closer. And don’t even
think
about telling me to
sit down and put my feet up. Tiana told me that moving around can
help make the baby come. Which is why I was in here.”

Tiana was the midwife, and
Kritanu had found her for them. He’d assured the soon-to-be-father
the woman was not only experienced and excellent with baby
deliveries but was also a Comitator—a Venator trainer—like Kritanu
himself, which left Max as comfortable with the situation as
possible.

The irony of the
possibility of losing his wife not to a vampire, but to the very
natural event of childbirth, had occurred to him more often than
he’d ever admit. Which was why he’d hardly left the house in the
last two weeks, even to patrol for undead.

Speaking of which…just
then, Max felt a familiar, slightly nauseating chill waft over the
back of his neck. He and Victoria turned toward the
kalari
door at the same
time.

He scooped up a fallen
stake with one smooth movement and glanced at his wife. “Get that
sparkle out of your eyes. You’re in no condition to be even
thinking about—”

“Oh, hush, Max. It’s just
Sebastian, not an army of undead.” Victoria was already lumbering
toward the door.

Just
Sebastian? Max didn’t bother to stifle a derisive snort. There
was no “just” about Vioget. “How the bloody hell do you know it’s
him?” He lowered the stake, but tucked it into his coat pocket.
Just in case. “He was in Roma last I knew.”

“He sent word earlier
today, and I told Kritanu to let him in—ah, Sebastian.” Her voice
lifted with pleasure as she disappeared into the hall.

“Cherie
.” That was Sebastian of course, his rich voice filled with
affection and warmth. He barely looked up when Max came into view;
he was too busy ogling his host’s wife. “And look at how lovely you
are, Victoria. All ripe and lush and delicious, like a sweet
peach.”

It was a credit to Max’s
contentment and ease that he didn’t snarl when the
Venator-turned-vampire swept Victoria up into an embrace, ending
with a charming kiss on the back of her hand, which then somehow
turned into a lingering buss on the mouth.

“Vioget, remove your damned
lips from my wife.”

“Greetings, Max. You’re
looking stiff and disgruntled—and terribly out of fashion—as usual.
Apparently pending fatherhood hasn’t done a thing to remove that
pole from up your—”

“What brings you back from
Rome, Sebastian?” Victoria smoothly interrupted. She beamed up at
the visitor as she curled her arm around Max’s bicep. The three of
them began to make their way back to the study, moving more slowly
than usual due to her bulk.

“I wanted to make certain I
was returned in time to offer my felicitations on the new arrival,
of course,” said Vioget. “From the looks of you, surely it must
happen any day now.”

“If it doesn’t, I vow I’ll
go mad. And Max has been simply
hovering
all the time. I feel as if
I’m being smothered.”

“Hovering? Max? My, how
things have changed.”

Max detected a hint of
strain, and something else unfamiliar, in Vioget’s voice. Torment?
“I’m not hovering,” he informed Victoria. “I’m making certain you
don’t do anything foolish. Like trying
qinggong
with a
urumi
.”
Qinggong
was a type of martial art in
which one floated, flew, and skimmed above the ground—while
employing a lethal weapon. It was a skill at which Max was sleekly
proficient and Victoria…not.

Sebastian made a shocked
sound. “Devil take it, Victoria. You wouldn’t—”

“Of course not. He’s
exaggerating. I can’t do
qinggong
in this condition.”

“She doesn’t have the
patience to learn the practice in
any
condition.” Max gestured them into
the study. “I’ll ring for Kritanu.”

“I’ll take care of it,”
Victoria said, extricating herself from his arm. “I need
to…er…freshen up.”

“Very well. We’ll be here.”
Sitting and chatting like old friends…or enemies.

He cast a glance at Vioget.
By all rights, there should no longer be tension between them.
After all, if it hadn’t been for Sebastian, Max wouldn’t be here
with Victoria, more happy and content than he’d ever imagined
being.

If it hadn’t been for
Vioget’s sacrifice, offering himself to Lilith in exchange for
Max’s freedom, it would be Sebastian sitting here, waiting for
Victoria to birth Max’s child. Sharing her bed. Creating a
partnership against the evil undead. Building a life
together.

Yet, after more than a
decade of enmity and distrust between the two men, it was difficult
to set those sensitivities aside. Particularly since the last time
he’d seen Vioget, the man’s fangs had been just about ready to tear
brutally into Victoria’s throat.

“Brandy?” Max
asked.

“Only if it’s from the
reserve. I can still taste, you know.”

There it was again…that
underlying despair in his tone. And for once, Max didn’t know how
to respond. A twinge of guilt made his movements stiff as he
poured. He changed the subject as he handed Vioget his drink. “I
find it difficult to believe you’re back from Roma simply to
witness the birth of my child.”

The other man took the
glass and gave a brief nod of acknowledgment. “As much as I look
forward to meeting the infant, you’re correct. There is another
reason.” Vioget glanced toward the door as if to ensure Victoria
wasn’t within earshot.

“What is it?” Max put his
drink down, untouched.
Lilith is
dead.
There is no one else who could be
such a threat…
.
Then he stilled, a chill beyond the one prompted by Vioget’s
presence settling in his gut. “Iscariot.”

Once again, Sebastian
inclined his head. “Excellent guess, my dear Max. But, no,
thankfully, Nicholas Iscariot is still confined in the mountain
prison Lilith created for him. Though I suspect it won’t be
long—oh, don’t concern yourself, I mean not long in
vampiric
years—before he
finds a way to free himself. Now that his sister is dead, there’s
no one powerful enough to keep him confined for many more decades.
Mark my words, he’ll be free. Just, not soon.”

“Then what is it? I’ve not
sensed an undead—present company excepted—in London for six months
now.”

“And it must be rather
boring for you, mustn’t it? You appear to be becoming quite
domesticated. Lovely wife, pleasant study…I’m sure you’ve even been
involved in preparing the nursery, haven’t you?”

“If you don’t get to the
damned point, I’ll show you how bloody domesticated I
am.”

Vioget flared his eyes at
him, revealing the unholy glow of red that lingered behind his
amber irises. “You forget who I am now, Pesaro. Even you would be
unmatched against me.”

Max laughed.

“The two of you sharing a
joke? Surely Lucifer’s Hell must be freezing by now.” Victoria had
returned, and that blasted Vioget had managed to fritter away the
opportunity for a private conversation. Both the men stood
automatically as she lumbered in.

“Our guest is quite the
wit,” Max said, noticing the way said guest’s eyes followed
Victoria as she made her way to a chair. He flattened his lips
grimly.
Old habits.

Vioget bared his teeth,
including a hint of fang. “Indeed.”

“Now, now, gentlemen.”
Victoria hesitated, then began the awkward process of lowering
herself into a chair. Even though he was standing next to her, Max
knew from experience it was best not to offer
assistance.

“Your husband tells me I’m
the only vampire who’s darkened the streets of London in a long
while,” Sebastian said, settling back into his chair.

“Since we returned from
Muntii Faragas.” Victoria was still adjusting herself in the chair.
“Since Lilith was slain. England, for the time being, seems to be
quite rid of the undead. What was your experience in
Rome?”

Max listened with half an
ear as Sebastian proceeded to respond to her question, but not
precisely answer it. Prevaricating was a skill at which Vioget had
always been quite accomplished. But as he listened, Max was also
combing through his own range of knowledge and information,
wondering what it was that had caused Vioget to darken their door.
Surely it must be some tangible threat.

“Oh, my. Look at the time.
Alas, I must be on my way. Unfortunately, dawn comes much too soon
for me nowadays,” Sebastian said, rising.

“So soon?” Max said
blandly. “What a shame.”

Vioget gave him a measured
look, then turned his attention to Victoria. “I have other things
to attend to in London whilst I’m here. I shall most likely make a
visit to The Leaning Hen. I understand they have an excellent
whiskey, and they happen to be conveniently close to
Smithfield.”

“Smithfield? Oh…”
Victoria’s lilting voice faded as she comprehended. The cattle
market, where there would be plenty of fresh, non-human blood on
which a vampire could subsist. “Oh,
Sebastian
.” Her voice choked a little,
and Max saw her throat work as she swallowed hard. She blinked
rapidly, clutching the other man’s hand as if she dared not release
him. “Are you—”

“Now, be certain you send
word the minute our newest Venator makes his—or her—appearance,”
Vioget said, neatly interrupting what appeared to be the beginning
of an emotional appeal or apology. “I shan’t leave town until I
hear from you.”

Above Victoria’s head, the
two men exchanged brief glances, and then Vioget was
gone.

“Oh Max,” Victoria said,
looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “I still can’t believe
he’s…” She shook her head, flattening her lips into a taut line.
“Poor Sebastian.”

“I know, darling.” The poor
devil. Max couldn’t completely deny his own stab of guilt as he
gathered his wife close and led her upstairs. “But he did what he
had to do. For Giulia—and for you.”

Just as I would, if it
meant saving the woman I love.

+ +
+

A short time
later
—still well before dawn—Max strode
into The Leaning Hen. Tonight it had been more difficult than usual
for him to leave Victoria, slipping away from their bed in the
dark.

With her belly so large she
had trouble sleeping now, and Max was relieved that tonight she
seemed to ease readily into repose, especially after seeing their
visitor. But before leaving, he paused at the side of the bed to
look down at her. The pale moonlight frosted her beloved, stubborn
face with silver, and the masses of long, dark hair spilled over
her pillow and blankets. One hand was curled beneath her chin, and
she had an extra pillow propped beneath her belly and upper leg.
She appeared so damned innocent and fragile in sleep. Yet Victoria
was everything but.

What did I ever do to
become so damned fortunate?

He didn’t bend to kiss her
cheek, knowing she’d awaken at even the slightest touch. Instead,
he took one last look, then left the room like a shadow.

Armed with a stake, a
dagger, and a pistol, Max eschewed a carriage and instead made his
way on horseback to the rendezvous with Vioget. Once inside the
pub, which was known for its heavy, dark ale, it took Max only a
moment to locate his quarry.

“I do hope you’ll get to
the bloody point this time,” he said, sliding into the seat next to
Sebastian. At the same time, he waved impatiently for a mug of
Leaning Hen Ale, noticed a bar fight just about ready to start up
in the far corner, saw a whore lift a money purse from her mark,
and counted the number of occupants, windows, and other exits in
the pub.

“Always so damned
impatient, aren’t we, Pesaro? I thought you might enjoy a night
out, since you seem to be so tied down to the homestead and the
little wife, and—”