“The ring is one of the five Rings of Jubai that Lilith had made for her most trusted Guardian vampires,” Sebastian explained. Guardians were undead who had eyes that glowed ruby pink when they were angry. They were part of the vampire queen’s elite guard, and had the particular ability to easily enthrall mortals. They were very hard to kill. Beauregard had been a Guardian vampire. “Unfortunately, though you might expect otherwise, my grandfather was not one of the recipients of the five rings.”

Victoria gave a little laugh. “To the contrary. Knowing Beauregard as I did, I’m not at all surprised Lilith didn’t count him as one of her most trusted Guardians. Not only did there seem to be no love lost between them, but he also was clearly a creature concerned only with himself.”

“I’ll allow your disparaging comment about my grandfather to pass for now,” Sebastian said in a cooler voice. “I’m not ignorant of his faults, but he was still my grandfather and he never caused me any harm. What he did to you—tried to do—was unacceptable, and I reacted accordingly.”

“You do have my gratitude for that,” Victoria replied, fervently meaning it.

“Your gratitude? Ah, what a wealthy man am I,” he said dryly. Then his flippancy evaporated and a serious expression took over. “Before we talk further, there’s somethingI must tell you. I’ll get back to the Rings of Jubai in a moment, but first . . . Victoria, do you feel all of a piece? Since you . . . woke up, do you feel different?”

She looked at him and recognized something desperate in his face, and stopped her reflexive “I’m fine” response. “Most of the time, I feel . . . the same. But there are moments when I do not.” Like when she was angry, her vision threatened to tinge red—literally. And earlier today, when Gwendolyn had been prattling on about her happiness and her wedding . . . how that surge of envy had caught Victoria by surprise, making her cold and angry. She’d been a lot more angry lately, come to think of it.

Or . . . when she’d smelled the blood in the underground abbey . . .

Now that she put it together, it made horrible, awful sense. She felt her face drain of color and feeling. “My God.”

He seemed to understand, and reached for her arm. His slender fingers closed gently over the top of her hand. “Victoria, I’m certain you’re not a vampire . . . but I do fear that you still carry some residue of Beauregard’s attempt to turn you. I still . . . I feel the presence of an undead when I’m near you.”

She stared for a moment without seeing as the pieces clunked into place. “That was why you didn’t seem to notice the vampires down in the tunnels.”

He nodded ruefully. “Your presence makes it difficult for me to sense other—er, the undead.”

Victoria thought for a moment. “Does Wayren know? How about Max? And Ylito?”

“Wayren knows, and I’m certain she’s told Ylito and Hannever, for if there’s any hope of an antidote, they would help. As for Pesaro—well, he is aware of the situation. But . . . of course, he has his own concerns.”

Yes, indeed he did. But she felt hollow anyway.

Sebastian remained silent for a moment as if to allow her thoughts to sink in, then he spoke. “The reason I wanted to find the underground abbey was not just to retrieve the ring, but also some old documents. The monks wrote not only holy pieces, apparently, but unholy ones as well—some vampiric history, as well as other information—and according to Beauregard, they might be of interest.”

“Of interest to whom—the undead or the Venators?”

“Either one.” He smiled ruefully. “I thought perhaps there might be information in them about another Venator who was nearly turned undead, and it might be relevant to . . . your situation.”

Victoria had heard of the four Venators who had been turned to vampires over the ages. Only four . . . but still. Their vis bullae hadn’t saved them . . . although each had been wearing only a single one. “Did you find the documents?”

“No. They weren’t there with the ring.”

“Do you plan to go back?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. As you are aware, I generally prefer not to step into the lair of the lion, and it’s quite obvious that the undead have been making use of the place. After you drove Lilith from London two years ago, the number of undead decreased greatly. But it seems they might be resettling here once again.”

“What about a vampire who moves about and attacks in daylight?” Victoria asked.

“The only way that could happen is if the vampire drank of the special potion.”

Victoria narrowed her eyes. “The recipe we found behindthe Door of Alchemy in Rome? The one that you stole from the Consilium?” She tasted bitterness at the reminder of his betrayal.

Two months ago in Rome, she and Max had raced against the vampires and Tutela to find the keys that opened the door to an alchemical laboratory that had been locked for more than a century. They’d succeeded in being there first, and had retrieved the notes and papers hidden behind the door, but Sebastian had stolen one of the pages to give to his grandfather Beauregard.

“It’s the only one I know of,” he replied evenly, meeting her eyes without shame. “You can stop stabbing me with your eyes. You’ve already left a scar on my shoulder,” he said, gesturing to where she’d stabbed him with the stake meant for Beauregard.

“You shouldn’t have gotten in my way.”

His mobile lips thinned; obviously, he read the double meaning there. “Speaking of prevarication—Victoria, are you saying you’ve seen a vampire in the daylight?”

“Not directly, but I saw the fresh remains of his—or her—attack on a mortal. During midday.”

“Then it would appear that somehow, either you were mistaken—which of course is unlikely—or that the formula for the potion has fallen into the very hands from which you and Pesaro tried to keep it.”

“Apparently. And if you hadn’t taken it from the Consilium at the behest of your grandfather, it might still be there, safely ensconced. What did you do with it?”

“Do you not recall? Beauregard showed it to you when you were in his chambers,” Sebastian returned, his voice softening slightly. “I meant to return to retrieve it, but when I did so, it was gone. Someone else found it first.”

“So it’s possible.”

“Quite.”

“But why did I not sense the presence of the undead in the park today?”

“Because that is the other important benefit of the potion. It gives the undead a mortal-like aura that keeps us from recognizing them, and allows them to move about as one of us.”

Victoria felt a chill over her that had nothing to do with the presence of vampires. “That could be devastating to us,” she murmured, standing abruptly. “If they can move about, and we can’t sense them . . .” She paced over to her dressing table, where the lamp had begun to gutter in its low kerosene. “They could move about, anywhere, anytime . . .”

“It isn’t a pleasant thought, indeed,” Sebastian said. His voice was closer, and she heard the faint creak of a floorboard as he moved from his chair.

“Do you know where Max is?” she asked.

She felt him become still, and she turned back toward him. “Running from Lilith, I believe.” His laugh had an odd note to it. “I don’t blame the chap myself . . . if I’d been caught by that vile creature, and finally broke free, I’d do the same.”

“He needs to know about Briyani. I’ve sent a message to Wayren.”

“Then I’m certain she’ll find a way to notify Pesaro. It seems to me you have other concerns now.”

“Sebastian, why did you do it?” Victoria asked, suddenly feeling the pain of loneliness and betrayal. “Why did you steal from us? Why did you try to help Beauregard?”

He had the grace to look abashed—a decidedly unfamiliar expression on his face. “I acted irresponsibly and foolishly. I listened to him—he had the ability to enthrall me to some extent, even though I was usually aware of it and could control it. And he convinced me that it would be helpful in getting vampires and mortals to coexist.”

Victoria gave an unladylike snort. “And you believed him?”

“Love can be blinding sometimes, Victoria.”

She looked at him for a moment. It felt as though something in the air had shifted, broken . . . settled. “It can.” She drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly. She’d made her own mistakes for love—marrying a mortal who had no idea about her secret life. And then lying to him, drugging him with salvi so that she could hunt vampires, thus endangering him and others that she loved.

Love was most certainly blinding.

Somehow, he must have understood what was in her face, for the next thing she knew, Sebastian was there again, drawing her into his arms. He lowered his mouth to hers, softly, as if in question.

She closed her eyes, kissed him back. She drew in his essence, his presence, pushed back the loneliness that had threatened her this day, these last weeks and months.

For this moment, this was comfort. This was Sebastian.

The kiss left her breathless, and suddenly Victoria felt the hip-high bed behind her, its edge pressing into the small of her back as Sebastian pressed into her front. Her gown gapped freely in the bodice due to his nimble fingers at the buttons along her spine. When he tipped her onto the bed, the coverlet was cool against her bare back.

His hands shifted smoothly to pull the fabric away as she looked up, dazed and desirous. It had been a long time. . . . The bed hangings were open, and beyond the heavy maple canopy frame, she saw the painting of Circe and Odysseus.

The fog of sherry and pleasure dissipated, and Victoriacame back to herself. She sat up abruptly, nearly striking him on the chin.

“No,” she said, looking around the room, remembering where she was. A chill raced over her, raising unpleasant goose pimples as she realized—oh, a myriad of reasons why she couldn’t do this. “Sebastian . . . not here.”