“I expect it will be only a matter of time until you do,” Victoria replied.

“As you wish.” Beauregard grinned, and now his fangs flashed. They were no longer than a man’s first knuckle, but sharp as a razor. So sharp that the feel of them sinking into one’s flesh would hardly be noticeable, more pleasure than pain. His lower fangs were much shorter, but just as lethal, and hidden by his lower lip.

During their banter she’d foolishly allowed herself to relax enough that her gaze drifted too directly to his, too tightly to his ruby irises. She was snared.

Guardian vampires, the ones with ruby eyes who also made up Lilith’s personal guard, had especially strong enthralling powers. As Beauregard’s control crept over her, Victoria felt her limbs begin to soften and her head to swim. The blood in her veins surged, swelling the vessels so that hot pressure pounded through her body.

His breath began to match hers, then fought to control their merging breathing. Victoria was sluggish, but she still held the stake, and the candle in her other hand. She had enough presence of mind to realize how incredibly strong his pull was, and how difficult it would be to fight it off.

Dimly she forced herself to blink, trying to break the connection. Drawing her eyelids down was like wading upstream neck-deep in a river: slow, deathly slow. She felt movement around her, then the brush of his hand against her neck, warm and strong…. She tried to blink again, tried to recover her own breathing and slowly force herself out of the pulsing red tunnel into which she’d begun to fall, clawing back to her reality by focusing on the feel of the stake in her hand and the force of the vis bullae at her belly.

Suddenly the thrall was broken. She snapped free and pulled in a breath all her own, then raised the stake, plunging it down toward his chest—a chest that had moved closer to her in those few moments of confusion. Everything in her mind was clear and crisp again—the night, the darkness, the smell of the city, the buildings looming over them. As the stake plunged, he threw up his arm to stop her blow, stepping back.

Their forearms collided with a force that would have broken bones had they not been Venator and vampire, and she drew in her breath in annoyance, twisting away. “I knew you were not to be trusted,” she snapped, whirling back toward him, stake at the ready. “Despite your grandson’s arguments to the contrary.” She dropped her candle and leaped.

He blocked her again, and the force of her blow sent them into each other, breast-to-breast, in a parody of a lovers’ embrace before she ducked down, seeking to surge up behind him.

He feinted away, but she launched at him. Beauregard caught her by the waist and shoved her so hard she stumbled backward, catching herself against a plaster wall. Her candle flame, still burning on the ground, flickered wildly as she looked over at him, recognizing that they were at an impasse.

“Strong, brave, stubborn…and beautiful. Once again, I can understand my grandson’s attraction for you.” His lips, thinner than Sebastian’s, but of the same shape, curved in a familiar smile. The movement couldn’t help but remind her of the many times she’d kissed lips rather like them. Beauregard’s eyes gleamed behind his mask, sweeping a pink gaze over her, trying again to capture her. “’Tis a shame he saw you first, Venator. But if he does not treat his ladylove with care and attention, perhaps you will tire of waiting for him and cast your affections elsewhere. Toward power. And immortality.”

“I’m as likely to be his ladylove as he is to be a Venator himself,” Victoria replied with a derisive snort, stepping back, but ready to propel herself forward. “I trust him no farther than I do you; perhaps even less. At least I know where you stand.”

“I see.” The way he looked at her, as though he were contemplating some great question, was so different from his earlier gaze when he’d tried to enthrall her that Victoria almost looked him straight in the eye. But she remembered how easily she’d fallen moments before and resisted. “Ah, well, at the least, as you said, you know where I stand. Now, do not strike at me again,” he added when she gathered herself up to do just that. “Now that you’ve proven just as enticing and capable as I’d hoped, let us get to business.”

Wary, but no longer breathing hard, Victoria didn’t relax her stance. “Business? Was that your vampire that I staked earlier? A lure sent to pull me from the crowd? As you did last night?”

She could almost see his eyebrows rising behind the hooded mask of the domino. “I’m afraid you must be mistaken. I was otherwise engaged last evening. It was a tedious thing, but one must feed at least occasionally. Although I will admit to using that young man you slayed as one of several…what did you call them? Lures? To help me locate you in the crowd. So that I could answer your call, so to speak.”

“Apparently he was expendable.”

Beauregard shrugged. “The young ones are so bloody sure of themselves they think they are invincible once they have been turned. They do not realize that a Venator can just as easily end their immortality as they believe they can take from other mortals. It was a lesson for some of his other companions. It’s fortunate for me that most of those young, weak ones have allied themselves with Regalado and his Tutela members.”

“And so the battle rages on between the two vampire factions.” Victoria swept up the candle, then straightened from her offensive stance.

“Battle? I’d hardly call it that. Regalado and his followers are no match for me, even with their new ally. Indeed, I have my own plan for dealing with them.”

Victoria pretended to yawn. “Vampire politics: not something I’m terribly interested in—I’d just as soon stake all of you, regardless of who allies with whom. Instead, let’s talk about why you’ve enticed me to this dark alley. I can only assume the purpose is to exact some kind of payment for telling me what I want to know.”

“Ah, good. You’ve alleviated the awkwardness of the topic by mentioning it yourself.” Beauregard laughed, sounding uncomfortably like Sebastian. Then his charm vanished, and his eyes burned pink again. “Why do you wish to see him? I did not expect a woman of your stature and confidence to be chasing after the noncommittal rake that is my grandson.”

She bowed her head, taking care not to look directly into those dangerous irises. “I think that the rake is more like an apple that has fallen not so far from the tree. Ancient though the tree might be. And the matter concerns my aunt.” There was no sense in being coy with Beauregard—she needed his help to find Sebastian.

“Your aunt?”

Then Victoria realized her mistake. She should have let him believe it was Sebastian himself that she, playing the woman scorned, was after. But perhaps she could yet save it. “He…sent me something that belonged to my aunt, and I…wished to thank him.”

She knew Beauregard was too smart to be fooled by a complete reversal of personality, but perhaps subtlety would be more effective anyway.

“Thank him? Ah.” The way he allowed that last syllable to ease from his mouth in a low sigh told her he had taken the bait. The pink glow faded from his eyes, to be replaced by smugness. “It has been months, hasn’t it? And you wish to thank him.”

“I need to see him.” She allowed the desperation in her voice—let him think what he would. Let him tell Sebastian she was pining for him. It wouldn’t matter in the end.

“As you might imagine, gratitude is something my grandson and I both appreciate. I might be inclined to pass on the message to Sebastian, in exchange for some from you.”

She didn’t reply, merely tightened the grip on her stake and waited for him to continue. It was nothing more than she’d expected.

He bowed in acknowledgment, spreading his hands as if he had no choice. “I find that I have a curiosity…and a craving…that I desire to satisfy.”

Victoria knew exactly what he meant. Her palms grew clammy and her heart began to thump harder as she felt his control begin to swirl about her. He was very powerful, and likely as strong as she was, even with her two vis bullae.

“You cannot feed on me,” she said, shifting the long stake at her waist. “I’ll send you to Hell first.”

Beauregard looked affronted. “Feed? My dear, you needn’t be crude. Feeding is like the rutting between hogs, or the mindless fucking of a whore. What I wish from you is much more than a mere gorging on your hot, thick blood. Your Venator blood.” His eyes were blazing ruby-pink, and she felt the insistent tug toward him. “Your sweet, female, Venator blood.”

His voice was hypnotic, but she remained clearheaded enough to feel the wood under her fingers, even the hot splash of wax that spilled down in a trickle from the taper in her hand.

“No,” she said, making her voice firm even as her mind softened. “You cannot bite me.”

“Then kiss me, Victoria. Let me taste you,” he said softly, but it felt as though the words were there, all around her, filling her ears and insinuating into the blood suddenly rushing in her veins. “Let me taste what it is that my own blood desires.”

She blinked, focused on the feel of her weapon, forced herself to draw in the scent of rotting garbage nearby, willed her heartbeat to settle back into its own rhythm. “No,” she said sharply, breaking the gentle lull between them. “You can’t enthrall me, Beauregard. I’m too strong.”

“I ask for nothing but a kiss,” he said, his voice still calm and low, but his eyes dimmed. “Mouth-to-mouth. You might hold your stake between us if it would make you feel more at ease, Venator.”

“Perhaps I would slam it into your heart and send you to Hell, then,” Victoria replied, her voice easier, more normal. “Then Sebastian would surely seek me out, angry that I sent his grandfather to his eternal damnation.”

Beauregard lifted his chin. “Please, Victoria, do not remind me of my fate. I prefer not to dwell on it. You would have no cause to do so, for if you give me what I wish, I’ll bring your message to Sebastian. Just…let me taste you.”