Afraid for her. Her. Illa Gardella. The most physically powerful woman in the world, the leader of the Venators. The woman who had the strength and speed that matched superhuman vampires.

He was afraid for her.

Victoria snorted again. It was more likely that he was afraid for himself. Or, more precisely, his heart.

Bloody coward.

He was currently living in the servants’ quarters here in this house, which had belonged to her great-aunt Eustacia but now belonged to Victoria. Yet it was only a matter of time until he disappeared again.

Only two weeks had elapsed since they’d been captured by Lilith, the vampire queen, and escaped from her wrath yet again. Frankly, Victoria was surprised Max hadn’t slipped away yet-particularly since the last time they’d been alone was when he’d admitted that he loved her-and had then proceeded to leave the room. Flee, more accurately.

He’d taken great care not to be in her presence alone since.

At that moment, she realized that during her wool-gathering, Verbena, who was as efficient as she was verbose, had removed the dressing robe Victoria wore and was now raising the heavy silk gown over her head. Victoria lifted her arms so that she could find the short little sleeves made of ruched and gathered silk. The frock fell smoothly to the floor, where its hem was anchored by two narrow rows of flounces. As Verbena buttoned the gown up over her mistress’s corset and shift, Victoria considered her options.

There was no sense in trying to make Max jealous. He’d been encouraging her into Sebastian’s arms for months now. Although Victoria had spent her share of time there, she’d realized no more than a few weeks ago that the man she loved enough to spend the rest of her life with wasn’t Sebastian Vioget. It was Max Pesaro.

That realization had been creeping up on her for a while, but it had come crashing down upon her unsuspecting head after she’d spent a night in his arms. His warm, muscular arms. Against his long, powerful body.