Free Max Stops the Presses: A Gardella Vampire Chronicles Short Story by Colleen Gleason Page A

years
later , Max sat in his study at Grantworth
House sampling yet another glass of most excellent brandy and
considering how radically things had changed.
    In the time since her
debut, not only had Victoria proved herself an incomparable
Venator—stunning even Max with her intelligence, fortitude, and
determination—but he had also married the blasted woman.
    Together—and, admittedly,
with some help from Sebastian Vioget—Max and Victoria had driven
most of the vampires out of London. She’d slain Lilith—a fact for
which Max felt overwhelming gratitude every bloody damned day—and
since then, their lives had quieted into something resembling
normalcy.
    A loud thud, followed by a
crash, had Max bolting from his chair with a curse. The sounds had
come from the kalari —the spacious room where he and Victoria practiced their
fighting skills…and occasionally other physical activities. Since
his wife was nine months pregnant, she should most
definitely not be
practicing anything but sitting and resting. Which, for Victoria,
were tendencies that didn’t come naturally.
    Max flung open the door to
find her standing there, surrounded by a variety of weapons.
Swords, cheruvadis ,
scythes, kadharas ,
and, of course, wooden stakes of all sizes—along with the shelves
on which they’d been displayed—were scattered all over the floor.
Victoria spun toward him, guilt and irritation plastered all over
her face. Little wisps of black curls were loose around her
temples, and her cheeks were flushed—though he wasn’t certain
whether it was from effort or chagrin at being caught
out.
    “What the bloody hell are
you doing?” He swallowed his heart back into place and stalked
over, picking up a kadhara dagger as he went. “By God, Victoria, don’t tell
me you were trying to get the damned urumi down again.”
    She glowered up at him. “My
blasted belly got in the way. I couldn’t quite reach—”
    “And what, precisely, were
you trying to reach that particular sword for ?” He fixed her with a dark look,
trying not to be distracted by the lushness of her pregnant curves.
The urumi was not
only long and sharp, but it had a flexible, ribbon-like metal
blade—which made it particularly difficult to handle
properly.
    She pressed her lips
together and glared up at him in mute frustration. Her arms were
crossed between belly and breasts, which had the effect of lifting
her cleavage in a most enticing manner. Even though she was wearing
only a loose tunic and fighting trousers, she looked
beautiful.
    With effort, he kept his
attention on her face. “Victoria, of all the bloody damned weapons
you could be practicing with in your condition, the urumi is the worst
candidate.”
    “I’m bored, Max. I’m not
used to sitting around.”
    “And so you decided to play
with a whip-like sword? Here.” He handed her one of the cheruvadis —a long wooden
pole—and proceeded to roll the urumi ’s sharp blade into a proper
circle. Setting the sword aside, he added, “If you insist on
thumping around in here like an—er—at least use something less
likely to wrap around your legs—”
    “Thumping around like a what? Like an elephant? That’s what you were going to
say, weren’t you?” She tossed the pole away and curved her arms
around her massive belly—one Max could hardly believe hadn’t caused
her to topple over yet. “I’m definitely as big as one. And about as
graceful as a—as a potato .”
    Max barely contained a
laugh, covering it up by folding his ungainly wife into an embrace.
“You’re pregnant, darling.” He pressed a kiss onto the top of her
head. It was particularly warm, and so was she, indicating she’d
already been doing some sort of training.
    Victoria struggled to free
herself from his arms, but Max held firm, greatly enjoying the feel
of all those soft, generous curves, and the smell of her hair, and
the knowledge that she was here, with him, safe …and that he would be damned if
he’d let