The Vampire Narcise

It humbled her, weakening her even more than the feathers.

She gathered every bit of strength she could muster and said his name. “Giordan.”

And when she did, she put every bit of apology and shame and humility in those syllables as she could.

He looked at her then, and she felt the strength of his love and devotion for her travel across the chamber, through the pain and sluggishness.

And then she could no longer breathe. Cezar was there in front of her, his face a cold, tight mask, and with a flick of his wrist, the feathers were wafting down over her shoulders in a smothering blanket.

Narcise tried to smother the scream of agony, but even Luce’s most furious blaze through her Mark was nothing compared to this. Shaking uncontrollably, she started to collapse as the soft brush of the burning feathers encapsulated her, and someone caught her on each side, holding her erect.

The pain was so great that she couldn’t gasp or breathe or feel… She tumbled into a vortex of mad sensation: the softness of each feather, branding into her skin, the insubstantial weight pulling her down.

Vaguely she was aware of being held upright, and hands on her flesh…molding over her breasts and hips… the smell of lust and perspiration, heavy and cloying…some shadowy, indistinct dampness, heat, pressure…

Then, in her dreamlike paralysis, she was aware of being moved: the brush of her feet against the stone floor, the change of position as she went from vertical to horizontal…something hard beneath her, pressing the cape of feathers even more deeply against her skin.

She was aware of crying out, perhaps screaming…but she hardly had the breath to do so. A mouth was on her, hands, a body shoving against her, questing and invading…the shift as the feathers were pulled away from one of her shoulders and that pain was replaced by the sharp penetration of fangs.

And then, suddenly, nothing.

21

When Chas was dragged out of the chamber, away from Narcise and Giordan, he realized he was being given a miracle—just like that day when the cat had run into the street and caused the accident which allowed him to sneak into Moldavi’s home the first time.

He still had his stake, now hidden in his sleeve during the walk to the dining chamber with Belial…and he was certain he’d be able to take at least one of his two captors by surprise.

As he faked a stumble, a quick flick of the wrist slid the weapon into his hand and loosened the guard’s grip on one side of him. When he righted himself and came back up, it was with the point of the stake ready. It found its mark with the same ease and power it always did, and he breathed a silent thanks.

By the time the other guard realized what happened, Chas had him slammed face-first against the wall, the stake at his back. “Get me out of here,” he said. “I want the way outside.”

He had to get out of the place so that he could come back in and free Narcise. And he knew exactly how to do that, what he needed to find…for it had all suddenly become clear to him.

He’d figured out Cezar’s Asthenia.

As he was observing everything that happened, from the time he and Narcise entered her brother’s chambers, and his reaction to her presence, Chas suspected there was something wrong. Moldavi had seemed so pleased to see them…until they walked into the chamber.

Then, he’d ordered them out almost instantly. “Take my sister to the dining chamber,” he’d told Belial.

And every time Narcise moved closer, Moldavi had slowed and changed. His breathing, his voice, even his body had tensed. He’d tried to hide it, but Chas was used to watching for the signs of weakness from the prey he hunted.

But Chas still didn’t completely figure it out until they got to the larger chamber…that, he realized later, gave Moldavi a larger space in which to be confined with his Asthenia. And he’d had Narcise stripped immediately… and her clothing taken from the chamber.

Why would he do that unless there was something he needed to get out of the place? Without, of course, anyone realizing it.

And that was when it all crystallized for Chas. The vision Sonia had seen had Narcise in it, and it was clear that Cezar had some mixture of fear and admiration for his sister…but she was also holding an ivory fan.

And in her clothing, she had been wearing a corset…with the ivory busk that Chas had given her. It was ivory. Moldavi’s Asthenia was ivory.

The next thing Narcise was aware of was Chas’s face, dark and frightened and furious, looking down at her.

“My God, Narcise,” he said, touching her cheeks as he gathered her into his arms, his eyes glistening. “I came as fast as I could. Can you… Are you… Holy Mother of God… Narcise.”

The feathers had disappeared…the pain was gone…the paralysis and heaviness had eased. Her body throbbed in places, and was numb in others…but she could breathe. And think. And remember.

She struggled to sit up, extricating herself from him. “Giordan,” she breathed, looking around frantically. Had she lost her chance? Had she lost him again?

Chas’s face changed and he stepped back so that she could see the tanned body, sagging against the wall, arms straight above his head. Giordan’s face was half-lifted, his glittering eyes scoring her, and as their gazes met, she saw wild relief in his.

She slid off the table upon which she lay, her knees wobbly and the room spinning. Something wet oozed from her shoulder, and there was blood and dampness in other places. Her arms hurt, her back felt as if it had been seared. She saw Belial’s body sprawled on the stone floor. His head lay in a pool of dark red blood, its putrid scent nauseating, nearby.

Chas caught her arm as she began to sink to the ground, and said, “Stay here. I’ll see to him.” His words were as taut and short as his movements, and Narcise felt a wave of remorse as she realized his pain.

She watched as he released Giordan, saw the way he sagged and pitched forward when Chas cut him free from the bonds that had held him upright, and she had to move from the table to meet him. Already, the weakness was ebbing, her legs were stronger, her mind clearer.

She looked around the chamber, and for the first time, she saw more bodies—dead, vampir bodies…and then she saw her brother.

He was sitting in a chair on the dais, tied to his seat, surrounded by slender white items.

He wasn’t dead…but he wasn’t moving.

All at once, she had Giordan in her arms, his heavy, solid body, warm and welcome, sliding against her—and it was all she could do not to collapse into shameful tears.

How much time had she missed? How much had she lost? She’d been so wrapped up in herself, in her center…

“I’ll take care of things in here,” Chas said, turning from them. “See to him. I think he’s—he needs…” His voice trailed away and he walked off with jerky steps.

“I’m well,” Giordan muttered into her hair, but his arm was tight around her, and he leaned against her too heavily to be “well.”

She smelled scents on him that she didn’t care to identify, and, blinking back angry, horrified tears, she helped him out of the ugly chamber without a glance at her brother.

She knew where to go, and took him back to her own private apartments. A niggle of guilt bothered her as she left Chas behind, and she promised herself she’d go back to him as soon as she got Giordan settled.

But he was weak, with an ashen cast to his rich, golden skin, and she knew he’d need to feed before he recovered his strength. How much blood had Cezar taken from him? Had there been others who’d fed as well?

What else had happened?

The smells and marks on his body told her more than she wanted to know, and Narcise blocked her mind from thinking about it or imagining it, remembering the shiny gray color to his face. He was safe now. Cezar wouldn’t bother him…or either of them…again.