She shook her head, more in confusion than negation. In an absurd display of betrayal, her body still hummed and the little knot in her quim still throbbed pleasantly even as she sifted through truths and lies, flattery and appreciation.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “I pray you are safe until we meet again,
And then he unbolted the door and slipped through, closing it tightly behind him.
6
Giordan closed the door behind him and walked only a few steps down the narrow, torch-lit corridor before stopping to collect himself. His hands were bloody damned shaking and his gums were sore from thrusting their fangs uselessly. Lucifer’s Mark screamed with rage, radiating pain sharply through his body in affront for his sacrifice.
It had taken a good deal of control and prudence to turn and walk out of that room, and if he weren’t certain his every movement was being accounted for, he’d stand here longer.
That was, in fact, the only reason he hadn’t dragged her out with him to freedom.
He looked around, sharpening his thoughts to take in the details of his surroundings. Of course he’d passed through this same area some hours earlier, when he was following Narcise…but understandably, his mind had been elsewhere and he’d been in no state to absorb all the details. Unlike The Chamber he’d just quit, this space was roughly hewn stone walls and an uneven floor. Very different from the dining room that doubled as a fencing arena.
But of course he was already considering how to get Narcise out of this place. It wasn’t something he could rush into, much as he wanted to—
For surely Cezar wouldn’t even allow him free access after his “winnings”—and, ah, yes, there it was. The sound of approaching footsteps. Someone had heard the door opening from some nearby vantage point, or there was some other notification that he’d left. Perhaps a bell that rang in an above-stairs chamber.
“Leaving so soon, monsieur?”
Giordan was more than mildly surprised to see the host himself striding toward him, bringing that patchouli and cedar scent into the narrow corridor. “Yes, indeed.”
“I trust that there were no problems, no concerns?” Moldavi asked, his eyes bright and his voice placating. “All was to your…liking?”
“If one considers a woman terrified at the mere thought of being touched by a man no little problem, then, no, I had no problems.” It was only with great difficulty that Giordan was able to keep the great loathing from his voice and expression.
“She did not give you difficulty?” Those eyes looked closely at him, then slipped away to scan over his torso as if to look for signs of wounds or injury. An unnaturally slender brow lifted at the sight of the bite marks on his bicep.
“But of course not.” Giordan was fairly certain there had been no witnesses—either visual or aural—during the events of the evening, for he surely would have scented the presence of anyone near enough to see or hear. But, yes, he had been a bit distracted, so he couldn’t be completely certain. “I had all that I wanted, and now I have finished.”
“Very good. Very good. It’s just that I find it unusual for a man to leave my delightful sister any earlier than he must, hmm?”
Giordan gave a meaningless shrug and said nothing more as they walked along the corridor.
Moldavi continued smoothly, “Would you care to join me for a drink, then? I have just received a most delightful vintage from Barcelona. They are calling it a champagne, but of course that is impossible if it is grown in Spain, is it not?”
Giordan hesitated for a moment. He wanted more than anything to get away from this abhorrent man, out of this dark, close place and back to his own…but the more time spent in his presence, here in the highly secure, subterranean locale, the more he could learn about its layout and his host’s habits…and the sooner he could find a way to relieve Cezar Moldavi of his favorite plaything.
His fingers curled into each other as he thought of having to leave Narcise here…but he forced them to smooth out.
Thus, although he truly wanted to be alone—with his thoughts, his memories, his fears—his concern and care for Narcise’s future easily prevailed. “Perhaps…perhaps, yes, for a brief time. I would be delighted to sample your offering. It sounds most intriguing.” He kept his voice mellow and even enthusiastic with effort.
Moldavi’s face changed, a brief contortion, and his eyes widened a fraction…then it was gone. “Please, then, with me,” said his host in his imperfect French. “And, if you like, Cale, I would be happy to provide you with new attire. I suspect you don’t wish to be traveling back to your home in nothing but breeches. I have retrieved your coat from our dining area, of course, but perhaps you would accept my gift of a shirt and shoes as well.”
Giordan realized that his host was correct, and that he hadn’t given his bare feet, legs and chest any thought at all.
As he walked along with Moldavi, Giordan considered the option of killing the man right here, right now. It was an efficient way to resolve things; one he’d employed far too many times, if the priests had anything to say about it. Which, of course, they didn’t. It was a plain truth: Giordan had grown up with violence and poverty all around him, and was more likely to kill a man who crossed him than he was to waste time trying to find other resolutions.
That was yet another reason, he was certain, that Lucifer had found him an appropriate addition to the Draculia.
Killing Moldavi would end the man’s domination over Narcise, and they would find their way out of this labyrinthine lair beneath the
But Giordan was forced to reject the fantasy nearly as soon as it presented itself, for a variety of reasons, the simplest being, he didn’t have a weapon. It wasn’t as if he could choke the man to death or pummel him into the ether like one could do on the streets. Either a wooden stake or a sword that would take the man’s head off were the only ways, and aside of the wooden sconces, there was nothing else that would work. And to tear down a sconce, break it into a ragged point and then attack Moldavi…even Giordan wasn’t confident it could be done quickly and without mishap.
Aside of that, to do anything that would make the man suspicious would ruin any chance he might have of further access to Narcise.
“So you have lived in Paris since you were a child?” Moldavi asked as they approached a heavy wooden door.
“Yes. Although the place I lived while a boy was much different than Le Marais,” Giordan said with a sidewise, wry smile.
“I have come to prefer Paris myself,” Moldavi said. “Romania is rough and wild with its own beauty, but also dark and sharp and difficult to navigate…and I find the City of Light a much welcome change.” He had the key on a ring at his waist, but there was a guard stationed there to provide additional security.
“Although I travel much now for business purposes, I always return to Paris, for it’s my home,” Giordan replied.
It appeared even the guard didn’t have access to the door, for it was his master who used the key to unlock the door. From what Giordan had observed on his journey to and from, the single purpose of this corridor was to provide access to The Chamber where he and Narcise had been. There was no other entrance or exit along here, no other rooms, and certainly no other way in or out of the room in which they’d been.
He wondered, suddenly, and with a painful shaft of horror, whether Narcise was kept in that place of torture all the time, or if she had some other sort of living space.
