The Vampire Narcise

of her curves, all set his skin to tingling and his gums to swelling. She murmured as she looked up at him with hooded eyes, “I am certain we’ll both enjoy what’s to come. Can we not leave it at that? Just for tonight?”

“Very well,” he said, yet unwilling to put the possibility of her freedom from his mind. But if she was willing and able to return with Cezar to save the children, how could he argue with her? Giordan wasn’t certain he’d be able to make the same choice, but he must respect hers.

He slid an arm around her slender waist, pulling her close to him so that her breasts pressed against his chest. Surely she could feel his cock filling out his breeches. He was already imagining pulling the pins from her heavy hair, peeling the lace from her curves, sinking his teeth into the soft side of her belly while his fingers found her swollen quim. His breathing became rough and unsteady, his fangs long and hard.

“May I succumb to your wiles now, then, Narcise? Have I been reluctant enough?”

“Yes, I believe I’ve done my duty and convinced you,” she said, and for the first time, he saw a spark of heat in her eyes.

“Will you allow me to touch you tonight, cher?” his voice dropped low. “Are you willing? Tell me the truth, Narcise.”

“I am more than willing.” Yet…something still lurked in her eyes. Some hesitance.

Confused and angry with whatever it was, he nevertheless offered her his arm. “Shall we? I’m certain you’d prefer all of this to happen somewhere a bit more private.”

When she hardly moved, he looked down at her again. Her eyes had that dull look, her lips were slightly parted. She was either deathly afraid or in great-hell.

“Where the devil is it?” he demanded, taking her shoulders and turning her to face him. Fury at his stupidity, his blindness rushed over him. “Where’s the feather? You’re wearing one, aren’t you?”

She nodded slightly, relief swimming in her eyes. “Around my neck. But not…here.” Her eyes focused on him, and now he recognized the pain behind the emptiness. “He can’t see….”

“Yes, here,” he said in a low, furious voice. But he turned so that his body blocked the view of anyone watching.

Cezar would die. Slowly. Giordan would ensure that it took days. Perhaps weeks.

He found the slender golden chain at her throat in seconds, and began to pull it from her gown. It was very long, and the single feather that hung from it had been slipped down the back of her gown, between the lace and her skin. Which meant it had been burning into her for at least an hour.

No damned wonder she’d hardly moved. She couldn’t.

Giordan snapped the golden chain and pulled the feather away, already seeing the relief in her face and eyes. Color came back into her skin and life in her blue-violet irises.

“Now,” he said, “let me have you.”

Cezar Moldavi watched as Cale led Narcise from the chamber. It had been a battle between them, he noted with satisfaction. She’d had to beg and plead, to coerce.

That Cale hadn’t immediately followed her like a besotted dog from the parlor gave Cezar hope. Perhaps he was wrong.

After all, every test he’d given Cale so far had turned out to be unnecessary. How many men would have declined the offer to “watch over” Narcise during her brother’s absence?

And even if Cale was smart enough to see that he was being set up and to refuse the offer of having—what was it they said here? carte blanche?—with Narcise, surely he would at least have attempted to visit her or otherwise see her during Cezar’s absence.

But, no. All of his prying eyes in the household had assured him that Giordan Cale hadn’t so much as sent a message to the Moldavis, let alone attempted to call, until the day Cezar returned.

Anticipation bubbled deep within and it was all he could do not to smile broadly. He knew nearly everything he needed to about Giordan Cale. The last would become clear tonight, and then he would determine how to proceed.

A burst of laughter from the corner drew Cezar’s attention to Lord Eddersley, the dark, gangly fop from London. He subdued the sneer that threatened his upper lip. Men like him, so open and obvious about their preferences, disgusted him.

Cezar turned away, sipping the fine vintage Cale had poured tonight. The man had excellent taste, along with his broad shoulders and thick, curling hair. He could hardly wait to taste the man himself.

8

Now let me have you.

Cale’s words rang in Narcise’s head, and now that the agonizing feather had been removed from the back of her dress, she could actually feel. And breathe. Her strength came rushing back, the numbness deserted her.

She wanted him to have her. Her fingers shook, her belly fluttered and leaped, she wanted him so badly.

He directed her out of the parlor, the door closing behind them and shutting off the voices and revelry—and Cezar’s watchful eyes. They were walking rapidly down a corridor furnished with an occasional painting, as well as several tables with statuary, vases and other items. Cale led her past several closed doors, and she was certain he meant to take her to his bedchamber. Once you’re in my bed, my chamber, you’ll never leave it.

Her heart slammed behind her ribs, and she nearly pushed it all away: Cezar, the worries, the children…and gave in. For she knew he was right. Once she was in his bed, safe and sated, loved, she would never be able to make herself leave.

So she must not go there.

She stumbled purposely and when he paused to see to her distress, Narcise wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him toward her, backing herself against one of the doors. Before he could speak, or even react, she sank her fangs into the side of his neck.

Cale went rigid, and she felt his body jolt in a great shudder as the hot blood coursed into her mouth. He swore, in some low, dark curse that she couldn’t hear. For a moment, she nearly forgot her purpose…the pleasure was so intense, so long awaited. And they were in this together, as equals. Equals.

The realization surged through her, strong and powerful, and she dragged deep, pulling him into her mouth, all the hot, coppery flavor of him.

He groaned deep and low, the cords of his neck swelling in response beneath her mouth. She pressed herself all along his body, feeling the welcome ridge behind the crotch of his breeches, the heat and strength she desired and no longer feared.

“Narcise,” he managed to gasp, but his hands had covered her breasts, finding her tight nipples through the rough lace, and he seemed unable to finish. Molding her curves, sliding a thumb over her breasts, he had her flat against the door, his head tilted back, baring full, throbbing veins as she drank. His pulse pounded, sending little surges of his lifeblood into her mouth, and she sucked and licked, using her lips and tongue to taste him. He was rich and sweet, strong and yet comforting. Familiar.

She felt for the doorknob she knew was behind her, and uncaring what sort of room they would stumble into, managed to twist it. The door gave away behind her as she withdrew from the hot, soft skin at his neck and backed inside, pulling him by his lapels into the warm, dimly lit chamber.

“Out,” she heard him say roughly over her shoulder. As she tore at his coat, yanking it from his shoulders, she was aware of some sort of skittering movement, quick and clumsy, and then the stirring of the air as the chamber’s previous occupants quickly vacated.

Cale muttered something unintelligible, whipping the coat to the ground as she fumbled with the tie at the throat of his shirt, aware that his rich red blood had stained the white cotton. She tore it away and there was his bare chest beneath her hands again, as warm and solid as she remembered it.

He was pulling at the pins in her hair, yanking haphazardly and dropping them to the wooden floor with little