The Vampire Narcise

which fit into the vertical pocket of her corset, down between her breasts. No more than two fingers wide, as thin as a knife blade and about as long as her hand, it was beautifully carved with more flowers, and leafy vines, and a sun radiating bold rays.

“Because I know how much you miss the sun,” he’d said when she looked at it, smoothing her fingers over the delicate design. “You can keep it near your heart.”

She had. She’d slipped it into the little pocket of her corset and even now, she pressed her hand there, between her breasts, and felt the sturdy little placket there.

Then she heard the pounding of hurried, ascending footsteps and then the hasty scuff as feet reached the top, and Narcise froze, waiting. If Giordan had somehow come back with him, or—

The door to the chamber opened sharply and her heart surged into her throat as she looked at the blur of a figure rushing in. When she scented and recognized Chas, his hair dark and wild, his face tense and angry, she went even colder. What had Giordan said? What had they done?

“I’m leaving,” he said, throwing clothing into his pack, hardly giving her more than a brief look. “For London. It’s Voss. He’s abducted Angelica.”

If Chas was unsettled about being with a vampir himself, he was even more rigid and terrified about his sisters being abducted or otherwise seduced by a Dracule. He well knew the violence and terror that could be inflicted by one of them.

If one were to be honest, Narcise must admit that she had had more than a few pangs of envy that these three mortal women had a brother who loved them so much and was so concerned for their safety that he would risk his own life to keep them safe. And, apparently, Chas would leave the side of his lover when one of them was in danger—even if said lover was in grave danger herself.

“London?” she repeated, a variety of thoughts shooting through her brain. “But that’s the first place Cezar will look for me. For us,” she added.

“It certainly is, but I have to go, Narcise.” Chas stopped and looked up at her. “I’ve made arrangements for you to stay here. You’ll be safe, and Cale will take you on to Wales while Corvindale and I find Voss….”

But Narcise hadn’t heard anything after the words Cale will take you. Her brain simply froze, her stomach plummeted and she felt dizzy. Nauseated.

I can’t see him again. I can’t.

The memories flooded back, the glimpses of sleek, muscled shoulders by firelight, her brother’s face rising behind them, lips peeled back in pleasure and pain…the scents of depravity and the raging in his eyes. Do you have any idea what I’ve done for you?

She swallowed hard, gave her head a little shake. No. By the Fates, no.

“I’ll come with you,” she said quickly.

Chas stopped his packing and looked at her sharply. “But you don’t want to go to London. It’s too dangerous.”

“You’ll protect me,” she said, smiling with a bit of seduction. Not too much. “I don’t want to be away from you, Chas.” She dropped her voice low, trying to keep the panic out. “You got us out of France, you’ve outwitted Cezar every step of the way…and London is your own city. You’ll be even sharper and smarter there. As well, I’d like to meet your sisters. And Dimitri again.”

His face eased just a bit. “I confess, I would rather you come with me. But I didn’t think you’d want to take the chance.”

“London is a big city,” she replied, relief sweeping her. “There are, I’m certain, many places to hide. Aside of that, Cezar wouldn’t expect us to go there, and hide in plain sight.”

Chas nodded. “Then pack up. I’ll send word to Cale that his services to take you to Wales won’t be necessary.”

“I’m certain the man didn’t wish to be bothered with such a task anyway,” she said, turning to stuff her own belongings—such as they were—into a different satchel.

If she’d hoped for a reply, some sort of indication regarding Giordan’s feelings toward her, she didn’t receive one, for Chas had already left the chamber.

Forcing herself to breathe normally, she closed her eyes for a moment and thanked the Fates—or whoever —that had helped her avoid what would have been an untenable situation.

Traveling to Wales with Giordan Cale?

Narcise would have run back to Cezar first.

London, a week later

“You’re a very unusual vampire, to be sure, Giordan Cale.”

He looked up from where he’d been casually feeding on Rubey’s warm, creamy shoulder as a bit of foreplay and withdrew his fangs gently. Swallowing the last essence of sweetness, he smiled slightly and soothed the marks with his tongue and lips.

“In what way?” Giordan replied, settling back against the arm of the divan.

Rubey, who was half reclining on the opposite end of that furnishing, made a fetching picture. She had strawberry-blond hair that curled around her face when not restrained, and where one could occasionally find a thread of gray. Tonight she wore it in a loose tail gathered at her nape, little curls flirting with her temples and ears. Her lushly curved but slender body reminded one of a peach in color as well as in taste, and Giordan fancied she even had a permanent hint of peach brandy in her essence. It was, after all, her favorite libation, and he kept her supplied with an excellent selection of it. Her face was more striking than classically beautiful with wise green-gray eyes that tipped up at the sides and very high, sculpted cheekbones.

He’d never seen her in anything but the most expensive, fashionable clothing, and tonight was no exception. She wore silky pale green with darker green and yellow ribbons that gathered up the bodice of her dressing gown. Thanks to him, said bodice was loosened, exposing a vast expanse of breast and one marred shoulder, where thin trickles of blood gathered in the hollow of her collarbone.

“Why, and how long would it take me to count the ways,” she replied with a woeful shake of the head and the lilt of the Irish. Her eyes sparkled with wit and intelligence.

Giordan gave a brief smile and thought about loosening those ribbons at her bodice even more, but realized he wasn’t all that interested in pursuing that avenue tonight.

“Perhaps I could trouble you to name just one way,” he replied mildly, his thoughts slipping from the conversation to…other topics that, generally, he preferred to leave alone in the darkness. Where they belonged.

He rose from the divan, clad only in shirtsleeves and the current male fashion of pantaloons, and went to the cabinet. But of course they were in her private apartments, in a separate building from the pleasure house and the rest of her staff—most of whom were otherwise privately engaged as well.

“Very well,” she replied, and he felt her eyes on him as he poured a glass of whiskey.

There were two small decanters of ruby-fresh blood from which he could add to the drink, but he wasn’t certain where they’d originated, and he dared not take the chance.

Ever since what he’d come to think of as the After Hell, he’d had to be very careful about where and on whom he fed.

A lot of other things had changed as well.

“You switched the mousetraps,” Rubey mused as he poured her a small glass of the peach brandy.

“And that makes me unusual? The poor creatures were being crushed in the neck by the springs of the traps,” he replied, handing her the drink.

“Aye, and why should it matter to you? The mice don’t belong in my place, and I’m going to see that if they trespass, they pay the price,” she replied tartly.

“A bit bloodthirsty, are we?” he asked, aware of a niggling discomfort with her choice of topic. He was different now, and even Dimitri didn’t know about it all.

He just thought Giordan’s feeding preferences had changed…but it was so much more than that.

“But now the new traps, they let the little bastards just get captured until they’re set loose,” Rubey said. “To weasel their way into someone else’s house.”

“Better that than yours,” Giordan replied, and considered that it might be a good diversion to loosen those