Narcise stared out the carriage window. The rough, craggy hills of Scotland had long given way to the more rolling familiar green ones of England, and now that she and Chas were nearing London, the land had flattened even more.
The roads were crowded now, straight, and lined with rows of houses…and the
Angled back from the dangerous sunlight that still managed to filter through a blanket of clouds, Narcise settled in the corner of the carriage and watched the slices of life from her restricted vantage point.
So many things had happened since her arrival in London, and that unsettling night at Dimitri’s home, that she could hardly conceive of it all.
The fact that she’d seen Giordan was only the least of it…or that was what she tried to tell herself when she woke, damp and warm, from unwanted dreams.
And dark nightmares. Narcise’s insides tightened.
She glanced at Chas, grateful for a distraction. He looked almost angelic—an odd thought, to be sure, about a man who lived a life of such violence, always hunting, always killing—with the waves of his dark hair swirling around a face slack with repose. His lips were full and sensual, and his nose, straight and prominent beneath eyes fringed with heavy dark lashes.
He’d been to Paris and back since that night he’d left her in the old monastery ruins. Angelica was safely returned to London, and to the surprise of everyone, Voss had been instrumental in the girl’s release. Yet, because Voss had already freed Angelica by the time Chas had found them, Cezar still lived safely in the bowels of Paris. Chas had brought his sister safely back to London, but meanwhile, he was even more determined to find a way to kill Cezar.
And now, something inconceivable had happened.
Voss and Angelica were to wed…and Voss had done the impossible: he’d somehow thrown off the bonds of his covenant with Lucifer. He was mortal and man once again, and it was only because of this change that Chas had agreed to give his permission for them to wed.
Now, he stirred, shifting, his heavy boots brushing the hem of her skirts where they mingled about her feet at the bottom of the carriage. Since all of this had happened, Narcise had seen the hunger in his eyes, the desperation and hope that somehow, something might change for her.
That she, too, might shed her allegiance to the Devil and become a mortal woman that he could love without reserve.
For, since his return from Paris, Chas had changed as well. The pain was deeper in his eyes, grooved more sharply at the corners of his mouth, and she could fairly feel the battle he fought with himself as he came to her. He loved her, of that she was certain, but he still hated himself for it.
And, of course, love was not only as long as one’s lifetime, but also a concept of selflessness…something that, still, a Dracule like Narcise couldn’t fully embrace. Chas seemed even more fully aware of that than ever.
And as if he knew he’d lost a battle, but was determined to win the war by maintaining his hold, Lucifer had raged in her mind and in her body. Her Mark blazed and roiled with his fury and control, reminding her that there was no way out.
At least for her.
She hadn’t even been able to leave the carriage when she and Chas reached St. Bridie’s—the convent school deep in rugged Scotland where his youngest sister Sonia lived. The religious symbols and holy presence were too much for her, a woman who bore the Mark of the Devil, and she was forced to wait while Chas went inside.
There’d been those religious markings throughout the monastery cellar where Chas had left her while he went to Paris. They’d formed a safe barrier against any immortal finding his or her way into the old safe haven.
But what haunted Narcise, what she tried to banish from her thoughts, was the fact that somehow, Giordan had not only found her there…but he’d come into the chamber by crossing that barrier only hours after Chas had left.
She’d met him at the door, saber in hand, heart racing madly out of control.
“Woodmore sent me,” Giordan had claimed coolly. “He indicated there was something I was to retrieve. Now that I’ve arrived, I can only presume he meant you.”
“Certainly not,” Narcise had replied, trying to keep her breathing steady. She’d cut his hand with her saber —or, rather, he’d sliced his palm open when he yanked her blade away. And his bloodscent filled the air. Her fangs threatened to shoot free. Her knees felt as if they were about to give way. “I’m to stay here—perfectly safe—until his return with Angelica.”
“And if he doesn’t return?” Giordan had walked across the floor to wipe the blood from his wound. Slowly. So slowly, as if to allow her plenty of time to inhale his scent…to watch his body with its sleek, confident movements. He seemed to fill the room.
“I’ll go to Dimitri. He’ll protect me,” she’d managed to respond.
“I never thought of you as one who needs protection, Narcise. You take very good care of yourself.”
“Except when I’m locked away by my brother.”
Giordan looked at her. His eyes were cold and flat brown today, icy and blank and so very angry. “Even then, you were formidable,” he said. “In your own way.”
“I don’t know why Chas sent you here, but I’m not leaving. Especially with you. Just go.”
“You don’t know why he sent me here?” His laugh was more like a whip crack than a bell of humor. “I certainly do. Here, where I could smell him all over you. Where I could scent both of you on the bed and against the wall and everywhere else. The entire place reeks of you two, together. That, my dear, is why he sent me here.”
She had to taunt him, to drive him away. “Then why prolong the agony, Giordan? There’s no reason for you to stay and stew in your jealousy.”
And that was when he’d moved. The next thing she knew, he was there, right there, so close, in front of her. His fingers gripped her chin. The scent of his blood so close made her dizzy. The smell of him, the warmth, the familiarity… She summoned the image of him with Cezar, the two bare shoulders, one golden and sleek, the other swarthy and frail, the firelight playing intimately over them.
Nausea pitched in her belly and her awareness of him returned to loathing.
“Jealousy? You believe that’s what I feel? You’re a fool, Narcise.” He shifted his fingers to cup her jaw no less gently. “If I still wanted you, a bloody damned vampire hunter wouldn’t keep me away.”
And then he’d kissed her.
Not savagely, not as she’d expected, with his eyes blazing red and his fangs long and sharp…but so gently and softly. As if he were taking a moment to savor. Lightly, lightly, over her lips…
And Lucifer’s black soul, she’d kissed him back. She’d fallen into the moment of heat and desire, the memory and beauty rushing through her—
And then Giordan had thrust her away, his eyes hot and knowing, arrogance in the very essence of his body. And disgust, there, too.
“We’re nearly there.”
Chas’s voice, rough with sleep, sudden in the silence, jolted Narcise from her memory. Her cheeks blazed with shameful heat, her heart thudded as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t even as she felt a renewed surge of hatred for Giordan and his games…and the twinge in her Mark reminded her of who she was.
“To Rubey’s,” Chas added, as if responding to her startled look. “She’ll feed us, and we can rest. I can also use her messengers to get word to Dimitri and Voss that we’ve returned.” His voice flattened a bit at the mention of his future brother-in-law.
“I thought Rubey’s was a pleasure house,” Narcise replied with an arch look, forcing herself firmly into the present.
Chas’s mouth twitched becomingly. “It is, but it’s much more than that. The Dracule also use it as a central location to meet up and for communication. She houses a flock of blood pigeons there…and sometimes, Rubey’s is preferable to White’s. It’s more comfortable and, as Dimitri would say, there aren’t any mortals about, making ludicrous bets in their blasted book. And as I said…she’ll feed us. Or, me, at any rate,” he added quickly.
