The Vampire Narcise

Giordan had no compunction about leaving Rubey’s while Narcise and Woodmore were finishing their tender little tête-à-tête in the corridor.

He hoped they took their time and fucked while they were there, so he could get that much more of a head start. Never mind the way the thought made his insides roll sickeningly and darkness hover at the edges of his vision.

The sun that had burned his Mark no longer bothered him, so he was able to travel during the day. This gave him an advantage: horseback to Dover instead of the closed carriage Narcise would have to take, then across the Channel. If he could get to Cezar first…

A shudder took him by surprise and he quickly submerged it. Yes, he’d go back there. Yes, he’d do what he had to do—to save the lives of countless children and English citizens. To keep Narcise from having to.

He’d even kill Cezar if he had to…although it would probably kill Giordan as well, to do it. The remnants from his interlude with Narcise in the alley still made his insides pitch and his knees wobble.

Now, clear-minded, he understood why he’d reacted so strongly: his body and soul had been protecting him from the pain and anguish that would come from trusting his heart to Narcise again. The violent illness had been his reaction to hate and violence he’d eschewed for a decade, the reaction to a long-submerged addiction that had suddenly come rushing back: the need to hurt, to wound, to have.

“Ah, sister. I’ve been expecting you. I see that you could no more stay away from me than I could stay away from you.” Cezar looked up as Narcise walked in. “And Wood-more as well. You didn’t mention in your message that he would be joining us. To what do I owe this great pleasure?”

They had entered Cezar’s private chambers, escorted by Belial, who stood too close to Narcise for her comfort. Her brother sat across the room at a desk. As they entered, his face changed from one of bald delight, to contemptuous welcome…to a startled, blank expression, as if he were trying to hide his true feelings.

Narcise found that both disconcerting and optimistic.

“Belial,” Cezar said sharply. “Escort my sister to the dining area. I’d like her to entertain my guests this evening.”

“I’m not here to entertain your guests,” Narcise told him, evading Belial’s reach. “I’m here to stop Bonaparte from invading England.”

Lifting her nose, she breathed, trying to scent Giordan’s presence. Was he here or not? When he hadn’t come back at the promised time to find them at Rubey’s, she’d figured out that he meant to beat them here.

They’d sent word by pigeon to Cezar to stop the invasion, for they would not have reached Paris within the three-day timeline, promising that she was on her way back to him. So far, no news of invasion had come and she believed he’d kept his word.

Of course, he knew if the invasion went forward, she wouldn’t come back to him.

Narcise didn’t spare a look at Chas, though she felt him tensing next to her. On the back of her shoulder, the Mark was inflamed with fury—so much that she could hardly move her arm. Even breathing was difficult. But it had been that way for two days, and she had learned to accept it.

“Ah, my darling sister,” Cezar said, his voice carrying more of a lisp than usual, “the emperor will be here later this night. And if you provide enough entertainment, I am certain you can convince him to change his mind. Belial, take her.” Now he seemed breathless with excitement.

But Narcise wasn’t about to go quietly. For some reason, Cezar feared her, more than anything in the world, according to Sonia. The thought gave her confidence she’d never had before. She started toward her brother as Belial made a move to stop her. She flung his hand off her arm, her eyes glowing red and hot. “Don’t touch me or I’ll kill you.”

Chas had moved at the same time, producing the short but lethal stake he’d hidden in the sole of his boot.

“Cezar, you promised me if she returned…” Belial whined, stepping back. “She owes me.”

“I did indeed,” Cezar mused slowly. “Perhaps I could accommodate your request tonight.”

Narcise felt Chas tense behind her, but he remained still and silent as planned. She’d prepared him for her brother’s malevolence. Stepping away from Belial, her heart thumping hard, she started across the chamber. The made vampire didn’t worry her. It was the children in England she was concerned about. And where was Giordan? “I’ve returned to you, brother. You agreed to call off the invasion if I returned. Did you not miss me?”

Cezar’s eyes were pinned on her, and she saw both fear and admiration therein. His throat convulsed as he swallowed, his attention avid and palpable. She halted halfway across the chamber, unwilling to get close enough for him to grab her.

“I thought you wouldn’t return,” he said, his voice thready. “I thought I’d lost you forever. Narcise.”

“I’ve returned willingly,” she told him, watching him closely. “I trust that you’ll do as you promised.” She didn’t look at Chas.

He nodded slowly. “Yes. Belial, take them to the dining room. Go with him,” he told Narcise, his eyes now intent. The craftiness there unsettled her…but she knew the risks.

She knew she wouldn’t leave here soon, but she would someday. She was armed with knowledge and intent, and she had friends outside of this subterranean hole who would come for her.

Thus, for now, despite the constant throbbing and burning of her Mark, reminding her that she was doing something selfless, she would be Cezar’s pet for just a little longer.

20

On her way to the dining room—the room where she had fought countless battles in front of the dais—she scented Giordan. So he was here. Or had been.

A little shiver ran over Narcise’s shoulders. What had Cezar done with him?

She hadn’t been able to dismiss Chas’s dire words. If he was correct, Giordan’s actions had been a sacrifice beyond comprehension. She knew what he’d suffered as a boy, in the dark alleys, at the hands of men…but all along, when the worst had happened and she’d witnessed the hedonistic scene in Cezar’s chambers, she’d suspected Giordan of hiding his true self, his real desires.

Not so very different from Chas, who was revolted by her vampirism…but yet craved it, wanted her. He was reduced to begging her for the very thing that disgusted him.

It had all made sense to her—or so it had seemed at the time, and confirmed over the years. Giordan had really wanted Cezar all along, but could never admit it.

But Chas seemed so certain…and if Giordan truly wanted Cezar, why hadn’t he come with them when they left Paris?

Narcise’s insides had been a muddle of nausea and self-recrimination during the entire trip from London, but now she must put that out of her mind. She had to be cunning and strong to survive whatever punishment her brother would mete out to her for running away.

Chas had insisted on coming with her, to her great dismay and impotent fury…yet part of her was relieved to have someone with her. She meant to use her influence with her brother to keep Chas from being imprisoned.

Knowing that she had influence was a nebulous thing…but it was probably the only reason she wasn’t engulfed in the flames of fury by Lucifer. The continued throbbing of the Mark was painful, but not unbearable.

Inside the dining room, Narcise found that nothing had changed since her escape…only four months ago.

Four months. It had seemed a lifetime, even for one who was immortal.

But a moment after she walked into the dining chamber accompanied by Belial, everything did change. Suddenly there was a flurry of activity.

The next thing she knew, Cezar was there, standing on the dais behind the long table above her. Next to him was Giordan, a stony expression on his face. He was bare from the waist up and his sleek, tanned skin was marred with bitemarks that made Narcise’s stomach turn. Two of the marks still oozed, and she could scent his