die—perhaps even helped her—just as he had their brother and father, and even his wife. Instead Cezar had found a way to preserve her, along with himself.
Uncertain how to respond to Cale’s statement, Narcise gave a brief nod of acknowledgment. “My brother has employed a variety of excellent trainers to tutor me.” The chamber had become close and warm, and the lure of pleasure and satiation tugged at her. Her gums filled and a little flutter grew stronger in her belly.
“He must take care of his investment, no?” Cale replied. His voice was light, but she saw a flash of anger in his eyes and tightness at the corner of his mouth.
Her throat had gone dry and she found it difficult to swallow. Was it possible he understood? “My brother certainly doesn’t wish any serious injury on me,” she said, keeping her voice steady. It was a true statement, though barely so.
Cale hadn’t released her gaze, and she found herself trapped in it, looking at the blue and black flecks in his rich brown eyes. “I was prepared to intervene that night,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
Narcise felt the bottom of her belly drop. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think at first; her lips had formed a silent O. She clamped them closed as she tore her eyes from him.
“Monsieur Cale,” was all that she managed to say, even as her heart pounded and an odd fluttering rushed through her. “That would have been foolish.”
All pretense that she hadn’t remembered him was now gone in the face of astonishment and gratitude. He would have intervened? He would have helped her?
What would Cezar have done?
Suddenly she felt warm and shaky, breathless—and foolish, for the light-headedness was sudden and unexpected. The air had turned so thick, lush with the sweet-peppery smoke, and the deep, dark allure of fresh blood. Her fangs were trying to thrust free, her hands trembling. Before she quite realized what was happening, she felt his fingers close around her wrist, and another strong arm sliding around her waist.
“Some air, mademoiselle,” he said, leading her away. “It has become too close in here. And you have not fed.”
“No,” she protested, determination penetrating the haze. Cezar wouldn’t permit such a thing. She dug her heels in, despite the pressure on her arm, despite her need to escape the dangers of this place.
“When is the last time you fed?” Cale demanded, his mouth too close to her ear. Warmth flushed through her; his scent enveloped her along with the heat of his body.
The world swirled a bit, glazed with red heat, then as she blinked and steadied herself, she focused. “I will feed in the morning,” she told him. “When we return.”
That was his way of enforcing her good behavior on social events such as this. He didn’t starve her; that would be foolish. But he withheld just enough, just long enough, that she was in need. And pliable. And she knew better than to partake without his permission.
The air had cleared a bit and Narcise realized that, despite her efforts to the contrary, Cale had managed to guide her out of the close, warm chamber. Nervousness seized her, and she yanked out of his grip. “Please,” she said, forcing her voice to be sharp and strong instead of desperate. “I must return. Cezar will be searching for me.”
Cale was looking at her searchingly, his eyes still too close, his mouth near enough that if she turned her head, the pouf of her hair would brush against it. He’d caught up her hand in his, drawing her toward him. “Very well,” he replied. “But you must feed. I can see the need in your eyes.”
Somehow, the rumble of his voice, the low dip of the syllables, was so intimate that a little pang twisted inside her. There was compassion there, compassion and admiration…and anger.
He made no move to stop her when she tugged free of his grip, noticing for the first time that they were in a dim corridor. A door behind her was ajar, and beyond she could see into the chamber they’d just vacated.
Heart in her throat, she peered into the hazy, golden room, her fingers on the edge of the door. Even through the filtering smoke, she could see the chair in which Cezar sat, its back facing her, his head barely rising above it. He couldn’t see her from that position, thank Fates, and Narcise noticed the other two figures settled in front of him.
He did indeed seem to be well-occupied.
Her pounding heart slowed a bit, but before she stepped back into the chamber, those strong fingers were back, gently curling around her wrist.
“Do you see?” Cale said, drawing her back toward him, away from the door. “He has no notice of you.”
“But—” she began, and then she stopped, her breath catching.
He’d moved sharply, jerking his arm, and all at once the scent of fresh blood permeated the air. “
“You would do me a great service,” murmured Cale, eyeing her steadily. “If you would attend to this.” He lifted his arm.
He’d hardly needed to move, for despite her resistance, Narcise’s attention had already slipped down to his bare wrist. His cutaway coat was gone, his shirtsleeve pulled away to expose a golden forearm, muscular and smooth but for the ooze of dark red blood.
“Please, mademoiselle,” he said, and she felt the wall crushing the full bustle at the back of her gown. “You need to feed, and here I am in need of assistance.”
Narcise should have been angry at him for such a trick, but she didn’t even bear that strength of mind at the moment. The blood…his blood, his scent…that of the man whose presence had set her off-kilter, who hadn’t made a single reference to her beauty or to wanting her…who’d been willing to intervene in a sword fight….
As if knowing she were light of head and uneasy, Cale slid an arm around her waist, positioning it between the hollow of her back and the wall behind. She had the sensations of heat and solidness enveloping her, the alluring scent of his presence, the warm cotton of his shirt.
She licked first…just a delicate slide of her tongue over the pool of blood collecting in the hollows of his wrist. He gave a little start, the tiniest of jolts, and she felt his arm tense beneath her mouth. Heavy and rich, his lifeblood settled over her tongue and lips and a great surge of desire rushed through her.
But somehow she held her instinct in check and swirled her tongue over and around the small wound, inhaling his scent, tasting his life. Pure, hot, lush…strong. He was powerful. She could no longer wait, and sunk her fangs into the surging veins on the inside of his wrist.
Now he flowed into her mouth with the delicate rhythm of his heartbeat, the veins filling and surging against her mouth. She drank, breathed, her knees buckling so that she sagged against the wall and into his arms. Lust and need swelled her body, in her veins and beneath her skin, pulsing and dampening her far beneath layers of clothing.
The wall was solid behind her, and Cale to the side, his arm still curved around her waist. She was faintly aware of his body trembling against hers, of the rough movement of his chest. As she held him with both hands, bending his hand back to open palm and wrist, their fingers curled together. She was aware of the heavy ring on his finger, biting into her smaller digits as he gripped tightly.
Narcise drank, sucking gently, her swallows quiet and rhythmic as the ambrosia filled her mouth, funneling through her body. She found herself caressing his warm, smooth skin with her lips as she pinned him with her fangs, using tongue and lips to sip up every bit.
There was a moment when she’d regained some of her strength and she glanced up to see Cale’s eyes fastened on her. Blazing red, they glowed like a banked fire beneath heavy lids. His lips had parted, his fangs thrust long and tempting. His expression shot a sharp pang into her belly, and down. Hard and strong, exploding into heat and dampness.
Narcise looked back down, away from that gaze burning into hers, steeling herself for him to pull away and tear his fangs into her throat. But instead of revulsion, she felt another rush of desire at the thought. Her belly trembled, her breasts and tight nipples thrusting against their silk chemise, her lungs constricted.
