“My brother has always spoken so well of you, my lord,” Maia said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “He made me believe you were a man of honor and that was why he entrusted us to you. And I’ve been willing to overlook your rudeness and arrogance, and, now, even the fact that you are a vampire. But your violation of my trust last night is in no way acceptable.”
His laugh was short and sharp and bitter. “On the contrary, Miss Woodmore. It is with deep regret that I inform you that, despite my endeavors to remove your knowledge of my Draculian affliction from your mind, all effort on my part to do so failed. In short, Miss Woodmore, you appear to somehow have become immune to Draculian thrall.”
“What—” Maia froze, staring at him. “That’s nonsense.”
He lifted a brow. “In fact, I wish it were, Miss Woodmore. Indeed, despite three attempts last evening, as I have done hundreds of times to others in the past, I could not hypnotize you. You were never enthralled. Which means that you were fully aware of and participatory in everything that occurred in the carriage.”
10
OF WEDDINGS AND KISSES
Narcise heard a noise.
Her first reaction was relief: had Chas forgotten something and returned?
He’d only been gone a few hours—perhaps he’d been in London, still putting things in order and making preparations, and had come back. Or realized he didn’t need to go after all. Perhaps they’d already rescued Angelica.
But that was a brief, initial reaction that soon fled.
She listened intently, the hair prickling at the base of her neck. Likely it had been a mouse or squirrel, knocking a little bit of rubble across the concrete floor. Or maybe it was the guard Chas had arranged, or even Dimitri bringing her?—
The slight scuff of a foot, so faint a mortal would never hear it, had Narcise slipping off the bed and reaching for her saber. That was one good thing Cezar had done: taught her to fight with a blade. He’d allowed her to learn, as much for his own entertainment purposes—watching her duel with men who wanted to fuck her—as to give her a false sense of hope that it might be a useful skill in gaining her freedom someday.
In the end, it hadn’t. It had been Chas who’d freed her, not her own abilities—a fact that made her alternately furious and grateful.
Slipping the sword from its leather sheath, she turned on light feet and moved into the shadows.
The slender but lethal blade comforting in her hand, Narcise stood in a corner behind the doorway and wondered if she would be better served waiting for whoever it was to come in, or if she should rush through the door and meet them on her own terms. But she didn’t have the chance to make such a decision.
Just as the door opened, she scented him and whipped out from behind it.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, shoving the point of her blade up against Giordan’s chest. Just below the hollow of his throat.
“I have no bloody idea,” he replied. Eyes flashing, he grabbed the blade with his bare hand, yanking it away from his skin. It sliced along the inside of his palm and fingers, and immediately, his bloodscent permeated the air.
Narcise stepped back, allowing the sword to fall away, her heart pounding. Rich and warm and familiar, the essence of him filled her nose. Despite the loathing that settled like a stone in her belly, she couldn’t dismiss her body’s instant reaction: the blood in her own veins surged, her gums swelled, threatening to eject her incisors, and her mouth watered. Awareness prickled her. She swallowed hard.
“You did that purposely,” Narcise snapped, backing away.
Giordan’s expression was no less hostile. “As did you, my dear.”
She used a cloth to wipe his blood from her blade and shoved it back into its sheath. “I ask yet again—what are you doing here?” Then she shook her head. “Forget that. Just leave.”
“Nothing would please me more.” His eyes raked over her, making Narcise feel, for the first time in a long time, as if she were dirty and used. “But Woodmore sent me. He indicated there was something I was to retrieve. Now that I’ve arrived, I can only presume he meant you.”
“Certainly not,” she replied. “I’m to stay here—perfectly safe—until his return with Angelica.”
“And if he doesn’t return?” Giordan asked mildly. He’d walked over and picked up one of the blankets to wipe the cut on his hand.
“I’ll go to Dimitri. He’ll protect me.”
“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. “Even then, you were formidable. In your own way.”
She turned away, dwelling on how much she hated him and not the waves of memory, familiarity, and emotion that threatened to soften her. “I don’t know why Chas sent you here, but I’m not leaving. Especially with you. Just go.”
