She drew herself back in affront. “I don’t belong to anyone.” A blast of rage shuttled through her, but when he lifted a hand she allowed him to speak.
“I said you belongwithme, Narcise. Nottome. We belong together. I can feel it, and you will, someday, as well.”
She looked away. “You’re mad.” But even she knew her words sounded weak and unconvincing. The truth was, something tugged deep inside her, throughout her whole being, when he was near. This was so different from any of the other men who’d claimed to love her, to want her, to own her.
It was different because, damn the Fates, she felt it too.
“He knows that I could take you away from him, from here,” said Cale. “He knows that I’m the one.”
Narcise raised her eyebrows skeptically.
“When you trust me.” He smiled, but this time there was a bit of an edge to it. “And since I cannot come near you today or that low-crawling rodent will smell us, you’ll see once again that I mean to take nothing from you that you aren’t willing to give.”
The flash of disappointment took her by surprise, and yet at the same time, Narcise felt a tide of relief sweep over her. “That’s why you asked if David and I were lovers,” she said wryly, a twinge of annoyance replacing her relief.
“No,” he said.
She waited for him to elaborate, but he did not. A heavy silence descended, one in which the drumming of her heart seemed to grow louder, filling the chamber, and his as well, and she swore she could hear them beating in tandem. Warmth and softness flooded her, and if she didn’t know that it was impossible for a Dracule to enthrall another Dracule, she would believe it was happening.
“And so,” he said after a long moment, breaking the connection, “these are your private apartments—where you sleep? Where you paint, and entertain?”
“I do very little entertaining, as you can imagine,” she replied, picking up the charcoal, then choosing one of the heavy pencils instead. There was a place that needed a darker shadow, but it was at the outside corner of his eye and required a delicate touch. “But I paint and draw here. There is another larger room where I practice with my sword.”
“Does Cezar allow you any freedoms? Do you ride, or shop, or visit the cafes and museums?”
“I do not leave this premises without him,” she replied. “I haven’t been on a horse in years. He brings entertainment here, and the seamstresses and cloth merchants. He’s afraid to go above ground very often.”
“It’s his Asthenia. Despite my generous bribes, no one has even a suspicion of what it is,” Cale said. “Do you?”
She shook her head. “Do you not think I would have found a way to use it by now if I did? It is an immensely well-guarded secret. I do not believe there is anyone beyond Cezar and Lucifer himself who knows.”
“But what of his makes?” Cale asked. “Would it not be clear from them?”
It was a logical question, for when a Dracule sired, or made, a new vampire, his or her Asthenia was passed onto the new immortal. In addition, the immortal gained a unique Asthenia of his or her own. Thus, the further down the evolution from Lucifer’s personally invited vampires, the weaker and more vulnerable the makes were, for the more Asthenias they acquired.
But Cezar was much too smart to make such a mistake. “Contrary to what my brother implies and wishes for people to believe, he has not made anyvampirshimself. At least, of which I’m aware.”
That surprised Cale, for his brows rose in shock. “How can that be true? He is known for his clan of loyal servants—most of them makes—and for his influence over even the mortal world in Paris.”
“But it is true. For many years, he held three Dracule captive and forced them to sirevampirsfor his use. Early on, he used me in the same manner.” She spoke matter of factly as she reshaped the line at the lower part of his ear.
Cale seemed to digest this for a moment. “Very clever. And if the sires of the vampires are under Moldavis’ control, then so are the makes themselves. But you are his sister, and you cannot guess what his Asthenia is, even now?”
“All I can suspect is that it is something so common that it keeps him away from the mortal world unless the environment is very much controlled.”
“Then I must count myself flattered that he accepted the invitation to visit my club.”
“He admires you—your business acumen, and your wealth.”
Cale nodded. “Many do,” he said with that sudden smile. “I am gifted in that way. But I think your brother is more interested in my Chinese contacts, and the partnerships for the opium I can help him get.”
“Cezar won’t allow himself to be weak enough to become an opium eater,” she told him, then added, “Perhaps you could sit again, monsieur. I cannot seem to get this particular….” She squinted, forgetting what she was about to say as she tried to imagine the way the shape of the absent hat had made above his right ear.
Cale sat, an amused smile softening his mouth. “So he does not want the opium for himself?”
“Oh, he does, but he doesn’t indulge very often. He avoids anything that lessens his control of himself or a situation.”
“I have come to that conclusion.”
