And then I could skewer you with a stake and I would be free.
But of course, he would never risk it. Nor would he dirty his pasty white hands.
Her brother was older than she in both mortal years as well asvampiryears. He’d been twenty-five when Lucifer visited him and offered him a life of power, wealth, and immortality. That was more than fifteen years ago, and he looked exactly the same as he had at that time. Even the crooked tooth and the awkward set of a broken jaw that had never healed properly remained unchanged. It was that malformed jaw that gave his voice the faint lisp.
Cezar had waited five years, until Narcise turned twenty, before he offered her to Lucifer. During that time, their brother, who’d become thevoivoide, or ruler, over Moldavi through his marriage, had conveniently died…and Cezar had married his sister-by-law, thus becoming the newvoivoide. Their father and the originalvoivoidehad died just after their brother’s wedding, and Narcise had come under Cezar’s control shortly thereafter.
She always counted herself fortunate that she’d managed to lose her virginity to a man she fancied she loved before being turned into an immortal Dracule. And that female Dracule couldn’t get with child—for they didn’t have their monthly flow.
Since then she’d had little power over her own body.
The door behind her opened and Narcise didn’t have to turn to know what was there. The rush of weakness flooded her and she gritted her teeth against the wave of paralysis.
It was, she thought dully as two of Cezar’s thugs approached, a good thing that her brother liked to watch her win more often than lose. For, despite his earlier comments, Cezar would have the loss of a titillating form of entertainment, as well as a bargaining tool, if he didn’t have his sister to beat up his friends and enemies alike.
Narcise remained still as her brother’s men flanked her on each side. One of them fastened a cuff around her wrist. Woven of three brown feathers that were soft and delicate against her skin, and yet burned as if they were a branding iron, the bracelet leeched her strength by its very proximity.
Her knees trembled but Narcise kept herself as tall and straight as she could. It never ceased to amuse her that, despite them being armed with the one thing in the world that could weaken her, there needed to be two strong, burly Dracule who escorted her back to her chamber.
That knowledge was the only thing that kept her hopeful as, day after day, she lived an eternity under her brother’s control.
The knowledge that they were all terrified of her.
God and Lucifer help them if she ever got free.
* * *
Paris,September 1793
The first time Narcise set eyes on Giordan Cale, she was fighting for her safety.
It was yet another of countless evenings of entertainment for Cezar, and this time, he was seated off to the side on a raised dais with a single companion: a broad-shouldered man with tight, curly hair and handsome, elegant features.
Normally, Cezar liked to display his sister’s capabilities to a small crowd of spectators. It was his way of advertising her abilities. But tonight, there were only the two of them watching from the unobtrusive corner as she fenced and fought with some man who’d angered her brother.
Her orders, tonight, had been to fight to the death, and Cezar had warned that she wouldn’t be released from the small arena-like chamber until she either killed her rival, or he bested her.
The poor fool was no match for Narcise, who’d been taught in swordplay and other acrobatic fighting skills by the best trainers Cezar could find. He wasn’t about to have his favorite amusement killed by an overzealous suitor or an angry enemy.
Tonight, her opponent was a “made”vampir, one who’d been turned Dracule by anothervampirinstead of being invited into the Draculia by Lucifer himself. Narcise wasn’t aware of what he’d done to insult her brother; for, in truth, Cezar could interpret the twitch of an eyelid or a simple cough as an insult. She didn’t particularly care.
Nor did she spare much pity for the man. She couldn’t afford to if she wanted to remain unscathed.
But as she whirled around to face her adversary, readying the saber for its cleaving blow, she glanced over and happened to catch the eye of her brother’s companion. He was watching her intently, and she had the brief impression of a tanned wrist and hand settled with its index finger thoughtfully against his mouth.
She also noticed, in that blink of an eye, that, rather than focusing on her, Cezar sat back in his seat, covertly studying his companion. Without pause, Narcise finished her flowing movement, slicing the head from her opponent with a clean stroke.
Ending with her back toward the dais, and her audience, Narcise remained thus as she wiped her blade with a pristine white table cloth. Then, with no acknowledgment to her audience, nor to the deadvampir,whose damaged soul was filtering permanently down to Hell, she stood, waiting for the door to be opened and her guards to appear. Grateful that tonight’s competition had been relatively easy, she slipped the clean saber into its sheath.
She could hear the murmurs from behind her, the slightly sibilant hiss of her brother’s voice, and the answering rumble of his companion, neither of which induced her to acknowledge them. Any intimate of her brother’s was automatically an enemy of hers.
It wasn’t until weeks later that she even learned his name.
* * *
Giordan Cale wasall about money.
His ability to earn it, find it, inherit it, save it—and then, to multiply it several times over—was what got him into the predicament he was in: an immortal lifetime in which to spend more money than Croesus ever dreamed of. In fact, it seemed that Giordan couldn’t lose money if he tossed buckets of it into the Seine, or had the servants burn it in his fireplace, for the funds simply reappeared in some other form—of a long-shot investment coming due, or even an inexplicable inheritance.
