In the decadethat followed Giordan’s betrayal, as the Reign of Terror in Paris ended and the Revolution metamorphosed into a new era under Napoleon Bonaparte’s leadership, Narcise came to a realization: despite her inability to banish the memory of what Cale had done to her, there were other men who wanted her, ones who could love her. At least for a time.
There were other men who, if she found one who was infatuated deeply enough, could perhaps finish the job Giordan had begun…who could actually help her escape from her brother.
She didn’t have to love them, or even care for them—she wasn’t certain she could ever open her heart again.
She merely had to make them want to help her.
Because it had become clear to her, with a bitter and terrifying finality, that she had no chance of escaping Cezar on her own. For too long she’d held out hope that she could find a way…but he was too smart and cunning. There were sparrow feathers, it seemed, everywhere in the house and in its adjoining tunnels, and he kept anything that could be considered a weapon far from her except when she was forced to entertain. Nor could she could trust any of the servants, for they were all bound to her brother.
She was utterly alone, and felt that loneliness more acutely than she ever had before—now that she realized what it was like to love someone, and now that she had lost hope of finding escape on her own.
But if she had nothing else, she had strength and determination: the same characteristics that had helped her become a nearly undefeated swordswoman and had kept her from going mad during the years of rape and molestation.
Perhaps that was why Lucifer had chosen her. An iron core beneath a seductive, beautiful woman was a formidable weapon.
And so she looked more closely at her opponents when she faced them. Sometimes, she even allowed one to win, just to remind herself that she could still feel. Pain, pleasure, apprehension…whatever.
Just so she could feel.
* * *
London
Chas Woodmore was surrounded byvampirs, which would normally be a convenience rather than a concern, since he was, in fact, avampirhunter. And a damn good one at that.
Some called those who shared his occupation Venators, but that was a completely different society—in fact, it was an entire family from Italy that spent their lives hunting and slaying the half-demon vampires that had descended from Judas Iscariot.
Chas happened to specialize in the hunting and staking of the very differentvampirsthat originated in Romania, where Vlad Tepes, Count Dracula, had made his own deal with the devil in the late 15th century. Unfortunately for his progeny, the unholy covenant applied not only to Vlad himself, but also to any of his descendants selected by Lucifer to participate. They had to agree, of course, just as Dracula had done, but Luce was a master at manipulation and it was rare that any of them declined his juicy bargain—partly because it was most often made during their dreams.
Thus, some of the Dracule embraced their newly immortal lives, complete with bloodlust and damaged souls that belonged to the devil for all eternity, and some of them existed more judiciously, realizing only after the fact that perhaps it hadn’t been such a good deal after all….
And then there was Chas’s employer, Dimitri, the Earl of Corvindale, who fought the regrettable bargain with every breath he took, every single day.
It was because of his association with Corvindale that Woodmore was not only surrounded byvampirsat this very moment, but also comfortably unarmed—and playing cards with the lot of them.
He happened to be losing tonight because of one Mr. Giordan Cale, who seemed to have some sort of magic about him when it came to having the winning hand every time. Or at least when the pot was very large.
“By the Fates, Giordan,” Corvindale said in disgust, tossing his cards onto the table. “You dragged me out of my study for this? What precisely is the benefit to me of being relieved of three thousand pounds in the space of two hours?”
A fleeting smile curved Cale’s lips as he collected the pound notes and coins from the latest winning pot. “A change of scenery,” he suggested mildly. “Perhaps even some social discourse, no?”
Although he spoke excellent English, he had a trace of French in his pronunciation. Chas knew that Cale was originally from Paris, but had left the city ten years ago, near the end of the Reign of Terror, and hadn’t returned. He’d been in and out of London for the past decade, but they had only become acquainted a few weeks ago.
“Corvindale? Social discourse?” Lord Eddersley laughed, his gangly hands bumping the table, making the coins clink. “But Luce’s Hell hasn’t yet frozen over.”
The earl slid his companion a dark look, but Chas wasn’t certain whether it was because he took offense, which was bloody unlikely, or because he didn’t want to be here in the private apartment at White’s gentleman’s club in the first place. His employer—which was a loose term; for they were more like associates working toward the same goals than master and minion, and, aside from that, a gentleman never actually workedforanyone anyway—rarely left his study unless it was to seek out more ancient books or parchments to add to his collection.
Brickbank, a baronet from Derbyshire who was also a member of the Dracule, gestured to a hovering footman for a refill on his whisky, complaining, “Wish those Brits would run that damned frog Boney out of Paris. Damned tired of drinking this rot from Scotland. Miss a good Armagnac.”
“Those Brits? Do you not consider yourself one of them?” Cale asked, sipping his own “rot.”
“I’m too old to be a damned soldier,” Brickbank replied, and all of thevampirslaughed. Even Corvindale managed the sharp bark of a chuckle. Of course they would: each of them was well over a century old, and they looked no more than in the prime of their lives. “And I don’t give a bloody damn about their Prinnys or their Parliaments or anyone’s cock-licking emperors.”
Chas wouldn’t trade places with any of the Dracule, even to live and be forever young and virile…for when they died, they belonged to Lucifer. Evenvampirs,like their mortal counterparts, had the illusion of free will and some choice to be good or evil; still, a life of taking sustenance from other living creatures, of the uncontrollable bloodlust that came with it…of being cloistered from the sun, andknowingthat one would spend eternity in the bowels of Hell—whenever eternity struck—such a life was repulsive to Chas.
That was, perhaps, the only reason he and Corvindale had become friends—because he knew that more than anything, the earl wanted to sever his relationship with Lucifer. As proof, for over a hundred years, the earl had refused to feed as the Devil intended, and instead resorted to butchers’ bags of blood for sustenance.
Among the Dracule, this long-term abstinence was routinely blamed for the earl’s irritable disposition and dark personality.
