Narcise had stilled at his question, then turned slowly back to face him…so slowly, it was as if she were in agony.
“Did I enthrall a helpless man? An unwilling one?” Her deep blue eyes were both fierce with rage and awash with pain. “If you knew what I’ve lived through, how I’ve been violated over decades of captivity, you would never have asked such a question.”
Chas felt as if he’d been struck, and he led his head fall back onto the pillow. Mortification and shame warred with that lingering revulsion and distrust, and he stared at the ceiling, utterly aware of her, knowing he’d wounded her deeply…asking himself why he cared.
She was avampir. A handmaiden of the Devil. One of a race who preyed on living creatures and took from them, who’d given their souls for immortality, power, money…vanity. The very act of their feeding was an inherent violation of life and liberty. They were conscienceless, depraved, self-centered creatures, with Corvindale being the only real exception he had encountered.
Chas had been gifted with the ability to sense, stalk and slay these creatures—he knew there was a reason he had. That he was meant to do this as surely as a priest was meant to consecrate the hosts.
But.
Narcise had finished her braiding in silence and now she walked over to the single chair on the other side of the chamber. Chas noticed how she avoided the sunlight spilling through the window, but that she looked at it with longing.
Yes. These were creatures who’d given up the light to live in darkness. And sometimes, they regretted it.
“What do you plan to do next?” she asked.
“I need clothing and food,” he replied, “and then I must send word back to London. To my sisters.”
“London. Is that where Dimitri is? I’d like to find him, and see if he would…well, I know he and my brother are sworn enemies. And I hope that he might help me.”
“Corvindale? He might be willing to be of assistance. I suppose you want me to bring you to him.”
Her expression, which had been taut with anger and hurt, lightened. “Is it possible? To get to London, through the blockade?”
He had a mild wave of surprise that she would even be aware of the war between England and France, but then he recalled who her brother’s companion was. Surely even Narcise had been privy to some of the political discussions between Bonaparte and Cezar. “Yes, but it will take some preparation.”
It could be a fortnight or more, and all the while, Corvindale would be saddled with Maia and Angelica. Chas would never hear the end of it.
Then a terrible thought struck him, turning him ice-cold. Moldavi would want revenge on him for escaping, and for taking Narcise with him. And the first place he’d look to do it would be with Maia and Angelica.
He was up and out of bed in an instant. “Where are my clothes? My breeches? My shoes?” He must send word to Corvindale, at least, that the girls would be in danger. The room tilted but he didn’t care.
“They’re gone. You only had your breeches, and they were so?—”
“I need something, I must get word back to London.” He looked around the chamber as if expecting clothing to materialize.
She’d risen from the chair and before he’d even taken a step, she was handing him a neatly folded pile. “You didn’t allow me to finish. I was able to obtain clean clothing for you.”
Chas took them silently. If he weren’t so intent on getting out of the inn to see to business, he might have been chastened by her tone. But he couldn’t worry about that now. Moldavi had had a week. Aweek. Through his alliance with Bonaparte, he could have sent people after Maia and Angelica already, crossing through the blockade.
His knees wobbled a bit as he drew on the breeches, but Chas ignored it. There’d be time for weakness later. The shirt fit well, but the boots were a bit tight—although certainly adequate. As soon as he was dressed, he started for the door…then stopped, with his hand on the knob as he turned back to Narcise.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. I trust…I trust you’ll be well alone here?”
She lifted her brows in a wry expression. “I’ve been alone for the last week, Woodmore. I suspect I’ll do just fine in your absence.”
* * *
Narcise wasn’t at alloblivious to Chas Woodmore’s revulsion toward her. She didn’t completely understand it, but it gave her a sort of comfort, knowing that he wasn’t about to force himself on her.
Or try to, anyway.
She had no worries about protecting herself from him. Aside from the fact that he was still weak enough to be wavering while on his feet, she was also, of course, stronger and faster than he was even in his prime. Nor did he seem inclined to attempt to slay her, either…although she wasn’t completely certain he wouldn’t try.
The last week of tending to him, however, had helped to ease Narcise into her new life: a life where she was beholden to no one, a life where she made her own decisions, procured her own nourishment, clothing, and even drawing supplies.
Nevertheless, she was never wholly comfortable leaving the public house—especially at night, when she knew Cezar or his makes could be out looking for her. She’d become adept at enthralling mortals to gain whatever it was she needed: pencils and paper, a pouch ofsousorlivres, clothing for herself or Chas…even a full, hot vein on which to feed.
