She’d met him at the door, saber in hand, heart racing madly out of control.
“Woodmore sent me,” Giordan had claimed coolly. “He indicated there was something I was to retrieve. Now that I’ve arrived, I can only presume he meant you.”
“Certainly not,” Narcise had replied, trying to keep her breathing steady. She’d cut his hand with her saber—or, rather, he’d sliced his palm open when he yanked her blade away. And his bloodscent filled the air. Her fangs threatened to shoot free. Her knees felt as if they were about to give way. “I’m to stay here—perfectly safe—until his return with Angelica.”
“And if he doesn’t return?” Giordan had walked across the floor to wipe the blood from his wound. Slowly. So slowly, as if to allow her plenty of time to inhale his scent…to watch his body with its sleek, confident movements. He seemed to fill the room.
“I’ll go to Dimitri. He’ll protect me,” she’d managed to respond.
“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. His eyes were cold and flat brown today, icy and blank and so very angry. He hated her. “Even then, you were formidable,” he said. “In your own way.”
“I don’t know why Chas sent you here, but I’m not leaving. Especially with you. Just go.”Please. Go.
“You don’t know why he sent me here?” His laugh was more like a whip crack than a bell of humor. “I certainly do. Here, where I could smell him all over you. Where I could scent both of you on the bed and against the wall and everywhere else. The entire place reeks of you two, together. That, my dear, is why he sent me here.”
She had to taunt him, to drive him away. “Then why prolong the agony, Giordan? There’s no reason for you to stay and stew in your jealousy.”
And that was when he’d moved. The next thing she knew, he was there, right there, so close, in front of her. His fingers gripped her chin. The scent of his blood so close made her dizzy. The smell of him, the warmth, the familiarity….She summoned the image of him with Cezar, the two bare shoulders, one golden and sleek, the other swarthy and frail, the firelight playing intimately over them.
Nausea pitched in her belly and her awareness of him returned to loathing.
“Jealousy? You believe that’s what I feel? You’re a fool, Narcise.” He shifted his fingers to cup her jaw no less gently. “If I still wanted you, a bloody damned vampire hunter wouldn’t keep me away.”
And then he’d kissed her.
Not savagely, not as she’d expected, with his eyes blazing red and his fangs long and sharp…but so gently and softly. As if he were taking a moment to savor. Lightly, lightly, over her lips….
And Lucifer’s black soul, she’d kissed him back. She’d fallen into the moment of heat and desire, the memory and beauty rushing through her?—
And then Giordan had thrust her away, his eyes hot and knowing, arrogance in the very essence of his body. And disgust, there, too.
“We’re nearly there.”
Chas’s voice, rough with sleep, sudden in the silence, jolted Narcise from her memory. Her cheeks blazed with shameful heat, her heart thudded as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t even as she felt a renewed surge of hatred for Giordan and his games…and the twinge in her Mark reminded her of who she was.
“To Rubey’s,” Chas added, as if responding to her startled look. “She’ll feed us, and we can rest. I can also use her messengers to get word to Dimitri and Voss that we’ve returned.” His voice flattened a bit at the mention of his future brother-in-law.
“I thought Rubey’s was a pleasure house,” Narcise replied with an arch look, forcing herself firmly into the present.
Chas’s mouth twitched becomingly. “It is—but it’s much more than that. The Dracule also use it as a central location to meet up and for communication. She houses a flock of blood pigeons there…and sometimes, Rubey’s is preferable to White’s. It’s more comfortable and, as Dimitri would say, there aren’t any mortals about, making ludicrous bets in their blasted book. And as I said…she’ll feed us. Or, me, at any rate,” he added quickly.
“Did you send Giordan to me? When you left for Paris?” Narcise asked.
The bit of levity drained from Chas’s face and he sat upright. His expression had gone carefully blank. “I don’t know exactly what occurred between you and him,” he said, “but it’s clear to me that whatever it was has made you unwilling to trust or love.”
Not quite an admission, but close enough.
A spike of anger shot through Narcise, and her Mark eased in agreement. “What happened with Giordan has nothing to do with how I feel about you,” she responded sharply. “I care about you…I desire you and enjoy being with you. But, as you’re fully aware, Chas, I’m a Dracule. I am a selfish, self-serving, damned soul—and I’m immortal. Loving anyone besides myself is in direct opposition to who I am…to who we of the Draculia are. Who Luce has forced us to be.”
His face tightened and she saw the flare of hurt and anger in his hazel eyes. “You made the choice.” He spoke hardly loudly enough to be heard over the rumble of the carriage. “To be that way.”
Pain sliced through her—not from her Mark; it was strangely quiet—but from her heart, down to her deepest core. A choice? The thought was ludicrous. How could anyone make a clear decision when they were tricked and manipulated in their dreams by the most cunning demon of all?
In her case, it had been the choice between living a forever youthful, immortal life as a great beauty instead or one with a no longer perfect face, burned down one side of her cheek. The result would have been one of horror, with ropy, burned-away flesh where her smooth skin had once been.
