Something moved behind her, and from the corner of her eye, she saw two more shadows sliding into the glancing moonlight in her wake.
A little trip of unease quickly faded. Not only were these mere mortal men, but she neither a captive nor prisoner weakened by a necklace of sparrow feathers.
“I tol’, ye, Griff, it would be a lucky even’n’, comin’ out this a-way,” said one of the others, nearer now, behind her. His companions laughed in agreement.
They moved closer, bringing their smells of desperation and lust, as the first one smiled and reached lazily for her. “An’ she’s a looker, ain’t she?”
She smiled back. Allowed her eyes to glow just a bit of red. “Take your hand off me,” she said calmly—and was delighted when the fool didn’t comply.
Instead, he laughed and tugged her closer to him so that she bumped against his torso. He reeked of sweat and smoke and old ale, and despite her height, he was taller than she. “A furriner, listen, to ’er, will ye,” he said. “Well, we’ll ’ave to show the lady a good time ’ere in ole Londontown, aye, boys?”
The other two were just behind Narcise, blocking any escape she might attempt, and one of them slid his hand down her spine and over her rear, his fingers scoping intimately around the bottom cleft of her arse. Narcise’s reflexive spark of fear at being touched dissolved instantly and she slid into action. With one smooth move, she flung the big man’s hand away and spun to face the one who’d groped her.
Grabbing him by a woolen coat crusty with stains and smelling of smoke and vomit, Narcise lifted him up and tossed him into the air. His arms flailed as he flew back against a shuttered window on the brick wall.
“’Ey!” shouted the big man, as if offended and affronted by her reaction. “Wot the hell d’ye think yer doin, foin lady?” He lunged for Narcise again, but she easily ducked out of his way and then grabbed his arm, using his own weight and momentum against him.
“I told you to take your hands off me,” she reminded him as she spun him sharply into the third man. They tumbled together like a load of boulders and she stood over them, looking down as they scrambled to their feet in fury. Her pulse had kicked up and she felt a rush of energy through her. Even her Mark was more at ease than it had been for days.
“Ye loose-lipped bitch,” growled the big oaf, and his insult was echoed by the one she’d whipped into the wall a moment ago. The three of them, as cowards often do, shouted encouragement to each other as they bolted toward her in a rage.
Narcise didn’t flinch, and in fact, was enjoying herself as she fought them off. Despite her restrictive clothing—a corset, slippers, and shoe-length skirts—and the loose braid that whipped around with her every movement, she was quick and efficient. It was a testament to their stupidity that it took three rounds before they realized she was neither going to go with them, nor suffer being touched. She didn’t even have to bare her fangs in order to stave them off—it was a matter of strength and speed, both of which she had as an advantage over the three men.
When they were at last in an unmoving heap on the ground, their noses bloodied—and the scent not even the least bit tempting to her—and lips cut, perhaps an arm broken or an eye blackened, she stood over them. “Don’t ever accost a woman again. The next time, I’ll kill you.”
The largest one whimpered when she bared her fangs at last and swooped toward him, her eyes glowing bright and red as she yanked him up by his shirt. “Do you understand?” she demanded, breathing through her mouth so as not to inhale his putrid odor, now colored with the scent of terror.
“A-aye,” he managed, closing his eyes and turning away as if expecting her to take a hunk out of his skin.
“Good,” she breathed, and licked her lips enticingly. “Because I’ll be watching you…and the next time you even look at a woman, I’ll find you. And I’ll be hungry.” She showed him her fangs, long and wicked.
Then she smelled the pungent odor of fresh urine and shoved him toward the half wall along the sewer, satisfied that he’d been well and truly frightened.
“Go off with you. All of you,” she ordered, standing there in the dark street, feeling as strong as she’d ever felt—as powerful, as sure of herself.
And as her would-be attackers scuttled off into the night like frightened beetles, she felt a bubble of laughter come up from inside her. Joyous and warm, delight swelled inside her as she realized who she was.
And what she could do. And?—
“How startling. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you laugh.”
Narcise’s stomach seemed to plummet to the ground. Choking off her laughter, she spun, her insides turning inside out and upside down, her thoughts scattering.
“What are you doing here?” she managed to say as she swallowed back her heart and felt her cheeks burn.
Giordan sauntered toward her with studied casualness. The moon was kind to him, filtering silvery light over the thick, dark curls on his head and the broad shoulders encased in a dark coat. It was open to reveal a silver-buttoned waistcoat and white shirt, brilliant and crisp, fairly glowing in the low light. His boots were soundless and his eyes dark and glittering, focusing on Narcise with unpleasant intensity. His comment had been laced with irony.
“I’ve been following you since you left Rubey’s,” he said. “At first I thought you had a destination in mind…but then I realized you were simply walking.”
So shehadscented him, and, Giordan being the cunning, manipulative man he was, had probably kept himself downwind from her as he followed her through the streets. Bastard.
Their eyes met and Narcise found that she couldn’t pull hers away. Her heart pounded high in her throat and she tried to dig down inside to pull out her anger and revulsion toward him…this man who’d destroyed her.
This man who was looking at her as if he’d never seen her before.
“I thought—” She stopped herself. She had nothing to say to him. Nothing at all.
“If I didn’t feel such sympathy for them, I’d have found the entire scene more than a little amusing,” he said, gesturing in the direction where the cowardly beetles had gone. “Is that why you were laughing?” His tone had softened, perhaps, a bit.
