But Chas still didn’t completely figure it out until they got to the larger chamber…that, he realized later, gave Moldavi a larger space in which to be confined with his Asthenia. And he’d had Narcise stripped immediately…and her clothing taken from the chamber.
Why would he do that unless there was something he needed to get out of the place? Without, of course, anyone realizing it.
And that was when it all crystallized for Chas. The vision Sonia had seen had Narcise in it, and it was clear that Cezar had some mixture of fear and admiration for his sister…but she was also holding an ivory fan.
And in her clothing, she had been wearing a corset…with theivory buskthat Chas had given her.
It wasivory. Moldavi’s Asthenia was ivory.
* * *
The next thingNarcise was aware of was Chas’s face, dark and frightened and furious, looking down at her.
“My God, Narcise,” he said, touching her cheeks as he gathered her into his arms, his eyes glistening. “I came as fast as I could. Can you…are you…Holy Mother of God…Narcise.”
The feathers had disappeared…the pain was gone…the paralysis and heaviness had eased. Her body throbbed in places, and was numb in others…but she could breathe. And think.
And remember.
She struggled to sit up, extricating herself from him. “Giordan,” she breathed, looking around frantically. Had she lost her chance? Had she lost him again?
Chas’s face changed and he stepped back so that she could see the tanned body, sagging against the wall, arms straight above his head. Giordan’s face was half-lifted, his glittering eyes scoring her, and as their gazes met, she saw wild relief in his.
She slid off the table, her knees wobbly and the room spinning. Something wet oozed from her shoulder, and there was blood and dampness in other places. Her arms hurt, her back felt as if had been seared. She saw Belial’s body sprawled on the stone floor. His head lay in a pool of dark red blood, its putrid scent nauseating, nearby.
Chas caught her arm as she began to sink to the ground, and said, “Stay here. I’ll see to him.” His words were as taut and short as his movements, and Narcise felt a wave of remorse as she realized his pain.
She watched as he released Giordan, saw the way he sagged and pitched forward when Chas cut him free from the bonds that had held him upright, and she got off the table to meet him. Already, the weakness was ebbing, her legs were stronger, her mind clearer.
She looked around the chamber, and for the first time, she saw more bodies—dead,vampirbodies…and then she saw her brother.
He was sitting in a chair on the dais, tied to his seat, surrounded by slender white items.
He wasn’t dead…but he wasn’t moving.
All at once, she had Giordan in her arms, his heavy, solid body, warm and welcome, sliding against her—and it was all she could do not to collapse into shameful tears.
How much time had she missed? How much had she lost?
“I’ll take care of things in here,” Chas said, turning from them. “See to him. I think he’s—he needs….” His voice trailed away and he walked off with jerky steps.
“I’m well,” Giordan muttered into her hair, but his arm was tight around her, and he leaned against her too heavily to be ‘well.’
She smelled scents on him that she didn’t care to identify, and, blinking back angry, horrified tears, she helped him out of the ugly chamber without a glance at her brother.
She knew where to go, and took him back to her own private apartments. A niggle of guilt bothered her as she left Chas behind, and she promised herself she’d go back to him as soon as she got Giordan settled.
But he was weak, with an ashen cast to his rich, golden skin, and she knew he’d need to feed before he recovered his strength. How much blood had Cezar taken from him? Had there been others who’d fed as well?
What else had happened?
The smells and marks on his body told her more than she wanted to know, and Narcise blocked her mind from thinking about it or imagining it, remembering the shiny gray color to his face. He was safe now. Cezar wouldn’t bother him…or either of them…again.
When she eased him onto the bed in her old chamber, Giordan didn’t release her, and she tumbled down with him, their legs bumping and sliding awkwardly together. Bare skin to bare skin, her breasts pressed up against his torso, his warm arms loose around her waist.
“Narcise,” he murmured, his lips moving against her hair again, “is it really you? Have you come back to me?”
“Giordan,” she replied, pulling away to look down at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know what to…I know that I can’t say anything to change what happened, to make amends for it…but…I’m so sorry.” Her voice broke at the end and despair took over. How could he ever forgive her? “So…sorry.”
