The Vampire Narcise (24 page)

She opened her mouth to reply, but he’d heaved himself from his chair, and now he made his way to the other side of the table. His fingers brushed the top of it as if to give him balance, and he walked smoothly but with the slightest bit of stagger that indicated just how far into his cups he was.

Narcise’s heart began to thump very hard, and her mouth dried. Even drunk and sloppy, he was dark and exotic looking. Intimidating with his superior height and broad shoulders.

Yet, she made no move to recoil or otherwise back away, even when he came right up to her. But when he grabbed the front of her chemise and slammed her up against the wall, she was so shocked she didn’t have time to react before he put his face right up close to hers.

Eyes furious and dark, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a ferocious grimace, he said, “If you ever attempt to enthrall me, I’ll kill you.”

C
has opened his eyes. The room was dim with threatening dawn, a pale scrim of light cast over the furnishings.

He sat up, still feeling the remnants of last night’s wine and ale. The empty jug sat on the table where he’d left it and the scent of stale hops permeated the chamber.

Narcise slept next to him on the bed, warm and close and smelling of sleep, of her. Fully clothed. Out of reach.

A rush of desire flooded him and he closed his eyes again, trying to push it away. He couldn’t allow his thoughts to go along that route. Too dangerous, too degrading.

She was a practiced seductress. Aside of the fact that eroticism and sensuality always went along with the Draculia, he’d seen evidence of it when he came in upon her little tête-à-tête with the servant Philippe.

The poor sot had been out of his mind with desire and need…and the devil of it was, he had no idea what was happening. He had no control over himself or his actions.

Chas’s mouth tightened and he settled on disgust. He’d not fall prey to that sort of lure. He’d never allow himself to be used thus, to lose mastery over himself. He recalled the fury he’d summoned when he dragged her up against the wall last night and threatened to kill her. He would. If she ever turned those lulling, coaxing, burning eyes on him, he wouldn’t hesitate to do it.

He slid off the mattress, one of those rare people who hardly felt the effects of overimbibing. There was a dull, gentle pounding in the back of his head, but other than that, and the need for a drink of water, he felt as he normally did in the morning. Although it really was much too early to be up and about for a gentleman; normally one didn’t see the light of the sun before noon.

Yet, despite the early hour and the large amounts of wine and ale he’d consumed, Chas’s head was clear. He remembered everything from the evening before—including the way he’d had to fairly thrust Narcise away after getting so close to her in that moment of fury. Too close.

Especially when, after the surprise, her eyes had narrowed in interest and admiration.

He used the chamber pot—which was the cause for his early rousing—and then the water in the basin to wash his face and rinse his mouth of the vestiges of stale drink. Then he turned back to the bed.

The shift Narcise had taken to wearing as a night rail gapped away from her throat and shoulders, exposing delicate collarbones and the shadow of other delights deeper still.

Chas pivoted away, opting for the chair to finish his slumber. He remembered full well the feel of her body pressed against his when he shoved her against the wall, his face close to hers.

That had almost been his undoing…she was just
there
, in front of him. He’d even had a handful of her clothing, his fingers curling into the flesh above her breasts just before she shoved him away. His caution was just that much dulled by the drink, and the knowledge of what she’d been doing in the chamber with that servant boy still lingered in the back of his mind. His imagination filled in the details of what had
gone on before he interrupted…what would have happened if he had not.

And as much as he’d attempted to drink himself into oblivion, he was fully aware of his body’s response to her, his attraction to and curiosity about her.

Why did she have to be a
vampir?

The pounding in his head had become stronger and he abandoned the idea of slumping in the chair and trying to sleep there. He’d fallen into…onto…the bed before she had last night, and she obviously had no qualms about sleeping next to him, and so why should he be concerned?

He climbed back into his place on the mattress, noting that the blankets were still warm from where he’d lay moments earlier, but that her hand had crept away from her cheek and now lay just beneath his pillow.

All thoughts of sleep fled as he settled down next to her, his face very close to hers, but yet distant enough that he could focus on her features. A soft, warm scent filtered from her hair and skin and he found it difficult to dismiss.

He found
her
impossible to dismiss.

The sun seemed to be taking her time rising today, and the chamber continued to be filled with indistinct shapes except in a rectangular patch beneath the window. But Chas could somehow make out the fringe of Narcise’s dark lashes and the little accent line at the corner of her mouth. And he noticed, for the first time, a tiny beauty mark at the corner of her left eye.

Before he could stop himself, he reached and settled his hand, open, onto the cascade of hair falling over her shoulder. Slowly he traced its smooth sheen along her head and over her shoulder and arm, lightly, lightly…hardly more than a feather touch. Her warmth seeped from beneath the silki
ness into his palm, and although she gave a little tremor in her sleep, she didn’t waken.

Chas touched her again, sliding his fingers around a coil of hair that had fallen in front of her shoulder and hung like a corkscrew. Curling it around his finger, he rubbed the lock between two finger pads, then let it fall back against her bosom.

His heart had begun to swell and pound all that much harder, for he knew she couldn’t enthrall him while she was sleeping. Which meant that what he felt—that deep tug, that insistent pull of attraction—was real. And it was strong.

He just hoped to God it wouldn’t destroy him, for he didn’t think there was any way to turn back.

She felt the same simmering attraction; he’d seen it when he interrupted her feeding on that youthful servant yesterday. She’d had the boy, but wanted
him
. Chas.

It was in her eyes when she saw him walking through the door.

A little pang twisted his belly. Yes, she wanted him, but he could never allow her to take from him as she’d done with the footman. He wouldn’t lose that control, he wouldn’t ever slip into that maelstrom of hunger and need that he’d experienced at Rubey’s…that night where he was out of his mind with pleasure, with the need to have his blood freed, sopped up, drawn…

Chas swallowed the thick lump in his throat. Even now, a month later, the shame and humiliation made him ill. How could he have become so base, so depraved as to allow a servant of the Devil to control him?

But here was another temptation…a greater one. Narcise was beyond beautiful…she was also intelligent and brave. And she’d stayed with him when he was dying.

For God’s sake, she’d even violated him…but to save his life.

What a turnabout that was for a Dracule.

A deep little tremor went through him and he closed his eyes.
No. Not her.

And yet…he could not keep from touching her. It was as if a magnet drew his hand, his fingers, his attention to her.

It wasn’t until he brushed a swath of hair back from her temple and cheek that Narcise stirred. She opened her eyes, and as soon as they focused, sleepiness fled. They flashed wide with surprise and then apprehension as she started with a slight jolt…and then her expression shifted just as quickly into confusion.

His heart pounded and desire shivered in his belly.

Her eyes were colorless and dark in the shadows, and he looked into them as he did the only thing he could think to do…he eased closer, sliding his hand around beneath her ear, and covered her mouth with his.

Despite the sudden rage of pleasure bursting in him, Chas took his time with the kiss…gently meeting her lips, curving into them, moving his against hers in sensual little circles.

She made a soft sound and began to turn her head away, but he slipped his fingers tighter around the back of her neck and pulled her close, turning the kiss deeper and more coaxing. He slipped his tongue into her warm, sleek mouth, pulled away and went back to nibbling on her lips, using the tip of his tongue to tease the corners. She trembled, at last kissing him back, her hand settling on his chest…not to shove him away as she’d done last night when he had her against the wall, but digging her fingers into the cloth there.

He wanted her, but he had no urgency, and their kiss went on and on…deep and long, and then gentle and seductive as they explored the taste and texture of the other.

When she twisted her face away at last, he saw that she was crying. That a little trickle had slipped from the corner of her eye and slid into the hair at her temple.

A stab of pain and fear caught him and he pulled away sharply. “What is it? Narcise?”

Good God, he hadn’t expected this—from a strong, seductive woman like her.

She wiped the tear away and turned her incredible blue eyes onto him. There was enough light now that he could see how they brimmed with pain and sorrow, but she curved her lips into a little smile. “I haven’t kissed anyone in a very long time.”

“I’m sorry,” he said uncertainly, feeling an unexpectedly soft unfurling inside him. It had been very easy to think of her as a hard, calculating woman bent on having—and controlling—any man in her path. But the expression in her face could only be described as heartbroken.

Her lips twisted wryly. “It’s not for you to be sorry.” Her gaze flickered away for an instant, and Chas began to ease back.

She looked at him and reached to tug him back closer to her. “Kiss me again.”

He obliged, happily, despite the niggling worry in the back of his mind. He was beginning to realize that there were things about her that weren’t obvious.

Her lips, so full and soft, covered his and drove all worries from his mind. He pulled her closer to delve deeper, tasting a bit of salt from her tears, and doing what he could to help her forget whatever it was that made her grieve.

Meanwhile, his free hand slid to the front of her chemise and found the little drawstring tie there. Loosening it, he slid his hand down the front of the gapping bodice as he
trailed gentle kisses from her mouth along the slender curve of her jaw.

Her breathing changed when he found one of her breasts, closing his fingers around it and cupping its weight in his palm. Her nipple jutted into his thumb and he settled there, gently massaging its very tip as she shivered and sighed, rolling her body closer to him.

His breeches were tight and his shirt clinging hot and too heavy, but he was loathe to release her and take them off. Instead he pulled the drawstring even looser and tugged her bodice open more, down over her shoulders, so that he could slip south and close his mouth around her. She was sweet and warm, tinged with salt and musk, and he drew her deep into his mouth, sliding his tongue around her sensitive nipple. Around and around, darting and sleekly teasing.

Narcise arched into his mouth and he felt her legs shifting along his, capturing one of his breeches-clad thighs between hers in a sensual slide. He sucked harder, rhythmically, and she sighed, shivering against him as he dragged her hips closer.

When he pulled away to tear off his shirt, sitting back on his haunches, he saw her eyes burning, glowing red and orange and the tips of her fangs showing beneath her upper lip. A shaft of desire stabbed him low in the gut at the thought of those sharp points sliding into his flesh, of the bursting release of simmering need. He had a flash of her gouging him, goring into his shoulder or neck or arm, greedy and sensual, just as she had to that poor servant boy, and he forced himself to look away, fighting the temptation.
No.

God, no.

Disgust made his belly pitch and swing, desire and lust weakened him, and he nearly pushed her away when Narcise
reached for his bare shoulders, closing her fingers around him. But instead, he went with her, his torso warm against her breasts.

She pulled him back down onto the bed as he fought the memory of the night he’d spent at Rubey’s, bitten and dragged on in a whorl of red lust. His body craved the release, his cock full and ready, the feel of the blood flowing freely into her hot mouth, the pain and pleasure of her mouth, sensual and demanding.

When Narcise’s hand found the buttons on the placket of his breeches, Chas felt his whole body stiffen in expectation and control. She slipped her hand down the loosened waistband and closed around his throbbing erection, using her thumb to tease its tip just as he had done to her swollen nipple.

Somehow, her chemise had slipped away, and next went his breeches, and they were flesh to flesh. His dark Gypsy skin, textured with hair, sleek with muscle, slid against her soft ivory curves. He felt her readiness, damp and warm, and turned his mind from the burning in her eyes as he parted her legs and pulled her on top of him.

She eased herself into place and his eyes fairly rolled back into his head as they fit together in a shaft of pure pleasure. Narcise shifted her hips, rocking a bit, and he felt himself gathering up into that coil of release…and then she leaned forward, her eyes glowing, her fangs exposed.

Chas’s heart thumped madly, his neck throbbing, heat rushing through his body as she shifted over him, rocking, sliding, and then easing her hands up along his torso as she bent over him. His skin burned, his fingers dug into her arms, pulling her close even as he knew he should be pushing her away…but the lust had taken hold, and the red heat caught him, and all he could think about was her pressed
against him, her breasts against his chest, her face buried in his throat… He wanted that sharp, stinging pain.

No,
he thought, but he wanted it nevertheless. As they strained and shifted against each other, his muscles bunching and his blood surging, her soft panting warm against his throat, he imagined the slide of her into his skin, imagined the burst of pleasure, the heat flowing into her mouth as he would burst inside her.

“Narcise,” he gasped, the lust rising higher, tighter, the bed rocking and shifting beneath them.
Bite me. Take me.

She shifted and for a moment, he thought she was about to pull away, but then her lips were warm and moist against his neck. Desire flared inside him…
yes, yes
…her tongue, slick and hot, traced the tendon, the side of his neck.

He moved faster, gathered her closer, tipped his head to the side, baring his throat and shoulder.
Please.