The Vampire Narcise (28 page)

Thus, he knew she’d be safe here. Not only did Narcise, armed with her saber and vampire strength, know how to take care of herself—but no one would find her or cross over into the place…unless Chas wanted them to.

He drank in the sight of her again and felt something painful twist deeply inside him. He
would
return to her. And he’d find some way to manage loving an immortal with a warped soul.

“You’ll be safe here, Narcise. He won’t find you, and then when I get back we’ll go to Wales.”

“Very well,” she acceded. Her gaze settled on him and he recognized a tinge of fear…and something softening her eyes.

His heart tripped and a wave of desire and uncertainty rushed over him. He would come back. But would she still be here?

Chas dropped his satchel and went to her, striding across
the room and pushing her back against the rough wall. He took her mouth, covering her lips with his in a deep, needy kiss.

Sweet and warm and lush, she melted against him, her fingers cupping the back of his head, pulling him down into her. Chas closed his eyes, memorizing her, feeling every curve and rise of her body printed against his.
I love you.

“Be safe,” she breathed as he pulled away to catch a breath, staggered by the force of his emotions. “Come back to me.” She reached up to touch his face, her fingers gentle along his jaw, brushing his hair back.

A ripple of fear shimmered in his middle. “I’m in love with you, Narcise. Make no mistake…I’ll return. But…” he said, all at once knowing what he had to do. Knowing he had to take the chance. He had to
know.
“While I’m gone, you have other things to attend to.”

Narcise blinked, her eyes wary and confused.

“Do what you must do,” he said steadily, trying not to think of what could happen, “to let go of the past. Otherwise…” His lips tightened. “I love you, but I won’t wait for you to come to love me.”

No. She had to free her heart from whatever kept it locked up, away from him. And then…somehow, he’d figure out a way for them to be together.

A vampire hunter and an immortal woman with a warped soul.

As he caught up his satchel and swept from the chamber, her last words followed him. “I can’t lose you, Chas.” She wouldn’t.

But how would he go on if he lost her?

September 1804

Narcise stared out the carriage window. The rough, craggy hills of Scotland had long given way to the more rolling familiar green ones of England, and now that she and Chas were nearing London, the land had flattened even more.

The roads were crowded now, straight, and lined with rows of houses…and the
smells!
Even if she’d not been peering from the window, Narcise would have known they were approaching the city, for the air was filled with all of the aromas and odors—pleasant and otherwise—that came with it.

Angled back from the dangerous sunlight that still managed to filter through a blanket of clouds, Narcise settled in the corner of the carriage and watched the slices of life from her restricted vantage point.

So many things had happened since her arrival in London, and that unsettling night at Dimitri’s home, that she could hardly conceive of it all.

The fact that she’d seen Giordan was only the least of it…or that was what she tried to tell herself when she woke, damp and warm, from unwanted dreams.

And dark nightmares. Narcise’s insides tightened.

She glanced at Chas, grateful for a distraction. He looked
almost angelic—an odd thought, to be sure, about a man who lived a life of such violence, always hunting, always killing—with the waves of his dark hair swirling around a face slack with repose. His lips were full and sensual, and his nose, straight and prominent beneath eyes fringed with heavy dark lashes.

He’d been to Paris and back since that night he’d left her in the old monastery ruins. Angelica was safely returned to London, and to the surprise of everyone, Voss had been instrumental in the girl’s release. Yet, because Voss had already freed Angelica by the time Chas had found them, Cezar still lived safely in the bowels of Paris. Chas had brought his sister safely back to London, but meanwhile, he was even more determined to find a way to kill Cezar.

And now, something inconceivable had happened.

Voss and Angelica were to wed…and Voss had done the impossible: he’d somehow thrown off the bonds of his covenant with Lucifer. He was mortal and man once again, and it was only because of this change that Chas had agreed to give his permission for them to wed.

Now, he stirred, shifting, his heavy boots brushing the hem of her skirts where they mingled about her feet at the bottom of the carriage. Since all of this had happened, Narcise had seen the hunger in his eyes, the desperation and hope that somehow, something might change for her.

That she, too, might shed her allegiance to the Devil and become a mortal woman that he could love without reserve.

For, since his return from Paris, Chas had changed as well. The pain was deeper in his eyes, grooved more sharply at the corners of his mouth, and she could fairly feel the battle he fought with himself as he came to her. He loved her, of that she was certain, but he still hated himself for it.

And, of course, love was not only as long as one’s lifetime,
but also a concept of selflessness…something that, still, a Dracule like Narcise couldn’t fully embrace. Chas seemed even more fully aware of that than ever.

And as if he knew he’d lost a battle, but was determined to win the war by maintaining his hold, Lucifer had raged in her mind and in her body. Her Mark blazed and roiled with his fury and control, reminding her that there was no way out.

At least for her.

She hadn’t even been able to leave the carriage when she and Chas reached St. Bridie’s—the convent school deep in rugged Scotland where his youngest sister Sonia lived. The religious symbols and holy presence were too much for her, a woman who bore the Mark of the Devil, and she was forced to wait while Chas went inside.

There’d been those religious markings throughout the monastery cellar where Chas had left her while he went to Paris. They’d formed a safe barrier against any immortal finding his or her way into the old safe haven.

But what haunted Narcise, what she tried to banish from her thoughts, was the fact that somehow, Giordan had not only found her there…but he’d come into the chamber by crossing that barrier only hours after Chas had left.

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. “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 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.

In her dreams, Lucifer had helpfully shown her the image of what she would have been like after the burn healed…and offered her a way out. For a twenty-year-old girl whose vanity knew no bounds, there was hardly a choice. She had no real comprehension of the deal she’d made.

And…she realized later that Cezar must have arranged the incident that caused hot oil to splash and spill on her. It came from a lamp mounted high on the stairwell she frequently used. Her brother didn’t want to live his immortal life alone…he wanted to live it with her.

In spite of his controlling, abusive ways, he worshipped her.

“Don’t you ever regret it? Don’t you ever want to change it?” Chas persisted, drawing her back from those horrible memories.

She held back a snort of disgust. “Do I want to be beholden to Lucifer? Do I want to be damned?” She shook her head, suddenly empty and dark everywhere. A cold knot sat heavily in her stomach. “Just because Voss claims a miracle happened doesn’t mean it will happen to me. Hasn’t Dimitri been trying for a century to break his ties with Lucifer?”

Her Mark was throbbing now, and she could feel its rootlike lines raging through her skin like tiny rivers of fire. She breathed deeply, trying to send the pain away.

Chas sank back into his corner, his expression weary and shadowed: another tacit admission. “Yes. There seems to be no way.” His voice was bitter and soft. His eyes were closed and he became bathed in gray shadow.

“Chas,” she began, then her voice filtered away. What was
there to say? Her heart stirred for him in some soft, unlustful emotion, and her Mark raged so sharply that she had to smother a gasp. Lucifer had no patience for sympathy.

They trundled along in silence, the cloudy day filled with the sounds of city life: shouts, calls, barking, rumbling, clashing and rattling. The smells of baking bread, of coal smoke, of wet animal and roasting meat, of stagnant water and rotting waste.

Chas looked at her suddenly, from where he brooded in the corner. His eyes gleamed in the shadows and they fixed on her, dark and steady. “You once said you knew of no one who was visited by Lucifer and who yet declined the Devil’s bargain. But that isn’t true. You do know someone who has.”

Somehow, Narcise was able to ignore the shuttle of renewed heat blasting over her shoulder’s Mark. “Who is that?” she asked, suddenly feeling light of head. Suddenly afraid she understood.

“Me.”

They arrived at Rubey’s late in the afternoon of a dreary, foggy day.

Narcise was still stunned and silent from Chas’s confession, and he, for his part, had offered no other details. When she pressed him, he merely shook his head, closed his eyes and replied, “I’ve never told another soul. There’s a reason I don’t want to talk about it.”

But now, at least, she understood his consistent, barely concealed disgust toward those of her race—those who had made what he clearly saw as the wrong decision.

How fitting, in a terrible, ironic way, that he should be judge, jury and executioner of those very people. For he could have been one of them himself.

Inside Rubey’s, Narcise was whisked away for a warm
bath—something their hostess was particularly fond of herself, according to the maid—and Chas disappeared in another direction, presumably to eat and clean up after the grueling journey.

As she settled in the large vessel of steaming water, Narcise was offered a sip of dark red libation from her choice of three small decanters. The cup was no larger than a sherry glass, fluted with tuliplike edges, and hardly taller than her little finger.

Narcise smelled the three options and selected the lightest of them. It wasn’t until she actually sipped that she realized the drink was laced with… “What’s in it? Some sort of elixir?” she asked the maid, who’d begun to wash her hair.

“Mistress Rubey’s finest,” was the vague reply. “She ’as a few such for the likes of ye. Some-at for rest, some-at for waking, some-at for…ye ken-at.”

Narcise blinked. Her English was still that bit better than her French, but this moon-faced young woman’s accent was so thick and her slang difficult to follow that she wasn’t at all certain what she’d just been told. But she settled back into the hot, scented water and sipped as her hair was scrubbed and her head massaged.