by Колин Глисон
“Alas, no, for when he found there was a choice between having Cezar and protecting my well-being…well, of course you see how that turned out.”
Direct and sharp, her words and meaning stabbed him deeply. And twisted, as if the blade was in his entrails, raking a cross through his insides in the manner of the Japanese seppuku.
Nevertheless, he kept his expression emotionless. “If only it were always so simple,” was all he replied.
“Narcise.” Woodmore’s smooth voice interrupted from behind them.
“Chas,” she said, brushing rapidly past Giordan as if he were a Corinthian column. The scent of her relief swamped him.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting. My sisters are a bit over-set,” said Woodmore, looking down at Narcise and then at Giordan. Comprehension shone in his dark Gypsy eyes. “And Corvindale is fairly apoplectic that Voss has been inside Blackmont Hall.”
“Not to mention the fact that his entire household has been upended,” Giordan replied with a faint tinge of malice. “For the foreseeable future. I cannot say I blame him.”
Woodmore continued to look at him with cool challenge and the faintest of complacence. If the vampire hunter hadn’t known before, he knew now at least something of the history between him and Narcise. But if he was under the impression that Giordan would be competition for him, he was sadly mistaken.
“Indeed, and my sisters are just as disrupted. Thus, the first thing to appease everyone—including me—is to find Voss and take care of him. I don’t want him anywhere near my sister. Then we can leave London.” He looked at Narcise. “And go someplace where you’ll be safe.”
Corvindale returned at that moment. “Are you leaving now? Excellent. Good night.” His expression and tone left no room for further conversation, and giving Giordan a wry look, Woodmore gestured for Narcise to start down the corridor.
“We are gone, then,” he said. “Dawn is almost here. I’ll see what sign I can find of Voss while the sun is up. Look for word from me in the afternoon. If luck is with me, I’ll find the bastard and stake him in his sleep.”
“By the Fates, you look as if you need a drink,” Dimitri said to Giordan as soon as they were gone. “The Devil knows I do. Bloody damned women.”
By Luce’s dark soul, it wasn’t a drink he needed. “No,” Giordan said. “I’ll take my leave before the sun is up.”
And he followed Woodmore and Narcise’s path down the hall, inhaling her essence in his wake.
No, indeed. It wasn’t a damn drink he craved.
“You aren’t truly going.”
Chas paused in his packing to look up at the tone of accusation in Narcise’s voice.
“Of course I’m going,” he replied firmly, shoving a trio of stakes into his leather sack. “She’s my sister, Narcise. Do you think I would leave her safety up to chance? Especially with Voss?”
Two weeks after their gathering in Dimitri’s study, Angelica had been abducted by Belial. According to Voss—who’d seemed unaccountably concerned—she was being taken to Paris to be delivered to Cezar.
The other vampire had been convincing in his argument that he, Voss, should be the one to go after her and bring her home, despite the fact that Angelica’s own brother was a vampir hunter. And though even Dimitri’s stubborn opinion had been swayed by Voss’s points, Chas wasn’t about to sit on his hands while his sister’s fate was in the hands of a bloody damned vampire.
Especially one who’d already attacked her once. And who’d sneaked into her chamber and done God knew what else while she was under his thrall.
He shoved a clean shirt into the pack with more violence than necessary. The only reason Voss wasn’t dead right now was that he’d been wearing protective armor when Chas had seen him last, when he’d come to White’s club to deliver the news that Angelica was on her way to Paris. And because the damned man was right—he could gain access to Cezar.
“But Voss is smart enough, and Cezar likes him because he always has information he wants.” Narcise argued the same points that had been made previously. “For sale, of course. He won’t be suspicious of him, so Voss will have no problem getting in. And with those smoke-cloud packets you gave him, he’ll have an easy way to escape.”
Chas stopped and gave her a hard look. “I don’t want him anywhere near my sister. Not only do I not trust him, not only have I heard legend upon legend of him ruining women, but he is also a Dracule.”
The moment those words slipped from his mouth, Chas regretted them. Not the sentiment of course, but the way he’d expressed it, for Narcise’s beautiful face blanched.
“And so you can commingle with we Dracule, we damned and damaged demons…but not your sister.”
Her words were bitter, and Chas felt a wave of self-disgust—for the memory of himself panting beneath her, blind with need, ensorcelled by her texture, taste and scent…and begging for her to tear into him with her fangs…burned tauntingly in his mind.
And yet…it was no mere lust that drove him. There was something much deeper in his heart. If only he could reconcile it with who she was: immortal, damaged and bound to a demon.
“Blast it, no, Narcise.” He shoved his fingers through his hair and resisted the urge to throw something. “It’s different for her than for me. I understand what I—I understand what it’s like.” He’d been hunting the creatures for years. He knew their faults, their weaknesses. Their pure center of self.
He fully comprehended what he was doing to himself by being with one. Unlike his naive sister.
“Well, Chas, I suggest you begin to help her understand. Because from the way she was acting that night in Dimitri’s study, I wouldn’t be surprised if Angelica was in love with Voss. And she doesn’t know what to do about it. She probably doesn’t even realize it.”
Over my bloody damned dead body.
“Never,” he snapped, yanking up his satchel. By God, he’d never wish such a thing on his sister: to be in love with one of these warped-souled beings. It was an untenable hell of its own. “And even if she fancies herself in love with him, I won’t permit it. I’ll kill him first.”
“I’ll come with you, Chas,” she said, standing in a swirl of dark hair and smooth slide of her pale gown.
“Don’t be a fool,” he said, his voice softening. “You can’t allow yourself anywhere near Cezar. Paris might be a big city, but you know as well as I do that he has spies and makes everywhere. I won’t risk you, Narcise.”
“It was almost impossible for us to leave Paris safely the last time,” Narcise was arguing. “Cezar still has makes and mortal soldiers watching for us everywhere…you know it. You’ll never get out of the city again, with or without Angelica. Let alone into Cezar’s place.”
Chas wondered whether she was more terrified that he was leaving her alone, or that he might not come back.
Or that she might have to see Giordan Cale again.
He reminded her, “But the last time you were with me, and he was searching for you—”
“But, Chas…”
“And aside of that, Cezar would see me. You know that for certain. He’d be delighted to welcome me back into his lair.”
He didn’t understand why she was being so unreasonable…so uncharacteristically weak. Narcise was the strongest woman he’d ever known—how else could she have survived her years of captivity with her brother?
Surely it wasn’t just that she was frightened of being left in London. A little niggle of certainty wormed into the back of his mind and he thrust it away. No. Surely whatever had been between her and Cale was truly over and done with. The hatred between them had rolled off in palpable waves.
Between Dimitri and Rubey, who was intimate with Cale, he would find out what their history was.
“Chas, please,” Narcise begged, and a wave of anger rushed through him.
“Don’t insult me by implying your brother is more than a match for me,” he said flatly. “If we knew what his Asthenia was, I’d have brought it to hi
m long ago.” Even as he said these words, he realized the argument was weak. But he didn’t have a choice. Angelica was in danger, and he wasn’t about to sit back and place her safety in Voss’s hands.
And if he had the time to go to Scotland, to visit Sonia and beg her to help him one more time, Chas could learn what Cezar’s Asthenia was. While Angelica had visions of people in their moment of death, their youngest sister had a different gift. She was able to see what a person feared the most—and for the Dracule, it was the Asthenia.
Chas had used Sonia more than once in the past to help him learn the specific weakness of a vampire he was hunting, but once she learned why he was asking for her help, she’d refused to be part of it. “Neither of us have the right to make such judgment,” she’d told him piously.
“But you’ve been given a gift…and so have I,” he’d argued back. “We’re meant to use them.”
“No,” she’d said…and he’d recognized fear lurking in her eyes.
But he was certain she’d help him this time—to find Cezar’s weakness, knowing that their sister’s safety was at stake…yet, there was no time now. He’d have to trust Voss to carry out their plan and free Angelica…and as soon as he could, Chas would relieve his sister from the vampire’s presence.
And then he’d kill Voss.
Chas looked at Narcise, filling his eyes with her. He never tired of her beauty, he never lost the awe he felt when he looked upon her perfection, and although it was blasphemy—terrible, shameful blasphemy—he thought what a boon it was that Lucifer had turned her immortal. That her looks would never fade, that her face and figure would never age.
It would have been a shame to lose such exquisiteness. Such artistry.
“You’ll be safe here, Narcise,” Chas said, gesturing to the stone walls around them. The quarters he’d prepared for her were in the cellar of an old monastery ruin.
Perhaps two years ago, he’d flushed out and chased away a group of made vampirs who’d used the place as a haven. The only access to the cellar was through an old wall in a cemetery that sat on one of the hills on the outskirts of London, and the entrance was well-hidden. Aside of that, there was a barrier of crosses and other religious markings that would keep vampires away—with only one secret passage through which one might manage to gain access. He’d had to help Narcise across that threshold in order to be safely contained, and it had been some time until she regained her full strength.
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?
~ III ~
Life
17
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 r
aged 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.”
