Chapter 9 #2
Giordan went cold, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe.
“The correct term would be rape,” he said from between numb lips.
He tried to summon the dark rage that he knew simmered deep inside, but somehow, Moldavi’s words and knowledge had catapulted him back to those dark days and evil memories.
They’d grabbed hold of him and smothered his instinctive response, setting him off-balance and out of sorts.
He felt as if he were swimming deep in a very murky pond: half-blind, sluggish, breathless.
Moldavi seemed to realize this, and he was now standing very close to him. His scent rolled off in heavy waves, thick with lust. “Why are you here, Giordan?” he asked, the sibilant hiss very pronounced in his voice. A fang flashed, the gold chip in it winking coyly as he looked up at him.
“You know why I’m here. I want Narcise.”
“Hmm. Yes. I wonder what you’re willing to do to have her.” Moldavi reached up as if to touch him, and Giordan knocked the man’s hand away with a sharp, controlled movement.
“You overstep,” he said with a calm he didn’t realize he currently possessed.
The anger simmered faster and harder now, nearer to the boiling point.
He stepped back and took a large sip of his drink.
When he raised his arm, the weight of the stake shifted in his sleeve, reminding him that he did have a chance to end this now.
“You want Narcise, but so do so many other men, Giordan. It’s really quite a quandary for me.
She’s very valuable in a variety of ways—you understand why I cannot give her up.
Because, of course, if you fancy yourself in love with her, you’ll want her with you—at least for a time.
Decades perhaps. And then what would I do? ”
“You can have the ship,” Giordan said. “All of it. Two ships if you want.”
“Shall we make it three?” Moldavi asked with an intimate chuckle.
“No, no, I don’t want that. Although from what I understand, you can afford it.
” He clicked his tongue, his eyes dancing with pleasure.
“Forget about the stake you have hidden on you, Giordan. You can’t murder me.
Do you think I’m that much of a fool? What do you think will happen to Narcise the minute you attempt it? ”
“Why should I believe you?”
Moldavi sighed. “For an intelligent man, you’re being tiresome. Have you not learned that I don’t make mistakes, nor do I make empty threats?”
Giordan could hardly disagree. All along, he thought he’d been clever, but it appeared that Moldavi was a step ahead of him. “What do you want? My house in Paris? Four ships? Access to my bank accounts? You can have it all.”
The other man continued as if he hadn’t spoken.
“She’s perfectly content here, Giordan, truly.
We’ve come to an arrangement after so many years and I rarely have to discipline her anymore.
She’s kept in comfort, like a princess, dressed in the most fashionable of clothing.
She has everything she could want. And she hasn’t lost a fencing match for years—except to you.
” His voice dropped and his eyes heated again.
“I did particularly enjoy watching that.”
“She’s a prisoner.”
“I prefer to think of it as house arrest,” he replied with a smile that showed a tip of fang. “I have something else I’d like to show you. Something special I’ve had made for Narcise.”
He walked over to a table. On top of it was a box, and Moldavi turned to lift the lid.
With a sharp jerk of his arm, Giordan had the stake through the loose cuff and into his hand. He launched himself across the room, and in a half-breath he had Moldavi against the wall, slamming the slighter man there with his hand, the stake poised.
“By the Devil, you’re magnificent,” said Moldavi in a rough, breathless voice. His eyes burned with an orange glow.
“I want Narcise,” Giordan said from between tight jaws.
“She isn’t here,” replied Moldavi, his gaze growing hotter. “I took the precaution of removing her from the premises.” He looked up into Giordan’s eyes, his lips parted slightly in a provocative show of fangs. “There’s only one way for you to have her.”
Revulsion and fury took hold, and Giordan slammed the stake down into Moldavi’s chest, propelling himself closer with the effort. The man jolted, grunted against him—but something stopped the pike from penetrating fully. Armor.
His adversary looked up at him, his pale, beringed hand suddenly fisted in Giordan’s shirt, holding him still, leaning into him with his own vampiric strength. His fangs were fully visible, his breathing rough.
Luce’s black soul.
Giordan pulled free and spun away. His heart was pounding, his stomach roiling, the stake useless in his hand. “What do you want?”
“Don’t be a fool. You know what I want.” Moldavi’s voice was hard, and yet sensual at the same time. The words hung there for a moment.
He stepped away from the wall where he’d remained after the attack, and adjusted his waistcoat. “Perhaps you’d like a bit of incentive, Giordan? I wanted to show you what I’ve had made for Narcise. What she’ll wear when I give her to Belial if you and I don’t come to an agreement.”
He turned back to the table and finished removing the top to the box. As Giordan watched, his host removed a lacy, filigree object that looked like the same black lace of Narcise’s gown. It was a cloak or cape, and it shivered and flowed as Moldavi shook it out, holding it by the collars.
Then he turned it around so that Giordan could see the other side.
It was lined with brown feathers. Rows and rows of them.
“No,” he whispered, turning to Moldavi in shock. “No, by Hell.”
“Now, then,” he said. “Are you ready to negotiate?”
“Negotiate?” Giordan said. The numbness had eased away to cold fear and impotent anger. “You seem to hold all the cards.”
Moldavi liked that, and he laughed with delight. “I do hold most of them, that’s true. I spend much of my time arranging things.”
“I want Narcise,” Giordan said, his lungs aching, his knees watery. “Name your price. Whatever it takes to get her out of here.”
Moldavi showed his fangs, a light dancing in his malevolent eyes. “I want you.”
Even though he’d expected it, Giordan couldn’t control the sharp, dark twist in his middle. “Be more specific,” he managed.
“Three days and three nights. Naked. Willing.” Moldavi’s smile couldn’t even be described as maniacal; it was too calm and controlled. “Is that specific enough?”