Chapter 19 #2
“I’m not here to entertain your guests,” Narcise told him, evading Belial’s reach. “I’m here to stop Bonaparte from invading England.”
Lifting her nose, she breathed, trying to scent Giordan’s presence. Was he here or not? When he hadn’t come back to find them at Rubey’s, she’d figured out that he meant to beat them here.
They’d sent word by pigeon to Cezar to stop the invasion, for they would not have reached Paris within the three-day time line, promising that she was on her way back to him. So far, no news of invasion had come and she believed he’d kept his word.
Of course, he knew if the invasion went forward, she wouldn’t come back to him.
Narcise didn’t spare a look at Chas, though she felt him tensing next to her. On the back of her shoulder, the Mark was enflamed with fury—so much that she could hardly move her arm. Even breathing was difficult. But it had been that way for two days, and she had learned to accept it.
“Ah, my darling sister,” Cezar said, his voice carrying more of a lisp than usual, “the emperor will be here later this night. And if you provide enough entertainment, I am certain you can convince him to change his mind. Belial, take her.” Now he seemed breathless with excitement.
But Narcise wasn’t about to go quietly. For some reason, Cezar feared her, more than anything in the world, according to Sonia.
The thought gave her confidence she’d never had before.
She started toward her brother as Belial made a move to stop her.
She flung his hand off her arm, her eyes glowing red and hot. “Don’t touch me or I’ll kill you.”
Chas had moved at the same time, producing the short but lethal stake he’d hidden in the sole of his boot.
“Cezar, you promised me if she returned….” Belial whined, stepping back. “She owes me.”
“I did indeed,” Cezar mused slowly. “Perhaps I could accommodate your request tonight.”
Narcise stepped away from Belial, her heart thumping hard, and started across the chamber.
The made vampire didn’t worry her. It was the children in England she was concerned about.
And where was Giordan? “I’ve returned to you, brother.
You agreed to call off the invasion if I returned. Did you not miss me?”
Cezar’s eyes were pinned on her, and she saw both fear and admiration therein. His throat convulsed as he swallowed, his attention avid and palpable. She halted halfway across the chamber, unwilling to get close enough for him to grab her.
“I thought you wouldn’t return,” he said, his voice thready. “I thought I’d lost you forever. Narcise.”
“I’ve returned willingly,” she told him, watching him closely. “I trust that you’ll do as you promised.”
He nodded slowly. “Yes. Belial, take them to the dining room. Go with him,” he told Narcise, his eyes now intent. The craftiness there unsettled her…but she knew the risks.
She knew she wouldn’t leave here soon, but she would some day. She was armed with knowledge and intent, and she had friends outside of this subterranean hole who would come for her.
Thus, for now, despite the constant throbbing and burning of her Mark, reminding her that she was doing something selfless, she would be Cezar’s pet for just a little longer.
* * *
On her way to the dining room—the room where she had fought countless battles in front of the dais—she scented Giordan. So he was here. Or had been.
A little shiver ran over Narcise’s shoulders. What had Cezar done with him?
She hadn’t been able to dismiss Chas’s dire words.
If he was correct, Giordan’s actions had been a sacrifice beyond comprehension.
She knew what he’d suffered as a boy, in the dark alleys, at the hands of men…
but all along, when the worst had happened and she’d witnessed the hedonistic scene in Cezar’s chambers, she’d suspected Giordan of hiding his true self, his real desires.
Not so very different from Chas, who was revolted by her vampirism…but yet craved it, wanted her. He was reduced to begging her for the very thing that disgusted him.
It had all made sense to her—or so it had seemed at the time, and confirmed over the years. Giordan had really wanted Cezar all along, but could never admit it.
But Chas seemed so certain…and if Giordan truly wanted Cezar, why had he left Paris?
Narcise’s insides had been a muddle of nausea and self-recrimination during the entire trip from London, but now she must put that out of her mind. She had to be cunning and strong to survive whatever punishment her brother would mete out to her for running away.
Chas had insisted on coming with her, to her great dismay and impotent fury…yet part of her was relieved to have someone with her. She meant to use her influence with her brother to keep Chas from being imprisoned.
Knowing that she had influence was a nebulous thing…but it was probably the only reason she wasn’t engulfed in the flames of fury by Lucifer. The continued throbbing of the Mark was painful, but not unbearable.
Inside the dining room, Narcise found that nothing had changed since her escape…only four months ago.
Four months. It had seemed a lifetime, even for one who was immortal.
But a moment after she walked into the dining chamber accompanied by Belial, everything did change. Suddenly, there was a flurry of activity.
The next thing she knew, Cezar was there, standing on the dais behind the long table above her.
Next to him was Giordan, a stony expression on his face.
He was bare from the waist up and his sleek, tanned skin marred with bitemarks that made Narcise’s stomach turn.
Two of the marks still oozed, and she could scent his lifeblood.
She heard Chas hiss behind her, and suddenly they were separated by a clan of her brother’s men—Chas shoved and pulled away, held immobile by two vampirs, and three of the others surrounding her.
“Strip her,” commanded Cezar, his eyes glittering with delight.
The next thing she knew, they were tearing at her dress.
The flimsy muslin of her traveling gown ripped easily, and they flung the remnants away as they grabbed at her corset, yanking at the laces, jerking her body every which way as they tugged it loose.
She stumbled and fell, twisting as she tried to fight them off, and keep her balance.
One of the three finally caught her arms and pulled them up and away from her torso so that the others could loosen the laces and pull the corset, then Narcise’s light linen chemise, from her.
They allowed not even her drawers to remain, those loose light pantaloons that covered her from waist to knee.
That last bit of shield from avid eyes was yanked away by one of the makes as the other two held her arms out on either side.
When they were finished, all three stepped back, leaving her to stand there in the chamber completely nude.
Her skin was marked and scratched from the harsh scrape of the grommets and hard edging of her stays, along with sharp, rough fingernails, and her hair sagged from its anchor at the back of her neck—unable to be used for any sort of covering.
Cezar made a sharp gesture for one of his men to take her clothing away, and now he looked down at her with what could only be described as a vivacious smile on his face.
“There, now, my dear. That is much better. Not only was that the ugliest frock I’ve ever seene—even you couldn’t do it justice—but now we can all see what it is Belial will be fighting for. ”
Narcise leveled a cool look at him, hardly aware of her nudity. She’d been thus exposed many times in the past. “I suspect it will be nothing more than a distraction. Belial hasn’t a chance, and you know it. Are you certain you wish to lose your most faithful servant?”
Her brother looked at her for a moment, and her heart sank when she saw the crafty look that eased into his eyes. “Perhaps you are correct, Narcise. My confidence in your ability is profound, and, to my dismay, Belial hasn’t the skill to match you.”
Her heart was pounding hard now and she, foolishly, glanced at Giordan. Their eyes met and the terror she saw there nearly knocked her breathless. His face had gone white and stony, and for a moment, she thought he was going to faint.
But then her attention was drawn back to Cezar, who’d had a long, metal box brought onto the table in front of him.
With a sly glance at Giordan, and then a benevolent smile at Narcise, he said, “But you must be chilled by now, my lovely sister. And I haven’t properly welcomed you home.
I have something for you.” He started to lift the top.
“No.” Giordan’s voice was sharp and desperate. He slammed his hand onto the top of the box, clanging the metal top back into place. His voice was low and unsteady, and she could barely hear him say, “Anything else, Cezar. Name it.”
By now, Narcise’s heart had plunged to her knees, which trembled and threatened to buckle.
What was in the box? She glanced at Chas, who was held against the wall by one of the makes, and their eyes met.
But his gaze, instead of being wild with concern or fear, was wide and intense.
As if he were trying to tell her something.
Instead of being angry with Giordan for his outburst, Cezar seemed amused.
“My, you are free with your promises now Monsieur Cale. If only you’d been so accommodating a decade ago.
When it really mattered.” And yet, despite his cool words, he was gazing up at Giordan with such a baldly lustful expression that her own stomach lurched with revulsion.
Giordan’s face was shiny and hard and she swore she could hear…
or feel…the pounding of his own heart as he looked down at her brother.
Cezar murmured something that she couldn’t hear, but that turned Giordan’s face gray.
The marks on his skin stood out in sharp red-black relief against a suddenly ashen backdrop and his throat convulsed as he nodded. Once. Quickly and short.