Колин Глисон - The Vampire Narcise

And in her clothing, she had been wearing a corset…with the ivory busk that Chas had given her. It was ivory . Moldavi’s Asthenia was ivory.

The next thing Narcise was aware of was Chas’s face, dark and frightened and furious, looking down at her.

“My God, Narcise,” he said, touching her cheeks as he gathered her into his arms, his eyes glistening. “I came as fast as I could. Can you… Are you… Holy Mother of God… Narcise.”

The feathers had disappeared…the pain was gone…the paralysis and heaviness had eased. Her body throbbed in places, and was numb in others…but she could breathe. And think. And remember.

She struggled to sit up, extricating herself from him. “Giordan,” she breathed, looking around frantically. Had she lost her chance? Had she lost him again?

Chas’s face changed and he stepped back so that she could see the tanned body, sagging against the wall, arms straight above his head. Giordan’s face was half-lifted, his glittering eyes scoring her, and as their gazes met, she saw wild relief in his.

She slid off the table upon which she lay, her knees wobbly and the room spinning. Something wet oozed from her shoulder, and there was blood and dampness in other places. Her arms hurt, her back felt as if it had been seared. She saw Belial’s body sprawled on the stone floor. His head lay in a pool of dark red blood, its putrid scent nauseating, nearby.

Chas caught her arm as she began to sink to the ground, and said, “Stay here. I’ll see to him.” His words were as taut and short as his movements, and Narcise felt a wave of remorse as she realized his pain.

She watched as he released Giordan, saw the way he sagged and pitched forward when Chas cut him free from the bonds that had held him upright, and she had to move from the table to meet him. Already, the weakness was ebbing, her legs were stronger, her mind clearer.

She looked around the chamber, and for the first time, she saw more bodies—dead, vampir bodies…and then she saw her brother.

He was sitting in a chair on the dais, tied to his seat, surrounded by slender white items.

He wasn’t dead…but he wasn’t moving.

All at once, she had Giordan in her arms, his heavy, solid body, warm and welcome, sliding against her—and it was all she could do not to collapse into shameful tears.

How much time had she missed? How much had she lost? She’d been so wrapped up in herself, in her center…

“I’ll take care of things in here,” Chas said, turning from them. “See to him. I think he’s—he needs…” His voice trailed away and he walked off with jerky steps.

“I’m well,” Giordan muttered into her hair, but his arm was tight around her, and he leaned against her too heavily to be “well.”

She smelled scents on him that she didn’t care to identify, and, blinking back angry, horrified tears, she helped him out of the ugly chamber without a glance at her brother.

She knew where to go, and took him back to her own private apartments. A niggle of guilt bothered her as she left Chas behind, and she promised herself she’d go back to him as soon as she got Giordan settled.

But he was weak, with an ashen cast to his rich, golden skin, and she knew he’d need to feed before he recovered his strength. How much blood had Cezar taken from him? Had there been others who’d fed as well?

What else had happened?

The smells and marks on his body told her more than she wanted to know, and Narcise blocked her mind from thinking about it or imagining it, remembering the shiny gray color to his face. He was safe now. Cezar wouldn’t bother him…or either of them…again.

When she eased him onto the bed in her old chamber, Giordan didn’t release her, and she tumbled down with him, their legs bumping and sliding awkwardly together. Bare skin to bare skin, her breasts pressed up against his torso, his warm arms loose around her waist.

“Narcise,” he murmured, his lips moving against her hair again, “is it really you? Have you come back to me?”

“Giordan,” she replied, pulling away to look down at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know what to… I know that I can’t say anything to change what happened, to make amends for it…but…I’m so sorry. I didn’t understand. I didn’t—” Her voice broke at the end and despair took over. How could he ever forgive her? “So…sorry.”

The Mark on her back shot a renewed blast of pain—or maybe it had never stopped doing so—but whatever the case, she felt it.

And along with the shock of hurt came an unlikely sense of satisfaction. If Lucifer disapproved, then there was something good about it.

And it had all ceased being just about her some time ago.

“Shh,” he said. “Don’t…say anything.”

“Are you hurt? What can I…”

He covered her mouth with his, his lips warm and firm, fitting over hers with a softness that made her want to weep. His hands glided up her unclothed body, gentle and yet possessive.

“Belial,” he said, pulling away suddenly, his face hardening. “He—”

“He’s dead,” she replied. “Chas…” She shook her head and pressed her swollen lips together.

“I would have killed him myself. Watching him—” His voice trailed off and he looked at her, his brown-blue eyes deep and filled with grief. “I knew what Cezar was going to do. I tried to stop him, Narcise.”

“By Fate, I know you did,” she replied wildly, consumed by her own guilt and shame. “Giordan, there was nothing you could have done—”

“I would have done anything—”

“But you already did ,” she wept. “You already did . And I didn’t see it. I was too… I didn’t, I couldn’t , understand…what you’d done.”

He gathered her close, but she could feel the trembling and weakness in his powerful arms. She pressed a kiss over one of the wounds on his shoulder, tasting the remnant of luscious, warm, clean lifeblood. Desire and affection rushed over her, and he shivered beneath her lips.

“You need to feed,” she told him, pulling away, putting aside her own needs and desires. “You can hardly lift your arms.”

“No,” he murmured. “I only need you, Narcise. I never thought—”

“Please, Giordan. Allow me.” She raised her arm and offered it to him, at the same time as she admired the smooth planes of his chest, dusted lightly with dark hair. “Just as you did for me.”

He shook his head. “I can’t. Narcise. I can’t.” He turned his face away, his mouth tight, his nostrils flaring as if he drew in her scent, but tried to force it away at the same time.

Something sharp and hard stabbed her in the heart. He’d fed on Rubey. She knew he had…she’d scented and smelled the proof.

If he loved her, why would he not take what she offered? Her heart thumping, an uneasy churning in her insides, she looked for something to cut her skin…just as he had, when she’d demurred his same offering, ten years ago.

A lifetime for some. But just a flash in the life of a Dracule.

“Please,” she said, wanting to help him, and at the same time, wanting to erase the remnants of Belial that had been imprinted on her.

She raked her arm over the corner of her bedside table, and it did enough: leaving a slender red line that burst into shiny pearls of lifeblood.

“Narcise.” He sucked in his breath and she put her arm there…but even then, he turned away. “I can’t. You don’t understand…I’ve changed. I can’t.”

But then he shuddered, deep in his middle as he pulled in a breath. His belly and torso flinched against hers, and all at once his mouth was on her…closing around her arm.

His tongue slid along the slender wound, leaving a moist, hot trail in its wake, and Narcise’s desire blossomed fully inside her, shooting low and deep.