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"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.
