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"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.
She rolled and pressed against him, jolting delicately when he slid his fangs into the soft side of her arm. The rush of her blood into his warm mouth, his slick tongue tasting the lifeblood was as pleasurable for her as sinking her fangs into his vein.
She tasted his salty skin, felt the racing and pounding of his pulse as it beat with her own. His eyes were closed, his face taut with relief as he drank-
Giordan abruptly pulled up, thrusting her arm away and lurching off the bed. He fumbled at the table, grabbing a small bowl from it just in time to vomit inside.
Narcise went still and cold. Did he hate her so much that he couldn't...
Slowly she eased away from the warm place on the bed, the last remnants of her pleasure evaporating, leaving her shaky and confused. His back was to her, that broad expanse with shifting muscles...and a Mark that had turned white. It covered his shoulder and down his back, smooth and light-as if he'd been tanned around it.
He looked up then, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand, and saw her. "Narcise," he said, reaching for her. "I'm sorry. It's not you-"
"It must be me," she whispered, her throat suddenly raw and dry. "You have no difficulty feeding on Rubey."
His fingers were surprisingly strong, and he kept her in place on the bed as he came back onto it. "No. I shouldn't have tried. I knew what would happen...but I can't resist you." His smile was forced and wavery, making her even more discomfited.
She blinked back tears, not even caring that she might appear weak. She was weak. Weak and foolish. And what she'd done was unforgivable.
You are the strongest person I've ever met, he'd said to her once.
That was before he'd really come to know her.
Giordan wouldn't release her hand. "After what happened...before...when I left, I was so dark and angry and-well, I went a little mad. I don't remember what I did, precisely, but it was violent and evil and black. I do remember waking in an alley, with no memory of anything but the realization that I didn't have you any longer-" He squeezed her fingers. "No, don't talk. You need to understand."
Narcise couldn't look at him, so she stared down at their joined hands: his dark, powerful one closed around her pale slender fingers.
"There was a cat," he said. "In the alley, and she blocked me in. I couldn't leave. And I stayed there as the sun rose, lost in that dark time-I can't describe how it was, but it was horrific. I tried to hide from the sunlight, but one part of me was exposed." He gestured to his shoulder, drawing her attention from their hands. "I saw a bright light, and this happened. I felt as if my insides...my soul...were battling. They were. The light won."
Narcise reached to touch the markings, certain that he was making the entire event seem much simpler than it had been. "Did you..." She shook her head. The white lines were no longer raised, nor was the texture any different than the rest of his skin. The change of color made the mark look almost beautiful, instead of ugly and malevolent.
"I was weak and beaten, and when I finally made my way home, I tried to feed. And every time I did..." He gestured to the bowl, an odd expression on his face. "That happened. At last, Drishni came to me and I was able to feed from her. Because she eats nothing brought to her through death or violence. Somehow, with my change, my body would no longer accept anything violent or evil. After that, I realized I was changing. In many ways."
"And so you can feed on Rubey?" she asked, knowing that her tone was stiff with hurt.
"She eats no meat. And she offers freely." His eyes searched hers. "But I don't love her."
Narcise turned away to hide the tears. What a fool she was. "And Luce?"
"He no longer owns me. Kritanu-an old Indian man who Dimitri sent after he learned about this-says that I've attained a level of moksha that most mortals can never reach. Because I'm immortal, still, Narcise. I still have forever."
So he wasn't like Dimitri and Voss. She frowned, her heart lightening just that bit. "You are no longer Dracule...but you aren't a mortal?"
He shook his head, his eyes steady. "I don't know what I am...but I know that I'm my own man once again. And that I have an eternity to learn what this change means. I hope... Narcise, will you stay with me?"
"But I'm Dracule," she replied. I can't love you.
"It doesn't matter, Narcise. I love you...and that will never change. I told you: it's only you. It's only ever been you."
"He has to die," Chas told Narcise sometime later. Much later, after she and Giordan had fully recovered in the privacy of the bedchamber. "That's why I came: to slay Cezar. Then you'll never have to worry about him again."
She nodded, imagining a life without her brother's dark shadow hovering over her. "But how can it be done? He's protected himself so well. You can't even put him on a guillotine."
"There is a way," Chas replied. His expression had been, and remained, emotionless-something that she'd come to notice since he'd rescued her from the feather cape.
When he thought she wasn't looking at him, however, she felt his eyes on her: heavy, filled with heartache.
The next day, Narcise walked into the dining chamber to watch the execution. The servants and made vampirs who'd lived with Cezar had either been slain by Chas or run off now that their master was a prisoner. There was no one left but the three of them and her brother.
Cezar was manacled to the high-backed chair, his arms and legs chained in place. He was also fettered at the hips so his torso wouldn't move, and a chain positioned his head and held it immobile against the back of the chair.
Narcise found the sight of her brother thus contained visually shocking-horrifying, really-and more than a bit unsettling to see a man who'd made her life so tormented now in such a crudely helpless condition.
