The Vampire Dimitri (Regency Draculia #2)(42)
Author: Colleen Gleason

“You know better than that. Last time you were with me and he was searching for you—”

“But he didn’t know I was with you—at least at first.

Chas…” Her voice trailed off. She knew she was being awful and selfish—wasn’t that part of her Dracule nature?—but if she lost Chas, she didn’t know what she’d do. He was the only one she trusted to keep her safe.

The only one, she told herself firmly when her resolve wavered.

“Oh, Cezar would see me. You know that for certain.

He’d be delighted to welcome me back into his lair.”

Dark fear seized her. He was right. Chas would have no problem getting in to see her brother. It was the getting out that would be impossible. “Chas, please.” She hated that she begged; she’d given that up long ago.

“Don’t insult me by implying your brother is more than a match for me,” he said, his voice a little flat. “You know what I’m capable of. And if we knew what his Asthenia was, I’d have brought it to him long ago.”

Narcise tried to believe Chas. She wanted to believe him; and much of what he said rang true. After all, it had been her fault Cezar captured Chas before they made their escape.

But as was the case for anyone who had been at the mercy of or tortured by another, it was hard to dismiss the sense of omnipotence that the captor inflicted upon the victim. And Cezar had done a good job of it over the course of decades.

“You’ll be safe here, Narcise,” Chas said, gesturing to the stone walls. “He won’t find you, and then when I get back we’ll go to Wales.”

They were in the cellar beneath the ruins of a former monastery in London, accessible through an old wall in a cemetery. All of the religious articles except around the building’s perimeter had been taken away, and those that remained were partly covered by moss and lichen. That made it uncomfortable and more than a little painful for her to come into the space, and Chas had to nearly carry her in, but that was only until she crossed the threshold and closed the lead-filled door behind her. Then the pain was gone and she could be comfortable.

In fact, the chamber was rather luxurious, with a large bed, trunks, a table and chairs, and even a row of small venting windows to allow fresh air and filtered light into the space. Boxwood grew up and around the windows, which were at ground level, keeping the dangerous sun from streaming through directly. A thick rug covered the concrete floor, and a tapestry hung on one wall.

Chas had discovered the place as a haven for a group of made vampires when he was hunting some years ago, and chased them all away. Those who escaped the point of his stake didn’t dare return, for he was fast and fierce. Aside of the physical attributes, he somehow had the innate ability to sense the presence of a Dracule. Even those of the Draculia couldn’t recognize the mere presence of another, and they certainly couldn’t identify the arrival of a vampire hunter like Chas. In combination with his speed and strength, which was nearly a match for any vampire, this ability made Chas Woodmore both feared and respected among the Dracule.

“Very well,” she said, knowing she sounded a bit petulant. It was just that she’d hoped and planned and attempted to escape from her brother for more than a hundred years, and now that she’d finally done so, with Chas’s assistance, she was terrified that her freedom would be taken away from her.

That Cezar would somehow find them. Or her. Or Chas.

Damned or no, she would never allow herself back with Cezar. She’d wrap herself in those painful brown sparrow feathers and jump from a tower into the sunshine before allowing him to touch her again.

Or his friends.

Freedom was glorious.

Chas looked at her from across the chamber, hesitated, as if trying to make up his mind, and then strode over to her. The next thing Narcise knew, she was flattened up against the cool stone wall, his hands on her face, his mouth crashing onto hers.

She closed her eyes and kissed him back, their mouths molding and smashing together, tongues fighting and sliding. Her hands curled around his skull, fingers digging up into his thick, black hair as he pressed her into the wall as if to leave the imprint of his body on hers.

“Be safe,” she managed to say as he pulled away to catch a breath. “Come back to me.”

“I’m in love with you, Narcise,” he said, looking down at her with glittering green-brown eyes. He bent to brush a softer, farewell kiss against her throbbing mouth. “Make no mistake…I’ll return. But,” he said, stepping away, his face settling into something firm and serious. “While I’m gone, you have other things to attend to.”

Narcise blinked, trying to pull herself out of the gentle, warm haze he’d caused to rise in her, to focus on him.

“Do what you must do,” he said steadily, “to get beyond the past. Otherwise…” He shook his head, his mouth hard. “I love you, but I won’t wait for you to come to love me.”

But I do love you. The words didn’t come, though she wanted them to. She knew they would be a lie. Dracule didn’t—couldn’t—love anyone but themselves. She’d made that mistake once before. “I can’t lose you, Chas.”

But he’d turned and swept from the room.

“Mr. Alexander Bradington has sent a message for you.”

Maia froze, her hand holding the teacup halfway to her mouth. Her insides dropped, her face warmed, and she felt a rush of nausea replace the confusion that had been churning through her since returning early this morning. In the carriage with Corvindale.

She looked over to see the earl’s butler in the entrance to the breakfast room, holding a small tray with a card on it.

Maia forced herself to wait until he brought it over to her, calmly replacing the teacup in its saucer. Then, as no one else was present at the table or in the room, she broke the seal and unfolded the card.

Darling Maia (if I may), it read, I returned last night from my travels. I should like to call on you at two o’clock this afternoon. Please advise if you will receive me then. Alexander.

Relief exploded in her belly. Surely he wouldn’t call her darling” if he were going to break the engagement or had otherwise changed his mind. Would he?

Maia read the note again, concentrating on the words written therein and trying to glean any other sense or emotion from them. The phrasing was correct and polite, which was nothing more or different than she’d expect from him.

Alexander was the consummate gentleman. It was the proper thing to do—to ensure that she was dressed and at home and prepared to see him. Even after his eighteen-month absence, he was so very considerate. Instead of rushing to see her at the earliest opportunity and interrupting her breakfast, he gave her notice of his intention. A proper gentleman.