The Vampire Narcise (Regency Draculia #3)(29)
Author: Colleen Gleason

He’d forced her to wear it one time, merely, he said, to see if it would fit. Thank Luce it had only been for a few moments. Belial and Morderin had had to hold her upright while her brother draped it over her shoulders, for she not only had no strength to stand, but the pain was so excruciating, she felt as if her skin was burning off. She could hardly breathe when it was on her, and even when he’d first pulled it out of the lead chest, her body had gone numb and weak with paralysis.

Perhaps if she wore it long enough, she’d die. And perhaps that was why Cezar hadn’t yet employed it other than that time.

"Very well," she replied, forcing her voice to be strong.

He gave her a brief nod. "Excellent. And, now, of course, once you seduce the man, he’ll want to keep you."

She was relieved that her gaze had been downcast when he spoke, otherwise, she might have given away her feelings. "Don’t they always?" she muttered loudly enough for him to hear.

"They do," he replied. "But you might wish to stay with a man like Giordan Cale."

Again, she kept her eyes down, praying he wouldn’t feel the way her heart leaped in hope. They would be at Cale’s house tonight. Perhaps she might never have to leave.

"To ensure that you don’t find yourself convinced to stay," he continued smoothly, his lisp whistling more loudly again, "or if you don’t do precisely as I bid, I have a few reasons that might assist you in complying with my desires."

Her heart swelled with dread and now she looked up at him, certain that naked fear and loathing showed in her eyes. "You are pure evil," she said even as he gestured to the curtained window on the opposite end of the room.

"All Dracule are evil at heart, darling Narcise," he reminded her. "After all, we wouldn’t be Dracule if we weren’t self-serving and greedy. Please. Open it and see."

She stood on shaking knees, her belly swishing with nausea. The curtains covered a window that led not to the outside, of course, for they were underground, but that gave visible access to the next chamber. She was fairly certain what she would find when she opened the drapes.

But she had to be certain; she had to know what he would use to bind her to him this time. The heavy drapes swished open and she only needed a quick glance to see what was there. "Lucifer’s dark soul," she whispered when she saw the children.

"One of them is a prince," her brother told her proudly. "Or a comte or something of that nature. The royals are desperate to save their children from the guillotine, and will do anything to protect them-including pay for their safe passage to Romania."

There were a dozen or more, of all ages from toddler to young teen. Mercifully all were sleeping-drugged, she assumed-which explained why she hadn’t heard cries or shouts from the next room. "That’s where you were," she said, her voice still low, but now it was shaking. "When you claimed you went to Marseilles."

He nodded, tapping his fingernail against his glass again. "I’ll take one for every hour that you disobey me, or that you are gone," he said. "They’ll be awake and aware, and know everything that’s happening to them. I’ll even let the others watch in anticipation."

"And if I comply? Will you release them?"

His brows lifted as one M-shaped line. "But of course not. I went through considerable trouble to obtain them. However, if you comply with my wishes and commands, I will leave them asleep until I am in need. They’ll never wake from their drug-induced state, and feel nothing when I feed." His eyes danced. "I confess I rather prefer that option, for to feed whilst the young ones fight and cry is rather upsetting to the digestion and detracts from the moment. But if their blood is laced with the opium of sleep, it’s all that more pleasurable for all of us. The choice is up to you, my dear sister."

Narcise felt unfamiliar tears gather at the corners of her eyes. Only Lucifer could be more black-hearted, more evil than the man sitting across from her. And yet…she remembered him when he was a boy, playful and yet awkward-only five years older than she. He’d played with her, plaited her hair, helped her care for her dolls, took her for long walks to pick the rare flowers that grew in the mountains. And then when he turned twelve or thirteen, everything changed.

"What has happened to you, Cezar?" she burst out. "How could you have changed so? You used to dote on me, and I was no different than the little girls in there. Now you would bleed them to death."

"We will leave at half past eight. Wear the black dress," he told her, his eyes cold.

"I have no black dress," she replied, turning from the window as she pulled the drapes closed. Black was for widows or mourning, and as often as she felt dark and drab, it wasn’t a color she wore. Although perhaps after tonight…

"You do," he said, and gestured to a large white box. "And when you are ready to leave, attend me, dear sister. For I have a new piece of jewelry for you."

Giordan wasn’t surprised when he received word that Moldavi and his sister would be accepting his invitation for that evening. He’d waited until the day after Moldavi returned from his travels and then extended the invitation under the guise of welcoming him back.

Interestingly enough, although he hadn’t specifically invited Narcise, the response had indicated that she would attend as well.

He sat thoughtfully, awaiting his guests’ arrival, pondering the next step in this imaginary chess game with Moldavi. Perhaps tonight, at last, he could somehow extricate Narcise from beneath her brother’s thumb, stealing her away forever. After all, how could Moldavi stop him, in his own house?

Tomorrow, perhaps tomorrow morning, he would slide into bed next to the woman he loved.

Less than an hour later, Narcise entered Giordan’s private parlor on her brother’s arm. He sensed her presence even before Mingo announced the Moldavi siblings, and allowed his conversation with Voss and Eddersley to trail off.

When Giordan turned and saw her face, he knew immediately that something was wrong. That knowledge was closely followed by the shock of attraction and desire that assaulted him when her brother removed her cloak, revealing her gown.

Merde.

The chamber had gone silent and all eyes focused on Narcise. Giordan tore his gaze away, his mouth dry, fury pumping through his body, tightening his fingers, and he glanced at Cezar Moldavi. The man had a tight smirk on his face, and he was looking directly at him.

Take care. The warning was to himself and served as a mantra to control his reaction. He met the man’s eyes briefly, forcing himself to keep his expression blank and certain he failed, then lifted his glass.