The Vampire Narcise (Regency Draculia #3)(82)
Author: Colleen Gleason

He didn’t look at her as they pulled him past, but as they went by, Narcise smelled him, felt him, so close as he came by…and then she saw Giordan’s back.

She gasped and stared, hardly noticing as Belial came up to where she stood, held in place by two strong men, and slid his palm under one of her br**sts.

Giordan’s Mark was…white.

The corded, rootlike brand was no longer black, no longer full and pulsing and throbbing…or even merely dark lines…but it was white. Nothing more than a scar…as if it had been burned away.

What did that mean? What had happened?

But she had no time to think on it, for, as Giordan was strung up by his arms on the wall, she felt her own body turn slow and sluggish. The feathers.

Narcise turned to look, and the men holding her dropped her arms as finally she saw what Cezar was pulling from the box. Even Belial had stepped away, as if unable to stay near her for this.

She couldn’t breathe, for she recognized it.

It was the cape…made only of feathers. Rows and rows of soft, light, brown…burning…feathers.

Now her breathing came fast and hard, shallow with panic as Cezar flung the cape out with a flourish, as if to shake off any dust or wrinkles. If that touched her… If he wrapped her in it… The room tilted, turning dark and off-center, and her knees nearly gave away.

"No," she whispered as her brother stepped down from the dais, sauntering toward her as if about to present her with a most precious gift.

"Stop!" The desperation in Giordan’s cry penetrated even Narcise’s terror and pain. "No. Don’t…do…it."

"By Lucifer," Cezar said, pausing, his face hard and foxlike as he looked over. "If I had known how deep your attachment was, Giordan, I would have asked for a month instead of three nights."

"Please," he breathed, his voice a low, rough rumble. His eyes shone with misery and desolation. "Whatever you want."

Narcise could hardly think. Her limbs were heavy as boulders, her lungs as tight as if they were being crushed by the very same thing. Pain from the proximity of the feathers added to the paralysis, and she could feel them as their presence wafted through the chamber…but somehow, through it all, Giordan’s words, his intent, penetrated.

It humbled her, weakening her even more than the feathers.

She gathered every bit of strength she could muster and said his name. "Giordan."

And when she did, she put every bit of apology and shame and humility in those syllables as she could.

He looked at her then, and she felt the strength of his love and devotion for her travel across the chamber, through the pain and sluggishness.

And then she could no longer breathe. Cezar was there in front of her, his face a cold, tight mask, and with a flick of his wrist, the feathers were wafting down over her shoulders in a smothering blanket.

Narcise tried to smother the scream of agony, but even Luce’s most furious blaze through her Mark was nothing compared to this. Shaking uncontrollably, she started to collapse as the soft brush of the burning feathers encapsulated her, and someone caught her on each side, holding her erect.

The pain was so great that she couldn’t gasp or breathe or feel… She tumbled into a vortex of mad sensation: the softness of each feather, branding into her skin, the insubstantial weight pulling her down.

Vaguely she was aware of being held upright, and hands on her flesh…molding over her br**sts and hips…the smell of lust and perspiration, heavy and cloying…some shadowy, indistinct dampness, heat, pressure…

Then, in her dreamlike paralysis, she was aware of being moved: the brush of her feet against the stone floor, the change of position as she went from vertical to horizontal…something hard beneath her, pressing the cape of feathers even more deeply against her skin.

She was aware of crying out, perhaps screaming…but she hardly had the breath to do so. A mouth was on her, hands, a body shoving against her, questing and invading…the shift as the feathers were pulled away from one of her shoulders and that pain was replaced by the sharp penetration of fangs.

And then, suddenly, nothing.

Chapter 21

When Chas was dragged out of the chamber, away from Narcise and Giordan, he realized he was being given a miracle-just like that day when the cat had run into the street and caused the accident which allowed him to sneak into Moldavi’s home the first time.

He still had his stake, now hidden in his sleeve during the walk to the dining chamber with Belial…and he was certain he’d be able to take at least one of his two captors by surprise.

As he faked a stumble, a quick flick of the wrist slid the weapon into his hand and loosened the guard’s grip on one side of him. When he righted himself and came back up, it was with the point of the stake ready. It found its mark with the same ease and power it always did, and he breathed a silent thanks.

By the time the other guard realized what happened, Chas had him slammed face-first against the wall, the stake at his back. "Get me out of here," he said. "I want the way outside."

He had to get out of the place so that he could come back in and free Narcise. And he knew exactly how to do that, what he needed to find…for it had all suddenly become clear to him.

He’d figured out Cezar’s Asthenia.

As he was observing everything that happened, from the time he and Narcise entered her brother’s chambers, and his reaction to her presence, Chas suspected there was something wrong. Moldavi had seemed so pleased to see them…until they walked into the chamber.

Then, he’d ordered them out almost instantly. "Take my sister to the dining chamber," he’d told Belial.

And every time Narcise moved closer, Moldavi had slowed and changed. His breathing, his voice, even his body had tensed. He’d tried to hide it, but Chas was used to watching for the signs of weakness from the prey he hunted.

But Chas still didn’t completely figure it out until they got to the larger chamber…that, he realized later, gave Moldavi a larger space in which to be confined with his Asthenia. And he’d had Narcise stripped immediately…and her clothing taken from the chamber.

Why would he do that unless there was something he needed to get out of the place? Without, of course, anyone realizing it.

And that was when it all crystallized for Chas. The vision Sonia had seen had Narcise in it, and it was clear that Cezar had some mixture of fear and admiration for his sister…but she was also holding an ivory fan.

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.