But as he turned, he saw her, lying on her side on the bed next to him. And with that sight came the rush of memories—some strident and clear, others murky and hot and red.
But first, before he tried to make sense of what was real and what had been dreams…he just looked. Such beauty, such exquisite beauty was breathtaking. Even in repose, she appeared unimaginably lovely.
Her cheek, perfectly ivory, without a flaw, rested on hands folded as if in prayer—an irony in and of itself. The position caused her already full, sensual lips to plump out even more enticingly, and an endearing pudge to her face. Her eyes were closed of course, but that was one thing he remembered clearly: the intense blue-violet color in them, ringed with black, flecked with dark colors.
Long, shiny hair, the color of coal, clung to her face and throat, tumbling into a pool on the bed between them. He reached over and touched it to see if it was as silky as it appeared. It was.
He could see the shadow of her breasts where they showed through a low neckline of the chemise she was wearing, the curve of them as they bunched up against the mattress. A ripple of attraction seized his belly, but he ignored it.
This was Narcise Moldavi.
He was in bed with a vampir—and one he’d meant to kill, at least at some point.
Chas sat up gingerly, noting that Narcise slept on the side of the bed farthest from where the sun would stream through the window, and felt the remnants of aches and pains throughout his body. His naked body.
With that realization of pain, more details came filtering back…Cezar Moldavi and his metal spikes and the burning poker…the fencing match between him and Narcise…the smoke packets that had worked almost as well as they had during their trials…perhaps they’d gotten a bit damp during the trip across the Channel.
Things were murky after that. He remembered everything being slow and dark and red, of pain and agony with every movement, the world tilting and spinning. There were times of running, stumbling along as if forever and ever…up some stairs…
Here. Into this chamber.
There things turned darker and hotter, and memory confused with dreams and nightmares. He closed his eyes and saw an image of Narcise, rising naked and glistening from a bath…there, in the corner…of her with eyes red-gold and hot, her fangs long and white and lethal…blood…there was blood and pain, and he had an image of her on top of someone, tearing into him…
Narcise stirred next to him and then she opened her eyes.
When she saw that he was awake, she sat up abruptly. “You’re alive.” Her eyes were wide with shock and happiness, making her even more beautiful with her dark hair swirling about her shoulders against a thin white shift.
Chas felt another loosening inside his belly, deep and fluttery. She was right there, she was lovely and sensual and they were alone. He wasn’t so weak that he couldn’t reach over, pull her to him—
He closed his mind to the temptation. She was a vampir. She’d coerce, coax, lull…seduce him…drag him into the Devil’s dark world.
“I don’t remember much,” he said.
“You nearly died,” she said. “From an infection. The doctor came, more than once, but he wasn’t certain if you’d live.”
Chas sank down onto his back, remembering even more. The screaming pain on his side, the cool, quick hands administering to his wounds, the haze of heat and confusion that followed, Narcise… He stopped his thoughts, afraid of where they were about to lead. It was impossible not to be attracted to her.
He tightened his lips. That was Lucifer’s game, wasn’t it? She was irresistible for a reason.
“What day is it? How long have I—we—been here?” he asked instead.
“Nearly a week,” she told him.
“A week?” Shock and concern almost had him sitting up again. “It’s been a week since we left your brother?”
Narcise nodded.
Good Christ, Corvindale was going to be furious. Surely by now Maia had followed instructions—reluctantly of course—and contacted him about Chas’s disappearance.
He turned his gaze back to hers. “You stayed here with me?” he asked.
“Of course. I wasn’t going to let you die.” She frowned irritably. “I’m not my brother.”
An image of Narcise, bending over him, her slender hands on his skin, flashed into his mind with sudden clarity. Bending over him, near his—
Despite his lingering weakness and the raw pounding in his head, he sat up abruptly, yanking the coverings away from his right hip, knowing what he would find….
“What have you done to me?” he demanded, staring at the four neat little marks on his flesh. Repugnance and fury rushed over him as his belly tightened and fluttered. He stared at her, not trying to hide his revulsion. “You dared?”
Her eyes had widened again, then returned to normal. She tightened her full lips and lifted her chin defiantly. “The infected wound wasn’t healing, and the doctor could do nothing more for you. There is something in the saliva of a Dracule that promotes healing, and so I thought to help you by applying it.”
Chas heard what she was saying, but it took a moment for her meaning to penetrate the fury. “There are bitemarks,” he said, still angry…feeling violated and unsettled, particularly by the sordid image that went along with the knowledge. Narcise, bending to him…her sensual lips closing intimately over his skin, the pain of penetration, but the release from swollen veins…nausea mixed with that shiver of lust, deep in his belly, and Chas swallowed hard.
This is what they do. They enthrall. And lure.
“I hoped that drawing out the poison, whatever was infecting you, removing it from your body, would help, along with my saliva. Whatever it was, it worked to keep you alive.”
He looked away, his heart beating too hard, his fingers curling into the blanket. “I’m finding it difficult to be grateful,” he managed to say. “But I suppose I must be.”
She’d withdrawn from the bed in the face of his blatant anger, and now she looked at him from where she stood on the other side. “At least you’re honest,” she replied, and turned her back to him.
As he watched, at once struck by the intimacy of sharing this space with a woman he mistrusted, reviled and yet desired, she began to braid the inky waterfall of her hair.
“Did you enthrall me?” he asked, lifting his head, still on edge and furious as he watched her slender shoulders and the delicate edge of her shoulder blades through the thin chemise. She had sleek and elegantly muscled arms, unlike any he’d ever seen on a woman, and he could see the roundness of her buttocks, the curve of her hips. He hated that he wanted her, that his body was changing and responding to her mere presence.
Narcise had stilled at his question, then turned slowly back to face him…so slowly, it was as if she were in agony. “Did I enthrall a helpless man? An unwilling one?” Her deep blue eyes were both fierce with rage and awash with pain. “If you knew what I’ve lived through, how I’ve been violated over decades of captivity, you would never have asked such a question.”
Chas felt as if he’d been struck, and he let his head fall back onto the pillow. Mortification and shame warred with that lingering revulsion and distrust, and he stared at the ceiling, utterly aware of her, knowing he’d wounded her deeply…asking himself why he cared.
She was a vampir. A handmaiden of the Devil. One of a race who preyed on living creatures and took from them, who’d given their souls for immortality, power, money…vanity. The very act of their feeding was an inherent violation of life and liberty. They were conscienceless, depraved, self-centered creatures, with Corvindale being the only real exception he had encountered—the only one who didn’t find it agreeable to feed on living humans.