"Very well," she acceded. Her gaze settled on him and he recognized a tinge of fear...and something softening her eyes.
His heart tripped and a wave of desire and uncertainty rushed over him. He would come back. But would she still be here?
Chas dropped his satchel and went to her, striding across the room and pushing her back against the rough wall. He took her mouth, covering her lips with his in a deep, needy kiss.
Sweet and warm and lush, she melted against him, her fingers cupping the back of his head, pulling him down into her. Chas closed his eyes, memorizing her, feeling every curve and rise of her body printed against his. I love you.
"Be safe," she breathed as he pulled away to catch a breath, staggered by the force of his emotions. "Come back to me." She reached up to touch his face, her fingers gentle along his jaw, brushing his hair back.
A ripple of fear shimmered in his middle. "I'm in love with you, Narcise. Make no mistake...I'll return. But..." he said, all at once knowing what he had to do. Knowing he had to take the chance. He had to know. "While I'm gone, you have other things to attend to."
Narcise blinked, her eyes wary and confused.
"Do what you must do," he said steadily, trying not to think of what could happen, "to let go of the past. Otherwise..." His lips tightened. "I love you, but I won't wait for you to come to love me."
No. She had to free her heart from whatever kept it locked up, away from him. And then...somehow, he'd figure out a way for them to be together.
A vampire hunter and an immortal woman with a warped soul.
As he caught up his satchel and swept from the chamber, her last words followed him. "I can't lose you, Chas." She wouldn't.
But how would he go on if he lost her?
~ III ~
Life
Chapter 17
September 1804
Narcise stared out the carriage window. The rough, craggy hills of Scotland had long given way to the more rolling familiar green ones of England, and now that she and Chas were nearing London, the land had flattened even more.
The roads were crowded now, straight, and lined with rows of houses...and the smells! Even if she'd not been peering from the window, Narcise would have known they were approaching the city, for the air was filled with all of the aromas and odors-pleasant and otherwise-that came with it.
Angled back from the dangerous sunlight that still managed to filter through a blanket of clouds, Narcise settled in the corner of the carriage and watched the slices of life from her restricted vantage point.
So many things had happened since her arrival in London, and that unsettling night at Dimitri's home, that she could hardly conceive of it all.
The fact that she'd seen Giordan was only the least of it...or that was what she tried to tell herself when she woke, damp and warm, from unwanted dreams.
And dark nightmares. Narcise's insides tightened.
She glanced at Chas, grateful for a distraction. He looked almost angelic-an odd thought, to be sure, about a man who lived a life of such violence, always hunting, always killing-with the waves of his dark hair swirling around a face slack with repose. His lips were full and sensual, and his nose, straight and prominent beneath eyes fringed with heavy dark lashes.
He'd been to Paris and back since that night he'd left her in the old monastery ruins. Angelica was safely returned to London, and to the surprise of everyone, Voss had been instrumental in the girl's release. Yet, because Voss had already freed Angelica by the time Chas had found them, Cezar still lived safely in the bowels of Paris. Chas had brought his sister safely back to London, but meanwhile, he was even more determined to find a way to kill Cezar.
And now, something inconceivable had happened.
Voss and Angelica were to wed...and Voss had done the impossible: he'd somehow thrown off the bonds of his covenant with Lucifer. He was mortal and man once again, and it was only because of this change that Chas had agreed to give his permission for them to wed.
Now, he stirred, shifting, his heavy boots brushing the hem of her skirts where they mingled about her feet at the bottom of the carriage. Since all of this had happened, Narcise had seen the hunger in his eyes, the desperation and hope that somehow, something might change for her.
That she, too, might shed her allegiance to the Devil and become a mortal woman that he could love without reserve.
For, since his return from Paris, Chas had changed as well. The pain was deeper in his eyes, grooved more sharply at the corners of his mouth, and she could fairly feel the battle he fought with himself as he came to her. He loved her, of that she was certain, but he still hated himself for it.
And, of course, love was not only as long as one's lifetime, but also a concept of selflessness...something that, still, a Dracule like Narcise couldn't fully embrace. Chas seemed even more fully aware of that than ever.
And as if he knew he'd lost a battle, but was determined to win the war by maintaining his hold, Lucifer had raged in her mind and in her body. Her Mark blazed and roiled with his fury and control, reminding her that there was no way out.
At least for her.
She hadn't even been able to leave the carriage when she and Chas reached St. Bridie's-the convent school deep in rugged Scotland where his youngest sister Sonia lived. The religious symbols and holy presence were too much for her, a woman who bore the Mark of the Devil, and she was forced to wait while Chas went inside.
There'd been those religious markings throughout the monastery cellar where Chas had left her while he went to Paris. They'd formed a safe barrier against any immortal finding his or her way into the old safe haven.
But what haunted Narcise, what she tried to banish from her thoughts, was the fact that somehow, Giordan had not only found her there...but he'd come into the chamber by crossing that barrier only hours after Chas had left.
She'd met him at the door, saber in hand, heart racing madly out of control.
"Woodmore sent me," Giordan had claimed coolly. "He indicated there was something I was to retrieve. Now that I've arrived, I can only presume he meant you."
"Certainly not," Narcise had replied, trying to keep her breathing steady. She'd cut his hand with her saber-or, rather, he'd sliced his palm open when he yanked her blade away. And his bloodscent filled the air. Her fangs threatened to shoot free. Her knees felt as if they were about to give way. "I'm to stay here-perfectly safe-until his return with Angelica."
"And if he doesn't return?" Giordan had walked across the floor to wipe the blood from his wound. Slowly. So slowly, as if to allow her plenty of time to inhale his scent...to watch his body with its sleek, confident movements. He seemed to fill the room.