Chas had insisted on coming with her, to her great dismay and impotent fury...yet part of her was relieved to have someone with her. She meant to use her influence with her brother to keep Chas from being imprisoned.
Knowing that she had influence was a nebulous thing...but it was probably the only reason she wasn't engulfed in the flames of fury by Lucifer. The continued throbbing of the Mark was painful, but not unbearable.
Inside the dining room, Narcise found that nothing had changed since her escape...only four months ago.
Four months. It had seemed a lifetime, even for one who was immortal.
But a moment after she walked into the dining chamber accompanied by Belial, everything did change. Suddenly there was a flurry of activity.
The next thing she knew, Cezar was there, standing on the dais behind the long table above her. Next to him was Giordan, a stony expression on his face. He was bare from the waist up and his sleek, tanned skin was marred with bitemarks that made Narcise's stomach turn. Two of the marks still oozed, and she could scent his lifeblood.
She heard Chas hiss behind her, and suddenly they were separated by a clan of her brother's men-Chas shoved and pulled away, held immobile by two vampirs, and three of the others surrounding her.
"My darling sister, I have a confession to make," he said. "I do hope you aren't too upset about it, but the truth is, Bonaparte is much too busy with his coronation to actually consider invading England. As I'd hoped, you took the bait."
Narcise tried to pull away from the two men holding her, but they were just as strong as she was. "I should have known better than to trust you," she spat.
"I could still send my army, if it would make you feel better about it all," he added. Then, when she gave him no further response, he commanded, "Strip her." His eyes glittered with delight.
The next thing she knew, they were tearing at her dress. The flimsy muslin of her traveling gown ripped easily, and they flung the remnants away as they grabbed at her corset, yanking at the laces, jerking her body every which way as they tugged it loose. She stumbled and fell, twisting as she tried to fight them off, and keep her balance. One of the three finally caught her arms and pulled them up and away from her torso so that the others could loosen the laces and pull the corset, then Narcise's light linen chemise, from her.
They allowed not even her drawers to remain, those loose, light pantaloons that covered her from waist to knee. That last bit of shield from avid eyes was yanked away by one of the makes as the other two held her arms out on either side. When they were finished, all three stepped back, leaving her to stand there in the chamber completely nude. Her skin was marked and scratched from the harsh scrape of the grommets and hard edging of her stays, along with sharp, rough fingernails, and her hair sagged from its anchor at the back of her neck-unable to be used for any sort of covering.
Cezar made a sharp gesture for one of his men to take her clothing away, and now he looked down at her with what could only be described as a vivacious smile on his face. "There, now, my dear. That is much better. Not only was that the ugliest frock I've ever seen-even you couldn't do it justice-but now we can all see what it is Belial will be fighting for."
Narcise leveled a cool look at him, hardly aware of her nudity. She'd been thus exposed many times in the past. "I suspect it will be nothing more than a distraction. Belial hasn't a chance, and you know it. Are you certain you wish to lose your most faithful servant?"
Her brother looked at her for a moment, and her heart sank when she saw the crafty look that eased into his eyes. "Perhaps you are correct, Narcise. My confidence in your ability is profound, and, to my dismay, Belial hasn't the skill to match you."
Her heart was pounding hard now and she, foolishly, glanced at Giordan. Their eyes met and the terror she saw in his nearly knocked her breathless. His face had gone white and stony, and for a moment, she thought he was going to faint.
But then her attention was drawn back to Cezar, who'd had a long, metal box brought onto the table in front of him. With a sly glance at Giordan, and then a benevolent smile at Narcise, he said, "But you must be chilled by now, my lovely sister. And I haven't properly welcomed you home. I have something for you." He started to lift the top. "No." Giordan's voice was sharp and desperate. He slammed his hand onto the top of the box, clanging the metal top back into place. His voice was low and unsteady, and she could barely hear him say, "Anything else, Cezar. Name it."
By now, Narcise's heart had plunged to her knees, which trembled and threatened to buckle. What was in the box? She glanced at Chas, who was held against the wall by one of the makes, and their eyes met. But his gaze, instead of being wild with concern or fear, was wide and intense. As if he were trying to tell her something.
Instead of being angry with Giordan for his outburst, Cezar seemed amused. "My, you are free with your promises now, Monsieur Cale. If only you'd been so accommodating a decade ago. When it really mattered." And yet, despite his cool words, he was gazing up at Giordan with such a baldly lustful expression that her own stomach lurched with revulsion.
Giordan's face was shiny and hard and she swore she could hear...or feel...the pounding of his own heart as he looked down at her brother. Cezar murmured something that she couldn't hear, but that turned Giordan's face gray. The marks on his skin stood out in sharp red-black relief against a suddenly ashen backdrop and his throat convulsed as he nodded. Once. Quickly and short.
That was when Narcise knew for certain that Chas had been right. That whatever had happened with Giordan and Cezar, it had been under duress. Her vision wavered and she was assaulted by a rush of grief and shame. How could I?
"Stop," she cried. Her voice rang out and drew her brother's attention. "I need no one to fight my battles for me. Release my friends, Cezar, and you'll have whatever you want."
His eyes danced and he smiled. "Take the vampir hunter away, then. My sister is correct: I have everything I want, right here."
He lifted the lid of the box as Giordan made a sound of protest, but it was too late. Narcise realized immediately what was inside.
Feathers. Many of them.
As Cezar reached into the box, Giordan launched himself at him, and they tumbled to the floor. Narcise started to move, whirling around to notice that Chas was gone-they'd taken him away-and then toward the dais before someone caught her by the arm. Someone else slammed into her, and she flew to the floor, her bare skin scraping across the cold, gritty stone.
By the time she was dragged to her feet, she saw that Giordan had been subdued and was being forced down from the dais and onto the same level on which she stood. By his slow and jerky movements, she could tell that he was weak or somehow inhibited-loss of blood, or for some other reason.