The Vampire Narcise (Regency Draculia 3)

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 bu**ocks, 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.

Chas had been gifted with the ability to sense, stalk and slay these creatures-he knew there was a reason he had. That he was meant to do this as surely as a priest was meant to consecrate the hosts. But.

Narcise had finished her braiding in silence and now she walked over to the single chair on the other side of the chamber. Chas noticed how she avoided the sunlight spilling through the window, but that she looked at it with longing.

Yes. These were creatures who'd given up the light to live in darkness. And sometimes, they regretted it.

"What do you plan to do next?" she asked.

"I need clothing and food," he replied, "and then I must send word back to London. To my sisters."

"London. Is that where Dimitri is? I'd like to find him, and see if he would...well, I know he and my brother are sworn enemies. And I hope that he might help me."

"Corvindale? He might be willing to be of assistance. I suppose you want me to bring you to him."

Her expression, which had been taut with anger and hurt, lightened. "Is it possible? To get to London, through the blockade?"

He had a mild wave of surprise that she would even be aware of the war between England and France, but then he recalled who her brother's companion was. Surely even Narcise had been privy to some of the political discussions between Bonaparte and Cezar. "Yes, but it will take some preparation."

It could be a fortnight or more, and all the while, Corvindale would be saddled with Maia and Angelica. Chas would never hear the end of it.

Then a terrible thought struck him, turning him ice-cold. Moldavi would want revenge on him for escaping, and for taking Narcise with him. And the first place he'd look to do it would be with Maia and Angelica.

He was up and out of bed in an instant. "Where are my clothes? My breeches? My shoes?" He must send word to Corvindale, at least, that the girls would be in danger. The room tilted but he didn't care.

"They're gone. You only had your breeches, and they were so-"

"I need something, I must get word back to London." He looked around the chamber as if expecting clothing to materialize.