The Vampire Narcise by Colleen Gleason Page B

low rumble caught on that syllable and dropped even lower as he made a slight gesture toward the wall of chains. “But I’ll return. Until then, remember what I said.” His gaze held hers for a long moment, as if to nudge her thoughts.
    Trust me.
    It’s only you, Narcise.
    Sometimes a man just knows.
    She shook her head, more in confusion than negation. In an absurd display of betrayal, her body still hummed and the little knot in her quim still throbbed pleasantly even as she sifted through truths and lies, flattery and appreciation.
    “Thank you,” he said softly. “I pray you are safe until we meet again, cher .”
    And then he unbolted the door and slipped through, closing it tightly behind him.

6
    G iordan closed the door behind him and walked only a few steps down the narrow, torch-lit corridor before stopping to collect himself. His hands were bloody damned shaking and his gums were sore from thrusting their fangs uselessly. Lucifer’s Mark screamed with rage, radiating pain sharply through his body in affront for his sacrifice.
    It had taken a good deal of control and prudence to turn and walk out of that room, and if he weren’t certain his every movement was being accounted for, he’d stand here longer.
    That was, in fact, the only reason he hadn’t dragged her out with him to freedom.
    He looked around, sharpening his thoughts to take in the details of his surroundings. Of course he’d passed through this same area some hours earlier, when he was following Narcise…but understandably, his mind had been elsewhere and he’d been in no state to absorb all the details. Unlike The Chamber he’d just quit, this space was roughly hewn stone walls and an uneven floor. Very different from the dining room that doubled as a fencing arena.
    But of course he was already considering how to get Narcise out of this place. It wasn’t something he could rush into, much as he wanted to— needed to—get her free. He must plan his steps carefully, he must be patient.
    For surely Cezar wouldn’t even allow him free access afterhis “winnings”—and, ah, yes, there it was. The sound of approaching footsteps. Someone had heard the door opening from some nearby vantage point, or there was some other notification that he’d left. Perhaps a bell that rang in an above-stairs chamber.
    “Leaving so soon, monsieur?”
    Giordan was more than mildly surprised to see the host himself striding toward him, bringing that patchouli and cedar scent into the narrow corridor. “Yes, indeed.”
    “I trust that there were no problems, no concerns?” Moldavi asked, his eyes bright and his voice placating. “All was to your…liking?”
    “If one considers a woman terrified at the mere thought of being touched by a man no little problem, then, no, I had no problems.” It was only with great difficulty that Giordan was able to keep the great loathing from his voice and expression.
    “She did not give you difficulty?” Those eyes looked closely at him, then slipped away to scan over his torso as if to look for signs of wounds or injury. An unnaturally slender brow lifted at the sight of the bite marks on his bicep.
    “But of course not.” Giordan was fairly certain there had been no witnesses—either visual or aural—during the events of the evening, for he surely would have scented the presence of anyone near enough to see or hear. But, yes, he had been a bit distracted, so he couldn’t be completely certain. “I had all that I wanted, and now I have finished.”
    “Very good. Very good. It’s just that I find it unusual for a man to leave my delightful sister any earlier than he must, hmm?”
    Giordan gave a meaningless shrug and said nothing more as they walked along the corridor.
    Moldavi continued smoothly, “Would you care to join mefor a drink, then? I have just received a most delightful vintage from Barcelona. They are calling it a champagne, but of course that is impossible if it is grown in Spain, is it