Read The Vampire Narcise Online

Authors: Colleen Gleason

The Vampire Narcise (8 page)

BOOK: The Vampire Narcise
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“When you sank into me,” he continued, making love to her with his words, caressing her with his tones, “I realized it was
you
. It would only be you. Narcise.”

She moved sharply, that high color easing from her cheeks. “Lovely words, Monsieur Cale. But what a ridiculous thing to say, from a man who will live forever.”

Giordan shrugged and concentrated on the way his feet were planted on the floor. Rooted, cemented there, keeping him from moving to her, and taking her face into his hands to show her how certain he was. “I’ve never felt that way before, Narcise. And I’ve lived a long time.”

He felt the weight of her own gaze on him, and saw the bare hint of a glow there. His gums tightened, swelling more, and he thrust away the memory of her mouth closing around his arm, and her lips tracing the ridges of his wrist. He couldn’t dismiss the memory of her tongue sliding through the heat of his blood, and the need burning in her eyes.

“I said I’m not going to touch you,” he heard himself saying. “But that doesn’t mean that you cannot touch me.”

5

N
arcise’s breath caught and a rush of heat flooded her.

That very thought, that very temptation, had been teasing her, and now it bloomed, full and hot and sudden, in her thoughts.

“You would allow that?” she said carefully.

“I would welcome it,” he replied. His voice, so low and filled with desire, sent a stab of desire into her middle. “Narcise.”

The thought was titillating…and freeing. To have control, here, in this very chamber that epitomized her captivity, her complete dependence. And to have such a man beneath her hands and body and fangs.

His unique scent, fresh and warm, tinged with cedar and wool, had already seemed to overtake all of the other smells of memories—dark, awful ones—in this chamber, and now sat fully in her consciousness, reminding her of how he tasted and felt.

“But then…”
No.
She shook her head.

Temptation thrilled her…and eased into despair. But no. How long would his resolve last, if indeed he truly had resolve and it wasn’t merely a trick?

As if he read her mind, Cale said, “I won’t touch you. Even if you bid me.” He glanced at the manacles on the wall, then back at her. His eyes challenged her, dark and intense.

Narcise was aware of a light fluttering in her center, broadening and spreading like the delicious heat of a fire on a cold Romanian night. Those compelling eyes still fastened on her; he walked over to the smooth white wall, marred only by the chains that hung there.

“I understand why you hesitate to trust,” he said, slipping one of the cuffs over his wrist and locking it into place, where it held his wrist just away from his head. “Perhaps this will help.” Then, unable to close the other manacle with his chained hand, he stilled and met her gaze. A sharp twinge pierced her inside.

“Narcise. Believe me when I say nothing you could do would make it more difficult for me than standing here, keeping my word not to touch you.”

Trust me
, he’d said before. He seemed to be saying it again, wordlessly this time.

She looked at the band encircling his wrist, wide and, she knew, cold. He would give her that control?

Wholly? Willingly?

In a place where she’d fought for so long to keep her own?

The irony touched her deeply.

And then all mundane thoughts of irony and the like fled as she realized what she had. Here. Giordan Cale: handsome, strong and virile. Offering whatever she wanted, great or small, as she wished.

Narcise’s mouth dried and she found it hard to swallow as she walked toward him, her bare feet padding from cool stone floor to lush rug back to stone again. Her middle was filled with fluttering moths, her gums swelling as they pushed out her fangs.

All the while, their eyes met and held, and it seemed as if she could feel his heart, thudding inside her own chest. Their
heartbeats pounded together, their breaths seemed to work in tandem, and for the first time, in this room, she felt…womanly.

Womanly, and powerful, in a way she hadn’t felt since she’d loved Rivrik.

Standing there in front of him, Narcise lifted his free arm, and felt the little ripple of a shudder beneath his skin. Her upper fangs brushed her lower lip, and without thought, she took him and brought his wrist toward her mouth.

Cale went still. Even his breath ceased as she watched the blue veins seem to surge and pulse amid the tendons in his golden skin. Instead of plunging in her fangs, Narcise flicked her tongue over the delicate ridges there, tasting the salt on his warm flesh, sensing the flavor of his scent and the essence of lifeblood pounding beneath its thin covering.

When she lifted her face, she heard the soft hiss of his breath and saw the faint smile lifting his lips. There was heat in his eyes, but no tension, no conflict in his face. Merely pleasure.

For some reason that comforted her, and she allowed her eyes to narrow and crinkle at the corners. Allowing almost a smile. And then she clicked the second manacle around his wrist, and stood back to survey her captive.

As the thought flitted into her mind, at first her reaction was one of horror that she should even have thought the word. She knew what it was like to be a captive, held immobile and helpless and at the mercy of the whims of others.

But this was different, she told herself. He gave up control willingly. He offered. He
wanted
to be here, he
wanted
her to touch him…and whatever else she chose to do.

And, she found, there was no doubt that she wanted to do…many things.

That alone was a welcome revelation, a relief, to a woman
who hadn’t willingly responded to the touch of a man for decades. For once the fangs protruded and the bloodscent filled the air, and the penetration began, even Narcise couldn’t control her own body’s instinctive reaction. But those occasions hadn’t been real pleasure, or true satiation. They’d been wrung from her like some unwanted and terrible purging.

But now, tonight, this was for her.
All
for her. And Cale seemed to have understood that.

“Are you going to stand there all night while the blood flows from my arms,” he said in that mellow voice, “and make me only imagine what you might do? Or are you going to kiss me and make the discomfort worth my while?”

“I never kiss,” she told him, nevertheless moving closer. Her fingers itched to tear that shirt away and see what was underneath. She had a sudden fantasy of muscles shifting and bulging from the effort of pulling on the chains, in his biceps and rippling over his chest, and she wanted to see if it could be real.

His shirt was made of the finest linen, warm and damp from his skin. She tugged it loose from his tight breeches, noticing the very healthy bulge rising behind them. The sight and accompanying thought sent another spear of lust into her belly, and she boldly smoothed her hand down over that tempting ridge.

Cale gave a soft sigh and when she looked up, his smile had grown that much hotter and his eyes darker. “Is it becoming warmer in here, or am I imagining it?” he managed to say.

“I’m perfectly comfortable,” she replied and smoothed her hands beneath his loose shirt. His firm belly, warm and textured with a light dusting of hair that she imagined would be as dark as that on his head, skittered and trembled beneath her fingers. And as she slid her hands farther up beneath the
shirt, she covered hard slabs of pectorals and then her fingers curled up over smooth shoulders. The tips of her fingers brushed over what must be the ridges of his Mark from Lucifer: slender, raised, veinlike markings spreading from beneath his hairline down over the back of his shoulder. As she slid over that unholy branding, her own Mark twinged and she brought her hands to rest flat on the front of his chest, pressing into the wiry hair growing there.

Narcise was aware of him watching her as she stepped back and removed her hands from those warm planes, then realized there was no way to pull the shirt over his head while his wrists were chained.

“Cut it if you like,” he said, reading her thoughts. “I have many more.”

“As you will,” she replied, but instead of reaching for one of the daggers, which had been used on her, she grasped the shirt at his throat and ripped. The heavy linen made a satisfying, powerful sound as it tore, and left his chest bare to her avid eyes. “It’s no wonder Suzette talks about you the way she does,” she commented, and tore one of the sleeves free, jolting his arm against the wall.

The chains clinked with her violent movement, but he made no attempt to pull or wiggle in his confinement. She eyed the bulge of muscle in his arm as his elbow bent in an L-shape, his wrist fixed at the level of his head. His skin, even beneath his shirt, wasn’t the normal pasty-white of the sun-banned Dracule, but was golden, as if tanned by a sun that never touched it.

“In what way does Suzette talk about me? I do hope it’s—” His breath caught as she plunged her fangs into the soft inside of his bicep, and he gave a short, sharp groan as his lifeblood burst free.

The taste and scent of his skin, so silky and soft around
that firm bulge of muscle, mingled erotically with the rush of coppery blood over her tongue, and Narcise closed her eyes as a long-subdued desire rushed through her. His bare chest brushed against her cheek, and the long line of his legs paralleled her body as she pressed flush against him.

The hard rise of his cock nudged her hip, so close to that suddenly throbbing, hot and damp center between her legs. She held on to his forearm with one hand, and the other planted flat on the rough hair covering his chest. Texture, taste, scent…and his lean, muscular body sandwiched between her and the wall.

She pulled away after two long drags on his veins, swiping her tongue over the wound in a delicate little farewell, and looked up at him.

His eyes burned bright red-gold, and yet the centers were dark and intense. He had a sort of pained half smile fixed on his full lips, a bit of fang showing. For a moment, she almost shifted to cover them with hers, to taste him in yet another, more intimate way.

But she didn’t. Instead, testing herself and testing him, she stepped back, realizing that her breathing had become unsteady and shallow. Her nipples swelled behind the bindings she wore beneath the suddenly too-tight tunic.

“More,” he said, his eyes compelling her. “More, Narcise. I want to feel you against me.”

She saw no reason to hesitate, and peeled off the close-fitting tunic. The freedom to do what she wished, to be in control and to enjoy the pleasure of the moment, emboldened her. Flinging the shirt aside, she untucked the binding around her breasts and began to unroll it, conscious of his intense regard.

Her relief at the release of her bosom was echoed softly by his rough intake of air when she pulled the last strip away and
at last jounced free. She raised her arms, feeling the pleasant sensation of her breasts lift prettily.

“More lovely than I’d imagined,” he said, the timbre of his voice skimming over her like a low and deep caress. “Will you take your hair down?”

“For one who has given over control,” she said wryly, “you certainly have many requests, Cale.” But nevertheless, sparked even further by her power and the pleasure simmering beneath the surface, she began to pull the pins from the huge knot of her hair.

“My given name is Giordan,” he said. “Use it.”

Narcise paused in the process, one heavy hank of hair tumbling down her back while the rest remained anchored in a sagging bundle. It was the first time she’d heard that tone of command from him. She found it curious…and unsettling.

As if reading her thoughts, he spoke again. “Very well, then,
cher
. No real intimacy yet. No kissing, no familiar names. When you’ve come to trust me, then I would that you’d call me Giordan. But to me, already you are Narcise.” His eyes blazed fiercely, not with lust or desire, as before, but now with annoyance.

“I think you’re mad, Cale,” she said. “We’ve hardly met, and barely spoken. How can you say such absurd things when you don’t even know me?” Of course, she was thinking of Rivrik, back when life was life and not infinite rote…and much easier than this. Back when she knew she would die someday, and when she was naive and young and in love with someone who truly knew her.

Cale gave what passed for a shrug, and despite the awkward angle of his arms, it was smooth and laced with conceit. “Sometimes, a man just knows.” His eyes fastened on her, the glow receding into an intense brown-blue gaze.

Unbalanced and unsettled by the certainty in his voice, she
yanked a few more pins from her hair. Narcise was mollified when she saw the way his eyes narrowed in appreciation as she combed her fingers through the thick tresses.

Her hair was one of the reasons for her great vanity, for it hung to her hips. All one length, it was a pure blue-black, thick and smooth as a waterfall even after being bound up in braids or twists. Next to her pearly skin and brilliant blue-violet eyes, the color was intense and striking.

Now she stood there, bare from her ankle-length breeches up, her hair swinging around her shoulders and waist. His eyes never moved from her as Narcise came closer, feeling the gentle sway of her bare breasts, nipples tight and high and throbbing to be touched. Her fangs were still extended and she allowed their tips to show just below her upper lip.

As she drew near, she scented his arousal, smelled it rolling off him in waves, and her stomach tightened and pitched in response. Lush and heady, it filled her nose and swelled her veins, settling into her so that she swelled and dampened and throbbed. She pulled out of the pleasure for a moment to remind herself: this was so different from the other times, when the overwhelming scent of lust was pungent and stinging, and as repugnant as the bitter smell of death.

Now, The Chamber was filled with the scents of desire, male and female alike, mixing and stewing together to create an even headier perfume. The last bit of his lifeblood lingered in the air and she sniffed, drawing it in, tasting it once again.

“Narcise,” he whispered, his voice taut and low.

She came to him, her hands settling on his hips, then sliding up over the ridges of his belly and the rise of the planes of his chest…and brought herself closer. She arched a bit, lifting her breasts so that her hard, sensitive nipples brushed against the wiry hair there, rubbing lightly back and forth
against him as their bellies and thighs pressed together. The light prickling sensation against her breasts and nipples was pleasant and tingly, offset by the hard, hot length of his cock against the rise of her pubis.

His chest moved against her, expanding as he drew in deep, ragged breaths, and when she became bold enough to look up into his eyes, the stark desire there shot a spike of lust in her own belly. His lips were parted, showing the sharp, strong gleam of his fangs. She felt a little shiver of want, imagining those sharp points sliding into her skin, and the glorious release of her surging blood over his warm lips.

The soft clink of chains, every nuance familiar to her, told Narcise precisely what he was doing—shifting, clenching his fingers and tensing his muscles. But he wasn’t struggling to free himself. He didn’t pull or twist as she’d done, trying to loosen them.

BOOK: The Vampire Narcise
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