by Колин Глисон
“What is it?” he demanded, rushing over to them, taking note that Cezar still sat, alive, in his helpless position. He saw the pike on the floor where it had rolled, and noticed the upended chair.
And the stiff, terrified expression on Woodmore’s face. “She stopped me,” he told Giordan. “She saved his life. And now she’s…”
But he needed to say nothing more, for Narcise’s low, tormented moans and the dead-white look on her face told Giordan everything.
He shoved Woodmore out of the way, pulling Narcise into his arms. She couldn’t die. Not from this.
“Narcise,” he said calmly and loudly, giving her a gentle shake in an attempt to pull her from the sort of seizure, the frenzy of pain. Trying to keep himself collected. “Look at me.”
She shuddered and blinked, her breathing coming in short, anguished gasps. Her eyes were blank with pain, empty and lost, and he didn’t know if there was anything he could do to help her…but he brushed the hair from her face and murmured, “Narcise. Look at me.”
He closed his arms around her, drawing from deep within, from his soul, his core…focusing on the white light he’d found in his mind while in the alley that day. Peace. Light.
He held it in his heart, in his mind, as Kritanu had taught him, and looked into Narcise’s fathomless violet eyes. “Look at me. I love you, Narcise. I need you…stay with me. Fight it, Narcise. Fight him.”
He didn’t know if she could hear him through the pain, but he kept talking to her, ignoring the solid brown boots standing next to him on the ground as Chas stared down at them.
“Narcise. Look at me. Look at me,” he begged. If she could look at him, focus on him…
She bucked, shuddered and gasped, and beneath his hand, he felt the pulsing rage of her Mark through the fabric of her clothing. A ripple of shock flashed through him and without realizing what he was doing, he tore away at the bodice of her gown as she agonized against him. But she was softening…slowing… Was he losing her?
“My God,” breathed Chas, kneeling next to them again when he saw her shoulder. “It’s alive.”
Like black veins, tiny black snakes, Lucifer’s Mark twisted and surged on her creamy skin: stark and wicked, evil emanating from the Devil himself. It was alive, and it was fighting—for Narcise.
Giordan didn’t know exactly what to do, but he knew he had to try. He bent his head to the Mark.
His lips touched the raging black weals and he felt the sharp, excruciating sting, the bolt of peace and light meeting dark malevolence. He kissed her, his lips soft and gentle, absorbing the shock, taking on the pain… He moved his hands over those curling, twisting worms, closed his eyes and prayed.
Help me.
“She’s ready,” came the voice inside his head. “Help her.”
He pulled back, needing to look in her eyes. Still covering the Mark with his hands, both of them, holding her up, he lifted her so he could look into her eyes. “Look at me, Narcise. Look in my eyes.”
She blinked through pain-filled eyes, focused for a bare moment and, still holding the light, warm and clean in his heart, he gave it to her. Their eyes met and he felt another bolt, a shaft of effort and then release surge through him…and into her.
Narcise gasped and looked at him again, this time with clarity and the light of serenity. Beneath his hand he felt a searing heat where Luce’s Mark thrived. She screamed, then closed her eyes and sagged into unconsciousness…and then the writhing black veins collapsed.
When Giordan looked at them again, he saw they had disappeared. In their place were pure white lines marking the battle won.
Epilogue
“ An avatar,” Kritanu said in his precise, smooth accent. “You must have acted briefly as some sort of avatar, Giordan, in conducting that power and strength to Narcise. That is the only explanation I have.”
He was an old man, perhaps seventy or eighty, with hair as black as Narcise’s. He wore it in a long, sleek tail at the base of his neck. His mahogany skin was smooth, hardly wrinkled, and his eyes were sharp and black, like jet beads. Giordan had met him years ago when he first came to England, for Kritanu was a friend of Dimitri’s Aunt Iliana.
Giordan and Narcise were all sitting with Kritanu in Dimitri’s study, having at last returned from Paris only two days earlier. They’d spent nearly a fortnight making arrangements for Cezar and settling his household.
“What’s an avatar?” Narcise asked, moving closer into the warm, familiar curl of Giordan’s arm. He smelled like comfort and warm sunshine and sensuality, and she couldn’t wait to drag him off to the chamber they’d been sharing and sink her teeth…literally…into him.
“I’ve studied every bloody religion and writings from every age and I find it impossible to comprehend. An avatar is an entity from a heavenly level who manifests himself on earth,” Dimitri said. The note of disbelief in his voice was nearly comical. “A god come to earth in human form. You cannot be serious. Giordan? An avatar?”
Kritanu smiled, his eyes glinting with shared humor. “I’m not at all suggesting that Giordan is a humanized god of any sort. In fact, that would be impossible. But, just that, for a miraculous moment, he acted as a conduit for Narcise, and the moksha he’d attained allowed that same window to be opened to her. She had to be ready and willing to go through it of her own volition.”
“Naturally,” Dimitri replied, dry skepticism still lacing his voice. “So if Giordan had attained Enlightenment ten years ago, why in the devil couldn’t he transfer it to me when I was looking for it so hard?”
Maia, who’d just walked in at that moment, carrying a tray, said, “Because you didn’t have a soul-deep connection with Giordan like Narcise does. Nor did you just want to be loose of Lucifer—you wanted to be mortal again, Gavril. You needed to be. So you could be with me.” She set the tray down and gave him an arch look.
“A wise woman named Wayren is fond of saying that, when we are truly ready for it, we receive whatever grace it is we need,” Kritanu said, accepting a handleless cup of tea from Maia. He cupped his hands around it and breathed in the scent—something exotic, like jasmine, Narcise thought. “Each has his or her own path to travel. I don’t pretend to understand it all, either.”
“And so Cezar still lives?” Maia said as she settled next to Dimitri, confirming Narcise’s suspicion that there was to be a second wedding in the Woodmore family after Voss and Angelica. “You’ll keep him alive?”
Narcise had a soft, sad pang at the thought of Chas, still in Paris, attending to the final details of arrangements for Cezar. He’d insisted on staying…perhaps because he didn’t wish to witness her happiness with Giordan. He might miss even his sisters’ weddings. Narcise’s insides squeezed at the memory of the stark misery on his face…the emotionless eyes when she’d awakened from her ordeal to find both of the men who loved her in attendance.
And only one of them had she really wanted.
Chas would never have been truly happy with her. He couldn’t accept who she was…or who she’d been; there would always be that layer of judgment for what he saw as her mistake. And he was so enamored of her beauty that he wasn’t able to see the rest of her—her strength, her needs…who she was behind the perfect face and form.
“Yes. Cezar’s been confined in a well-guarded prison. Narcise may wish to visit him occasionally,” Giordan said, looking down at her. “Since you saved his life.” His eyes were warm with affection and admiration. She was reminded again of how he’d taken his time, his patience and risked his life, to woo her and unravel her layers of distrust all those years ago.
Thank God he’d forgiven her for her blindness.
“Chas is taking care of the details. Moldavi will be kept in relative comfort, but his chamber and the hallways around it will be lined with ivory, so there will be no escape,” Giordan continued.
Narcise shrugged, looking at her hands. “I realized I couldn’t let him be killed. Even after everything he did, I couldn’t make that choi
ce. Because death…it eliminates all hope for change. And with what’s happened with Voss and Dimitri, and even Giordan and me…” She looked up. “I suppose there’s always hope that something might change.”
“It’s interesting to think of how the concept of karma works when one is immortal,” Kritanu mused. “After all, as we believe, one normally has many lifetimes to work out cause and effect, realization and change. But as an immortal being, you will have an eternity to observe this extraordinary situation and see what happens to your brother. Now that he has been given the chance to change.”
Dimitri said to Narcise, “And who knows…perhaps Cezar will be helpful to you in some other way, sometime in the future.”
Later, in the privacy of their chamber, Narcise huddled in the warmth of Giordan’s sleek, golden body. He smoothed his hand along her hair, from the top of her head all along its length, to where it pooled next to them on the bed. His touch was comforting and familiar and she closed her eyes at the pleasure, wondering if she ought to tell him about the other change that had happened to her. Her body seemed to have become fully alive again, functioning as any young woman’s might.
“Do you want to go out tonight?” he asked. “We could try to find some excitement.”
Narcise gave a little laugh. She’d told him about how she felt when she’d chased off her attackers after leaving Rubey’s. It had occurred to her that she could use some of her great strength and fighting skills to do that sort of thing on a regular basis. As a sort of protective agent on the streets at night, watching for opportunities to help the vulnerable and weak.
It would give her something to do with her life. And although she couldn’t be violent simply for her own purposes, or for the sake of hurting another, she could use her strength to help the weaker—by saving women, who, like she’d been, were controlled or assaulted by others. “I think that would be very exciting. Perhaps we could go to Seven Dials… I understand there is a public house there that attracts varlets and the bad sort—and more of Luce’s half demons, too. I don’t recall the name of it.”
“The Silver Chalice. Whatever you wish,” Giordan said, sliding his muscular leg between hers. “I don’t mind a good fight myself, once in a while.” He smiled, showing his fangs.
Neither of them would turn away from a fight—as long as it wasn’t violence for the sake of violence. Or death. Narcise had learned that she, too, could only feed from those who consumed only sustenance without violence. Moksha was a powerful thing.
And Giordan had given it to her.
“I’ll take you to visit Cezar whenever you like,” he said, sliding those sharp fangs along the sensitive column of her neck. She shivered, then pulled away as her veins pulsed and throbbed in anticipation.
“It won’t bother you…after all that’s happened?” she asked, now watching him closely. “To see him?”
He shook his head, mashing those thick dark curls against the white pillow. “Not now that I have you. It was all for you, Narcise. I could live through anything, knowing I had you on the other side of it.”
She squeezed her eyes closed again, the welling of guilt and misery strong and hard, knotted in her belly. “I wish I had been different.”
But he shook his head again, and touched her face. “Do you not see? It was only because of what happened that I was able to change…to find that peace. And then, when you were ready, I gave it to you. If you’d left with me that day…after I was with Cezar, we wouldn’t be here now, marked by light instead of dark.”
Narcise sat up suddenly, the heavy weight of guilt and shame sliding away like a dark cloud. “Do you truly believe that?”
“But of course I do,” he said, looking up at her. “It’s often only after great despair and sacrifice that one finds what one really needs. And in an immortal life, ten years is hardly a breath.”
She smiled and felt as if the warm blast of the sun had just entered the chamber. “What an amazing man you are, Giordan. I love you…forever.”
“I’ve loved you from the moment I first saw you. There’s no one I want to spend immortality with besides you, Narcise.”
“How about a child?”
He stilled, looking at her with shocked, wide eyes. “But you cannot…”
Her smile grew wider. “I happen to know that something else about me has changed…and I think it’s possible now.”
“Then I suggest we begin attending to that right away,” he said, sliding over on top of her. “Then I’ll have two females I love to spend eternity with.”
“What if it’s a boy?”
“It won’t be. I know these things… remember? I was almost an avatar.”
Acknowledgments
As always, I have many people to thank for helping to get Narcise out of the cobwebs in my head and onto the shelves, not the least including Emily Ohanjanians, my hardworking and attentive editor, and the entire team at MIRA. I couldn’t ask for a better group of people to launch this series, and I’m especially grateful to Diane Mosher and Katherine Orr for their team’s support.
I’d like to thank Erin and Devon Wolfe and Gary and Darlene March for the late-night boat ride that helped me to crystallize exactly how things could work out for an immortal vampiress. I’m not sure if it was the wine or the combined brainpower, but you all got me thinking on the right path, and herein is the result. Extra hugs and kisses to Darlene and Erin for doing early readings of the book to check my work as well!
Thanks to Holli and Tammy for helping me muddle through yet another book, and for your thoughtful and supportive feedback. I am so very grateful to the two of you that I celebrate Thanksgiving every single day!
I owe my brother Sean big thanks for his expertise with arson and fire—not only for this book, but for every other book that I’ve ever written that has a fire in it. And there are many.
Also, great big hugs to Robyn Carr for too many reasons to list, although I’m pretty sure you know them all. But I’m just going to say one word: sushi.
I also really appreciate the time given by Maggie Shayne, Heather Graham, Lara Adrian and Jeaniene Frost to read from this new series. I can only guess at how busy you are, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the support from such talented, generous women. Thank you.
I would also like to thank Marcy Posner for being a wonderful business partner and support over the last seven years. I will always appreciate everything you’ve done for me.
And last, but never least, I must express my deep love and gratitude to my husband and our children for really understanding how my deadlines work, and why there are times that I just can’t sit in on family movie nights. Also special thanks to MusicMan for all those lunches and breakfasts where you’re throwing plot ideas out to me willy-nilly and always manage to come up with something that sticks. I love you.
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