The Vampire Voss

“You are the sister of Chas Woodmore,” said the one who was obviously the leader, and who’d saved her life. At least for the moment. He walked toward her, swiping his mouth with a scrap of cloth. A quick, sharp look at his companion had the other one stepping back.

Angelica didn’t miss the look of fury he cast the leader, but her attention was caught by this new threat.

“Who are you?” she forced herself to ask. A strange calmness had settled over her—a moment when everything seemed to slow down and become very clear. She would have one chance to try and penetrate his chest with this piece of wood.

Whether it would work—

Suddenly a great, sleek force burst into the chamber. Angelica ducked instinctively, and the next thing she knew, the vampire in front of her was flying through the air. The other one lunged, but too late, and Voss—of course it was him, tall and golden and ferociously catlike—grabbed him by the back of the neck and lifted him effortlessly.

Angelica gaped as Voss flung—literally flung—the man across the room, pitching him through the sunny window like a rag doll.

The sound of agonized screams faded into descent as Voss turned to the leader of the pair, who’d landed next to Ella in the pool of sunlight. The intruder was gasping and writhing as if pinned there by some invisible bondage.

Voss lashed out and snatched him by the leg, then spun him neatly up and out into the full sunlight. This one didn’t scream, and a sudden quiet descended.

Angelica stared. It had happened so quickly, within a matter of breaths, that she could hardly credit it. Voss was turned away from her, still staring out the window as if to be certain the invaders wouldn’t return.

Through the fog of shock, she nevertheless noticed and admired his shoulders—so wide and solid as they rose and fell—and the thick mass of tawny-golden waves brushing the collar of his coat. One hand hung at his side, veined and powerful. Tightly-fisted.

“My lord,” she whispered after a moment when he didn’t turn.

“Go,” he said in a short, tight voice. His breathing was deep and controlled, and she could see it move through his body as if it were being dragged. A little shudder rippled over his shoulders as he added, “Get help.”

He made a sharp gesture to Ella as he knelt slowly, reluctance in his very movement.

Angelica had pulled to her feet, her knees shaking, her fingers still closed around the wooden splinter, her other hand curled into the front of her chemise.

“Angelica,” Voss said. “Go. Now.”

Confused, frightened and sick to the very depths of her being, Angelica obeyed and fled the room.

8

IN WHICH LORD DEWHURST SUFFERS A POOR VINTAGE

Angelica barely made it down the stairs without falling. Her knees shook, threatening to give way and send her tumbling, and she felt as if she were about to toss up her accounts at any moment. Yet, it was concern not only for Ella but for Voss as well that kept her upright and intent on finding help.

She got to the bottom step and as she followed the path of destruction—crooked wall pictures, an upended vase, a streak of something dark on the wallpaper—down a short corridor, she met up with Rubey.

The older woman looked a bit disheveled, but not as if she’d been attacked or fought off intruders. No blood nor claw or tear marks. Her expression was tight and shocked, and her first words were, “You’re unhurt? What about Ella?”

Angelica shook her head and peeled her tongue off the roof of her mouth. “Voss is seeing to her. He sent me for help.”

Just then, the sound of heavy footsteps had Angelica spinning in alarm. But it was Voss. He filled the corridor, his face just as taut as Rubey’s, his stride purposeful.

“There’s no help for the maid,” he told Rubey without looking at Angelica.

“No,” Rubey whispered. “Ella?” Her face loosened with pain and shock. “Damn you, Voss, for bringing this here. Your greed and games.”

Voss’s expression tightened further and he inclined his head as if in acceptance. Still without acknowledging Angelica, keeping his eyes hooded and on Rubey, he said, “We haven’t much time. Where is he?”

Apparently the older woman could decipher his code, for she stepped back and gestured down the hall. “Still in there. Pretending to be injured.” Her eyes flashed lightning blue as they met Voss’s, once again making Angelica feel as if she were missing something important. “Do what you will.”

Before she could ask, Voss glanced at her, his eyes scoring down over what she belatedly realized was a scandalously flimsy shift and then her bare legs and feet. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to truly care.

“If you could dress her, and get that damned foot bound up, I would greatly appreciate it.” He was speaking again to Rubey, again as if Angelica wasn’t there, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from demanding petulantly that he acknowledge her.

Fool.

Then he brushed past her, the sleeve of his coat dislodging a lock of hair from her shoulder, and disappeared down the hall.

“Come. I’ll see to you myself,” Rubey said wearily. “You can’t stay much longer. And I’ve got to leave, as well.”

Angelica resisted the urge to stare after Voss. A little prickle of nervousness ran up her spine. Do what you will.

Whatever Rubey had meant, Angelica suspected it wasn’t to the good.

She followed the older woman’s brisk pace and realized for the first time that the cuts on her foot were deep and painful. Fortunately the bleeding had slowed to an ooze, and as soon as they reached their destination, Rubey made her sit down. Moments later, she gave a damp cloth to Angelica to wipe away the blood.

As she bathed her cuts, noticing that the one in her heel was split and would likely take some time to mend, she realized that this was an exceedingly well-appointed home. A smallish residence, but furnished richly and with elegance. It dawned on her that this must be where Rubey lived, and that possibly her place of business was elsewhere. The chamber to which they’d come was clearly Rubey’s private one, and it was decorated in rich gold and all other shades of yellow.

It also occurred to Angelica, as Rubey dug through a large, polished wardrobe across from a very decadent and well-pillowed bed, that the fact that two vampirs had invaded the home and killed a maid didn’t seem to shock her hostess. Certainly she was aggrieved at the loss of Ella, but she didn’t seem to be as stunned and paralyzed as Angelica felt.

This realization coupled with the fact that Ella had had what most certainly were bite marks on her neck, and Angelica began to feel light-headed again. Light of head, and confused. Were these horrific creatures—which she’d had no idea existed beyond Granny Grapes’s imagination until only last night—more common than she could have imagined? Did these violent, rapacious monsters live among them like normal people?

And what was Voss’s connection to them?

Rubey moved with the same efficiency and spare movements as Ella had, insisting that Angelica don a clean chemise, and even loaning her one of her corsets. Although she didn’t attempt to do anything with the mass of wild hair except pin it up loosely again, Rubey tugged and laced and buttoned Angelica into a pretty pink frock in short order.

Just as Angelica was rolling silk stockings up over her knees and aligning borrowed slippers (which were a bit too large) for her feet, Voss strode into the chamber. Uninvited, and clearly comfortable being there.

“We must go,” he said to Angelica. She sensed wildness about him, some restrained energy beneath his movements. “Straight away. We’ve a carriage waiting.”

“What of Edouard?” Rubey asked, her lips pinched together.

“Belial paid him well—and he’d already been made Dracule, Luce take it. How the fool didn’t think we’d figure him out, I can’t imagine. I threw him outside and he’s burning in the sun now. Won’t see him again.”

Rubey made a sound of distaste and turned away. “Blast it, Voss. Every bloody time you come here, you leave a mess.”

“That’s why you charge me so much,” he replied. But this time, there was no humor in his voice, no lilting charm. “And why I always settle up.”

“I cannot charge you enough to make up for this,” Rubey said. Her eyes were red now. “Ella was… She was…a friend, as well.”

“My sincerest apology,” Voss said. He sounded as if he meant it, and he reached to touch Rubey’s arm as if to emphasize. “Truly. I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”

“Never will be soon enough,” said their hostess. And she sounded, at that moment, as if she meant it, too.

Voss turned sharply. “Miss Woodmore, we must make haste. You’re no longer safe here.” Formality and command replaced the empathy in his voice.

Angelica allowed him to lead her from the bedchamber and down the corridor. His strides were long and fast, and she felt awkward trying to keep up with him. But her fingers, glove less, were clasped in his big bare hand, and he steadied her as they hurried along.

The carriage had been pulled up very near the servants’ entrance; to climb in was no more than a step out the door and up into the vehicle. The conveyance was parked in a narrow mews between two tall buildings, which made the space dark and shadowy despite the fact that it was several hours before twilight.

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Angelica entered a carriage to ride with Voss. Alone.

“Where are we going this time?” she asked as he stood at the doorway, his hand on the edge of the door, his feet on the stoop of the house.

“Somewhere safer,” he said. His eyes seemed to glitter with heat as he looked up at her. “Somewhere where they cannot find us.”

There was something about the way he said those words that gave her pause. An odd combination of desire and unease prickled inside her.

“Why do you not take me back to Blackmont Hall? Surely it’s safe there,” Angelica said, remembering the stone wall that surrounded the small plot of land on which the mansion sat. Maia must be sick with worry, too. And what if there’d been a message from Chas?