The Vampire Voss (Regency Draculia #1)(50)
Author: Colleen Gleason

Judgment.

“How would you feel if you lived with that knowledge, waiting for the day to happen? Knowing that one day, she or he would be wearing the clothes, and look the same, and the season would be right…and you would know it was the day. The day of death.”

The day of death.

“I’ve known for years. And I can’t tell them. I won’t tell them. Do you see? Do you understand why?” Her tongue was loose and the words spilled forth and Voss could only listen.

A tear rolled down her cheek and she stopped. Her chest heaved from suppressed sobs and she simply looked at him. He sensed that she needed something. From him.

Somehow, through the never-ending pain that numbed his body, he managed to speak. “You’re a very strong woman,” he said. “To have that knowledge and to keep it to yourself. To live with it.”

He thought of the knowledge he had, that he’d tricked and lied and deceived to gain over decades. Longer, even.

How he’d used it. How he’d profited from it.

How he’d hurt with it, ruining marriages and reputations. Pitting man against man. Friend against friend. Making money.

And that was even before he’d turned Dracule.

If there was a strong person in the room, it was not him.

Was that why Luce had chosen him?

“Strong?” She laughed bitterly and surprised him. “No one thinks of me as strong. Maia is strong. She’s smart and beautiful and she knows just what she wants, and she has managed to get all of it. And soon, a handsome husband who loves her. And she’s still a lady. Everyone likes her even though she’s bossy. And me… Well, I am the silly one, the one who cannot be serious. The one who must be told everything to do for I cannot determine it myself. Sonia is sweet and kind and pretty. She’s the youngest. But I…I’m nothing but a jest.”

“I suspect,” Voss said, groping for words, “that if Maia had lived through what you’ve seen and done in the last day, she would not have fared nearly as well. Did you think I hadn’t noticed the wooden stick in your hand earlier today? You meant to defend yourself instead of crying and hiding in the corner.”

Angelica smiled, swaying a little, and her lashes swept down over her eyes. For a moment he thought she was going to slump into unconsciousness, but she straightened and gave him such a heavy look that heat exploded in his chest.

“Thank you,” she said and rose to her feet. Her movements were slow and deliberate, heavy with whiskey. His blood surged. His mouth dried.

Now.

She looked at Voss suddenly, directly, and drew in her breath. Then she spoke in a rush. “It’s odd, being here with you. Alone.”

With those innocent, emotional words, full awareness burst over him. Searing pain blasted anew inside his shoulder, radiating down his back and leg and along his arm in stunning agony.

Do it.

He must have gasped, for she moved toward him. “What is it?”

“No.” He reacted without thought, turning away to hide the flame in his eyes and the swelling in his mouth. His c**k shifted, filling. He imagined her naked, filling his hands with her. Tasting her.

It blazed on him, taking his breath and his voice. Pounded. Squeezed.

“Vo—my lord,” her voice was panicked. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” he said, forcing the lie from between clenched teeth with lungs that wouldn’t move.

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. There was nothing but white-hot, searing agony blazing through his body, seizing his mind. Take, take, take.

It wasn’t the need to feed, to drink. It was her. All of her.

He felt her hand on his back, through the two layers of clothing against his Mark. Spinning away, he stumbled into the chair and table. He heard it fall and the clink of glasses and bottle. The smell of whiskey and wine, of Angelica and the layers of men before them in this room filled his nose, suffocating him.

Now, now, now.

She had her hands on him, she was half sobbing and shaking him, trying to get him to look at her and he knew, somehow, that if she saw his face, his eyes…

Her image filled his mind as his hands grasped the wooden planks of the floor. The pain. The pain was…impossible. Nothing like it.

Have to stop it.

His fangs thrust long and sharp. His c**k hard and throbbing. His eyes hot and burning.

He knew. How to stop it.

He knew how to turn the agony into red pleasure.

His lungs worked again, deep and harsh. The floor was there beneath his knees, so close he could see the mouse dung, the dirt filling the cracks, a button, a thread caught on the splinter beneath his palm.

“My lord,” she cried again, penetrating his concentration. “Voss.”

She tugged at his shoulders, and he nearly snarled in response. His arms trembled with effort.

He had to stop it.

Angelica pulled at his shoulder, feeling the ripple of muscle beneath. “Voss,” she said again, using his Christian name in an effort to get through to him. What was wrong? “Where’s the pain?”

What sort of fit was this? The whiskey had dulled her senses, slowed her mind, but she pushed through it, sliding her hands over his shoulders, trying to tug him up.

At last, he moved, rolling aside, a forearm covering his face as he staggered to his feet, still half turned. She couldn’t see his face, couldn’t tell if he was still in pain—

“Angelica,” he muttered, and turned, reaching for her.

She went into his arms and they closed around her. Tight, strong, comforting. His coat smelled like him, and she could feel his heart racing beneath the shirt under her cheek. His body overwhelmed her with its height and power, his face pressed into the top of her head. She felt him vibrating beneath her touch, his foot moving between hers, then his leg pushing into her skirts. His chest rising and falling as if he’d been running. His warmth.

Too warm. He felt feverish, and she tried to pull back to look up into his face, but he wouldn’t release her, his hands moving to grip the back of her head.

“Angelica,” he said against her temple. His lips moved there, kissing her hair. His hands tightened, fingers curling up into her loose curls. He drew in a deep breath that she felt shudder throughout his body, as if he were preparing himself for some great feat.

“Are you all right?” she whispered. “What was it?”

He muttered something unintelligible, something like Stop.… The next thing she knew, he was kissing her. His full, warm mouth moved along her temple to her cheek, and then suddenly covered her lips. Not gentle, not tentative, but as strong and certain as he was. The world circled and she clung to him, meeting his mouth and feeling the give of her lips against his, the intimate movement as they fit together and shifted and crushed. Hot and slick, his tongue slipped into her mouth and she allowed it, the rush of heat and sensation surprising her.