The Vampire Voss (Regency Draculia #1)(77)
Author: Colleen Gleason

It was a horrible, awful coincidence.

Moldavi was looking at him strangely now. With suspicion. His eyes dark and piercing, the faintest warning of red glowing at the rims of his irises.

Voss couldn’t allow him to suspect, to question. He swallowed, tried to wade through the roaring in his ears, the tunneling of his vision as it narrowed and darkened. His hand trembled. Even Angelica’s alluring scent had faded.

“Drink, Voss,” said Moldavi. The glint in his eyes had gone beyond suspicion to something akin to delight. The fang’s sapphire winked and hypnotized and Voss realized that, for the first time in his life, he had wholly miscalculated.

14

WHEREIN A STUMBLE CREATES A GREAT DIVERSION

When she heard a familiar voice, Angelica opened her eyes in narrow slits. At first she thought she was dreaming.

Voss was here?

Immediately her heart swelled and a flush of relief and hope washed over her. Oh, God, thank you.

But then, just as suddenly, the warmth evaporated, leaving her cold and frightened again. If only Voss were the man he’d been…before. The one she’d begun to have feelings for. An actual man.

Knowing that, she was filled with trepidation as she watched him settle into a seat with Cezar Moldavi. Much too friendly. Much too companionable. What did he want? Had they been working together all along?

Chas. Where is Chas?

She’d been pretending to be unconscious for some time now. Chas would be after her as soon as he learned what had happened, and her hope had been to stall for time. So far, she’d been successful…but she’d only been here for a day. Perhaps not even that long.

Voss looked over at her and she held herself still, trying to keep her breathing steady. Despite her slitted vision, she could see him clearly and although she hated him, Angelica couldn’t deny that he was so handsome it made her heart hurt. And he seemed so capable and confident.

His honey-brown hair was ruffled around the collar and fell in a curling lock over one eyebrow that would have been endearing if she could trust him. Love him. His jaw, so masculine and chiseled, and those lips…and his fangs. This was the first she’d really seen them, fully exposed. They were wicked looking, long and lethal and in the fog of her weary, frightened mind, she remembered Maia waxing on about how she’d dreamed of being bitten by incisors like that.

If only… She snapped her eyes closed when he seemed to stare more closely at her. If only.

Something burned behind her lids and Angelica tried to squeeze them tighter so that the tear wouldn’t trickle down and give away the fact that she was conscious. Oh, Voss.

As she struggled to control her emotions—and it was no wonder she found it impossible, after what she’d been through in the last few days—Angelica realized that the mood in the chamber had altered.

“Drink, Voss,” Moldavi was saying. He was not a large or imposing man, for all of his feared reputation—but it was his eyes that bespoke of the perfidy and malevolence inside him. He had swarthy skin and an abnormally wide, square jaw. His hair was the same dark brown as his thick, straight brows, and he had hands as large as dinner plates. Large rings flashed on seven of his fingers. Now his eyes blazed red-orange and he was focused on Voss with an intensity that had Angelica opening her eyes fully.

Something was wrong.

Voss seemed…odd. She was across the chamber, and couldn’t quite understand it, but he was acting not unlike Corvindale had in the carriage just before they were attacked. As if he were having trouble breathing, and moving.

And then…ice washed over her. She recognized his clothing. Odd, dull and ill-fitting. More out of fashion than anything she’d ever seen Voss wear. Except in her dream.

The dream she’d had the night before she’d been abducted from Lord Corvindale’s carriage in London.

The dream in which…he’d died.

Angelica gasped and all eyes turned to her before she could figure out whether she’d done so purposely or not. Burned into her mind was the image of Voss, splayed on the ground in that awful dun-colored coat and purple and red neckcloth. Dead.

“My guest has awakened,” Moldavi said. He smiled a hateful smile and Angelica saw the flash of a blue gem in his fang. “Just in time to join us in our toast to her presence.”

So far she’d managed to keep him from biting her, although he’d been inordinately interested in the blood that erupted from her nose during her attempt to fight off one of his companions. She shuddered at the memory of him swiping his finger over her upper lip, and pulling it away, glistening with blood and then sliding it into his mouth. Watching her the whole time with glowing yellow eyes.

Angelica shifted, pulling herself up into a more stable position, and allowed herself a glance at Voss. His eyes met hers, and she was shocked by a blaze of awareness when their gazes clashed. Oh, Voss.

Her heart felt crushed, her breathing impossible. Why did you have to betray me?

She pulled her attention away and found Moldavi looking at her. “Perhaps you would care to join us in a toast, Miss Woodmore?” he asked. “It is in your honor, after all.”

The tone of his voice clearly indicated sarcasm, and Angelica wasn’t certain what to do. But before she could decide, there was a clatter, and the crash of breaking glass.

Moldavi gave a sharp exclamation and leaped to his feet. Voss did the same, but his movements were sharp and jerky and he seemed to be clutching the side of his chair for support.

The glass that had been in Voss’s hand had shattered on the table, and the dark liquid spread in a pool, draining onto the fur rugs below. The other two men in the room had moved immediately to flank Voss, and in spite of herself, Angelica’s heart lodged in her throat.

One of them wrenched Voss’s arm behind his back and she saw that he had begun to reach into his pocket, but was arrested in midmove.

“Did you not care for my choice of liqueur, then, Voss?” Moldavi said. His face had settled into a complacent smile that bespoke evil. “Absinthe doesn’t appeal?”

“Take your hands from me,” Voss said to the men. “You’re… mussing my coat.” His voice sounded weak to Angelica, and his face still seemed drawn. He’d shifted away from the chair and table during the little melee, moving farther from the furniture where they’d been sitting and nearer to the fireplace.

He looked at Moldavi. “You didn’t care to ask for the purpose of my visit,” he said. “If you had…you’d know that I come to do you a service. So if your men will take their hands off my person…our discussion can commence. Or…I can see what Regeris is willing to pay to find out when Chas Woodmore will die.”