The Vampire Voss (16 page)

“Can we get out here?” she asked as she reached the window.

Ella had frozen in place. “It's them,” she whispered, her eyes so wide Angelica was certain they'd pop from her skull. “They're here! In the day!” Then she gasped and pointed down. “You're bleeding!”

Angelica's bloodied foot slipped on the stretch of wooden floor as she worked to unhinge the shutter. “That's the least of our worries,” she snapped. “Can you help me?”

Where was Voss? Was he in the midst of the fight? Or was he not even here?

“Oh, lordy, lordy,” Ella said, grabbing the towel and thrusting it at Angelica. “Wipe it up! Quick, before they—”

She stopped with a little scream as something slammed into the door. The wooden slats bowed and creaked threateningly.

“Who is it?” Angelica shouted to Ella, who was doing nothing but gaping. The shutter released, opening so hard it rebounded against the wall and then back against her temple. Ignoring the unexpected pain, she yanked on the heavy window frame as she stood in tepid sunshine.

The door protested again under another, more ferocious onslaught, and Angelica gave a brief thought to the possibility that Voss might be the one attempting to gain entrance…but, no—surely if it were him, he'd be shouting at her to let him in.

At last, the window opened, and Angelica stuck her head out into the warm sunshine to look down…and down.

Blast! The street was two levels below, and she couldn't see any way to—

There was a loud splintering sound behind her and Ella screamed again. Angelica turned, her heart in her throat, and reached for the poker. The door sagged and she could see two
powerful arms reaching through a ragged hole, and just then, a booted foot smashed through near the bottom.

With no other choice, she rushed toward them, swinging the poker, slamming it at the fingers as they tore, bare-handed, at the iron-bound wood. She smashed the poker against one arm and then used its pointed end to stab at the other, then down at the foot kicking at the large hole.

Nothing seemed to stop the intruders; they kept ramming against the weakening door and Angelica tried to fight them back…but only moments later the pieces of wood fell away and two men burst into the room.

Angelica had the impression of hulking figures, burning eyes and the gleam of feral smiles. For a moment, she lost her breath, freezing in fear. But when one of them grabbed Ella and the other lunged for Angelica, she came back to life and swung her poker.

Her cut foot slipped again and she nearly lost her balance, but the poker met its mark, slamming into the side of the fiery-eyed man who reached for her. The blow didn't seem to affect him, and he shoved the metal rod away as if it were a twig, sending Angelica skidding aside as Ella's screams filled the room.

Somehow, Angelica managed to evade the grasping hands and dive under the bed. She lost the poker in the process, and huddled in the corner, frantically trying to think of an escape. If she could get past him and dash toward the doorway….

Suddenly, the bed rose, lifted straight above her, and then flew against the wall. Wooden pieces and bedding crashed in all directions, raining on her and giving her a moment in the flurry to dash to her feet.

She stepped on glass and tripped over a sheet, staggering against a piece of splintered bed frame. Terror gripped her as
she fell and one of her attackers moved, trapping her where she crouched in the corner.

He paused, looking down at her as if to give her fear a chance to build. A tall man with broad shoulders and a long face, he had the glowing eyes she'd come to recognize as belonging to the
vampirs
. His hair was short and thick and curling, and he might have been considered attractive if it weren't for the wildness of his smile, the pointed length of two of his teeth, and the murderousness in his eyes. And what looked like a streak of blood on his jaw.

Oh, God, help me.

Those eyes bored into her as a half smile twitched his lips, and he waited as if trying to lull her. Meanwhile, his chest rose and fell as if his own anticipation was heightened.

Angelica realized at that moment that silence had fallen. Even Ella was quiet. The only noise was her own gasping breaths and a soft, eerie gurgling sound that made the hair on her arms rise.

Something heavy and metallic-scented filled the air, and in that frozen moment, she realized it was blood. Lots of blood.

A horrified gasp escaped her and her fingers groped for something on the floor—a broken bottle, a piece of the bed, a
pillow
—anything. Her hand slipped through the puddle of blood gathering beneath her foot, roaming over the uneven wooden planks.

“Woodmore,” said the vampire. “Art thou Woodmore's sister?” He stepped closer. “Speak now, or meet thy fate.”

A flicker of his attention to the opposite side of the room tricked her into looking there, where Ella lay half-sprawled across the tilted dressing table. The other intruder bent over her, his hand curled up into her hair. She'd stopped screaming and fighting, and even in her quick glance, Angelica saw the
faint twitching of her feet and one hand. Blood stained the front of her gown and tinged her fingers.

“I am,” Angelica whispered, hoping that was the proper thing to say. The answer that would save her life…or gain her some time until Voss arrived.

Where was Voss?

“Chas Woodmore's sister?” the man demanded in a voice that could only be described as disappointed. “The hunter?”

Hunter. Suddenly something snapped in Angelica's mind—a vague memory crystallizing into a surge of hope. Stories from her childhood.

A stake. Right. A wooden one. Where? In the…in the
heart
.

“Yes,” she said to him as much as to herself. Yes, that was how the story went. Not the metal poker; that wouldn't help. But wood.

A piece of the bed.

Now she felt blindly on the floor with purpose.

His eyes bored into her and she felt a surge of fear. He looked as if he wanted to tear her into pieces. His smile revealed two sharp incisors and as his grin widened, she saw that his teeth and gums were stained red.

With blood.

“Methinks you lie,” he said. A hand swung down and grabbed at her, but before he could drag her to her feet, an emphatic
No!
erupted from the corner. The grip released and she sagged back onto the floor.

He turned to glower at his companion, who, as Angelica watched, dumped the bloody mess that was Ella onto the ground. It landed in the faint square of sunlight. In the moment of distraction, she found what she sought and her sticky fingers closed around a splinter of wood.

“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.

A
ngelica 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?

“I'll not take you back to Corvindale,” Voss said flatly. “Not quite yet.”

And then, to her shock and surprise, he slammed the door closed, leaving himself on the outside. The sound of the latch catching solidified the realization that he didn't intend to join her.

Angelica whipped the heavy curtains away from the windows just in time to see Voss—she thought it was him, at any rate—heavily cloaked and with a low-riding hat settle on the
small stoop at the back of the barouche where the footman would normally stand.

He was choosing to ride outside of the vehicle instead of inside with her? What did that mean?

The sudden jolt of the vehicle starting off nudged her against the padded wall. Voss hadn't moved, but she could see his gloved hands holding on to the handles next to the window. He looked like a black wraith, his cloak flapping as they went on and his face in shadow, his profile turned away and down.

Angelica, exhausted, still more than a bit horrified at the day's events, and now filled with annoyance, settled into her seat and folded her arms over her middle.

“This is a fine kettle,” she said to herself. Locked in a carriage, being taken who knew where.

But she wasn't frightened. At least, not of Voss.

There were much worse threats to her person than the tawny-haired man with the hot gaze.

Perhaps he meant to protect her reputation by not riding about London during the day alone in the carriage with her. Not that anyone could see inside the heavily curtained windows.

Or perhaps he thought it would be safer if he rode outside, where he could watch for other attacks.

Or perhaps he didn't wish to be near her any longer. Now that he'd been with Rubey for the afternoon.

For it had become starkly clear to her that he and Rubey had been otherwise engaged when the invaders had come into the house, and had somehow avoided a direct attack. The thought of what they were doing made her feel suddenly quite ill again.

Miserable, she settled into the corner of the carriage. The plush velvet walls and cushions embraced her, and she rested
her head back and tried not to think about what a disaster her life had become.

She had to admit it, then. That she'd come to truly fancy Voss in the few days that she'd known him, in the fleeting moments of conversation and in those moments when their eyes had met… Well, she must admit it. She had believed,
hoped,
that he'd fancied her, too.

Foolish purring kitten,
as Granny Grapes would say. And she'd jab her finger at Angelica just as Maia was wont to do.
Yer seeing what yer want to see.

Voss—she really ought to think of him as Dewhurst again— was merely being gentlemanly in taking care of her and taking her off to safety. Protecting her, or any woman in danger, as any man would do.

Yes, they'd had some compelling conversation. And indeed, when they'd talked just this morning whilst she was still abed, Angelica had felt as if the silken thread of a connection had been strung between them when she looked into his eyes and saw something deeper there.

And, yes, there'd been that kiss…

Angelica's toes curled up inside the too-large slippers as she remembered that kiss, that melting, mind-shattering kiss. And then she forced her thoughts away from it.

Yes, that kiss. But it hadn't been her first kiss, and certainly not his. A kiss didn't have to mean anything. Just because it made the ground shift beneath her feet didn't mean it did the same to him…and even if it did—there was Rubey.

And thus and so went her thoughts, circular, dark, confused and focused on everything but the fact that her life was in danger and that she'd been attacked for the second time in less than a day.

That was simply too dark and terrifying for her to think about.

Angelica opened her eyes when the carriage made a sharp turn and for the first time, she noticed a glove tucked into the cushion of the seat across from her. Was it Voss's? By all indication, this was his carriage.

Angelica bit her lip, looking at the crushed beige glove. She was tempted. Oh, so tempted…

Before she could consider any repercussions, she slid over to pluck it from its spot. Too large to belong to a woman, as she'd suspected, the glove had small, tight stitches and was soft as butter. When she brought it close to her nose, she found that the scent that reminded her of him clung to the silk lining.

And there on the edge of the underside was a monogram.
VA,
with a large, stylized
D
in between the initials. Voss Arden, Lord Dewhurst.

Angelica glanced guiltily out the window of the carriage. But although his hand still grasped the handle and his dark figure stood steady on its small platform, his face was buried in the dark recesses of his hat and the collar of his cloak.

Angelica looked down at the rich leather.

Did she dare?

Did she even want to know?

But the man fascinated her and she needed something other than fear on which to focus her mind. And so she closed her eyes, crumpled Voss's glove in her hand and opened her thoughts.

 

Voss shifted with each movement of the carriage so that his face—the only exposed part of his skin—would remain out of the sunlight. An inconvenience at the very least…but much less trying than sitting in that small space with Angelica.

For a moment, he lost his thoughts, sliding back into the red haze that had engulfed him when he entered the chamber to find her being attacked by Trastonio and some other gutter
wipe make. Bloodscent filled the air—that of the destroyed maid, and another, sweeter, much more compelling one. From Angelica.

He'd never forget the image that greeted him, penetrating through that sudden, hot fog of desire. Even now, as his leather-clad fingers gripped the handle protruding from the rear of his carriage, in his mind he saw Angelica—wide-eyed, white-faced, huddled in the corner of the chamber. Terror blazed in her exotic eyes, her hair straggled wild and dark around the sagging neckline of her shift. Two white feet and bare calves beneath the hem, streaked with crimson…and her fingers around a piece of wood, her mouth tight with concentration as she prepared to defend herself.

Lucifer's brittle bones. He'd nearly lost her. And lost his chance.

And then to see, and scent, her blood…a most intimate part of her. The thought of it, the sense of tasting it, hot and heavy on his tongue…her lips parted in pleasured sighs and her lush body opening to him…. It made his desire uncontrollable. His fingers had dug into the edge of the window as he sent her away before he lost the ability to curb his actions.