The Vampire Voss (3 page)

When he turned fifteen and went off to school, Voss realized that his tendency toward observation and manipulation was no longer a simple matter of entertainment, but personal security, as well. The upperclassmen at Eton leeched almost immediately onto the pretty blond boy who tended toward the scrawny side, tossing him into the privy on his second day of school. That shock, after having been petted and fussed over for his young life, caused Voss to look at the world of men quite differently.

Although he spent more than seven hours in the privy that first week, it took Voss no longer than that to skulk around the college, spying and observing and gathering information. He learned that the biggest and most fearsome of the upperclassmen, Barding Delton, had a terrible secret that he could not allow to be divulged. When Voss approached him and indicated that the next time he was thrown into the privy, he would be more than pleased to share with the entire school that Delton couldn't raise his prick to pleasure a woman no matter how hard he tried and how much he boasted about doing so, Delton decided to find someone else to toss into the muck.

And so it went. The mathematics professor who tried to coerce Voss into dropping his breeches for him in a dark corner was deterred by the threat of exposure to his wife and father. The priest who couldn't remember where he'd put the consecrated hosts after a serious drinking bout was induced to
give Voss the highest marks in Latin, even when he refused to attend class.

The most attractive of women fell prey to his seduction as well, long before he had the ability to enthrall them with his vampiric eyes. The wife of his science teacher, the sister of one of his classmates who'd been promised to another—even the mistress of the city's mayor—all found themselves sharing a bed with him.

And that was even before he finished at Eton.

When he became Dracule and realized that each one of his “brothers” had the penultimate secret of a life-threatening Asthenia, Voss found it an amusing pastime to learn what it was for as many of them as possible. He used whatever method it took—deduction, trickery or bribes—and for this reason he found himself all but ostracized by the rest of the Draculia. They simply didn't trust him.

The ostracization was unfair, if not highly amusing to Voss, for he'd rarely sold the information or otherwise utilized it. Nor did he intend to—unless his own life was at stake. The collection of knowledge had become a personal triumph. Some men collected horses or women or wine. Voss collected information.

He was rich, titled, handsome, powerful, could bed any woman he wanted whenever he wanted and he was never going to die. What else was he to do with his infinite amount of time?

What else?

Voss pursed his lips as the carriage trundled along. His companions were conversing about some twilight horse race in which he had no interest, while he must consider wooing a Woodmore sister out from under the Earl of Corvindale's nose.

Just another challenge. Just another puzzle.

Now, Voss's eyes narrowed as a movement in the shadows caught his attention. The carriage rolled speedily along, but he could see well into the dark recess of the alley and he straightened in his seat as they went by. The flutter of a skirt, a tall, bulky figure swooping. His eyes narrowed and he rapped sharply on the vehicle's roof to signal the driver to stop.

Pleasure rushed through him as he sprang from the conveyance before it came to a full stop. Ignoring the exclamations of his companions, Voss was out the door and streaking back down the street toward the long, dark passage between two close-knit buildings.

It was a matter of a breath before he arrived in the engulfing shadows that, nevertheless, appeared to him only like green haze mottled with gray. Although the details were obscured, he could still clearly see shapes and some texture in the dark. His fangs he kept retracted and he knew his eyes glowed faintly, but he didn't allow them to burn very hot. Not yet.

The muffled sounds of struggle filtered through the silence and Voss smiled in anticipation. Just a bit of a diversion before the propriety of the ball.

He moved so silently and quickly that the man had no sense of his presence until Voss closed his fingers over the scruff of his jacket and hoisted him up and away from his prey. Nearly twice his size, the attacker flailed with a meaty arm, attempting to whirl about as Voss propelled him through the air like a child's ball. He landed against a rough brick wall with a satisfying thump as Voss turned to the woman.

Blood scented the air—thick and full and tempting. It had, after all, been two days since he'd fed. Voss drew in a breath of pleasure and looked down at her. In the greenish-glowing dimness, he took note of her wide eyes and her dress—a frock that he could see was of decent quality. The daughter of a tradesman perhaps, or a servant, but certainly not a beggar
or even a whore. Her clothing and grooming were much too nice.

She gaped at him, staggering back into the wall behind her as she stumbled away, clearly frightened of everything, including her rescuer.

Voss heard the noise behind him as the heavy man struggled to his feet, but he ignored it and instead spoke to the woman. “A bit dark down in here, isn't it, m'dear?”

Her neck and the expanse of her bosom gleamed pale in the dimness and he saw blood trailing from a cut on her cheek. It was still fresh; glistening and raw and its scent teased him. A young woman's blood, cut with fear, rich and sweet. He could already taste it.

Her mouth moved but nothing came out, yet Voss stepped closer, reaching for her arm. “Come,” he said. “You don't want to stay here.” He turned just as she gasped in alarm, his arm whipping out to crash solidly into the other man, who'd lunged at them.

One effortless slash against the attacker's gut, then an elbow smashing into the side of his head, and this time the man collapsed like a stone. The aroma of his blood filled the air, heavy and metallic. And plentiful.

Voss wasn't even tempted.

During this additional altercation, Voss hadn't loosened his grip on the woman's arm, and now he turned back to coax her. “Come now,” he said again, leaning closer to get a better whiff of her bloodscent. Lovely. “He won't bother you again. Let's get you somewhere safe.”

She made a whimpering sound, and he banked the glow of his eyes. He'd kept his fangs sheathed all this time; there was no reason to frighten her any further. He had other methods, and he preferred an at least somewhat willing partner. Once
she understood that pleasure awaited, she'd be willing and ready.

He'd already stripped off his gloves, and now, with a bare finger, he reached out and swiped the blood from her cheek. His skin seemed to heat as the liquid touched his flesh, and he brought his finger to his lips. A delicate taste, just there on his mouth…warm, but a bit thin. Not as sweet as he'd expected, or hoped. But pleasant enough. It would do.

She was still gaping up at him with frantic eyes and Voss tugged her closer. “You're safe now,” he murmured, and deftly shifted so his foot brushed against hers.

So simple, so easy. He allowed his eyes to shift and beckon, and felt her tension ease as he captured her gaze, just enough to take the edge off her panic. Even in this dim light, he could find the center of a mortal, he could tug and coax and lead.…

She stumbled a bit and he moved closer, still holding the eye contact. “I want to taste you.”

Her breath stuttered and she stared at him, her hand trembling against her throat. Her lips parted but nothing came out.

“May I?” he asked, but he was already moving in. Closer. The warmth of her breath puffed against him, buffeting his mouth, the smell of bloodscent filling his nose. He smiled. Then he released and loosened the thrall he had cast upon her so that she knew what he was about to do.

So she would feel the pleasure.

She softened and her eyes fluttered.

His fangs had emerged and he showed them to her. “It won't hurt,” he murmured, lifting her arm, smoothing away the sleeve of her frock. Then in a burst of ferocity, he changed his mind and reached for her shoulders. She muttered and shifted, and he pulled away to look at her. A bit of fear leaped there…
fear and an edge of curiosity and desire. The glamouring, the thrall, was no longer necessary: he saw only clear need and question. He smiled and bent to her neck.

She stiffened and gasped in shock as his fangs sank in, down into the soft flesh.

Ah.
The blood, the sweet flood of it, the smell and taste of iron and fear and naked desire poured through him. His veins surged and filled, his body heated and the familiar throb lifted his cock. She trembled, shuddered, her hands against his shoulders. Whether she were pushing him away or merely steadying herself, he wasn't certain. He didn't care.

When he wanted, he took.

She moaned against him, suddenly soft, suddenly pressing her body all along his. The curve of her breasts and the swell of her arse were tempting and he pulled away from her neck long enough to smother her mouth with his. Heat mixed with the heavy iron of her lifeblood. She shuddered beneath his kiss, her lips opening and the warm sleek thrust of her tongue shared the blood on his lips.

That was the way of it. They always wanted more.

And for the Dracule, it was a dual-pronged need: the desire for hot, sweet, life-sustaining blood combined inextricably with sexual desire. One fed the other: the dual penetrations, the heat and sensuality, the sleek, pulsing sensations, the intimate tastes and scents. Although it was possible, a Dracule rarely indulged in one without the other. Why bother?

She shifted so that her hips moved against him, little gasps and sighs coming from deep in her throat as he returned to feeding, to drawing the pulsing blood from her throat in the same primitive rhythm of coitus. The girl shuddered, vibrating with desire, her fingers curling into his arms.

Voss fed, drawing deep and hard. He breathed in her heated scent, felt the tremors in her torso and her weight suddenly
sag between him and the wall. He knew when to stop, and he pulled away. Reluctantly. His cock raged, needing to finish things off. In response to the interruption, Voss felt the familiar warning twinge on the back of his shoulder.

The girl looked up at him with vacant eyes and he kissed her parted lips in a brief thank you. Then he bent back to the four little wounds on her neck and licked them delicately, slipping his tongue into and around the little indentations to ensure the spread of his healing saliva. After all, he'd just saved her life. It would be a bit of a kick in the face to let her die so soon after.

Just as he was finishing and setting her weak-kneed body up against the wall, Voss heard a noise behind him.

“What in the bloody hell?”

Eddersley.

“Hell, Dewhurst. Can't keep 'em sheathed for more than a few hours, can you?” His friend tsked. Of course, if it were a handsome, muscled young man in the alley, Eddersley would have been unsheathing his own incisors without delay. He'd even looked Voss's way more than once—but that had been decades ago, when they'd first met at one of Cale's parties in Paris.

Voss smiled, still feeling the pleasure. “When the opportunity presents itself, why not? She enjoyed it as much as I. Or at least, that's how she'll remember it.” As she tensed, he curled his fingers around her arm so the girl couldn't run off before he was through with her. “You can still join me.”

Eddersley didn't look the least bit tempted. “I just visited Rubey's. I'll wait and see what I can find at the Lundhames' tonight. Blue blood's my preference.”

Blue blood in a stiff cock, to be precise.
“This was nothing more than a bit of foreplay. I've room for more, later, of course.”
Voss grinned and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with the handkerchief in case of any errant streaks of blood. The girl was making little gasping noises and he looked down at her. “Now, there, m'dear. It's all over for now and soon you won't recall a thing about it. More's the pity for you.”

He turned on his gentle thrall, his eyes glowing full and golden-red, and he stared into the girl's gaze. He felt the moment she released the memory of him and what had just occurred: she gave a little sigh and a jolt and then fear blazed into her face.

Good; she'd remember the attack from the man, but wouldn't have the memory of a handsome tawny-haired vampire to share.

“Go,” he commanded. “And stay out of the bloody alleys.” He released her and watched as the girl pushed past him, dashing toward the street-end of the alley where a lamp provided the relative safety of illumination.

“I thought you were hell-bent on getting to the Lundhames',” Eddersley said. “Didn't think you had time for such a diversion.”

Voss straightened up and brushed the sleeve of his coat. “Indeed. But if I hadn't stopped to intervene, she'd have suffered more than a bit of pleasure and four small puncture wounds. 'Twas only a bit of a delay. The Woodmore chits will still be there, I'm certain.”

“Never can pass up a bit of the tip-slip, can you, Dewhurst?” said Brickbank as Voss and Eddersley climbed back into the coach.

“Why should I?” he replied, settling into his seat. He was aware of the sharper ache on the back of his right shoulder as he settled into place.

The discomfort was Lucifer's way of annoying him, of course. Reminding him to whom he belonged. The ache
wouldn't be nagging at him if he'd gouged his fangs roughly into that little chit's chest, tearing the virgin flesh and sucking until she collapsed—and then left her. Or if he'd savaged her assailant, draining him of his blood or even simply pulling him apart. Or even if he'd driven on by without stopping to interfere.

Voss adjusted his arm and tried to ignore the dull throb emanating through Lucifer's Mark. He knew what it would look like at this moment: the slender jagged line that started beneath the hair at his nape and spread like roots over the back of his right shoulder would be raised like tiny, dark veinlike welts. Normally the mark remained nearly flat and simply looked like the tattoo of a shattered piece of glass. But at times like this, it filled and swelled and became an annoyance.