The Vampire Voss (31 page)

He needed to get away. His head felt light and the room tried to spin, but he fought it still.

“Absinthe,” Cezar replied. He smiled with genuine pleasure, showing a fang studded with a tiny sapphire. “A bottle of the best French absinthe, which I have been saving for such an occasion.”

Absinthe.
Not brandy or whiskey.

Lucifer's nails… It was in the drink. Hyssop syrup. Of course.

“Drink, Voss,” Cezar told him. Looking at him oddly. “You must join us in the toast. I shall at last have the Woodmore bastard crawling on his knees. And Dimitri to follow.” The others had raised their own glasses.

It could kill him. Did Moldavi know? Could he know?

Voss had guarded his secret so closely. It was impossible for the other man to know. No. No one knew.

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.

W
hen 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.”

Angelica managed to hold back a gasp of fury. He was
using
her information? Giving it to Moldavi? And then his words penetrated, and she realized that Voss didn't actually know when her brother was going to die—for she hadn't told him. And even if he did know…it was to be decades from now. Her tension eased and she waited to see what would transpire.

Moldavi must have moved or given some sort of signal, for Voss was released—but not until after his pockets were searched. “Indeed?” Moldavi sounded bored.

Voss stood, his fingers still curled onto the back of a different chair, his face still taut as the contents of his pockets were flopped onto the table. A small pouch of coin, two small cloth-wrapped packets tied with string, a pistol and a knife. A handkerchief.

“What, no passport, Lord Dewhurst?” Moldavi said. “No identification papers. What a surprise.”

“If you don't mind,” Voss said, and began to carefully scoop the items back into his pockets. “Do you wish to know… the purpose of my visit…or do you wish to sit about sipping women's liqueur?” His speech was slow and careful.

“Personally I prefer the…women's liqueur, as you call it. I rather appreciated the gray expression on your face when you smelled it.” Moldavi stood and came toward Voss.

By now, Angelica's heart was beating furiously. Although she couldn't tell what precisely was going on, she knew that something was not as it appeared. Was he hurt? Ill?

Did Moldavi have some sort of power over him?

Other than that brief connection of their gazes, Voss hadn't acknowledged Angelica at all. Surely if he'd come to abduct her—or to save her—he would have at least made reference to her presence.

Moving only his eyes, Voss glanced at Moldavi, then at the other two vampires. His actions were still slow and careful, and he'd tottered backward so near the fireplace that Angelica had a sudden jolt of fear that he'd fall into it. He seemed labored, and Moldavi seemed to be enjoying it.

“Or was it the glass? Cut crystal?” asked Moldavi, turning back to lift his own glass from the table, his rings clinking against its stem. “Perhaps it was this particular sort of cork?”
His eyes narrowed in delight, giving Angelica the impression that he was a cat playing with a mouse.

“I am in possession of…information,” Voss said. He raised his hand to his forehead as if to wipe it off, then his fingers slid weakly to settle on his chest, curling into his shirt and tucking under the edge of his coat.

Voss. What is it?

“What sort of information?” Moldavi asked lazily. He swirled his glass and looked at the dark purplish liquid inside. “The only thing I want to know about Woodmore is that he
is
dead.”

“Then…about your emperor's…future.” Voss tripped and Angelica gasped, barely catching herself from leaping out of her chair as he grabbed the edge of the massive fireplace…just missing falling into the blazing flames.

As he did so, and made an awkward little spin, something slipped from the hand behind him. The small packet tumbled into the fire. Then Voss looked directly at Angelica, held her gaze with purpose. His lips moved; he seemed to be counting:
three, two…
Suddenly, with effort, he pushed himself off the edge of the fireplace and rolled along the wall away from the enclosure.

Boom!

Angelica screamed just as an explosion of smoke erupted from the fireplace. The room was enveloped in a billowing, ugly, purple cloud, and the last thing she saw before the space became dark was Voss's silhouette, hugging the wall.

Shouts and curses and coughing filled the air, but over it all, she heard him call out her name.

“
Angelica!
”

She didn't think about all of the reasons she shouldn't—she simply moved toward where she'd seen him last. Voss was an infinitely better option than Moldavi.

Thick smoke filled her nose and eyes, and she breathed its heavy air that was unlike any smoke she'd ever smelled. Fingers grasped at her in the fog, low and weak, and she knew it was Voss. “Angelica,” his voice was near her ear. She grasped at him, felt the hard muscle in his arm and clung to his solid figure.
Voss. Yes.

The sounds of rage, of furnishings crashing and grunts and exclamations of pain told her that Moldavi and his men were furious and intent on finding them. Something crashed above—a window breaking to release the smoke.

Someone bumped into her from behind. She stifled a gasp and skittered away, grasping Voss's arm tighter, as he staggered and half ran with her.

He seemed to know where he was going, and pulled her down, jerking her along in a crouching stagger rather than a run. She stumbled after him, with him, tripping, bumping and jolting, and then there was a pause as he slammed an arm into her, shoving her back against the wall. The smoke had lessened enough that she could see his eyes glowing through it. Smoldering red-orange, close to Angelica, intense and frightening…but soft when he turned them on her.

Suddenly they were moving again, out of the smoke and into some other space. She heard the door close behind them, found that they were in a narrow, dark hall. She could see, and breathe, and there was Voss, grabbing her hand with more strength than moments before…and they
ran.

 

Angelica stumbled and Voss steadied her. She could tell that whatever had weakened him—if it hadn't all been a ruse—was no longer in effect. He was fast, so
fast,
strong, and she held on to him for dear life. In fact, her feet hardly touched the ground after he slid his arm around her waist.

He navigated them through a twisty corridor, up and down
steps and suddenly they were going through doors, slipping into chambers, shops and even a pub. All at once, they were outside, under a dawning sky, bursting from the building onto a street.

No one on the walkway seemed to notice their sudden appearance, and Angelica couldn't have hoped to find her way back through if her life depended on it. Nor did she have any idea where she was, other than a shop-filled
rue
in Paris.

“Quickly,” Voss said, when she paused to catch her breath. He let her feet slide to the ground, and released her except to hold her fingers in his warm ones. “The sun is rising.”

Right. The sun was no friend to vampires.

Perhaps it was because he didn't wish to draw attention to them, but now Voss walked more slowly along the street. Since it was just beginning to dawn, revelers were stumbling home after a long night, and early shopkeepers and porters were out preparing for the day.

Voss had removed his coat and carried it under his arm and, with a flirtatious smile and a lightning-quick exchange of coin, he induced a tawdry-looking woman to part with her cloak. He draped the heavily sweet, smoke-scented wrap around Angelica's shoulders, covering her tattered evening frock, and hurried her along. She noticed he stayed close to the buildings, obviously trying to avoid direct beams from the emerging sun.

Angelica had no idea what he'd planned, but certainly she hadn't expected to be hustled along to a very proper, very expensive-looking hotel—
La Maison
—as she was. Voss breezed in through the main door as if he weren't dressed in the most outdated trousers and his face wasn't marked with dirt and smoke. Hers likely was as well, Angelica realized, and remembered the blood from her nose. She ducked her head to
hide her face, mortification flushing her cheeks. What was he thinking?

Without pause, he directed her up a flight of stairs to a third story, produced a key and flung the door open to a well-furnished chamber. Light from the new sun poured through three tall windows, cascading over two chairs and a chaise, a screened-off corner next to a footed bathtub and a small fireplace. And a large bed. Her body went cold, and then warm, and then shivery. She did not look at him.