“Who allowed that child-bleeder entrance?” Dimitri snarled, seeming to forget about the goblets. “I gave strict instructions—”
“Dimitri,” said Moldavi, sweeping toward them boldly. Voss could tell he knew he wasn’t welcome, and he didn’t care. His five companions pushed their way through as if they were the club’s owners, rather than guests. “Your place is quite accommodating.”
“I hardly expected to see you here, Moldavi,” Dimitri replied, looking at him from his chair, as if he couldn’t be bothered to rise. But Voss assumed it had to do with the fact that the man was weakened by the presence of some gemstone as well as the salvi. “There aren’t any children about.”
As the steward escorted him toward the door, he glanced at Moldavi. The man didn’t seem offended by the comments, and in fact returned Dimitri’s expression with a bold and challenging one.
“More’s the pity,” said Moldavi. “They have the sweetest, purest blood.”
Even Voss couldn’t contain his revulsion at that point, and despite the way the blood—and laced brandy—had lulled him while heightening his senses, he felt his belly lurch. So it was Cezar Moldavi who’d abandoned the young boy’s body in the farm fields. Bled nearly dry, the boy had been eight and left to die in the sun. All of Vienna had heard about it, and the horror had rushed through the mortal population as well as the Draculian underpinnings.
It was one thing to feed on a mortal, to take sustenance. Even from one who had to be coaxed or otherwise enthralled. But to leave one to die, and a child at that…
“I wouldn’t know,” Dimitri replied. Despite the fact that he hadn’t moved or hardly flickered an eyelash, he looked as if he were about to squash a large gnat. His fangs barely showed, and his eyes had banked the red-orange glow of fury. But the sense of suppressed fury fairly radiated from him, even though the chest of goblets still remained in the vicinity, apparently forgotten. “I don’t recall sending you an invitation, Cezar.”
The other man smiled unpleasantly. “I was certain it had been an oversight. You’ve always been so inclusive of all of us. Which is why I brought a gift for you.” He stepped aside and revealed a cloaked figure behind him.
It was a woman, Voss saw, and immediately, his blood surged and his breathing quickened as someone drew away her cloak. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She had smooth, ivory skin, startling blue eyes and ink-black hair that fell in long, lush waves over her shoulders. She wore a vibrant purple gown that clung to a tall, slender body in the most unfashionable manner, but that left every curve outlined: her breasts, their erect nipples, the swell of her belly and the bones of her hips and even the swell of her mons.
Her only other adornment was a curious bracelet with a feather dangling from it.
“I have no interest in your leavings, Moldavi,” Dimitri said. His attention had barely flickered over the woman. “Especially your sister.…Although,” he added, as if an afterthought, “she’s not precisely your type, is she? You prefer to let others partake while you sniff out other…less taxing…amusements.” A bit more of his fangs showed.
Even from a distance near the door, Voss saw and heard the rumble of surprise from Moldavi’s companions. Apparently they weren’t used to their leader being insulted by the implication he couldn’t bed a woman. And neither was he, if the expression on his face was any indication. Surprise and hatred flashed there, and then it was gone.
Voss turned his attention back to the woman. So this was Cezar Moldavi’s vampire sister, Narcise. Even with dull, blank eyes, she was an incredible beauty. Enough to make any man, mortal or Dracule, weak in the knees and hard of the cock. How could Dimitri resist? Voss would have accepted her in a moment, and in fact, if he weren’t being so unceremoniously escorted from the place, he would have tried.
But that wasn’t going to happen, for he realized belatedly Narcise Moldavi didn’t seem to have any freedom of her own. She didn’t speak to anyone, and other than a single, brief flash of life in her eyes, she remained little more than a statue at her brother’s side. Clearly under his control.
The same couldn’t be said for Moldavi, for after Dimitri’s dismissal of Narcise, the man’s eyes burned brilliant red. “You dare to insult my family?”
“On the contrary. The insult was directed to you alone,” Dimitri replied, clearly bored.
By that time, Voss was at the door and he had no choice but to leave, even though he had a feeling things were about to get interesting.
He didn’t find out until months later what exactly had happened that caused the great loathing between Moldavi and Dimitri to become even deeper and more permanent. According to other witnesses, after Voss left, Moldavi pretended to do the same. But instead, he remained in the club and somehow lured Lerina into a dark corner with him.
When Lerina reappeared with Cezar’s marks on her left shoulder and his scent on her, Dimitri had had enough. Intoxicated from the salvi and likely still weakened by the presence of his Asthenia, he was obviously impaired. Moldavi pulled out a small wooden stake—which he clearly had not left at the door—and lunged at Dimitri. In their struggle they knocked over a lit candelabra.
No one noticed at first because of the ensuing battle, and the fire started quickly, eating into the lush upholstery and furnishings in the chamber as Dimitri grabbed Cezar by the throat. Fueled by fury, he lifted him into the air, throwing him across the room. Cezar landed in a heap amid his followers, beaten by a vampire who was unarmed, not to mention intoxicated and weakened. Completely and utterly humiliated.
Of course, Voss wasn’t there to witness the details of the fight, but it was clear from the stories that that night cemented a hatred between the two men even deeper than the discord he’d invited by bringing the goblets.
To add even more injury to Dimitri’s insult, the fire not only destroyed his new club, it also caused the death of Lerina, who had been unable to escape the fire.
In one dark evening, Dimitri lost his mistress and a valuable piece of property, and made himself a lethal enemy by humiliating an immortal madman in front of his peers. And had nearly been tricked into revealing his deepest secret.
It was, Voss reflected grimly as he clung to the back of his carriage, no wonder the man blamed him. If he hadn’t put the salvi in the brandy, things might not have happened the way they had.
Or perhaps they would have.
After all, as Dimitri had warned Voss after Brickbank’s death, which couldn’t have been avoided despite Voss’s precautions: if one was destined to die, there was nothing that could be done to prevent it.
Voss blinked and rubbed his head against the back of the carriage that held Angelica, bringing himself back from more than a hundred years ago to present-day London.
The carriage navigated through shoppers and street hawkers on busy Bond Street, then along Piccadilly toward Fleet, and at last turned along Bishopsgate. Now it pulled into a narrow opening between two buildings.
Voss knew they’d reached their destination when the smell of the river and all of its accompanying stench melded with that of vomit and stale ale. The Billingsgate Fish Market was two blocks away, and here in the narrow, crooked streets were rows of public houses frequented by the fishermen and mongers. The particular establishment to which he had directed his groom had a sign on the front naming it The Golden Lion, but was known as Black Maude’s to those who frequented it.
Now that they’d arrived on the eastern side of town amid close, tall buildings, Voss was able to raise his face without fearing it would be seared by the light of the sun. That heavenly body had sunk lower, which meant Belial and his forces would be out in full force in short order.
Voss was one of the few Dracule who could go out during the daylight, as long as he kept any direct sunbeams from touching his skin. Even on some rainy, very cloudy days, he could walk about without covering for a short time. Tolerance for the sun varied by each individual, but there were some who dared not venture into sunlit air at all�
�covered or not. Nevertheless, full and direct exposure would kill any Dracule.
Just as Lucifer lived and thrived in the dark, relying on shadows and night to hide his deeds, so were the Dracule made. Sunlight exposed too much.
Voss considered himself relatively fortunate in this matter, which had made his escape from previous sticky situations much easier. And, in this case, it gave him the freedom to remove Angelica to a safer location.
The carriage came to a complete stop in the back alley behind Maude’s, and Voss released the handle, stepping lightly onto the ground. A sharp glance confirmed the shadowy passage was deserted. He moved quickly to unlatch the carriage door, more than a bit apprehensive about Angelica’s reaction to being abducted in such a manner.
When he opened the door and looked in, she didn’t move except to spear him with a cool gaze.
At least she didn’t fly at him in a rage, as another of his consorts had done when he’d subjected her to a similar mode of transport. Of course, India had been a fiery-haired and tempered vixen even when she was at rest, and that situation had been markedly different than this one. For one, he’d been abducting her from her husband. For another, he’d already shared her bed on more than one occasion.
His mouth dried and the sheaths around his incisors tightened as he realized how soon he’d be doing the same with this young woman.
“Shall I disembark, or are you planning to join me?” Angelica asked in an even voice. Her hair was still pooled around her shoulders, and her slender hands were settled in her lap. The uneven light spilled over the curves of her collarbones and breasts. Voss’s breath deepened as he gripped the doorframe. He felt weak. She was so very lovely.
But…her eyes. It was her eyes that captured him: clearly annoyed, beckoning, intelligent. And wise.
It was the wisdom there, the peace, that tugged at him. Deeply.
“I thought you might wish a bit of refreshment,” he said. “We’re going to stop for a bit.”
“Is it safe?” she asked, and that peace edged away to be replaced by wariness. Worry.
She still trusted him enough to ask.
“I won’t allow anything to happen to you, Angelica,” he said, offering her his hand. At least, anything you won’t enjoy.
She murmured something that sounded annoyed, but she rose from her seat and took his hand with her bare fingers. “Does this belong to you?” she asked, showing him one of his gloves.
“I wondered where it had gotten to,” he replied, and took it as she alighted from the carriage. “Thank you for finding it.”
She merely gave him an inscrutable look and lifted the hem of Rubey’s frock so it didn’t drag on the ground.
Voss, feeling unusually put off by her reticence and calm (he had expected to be confronted with a harridan when he opened the door), and the odd way she was looking at him, opened the grimy door of the building. No sooner had they stepped inside the back entrance, dark with dirt and soot and sticky with grease, than his carriage rumbled off for a change of horses. The groom would return after and wait for them in the alley.
Inside Black Maude’s, Voss led Angelica down a dark passage to the private rooms with which he was well familiar. As was expected, no one greeted them in this rear corridor. It wasn’t until he unfastened the latch on the third door (the only one with the red string hanging out, indicating the chamber was empty) and entered the small chamber die he speak again.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, turning to lock the door behind them and to pull its red string inside. There was another door on the opposite side of the chamber through which he would communicate with the proprietress.
It was all very discreet but, unlike Rubey’s, this particular establishment didn’t cater to Dracule members. Most of the patrons here were mortals with very specific tastes they dared not allow to become public.
Angelica stood in the center of the room, looking as if she were afraid to touch anything. Voss couldn’t blame her; for although the bed was neatly made, its cleanliness appeared dubious at best. There were two chairs and a small dining table, along with a screen in the corner and a chamber pot. On the table was an unopened bottle of whiskey along with a collection of glasses. And, to his annoyance, in what sounded like the very next room, a woman was trying to sing to a piano that was ridiculously out of tune.
“Your choice of accommodations seems to be deteriorating,” she said, gesturing to the space. But a bit of a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth, taking some of the petulance away.
“The chair is likely the safest place,” he said, sweeping off his smothering cloak. He settled it over the nearest chair and indicated for her to sit.
And all of a sudden, he felt awkward. He was in a bedchamber, with a woman he desired.
And he felt awkward.
How could that be?
“Is something amusing?” Angelica asked. Despite the sensual disarray of her hair, she managed to look and sound very proper. Even her bare hands were folded neatly in her lap.
A knock at the door interrupted any reply he might have made, and Voss went to slide open its small, inset panel. He ordered food and drink for Angelica, and then closed the sliding door.
“I neglected to ask earlier,” Voss said, resisting the urge to pace, and firmly ignoring the painful nudge at the back of his shoulder, “if you were hurt. Other than your…foot.”
“Hurt? No, ’tis only a little ache. But frightened?” She lifted her chin and fastened him with her gaze. “Yes, I am quite frightened, Dewhurst. Frightened and confused.”
“I prefer you to call me Voss,” he said, taking care to allow a bit of huskiness into his voice.
She merely looked at him, and again, he felt as if the ground was falling away beneath his feet. This was a woman he couldn’t quite understand…and couldn’t control. She didn’t make demands, she didn’t throw her delicious body at him—but nor was she a shy and retiring virgin, exactly. And she was a woman who saw, and lived, death every day.
How could she bear it? How could she have such peace in her eyes?
Voss would never understand what made him speak at that moment, to ask the question that suddenly, unexpectedly, jumped into his mind. But he did, and later, he found that he didn’t regret it. “Do you know when you are to die?”
Her eyes widened a fraction and he heard the subtle intake of her breath. He thought she might ignore the question, as she had done earlier when he asked if she’d known about her parents’ death before it happened.
“No,” she said softly, rising from the becloaked chair. “I attempted it once, holding one of my gloves and concentrating upon it…but I could see nothing. Perhaps it is for the best.” She’d taken a few steps and the hem of her dress dragged on the floor. It pulled the neckline of her gown awry and he couldn’t help but notice. “I know enough.”
“Did it make your childhood very difficult?” he asked, wondering why he didn’t simply grab her and drag her up against him, sink inside her. Everything about her filled the room.
But…she was different. Everything was different with Angelica.
He turned away and opened the whiskey. A quick sniff told him it was only marginally better than the rotgut he’d had during a brief trip to some primitive place called Kentucky, but it was something.
He poured a glass and sipped. No, it was even worse than the Kentuckian drink they called moonshine. He managed another sip and restrained a grimace. Perhaps the wine he’d ordered would be better.
“Granny Grapes wouldn’t allow me to dwell on it. She helped me learn how to set things aside. How to accept.” Her slippered toe dug into a hole in the rug braided of rags. “I have no doubt I’d be a different person if it weren’t for her wisdom.” She hesitated, digging her toe deeper. “May I tell you something I’ve never told anyone?”
Yes. But…why? Why him? Something inside his chest swelled, warming him. The Mark burned in warning. “I would be honored,” he said, ignoring it, “Angelica.” He set the g
lass down.
She gave him that odd look again, a wry sort of expression. “So it is back to Angelica once more. What has happened to ‘Miss Woodmore’? Or is she about only when we are in the presence of your Cyprians?”
The layers of meaning in her words assaulted him, but Voss was a master at paring through to the core of a woman’s speech, whether it be murmured pillow talk or screamed demands. “In truth, I think of you as Angelica, regardless of what I might say. Angelica…” He said her name, drawing it out slowly like a verbal caress.
“Is that so?” she said. But her voice was rough and he saw her cheeks were flushed tawny pink. Then she drew herself up and he recognized tension settle over her. “Were you with Rubey when those…vampirs attacked us?”
Once again, he understood what she was truly asking. He couldn’t find it odd or even flattering she should assume that he and Rubey had been intimately engaged. Not only was it a logical assumption, even for a sheltered young woman and especially after what she’d been exposed to, but Angelica had already proven she had a facile mind.
“We had left to go to her place of business. To settle my accounts. My pocket is now that much lighter.” The light tone he’d adopted faded. And Rubey, whom he had considered a friend, had all but exiled him from her place. “If I’d had a glimmer of suspicion Belial’s men would have found us and attacked in the daylight, I would never have left. But neither Rubey nor I had fathomed she might be betrayed by one of her closest employees.”
“The daylight. So that part is true? They cannot go about in the sun?”
Voss nodded, wishing he’d left out that bit of detail. She seemed to know too much already. “I’m relieved we returned in time to keep anything worse from happening to you. One of the chambermaids managed to get out of the house and to come after us.”
“But you weren’t in time to save Ella.” There was reproach in her voice, and Voss realized he’d forgotten about the dead girl.
“No,” he said. Although it had been more than a century since he’d been the cause of a mortal’s death—from reckless feeding—he’d also come to accept it was a casualty of the Draculia and its need to feed on mortal blood. One could learn to control the blind need and leave the victim alive, as Voss had learned to do early on, but many of the Draculia had no concern about doing so. They had no reason to care any more about the lives of the mortals upon which they feasted than a butcher was concerned with the slaughtering of his cow or pig.
Bad Boys of the Night: Eight Sizzling Paranormal Romances: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set Page 83
