The Vampire Voss (17 page)

Voss thought they'd have more time at Rubey's. He hadn't expected one of her own footmen to betray them to the likes of Belial—but then, of course, men like Edouard did strange things for the chance to become immortal.

Too bloody bad for the man who was now frying in the deadly sun. Voss was certain Belial hadn't told Edouard about that particular drawback of being a made Dracule.

Just as Lucifer hadn't told Voss about that and a variety of other inconveniences as part of their unholy agreement, including the Mark that now throbbed and ached with the devil's own annoyance. Every twist and turn of the carriage as it avoided street urchins or piles of refuse in the street, dogs
or even other vehicles, made his shoulder stretch and caused a renewal of pain. When he'd sent Angelica away from the chamber with the dead maid instead of tearing into her flesh, the agonizing sting from his Mark had left him breathless.

Lucifer was never pleased when one of his Dracule thought of someone other than themselves.

The pain had lessened only a fraction since then, and Voss wasn't certain how much longer he could fight it. Closing his eyes, resting his temple against the sun-baked side of the carriage, he drew in a deep breath of summer afternoon in London: warm, close and filled with the smell of rotting food, human and animal waste, choking coal smoke and, faintly, summer lilies. Very faintly.

The unpleasant aromas did little to distract his thoughts from the paralyzing burn at his shoulder. He couldn't understand how Dimitri lived with the pain his inflamed Mark must inflict on him at all times. Surely it wasn't worth the self-denial and he could rid himself of the suffering for a moment at the least. But still Dimitri denied himself, after more than a century…since that night in Vienna.

The evening in question began innocently enough. Dimitri had invested in a private men's club being built in Vienna— a large, Baroque-style home that was one of many in the new architectural fashion since the great Turkish siege had ended—and had invited several acquaintances, most of them Dracule, to visit for an evening of cards and women and other entertainment.

Voss had thought it would be the perfect opportunity to confirm his suspicions about Dimitri's Asthenia and add the information to his book of notes. Having played cards with the stone-faced Dimitri in the past and having observed him carefully on several other social occasions in London and Paris, he'd noticed that the man never accepted jewelry as tokens
for bets, nor did he interact with men or women who wore ostentatious accessories.

Thus, in the guise of offering his host a gift, Voss had had a series of a dozen special goblets made. Each one had a different jewel hidden in the bottom of the cup's base. The cups were identical except for the different gems, and the type of gem was identified by a mark on the bottom of the cup and the slot in which it rested in their velvet-lined case.

When Voss arrived at the club, he, along with every other entrant, was required to leave any weapons—particularly swords or wooden canes that could be sharpened—as well as any valuables, locked in private chests at the front of the club. That, of course, included jewels and other accessories, and served only to enhance Voss's suspicion about Dimitri's weakness.

He managed to bring the goblets in, for they were made of hammered metal and appeared very plain and unassuming, just as he'd intended. When Voss entered, he had the chest of cups with him and found a corner behind a heavy curtain in an alcove in which to secrete it. His plan was to offer one to Dimitri filled with his best blooded-brandy as a gift, and then secretly swap the goblets out one by one throughout the night. That way he could determine which gem affected Dimitri without the other man knowing what he was doing.

This type of elaborate ruse was just the sort of thing Voss reveled in. He enjoyed not only the planning, but the execution as well, and considered that a trap had only been perfectly sprung and a puzzle solved when he managed to do so without the victim realizing what was happening.

But in this case, things did not turn out as he'd intended.

He and Dimitri, along with several other guests—mortal and Dracule alike—sat in the main parlor of the club. Windows dark with heavy curtains allowed only a swatch of moonlight
to filter through, and a violinist played in the corner. Lovely women, a rarity in men's clubs at least in London, offered trays of drink and slender ivory wrists or shoulders.

The very essence of the place was hot and lush, stemming not from its colonnaded design but from the scent of warm blood and rich wine, along with the haze of hashish smoke filtering from another chamber. The chamber exuded hedonism, complete with food and drink and the most sensual of furnishings—both of the inanimate and mortal type.

Dimitri had planned his establishment well, and even though Voss meant to use the evening to observe and learn from his host, he found himself lulled by the strains of music and the feminine company—and young, hard males as well, for those who tended toward that preference. He confessed to having tried that once, early on after realizing he was to live forever, and when he was very drunk. But in the end it hadn't appealed, and he returned to the lush flesh of women instead of the hard muscle of men.

The most lovely of the women was named Lerina, and she was clearly Dimitri's current mistress. Her elegant shoulder, bared by a low-bodice gown, bore several sets of bite marks on the right side. Every Dracule in the place recognized Dimitri's scent on the woman, and even if they hadn't, the way she watched him with her pale blue eyes would have indicated her allegiance.

Dimitri accepted the first goblet from Voss, and sipped the brandy as Lerina traced her fingers gently over the back of her lover's neck. His dark eyes scanned the room, as if watching for trouble or merely surveying his domain, and he hardly seemed to notice the woman's touch.

That was where Voss and Dimitri differed, as well. Even if Voss was only planning to bed the woman that night, he plied her with attention and charm. When he was finished with
her, he was finished…but until then, she was the recipient of all of his attention.

As he sipped from his own cup, Voss observed his host, who was drinking from the goblet with a garnet in the base. He noticed nothing untoward. He'd added a bit of a favorite of his enhancements to the brandy as well, in hopes that it would lower Dimitri's natural defenses even further. The
salvi
wouldn't weaken Dimitri—although it would drug a mortal to sleep almost instantly—but combined with the brandy and blood, it would increase his intoxication to an even deeper level.

Voss partook of the same drink, with the same enhancement, and divided his attention between his host, the lovely Lerina, who seemed desperate for Dimitri's spare notice, and other amusements in the room. Voss had all night to enjoy himself, and fully intended to do so.

He'd refilled Dimitri's goblet a third time—and had swapped for a third gem, the topaz, which had taken the place of a pearl—when everything went to hell.

It started when one of Dimitri's stewards approached swiftly, carrying a chest. As he came closer, Voss recognized it as the box that held his collection of goblets, along with the
salvi
. Damnation.

“My lord,” said the steward, showing Dimitri the chest. “I found these in the front alcove. Hidden behind the curtain.”

Voss's stomach sank, but he fixed an insouciant smile on his face as Dimitri glanced at the goblets, lined up in their spots with the chemical symbol for each gem marked on its slot in the box. Of course, one slot was empty—for the one cup he held in his hand. He turned a frigid glare onto Voss, who lifted his own glass in salute.

“A gift for my host,” Voss said in an effort to bluff his way
through the situation. “A collection of a dozen of the finest craftsmanship.”

“So that's what you've done,” said Dimitri. His eyes burned red and his mouth flattened into an unpleasant expression. “I wondered. And you expected to trick me thus?”

Voss noticed that his hand trembled, and that the man's face appeared taut and tense. His breathing altered, slowed.

Voss had been right! It
was
a gemstone. Something in the chest. Something that wasn't large enough to cause him great weakness, although in combination with the
salvi
and blood-brandy it had obviously affected him. But there was no way of knowing which one it was, for all dozen were present.

“I would throttle you but I'm afraid I have more imminent concerns to deal with,” Dimitri said flatly, and Voss realized he'd shifted his attention from him to something beyond his shoulder. He had an arrested expression on his face as he looked across the room. “But you are no longer welcome here, Voss. See that he leaves,” he added to his steward.

Voss stood, knowing when he'd pushed things too far. He didn't see any reason to cause a fight and muss his clothes, so he gave a short little bow of acquiescence. But Dimitri was no longer paying him any attention.

Instead his focus was on a group of men who'd just entered the room.

Cezar Moldavi and five of his companions.

At that time, Voss knew little about Moldavi except that he didn't care for the man. Perhaps it was the way the vampire carried himself, as if there was a large block on his shoulder that he dared anyone to knock off. Or perhaps it was the manner in which he spoke to everyone, as if he were better than they. Which was a hard thing to account for, since Cezar Moldavi wasn't the tallest of men, and he wasn't particularly pleasant to look at. He wasn't even half as rich as Voss. In the
company of other Dracule, what exactly did he think was so special about himself?

“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 immediately that he knew he wasn't welcome, and that 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
salvi-
laced brandy had lulled him while heightening his senses, he felt his belly lurch. So it was Cezar Moldavi who'd left 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 said as if an afterthought, “she's not precisely your type, is she? You prefer to let others partake while you sniff out other 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 that 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 that 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.