The Vampire Voss (36 page)

“Angelica,” was all he managed, but she read the question in his eyes.

“Yes,” she breathed, “I trust you.”

His eyes closed momentarily, and then opened again. Looking down at her, something blazing there that had nothing to do with the devil and everything to do with purity, he shifted and pushed…and filled her.

Angelica's eyes widened at the pure shock of eroticism, a feeling she could never have imagined or described…then with a sharp movement, he went deeper. The pain was lost in a wave of pleasure, and then everything changed from gentle stillness to a hot, fast, building rhythm.

He muffled her mouth with his, or perhaps she was stifling him with hers…she didn't know, and simply gave herself over.

And when he tensed and stopped, arched over her, his fingers sliding between them, she gave a little gasp of surprise, then tipped over once again, exploding into heat and light as he buried his face in her neck, shuddering above her.

“That,” he murmured into her neck moments later, “was worth every bit of the wait, my love.”

“Shall we do it again?” she asked, finding his lips, loving the taste of herself mingled with his own damp flavor.

Voss smiled against her. “Only if you promise to keep quiet. I don't wish Corvindale to interrupt.”

 

Voss considered remaining intertwined with Angelica until someone came in and found them in the morning. Then they'd
have
to be married. Then even Corvindale couldn't find a way out of it…and all the explanations would be made.

But in the end he decided there was a better way to do it. A bit more dramatic, and also, he confessed privately, deep in his heart, that he wanted to stick one last pin into Corvindale simply to see the man squirm. To force him to show some emotion, something other than the cold bastard side he showed to the world.

His soul might no longer be cracked and damaged, and he might have found everlasting love, but Voss was still imperfect. Just like every other man in the world.

T
he Earl of Corvindale was in his study the day after the musicale at the Stubblefield residence, awake at the inconvenient hour of noon. He had managed to avoid attending the event, although, unbeknownst to his wards, he and Cale had put in precautionary measures in the event that Moldavi had already sent a more competent replacement for Belial back to London.

Yet, in truth, neither he nor Woodmore expected Moldavi to act so expediently. Now that the bastard knew the Woodmore sisters wouldn't be so easily plucked, he'd likely be planning some other way to have his revenge on Woodmore and get Narcise back rather than risking his life and those of his makes by pestering Dimitri. Nevertheless, Dimitri would be prepared in case of such an unlikely event. He was no fool.

Woodmore had gone off again, presumably to ensure Narcise's safety—or at least, that was the excuse he'd given, along with the fact that Blackmont Hall offered more protection for his sisters than their own home.

That was a fact which Dimitri could not argue, to his dismay. If he didn't appreciate Woodmore's years of service
and friendship, he would have protested much more loudly long before now.

And now Dimitri had to contend with the flurry of activity around Miss Woodmore's upcoming nuptials to the long-absent, and lately returned Mr. Alexander Bradington. Dress patterns, menus, guest lists, seating arrangements, table dressings and decor, and flowers. On and on and on they babbled, his so-called sister Mirabella just as wide-eyed as the bride-to-be herself. He felt as if he was being driven out of his own home.

If he weren't expecting a visitor at noon, Dimitri would have retreated to his club rather than be about during the feminine planning and machinations that accompanied such events.

He frowned, glancing at his watch. It appeared that, very shortly, he would be thrust into the midst of yet another battle plan for another wedding. He'd been informed late last evening that Lord Harrington wished to call on him today in regard to Angelica.

But the man was late.

Dimitri glanced over at the tall windows that lined the wall of his study and noted that, yet again, the curtains weren't fully drawn. He knew on whom to blame that trespass, and his lips tightened. Tomorrow wouldn't be too soon for Miss Woodmore to have her own household to disrupt.

The sun, bright and hot and taunting, shone through the large gaps between the drapes. At least Miss Woodmore had learned to keep the drapes near his desk closed tightly.

And to keep the flowers from the tables.

A knock at his door had Dimitri glancing at his watch.
A full ten minutes tardy, Lord Harrington.
Just like every other fop in London—inconsiderate of a man's time.

“Enter,” he called, and stood behind his desk. Dimitri enjoyed projecting a stance of power, especially to mortals.

“Good morning, Dimitri.”

The man who strode confidently into the study was not Lord Harrington. In fact, it was a well-dressed, neatly groomed Voss.

“What in the dark hell are you doing in this house?” Dimitri said, furious at the man's effrontery. “You're more of a fool than I'd thought. Woodmore has left word that you're to be staked on sight.”

“I don't see you reaching for your ash pike,” Voss replied lazily. “But don't let me stop you.”

Dimitri tamped down the annoyance. He was used to dealing with this bastard and his insouciance, and he wouldn't allow the man to needle him. He was stronger, older and infinitely wiser. “I owe you more than an ash stake in your heart,” he said coolly. “After your games and
salvi
that night in Vienna.”

Even now, nearly a century later, he couldn't think of the night Lerina had died and his business had been destroyed without wanting to do something violent…to someone. Preferably the arse-licker in front of him. Yes, it had all started with him and his games and trickery. Moldavi would never have risked his own humiliation by daring to insult and challenge his host if Dimitri hadn't already been sluggish and intoxicated from Voss's ruse.

To his surprise, chagrin colored Voss's face. “Indeed, you do have cause for anger, Dimitri. I see it now. But I do hope that after our conversation, you'll be a bit more…tolerant.”

Dimitri made a show of glancing at his pocket watch, then glanced again at the windows. Full, hot sun, with nary a cloud in the sky showed from between a narrow opening in the far set of drapes. “In fact, I'm expecting another visitor
momentarily. I'm afraid I haven't the time nor the inclination to speak with you. Good day, Voss.”
Burn in the sun.

The other man smiled. “Lord Harrington won't be calling today, I'm afraid. I'm here in his stead. To speak with you about my intentions toward Angelica.”

At first Dimitri couldn't react, and then he burst out in hard, derisive laughter. “You're mad. If I don't kill you, Woodmore will.”

“May I speak, Dimitri? I hope that you'll change your tack…but if not, please know that I am here because I love Angelica. And she loves me. We intend to wed, with or without Woodmore's—or your—blessing. But I hope to gain your support. You of all people will understand, I believe.”

There was something different about Voss, the least of which was his almost placating tone. Dimitri had never known the man to show deference to anyone, nor to speak in a tone without that hint of conceit.

Curious now, yet just as wary, Dimitri scoffed. “I can understand my ward believing she loves you—isn't that your forte, Voss? Wooing and coaxing and seducing? But
you,
love
her
?
You
love anyone besides yourself?”

Voss didn't rise to the bait. “I can certainly see how you might look at it from that perspective. You know that even I would never have touched Lerina—or anyone else one of us was feeding and mating with, but—”

“You fail to understand, Voss, that it wasn't the infidelity or even the loss of Lerina that has created my antipathy toward you. I knew who and what she was, and that's why Moldavi even had the opportunity with her. She was trying to gain my attention, poor wretch. Why do you think I was with her?” Dimitri closed his mouth and clenched down hard. He needn't explain himself. Not to him.

Not to anyone.

But Voss looked surprised. “And all these years, I thought it was because you loved her.”

Dimitri kept his face stony. He'd only loved one woman, and she'd left him long ago. “No, I never loved Larina—just as you never loved the scores of women you've been with. Don't misunderstand—I didn't wish her to die, of course. As for you—it's simple. I don't trust you. I don't like you. I have no interest in interacting with you, Voss, because you aspire only to trick and manipulate, and to take from others for your own gain.”

Voss stared at him, and for the first time, Dimitri believed that the man might have actually heard him. “Indeed,” he said. And nodded, as if accepting what Dimitri had just said.

Voss took a breath and continued, “In spite of that, perhaps what I'm about to show you will change your mind.”

“Show me?”

“I mean to show you proof of my regard and intentions toward Angelica.” Voss drew off his coat and folded it neatly onto a chair.

Dimitri watched in morbid fascination as the other man then divested himself of a ridiculously tied neckcloth, which also joined the coat, and then untied the collar of his shirt. “Burning hell, Voss, what the devil do you think you're doing?”

“Showing you this.” The man whipped off his crisp white shirt and turned away, giving Corvindale a full view of his back.

For a moment, Dimitri couldn't speak. “Satan's dark soul,” he whispered at last.

He stared at the smooth expanse of Voss's back, stunned and disbelieving. A shaft of something dark and unfamiliar stabbed him in the belly.

Impossible.

“Your Mark is gone.”

“You have an uncanny knack of speaking the obvious,” Voss said, but his voice was filled with warmth. Delight, even. He turned and pulled his shirt back on. “There's nothing of the Draculia in me any longer—with the exception of the fact that I still have an enhanced sense of smell. And could still fling three men across the road should I have the mind to do so, so consider that a warning, Dimitri.”

“Luce's
damned soul,
” Dimitri said, still working on comprehension.
Impossible.
“I've studied and searched for decades.… No one's ever done it before.…” He flapped his hand toward the shelves of books, the stacks of papers and manuscripts, the hollow, empty feeling growing in his chest. “
How?
How did you break the covenant?”

Voss looked at him, pity and understanding in his face. “I changed.”

O
F
M
IRACLES,
S
IBLINGS AND A
F
INAL
R
EQUEST

V
oss turned his face up to the sun, drinking in the warmth from which he'd been banned for more than a century. The prickle of a tear stung the corner of his eye at the beauty of it, the knowledge that he was, again, his own man.

With the woman he loved.

“My greatest fear,” he said, clasping Angelica's hand as they strolled through the gardens—in the daylight, when all the flowers were actually open!—at Dewhurst, “was that Moldavi would have made you Dracule. All the way to Paris, I couldn't allow myself to think of anything about why I was going, what I needed to do…because if I did, I would think too hard. And then I would have weakened, and he would have found that weakness.”

Angelica looked up at him, sunlight creating a nimbus of gold and bronze around her rich walnut hair. “That worry had occurred to me, as well. Along with the fear that he would just…attack me.” She gave a little shudder and he pulled her close against him—something he'd been doing as often as possible in the last week. “So I convinced him that I might lose my Sight if he injured me or changed me in any way. I hoped to at least stall any intentions he might have had until
Chas got there to save me. I knew he would come, of course. I didn't expect you, but, my lord…
Voss—
” she smiled “—when I opened my eyes and saw you…that's when I knew. You were the only person I really wanted to see. I loved you.”

He dropped a kiss onto her lips, quickly and easily, as a man who is comfortable that he will have ample opportunity to do more than that with the woman he loved, whenever he wanted to. “I think you make it sound easier than it was—and yourself more tolerant than you were—but I wholly understand. I felt the same way, although I didn't quite understand it for a long time.”

“What's going to happen now? Will Moldavi come after us again? Now that you aren't a vampire anymore, isn't he more dangerous to you?” Her eyes were worried.

“Moldavi isn't stupid—he knows we're prepared for him. I'm still very strong, and I have something he doesn't: the ability to move about in full daylight. And aside of that, there isn't any way he'd know that I'm no longer Dracule. It's not as if Dimitri is going to tell him, although I'm certain he'll find out about it someday. But yes, there is a possibility he might attempt to come after you and Maia again—although Dimitri, Cale and I think it unlikely. He's not about to risk more lives or resources when he knows we're expecting him and have thus far evaded his attacks. And now that I can move about in the day, that gives me even more of an ability to protect you. Try not to worry, Angelica. I won't let anything happen to you.”

She nodded, but he could still see the concern in her eyes. There was nothing he could do to erase it, but what he'd told her was true: he and Dimitri felt no imminent danger from Moldavi—at least for the sisters.

The safety of Chas Woodmore's arse was a different story entirely.

They walked for a while, Angelica identifying the flowers and plants he'd long forgotten. At last she asked, “Do you think Chas will ever come home again? To stay?”

“I don't know,” he replied honestly. “I suspect that as soon as he receives the message from Corvindale that we intend to wed, he'll be arriving with a stake in his hand. I never did thank you for saving my life, in fact, darling. It's very precious to me, even though it's no longer immortal.”

“It was my pleasure,” she said with a smile. “I couldn't read your future from your glove, and I've come to believe that I cannot read the future of a
vampir
that way. I don't know why it is, but it seems that I can only see the future of
vampirs
in my dreams—and that those dreams are as random and unmanageable as Fate itself.”

“Perhaps they aren't so random, after all,” Voss said, thinking of the mysterious blonde woman. “After all, if you hadn't dreamed of Brickbank's demise, as unpleasant as it was, perhaps we wouldn't have found each other.”

Her eyes brightened. “Of course! I hadn't thought of that.” She squeezed his hand, bare palm to bare palm. “And even though I
dreamed
that you were going to die, wearing that awful neckcloth and coat—I still don't understand why you chose those clothes—and I was afraid that Corvindale was right and we
can't
change Fate, I wasn't going to stand by and allow it to happen. I'd never been able to change my predictions before, but I
had
to try that time.”

“But I did die. You were right, my love. I did die.”

“Truly?”

He nodded, finally understanding everything himself. Why the blonde woman—she had to have been an angel—had continued to appear to him. That she'd been waiting for him to be ready.

Ready to change. Ready to put someone else ahead of
himself—someone from whom he could not hope to gain
anything. Ready to act exactly as Lucifer wouldn't want him to act.

When he woke the next day—or some time later—to find himself no longer in pain, no longer Marked, no longer bound to Lucifer, he realized he'd been given the opportunity for a miracle.

It was the one moment in his life that he'd been truly selfless—risking himself, giving his life for someone he didn't even know. Yes, he'd held back from attacking Angelica, from doing what he wanted to her because he knew it would hurt her…and that had been the start of his metamorphosis. But it wasn't until he'd given everything up for someone with whom he had no attachment that the change had been fully realized.

That gift of self had been enough to break an unbreakable covenant.

He realized that, at Rubey's advice, he'd changed. And that the angel had given him that chance.

Voss wondered how many other chances he'd had in the past that he'd ignored. He had a sense there had been more.
You don't remember me, but we've met before.

“You never saw that little girl again? The one that you saved? You never found out what happened?” Angelica asked.

“No.”

“How odd. One would expect the parents to look for you, and express their gratitude.”

But Voss shook his head, a little smile curving his lips. He would explain it to her, about his visitation from an angel that was
not
fallen…but later. When they were private and had plenty of time to talk about it. “I'm not about to question the event, Angelica.”

No, indeed, he wasn't. After all, he'd asked for help, he'd begged and pleaded for it while writhing in agony…and the angel had heard him. She'd known he was ready to change, at last.

Looking down at Angelica, he saw worry in her beautiful face. “What is it?”

“Do you think Chas will ever give us his blessing?”

Voss fully intended to make certain the man did, if he ever saw him again. But instead of saying that, he replied, “Corvindale, albeit reluctantly, has agreed to help make our case. Now that I am no longer Dracule, he has no reason to deny us permission. But regardless, Angelica, we're going to wed, with or without your brother's consent. Now that it's been shortened, I'm not about to live the rest of my life without you.”

“Thank you for coming back to me, Voss.”

“Thank you for throwing away that necklace, Angelica.

But there is one more request I'd like to make of you.”

“And what is that?”

“You know I love you, I
adore
you, my dear…but when we were in Paris, and you were bathing…you were humming.”

“I was trying to keep from hearing you splashing about and wondering…imagining…what you were doing.”

He smiled. “Ah. Well, now that you don't have to imagine any longer, my love…would you mind…not humming so much? You tend to be terribly off-key. Usually flat.”

“Is that so?” She smiled, her eyes lighting with humor. “So now I know precisely how to get whatever I want from you. I shall hum, or sing—which I'm even worse at—until you give it to me to silence me.”

Voss laughed with deep, filling pleasure. He'd had no idea that his life had been so bleak and dark—but now it was filled
with light and humor. “My dear, you don't have to resort to that. I've given everything to have you…and I would give anything
for
you. Just…don't sing.”