The Vampire Voss (Regency Draculia 1)

He nodded at her question, stepping back slightly at the vehicle. “It’s mine. They won’t recognize it and won’t know that you’re inside.” He didn’t need to say who “they” were. She knew.

He stood next to the open door, gesturing for his footman to climb into the driver’s seat. The interior of the carriage was empty.

She hesitated a moment. Did she trust him?

“Miss Woodmore,” he said, urgency in his voice. “Please. The pretense will only be effective if you aren’t seen climbing in. Or standing here with me.”

It was one thing to waltz with the man, and another to speak privately in the dark corner of an occupied room…but this was beyond the pale. Maia would be furious. Angelica could be ruined if anyone found out.

Although, after the terrifying, chaotic events of tonight… would anyone even know or care? Surely more than one young woman had left the party in horror, seeking safety, without a thought to her reputation.

Angelica was too numb to care. Too exhausted, and still fighting back those images of blood and screams and terror. It could have been her.

They’d wanted her.

Voss had protected her.

He had saved others, too.

Angelica gathered up her skirts and climbed in, her heart pounding and her palms damp, her knees still weak. She settled on the cushioned seat, unsure whether she ought to tuck herself in the corner so as to put as much distance between herself and Voss as possible in case he sat next to her…or to take up a lot of space on the seat so that he would be compelled to sit across the way.

Yet, if he sat next to her, he’d be large and warm, solid and comforting. He might even put his arm around her.

Or kiss her again.

Angelica swallowed hard, so confused, so unable to control or even organize the storm of thoughts and memories from tonight. Her teeth threatened to chatter and she couldn’t get warm, despite the fact that it was a mild summer’s eve.

Voss spoke to the driver, then climbed in with the flourish of his cloak and settled on the seat across from her.

And then the door closed and they were alone in the shadow-swathed vehicle.

Even in the faulty light, Voss could see how pale she was. Her lips were bloodless and her eyes deep in shadow, wide and very nearly empty of emotion. She huddled in the corner, a quiet and colorless version of the intriguing woman he’d danced with, bantered with, kissed.

Nevertheless, he wanted her. So much that he could barely draw a breath without being fully immersed in her presence. His veins leaped and pounded as he watched the play of passing illumination on her face, the light slipping over her cheeks, her lips, the hollow of her throat.

It was the close confines of the carriage. The silence, the privacy, the realization that they were alone and he could have her. Just as he’d had any number of women, willing, unwilling, coaxed or convinced, over the decades.

He could slide across and sit next to her, murmur in her ear and tempt her to him. It would be over before she knew it, his incisors buried in her neck, her blood flowing onto his tongue, hands on her skin, their bodies straining and twining. Voss swallowed, considering.

And if his hot-eyed thrall didn’t loosen her restraints and bring her willingly into his arms, so be it…she’d find pleasure. Eventually.

It would be effortless. He could pull her to him, yank her across the space between them, gather her into his arms, find what he wanted.

Yet, he didn’t move. His Mark twinged as if to ask why he held himself back, but Voss ignored it. Instead he pulled off his cloak and leaned forward quickly, draping it over Angelica, covering her half-bared shoulders. Then he settled back in his seat to plan his next move.

Angelica murmured her thanks and drew the cloak, which must be warm from his body, closer beneath her chin. Her eyes were so dark in her pale, oval face.

And as he looked over at her, captured by the curve of her cheek and the dark, exotic eyes fastened on him, something shifted inside him. Deep within, like a little mechanism falling into place.

He didn’t want to hurt this woman.

“Who were they?” she asked. She trained her gaze on him, still wide and shocked, but with some emotion therein. “What do they want from me and Maia?”

The second question was infinitely easier to answer than her first, and he saw no reason to lie. “They want to use you to get to your brother. As collateral or a ransom.”

“Chas? Why? For what?”

“He’s taken something that belongs to a man named Cezar Moldavi—there’s long been bad blood between his family and that of Corvindale and his associates.”

That was the simplest way to explain the two factions, or cartels, which split the Draculia: those who supported Cezar Moldavi and his thirst for power over the mortal world, and those who did not. Voss tended not to ally himself openly with either, but that was because he preferred to remain neutral in the ongoing struggle. It was much less messy—and infinitely less dangerous—to remain above the fray. He wasn’t about to get caught in the crossfire, so to speak.

“Moldavi wants the…item your brother took returned to him. Those were Moldavi’s men tonight.”

“Men? Those weren’t men,” she said, her voice choked, her eyes flashing suddenly with rage. “They were…” She couldn’t seem to find the words, and her voice trailed off. “Vampirs. They were vampirs, weren’t they?”

He could barely hear the low syllables over the rumble of wheels along the cobbled street, but he saw the way her lips moved. He was surprised she was familiar enough with the Hungarian word to apply it to a man, rather than a rotting corpse. But, of course, being Chas Woodmore’s sister, she would probably know more than most other young women.

“What do you know about vampires?” he asked, pronouncing it in English. He asked partly from curiosity and partly to take control of the conversation’s direction.

Voss would be surprised if Chas had actually divulged to his sisters any details of his relationship with Corvindale and the Draculia. Woodmore was discreet, and well aware of the consequences of betraying those with whom he associated. He’d become a valuable asset to Corvindale in particular, but even Chas Woodmore was expendable if he overstepped his bounds.

And now that he’d been foolish enough to elope with Cezar Moldavi’s sister…Voss shook his head. Woodmore had been prudent to arrange for his sisters’ safety and guardianship. Too damn bad for Corvindale that the earl didn’t realize it would likely be a permanent arrangement. And that Voss had relieved him of the burden of one of his charges—at least temporarily.