The Vampire Voss (Regency Draculia 1)

“And Prinny’s life, and Byron, and Brummell—none of them are denying themselves pleasure. But they’ll grow too old or too poor or they’ll die and their days will be over. Ours— mine—goes for eternity. It will never change. I’ll never be too old to f**k—”

“Ah, yes, the monotony of it all. But it’s the very nature of your existence—the need, the drive for pleasure. Do you never get tired of indulgences? Pleasure? And not even the hair on your head turning gray or falling out?” Rubey shrugged. “You remain the same, for eternity—unless you land on a stake. Or a sword separates your head from your shoulders. And then what happens? What has your devil promised you then?”

Voss’s mouth went dry. His body turned empty and cold because she had said what he couldn’t put out of his mind. The thought had tortured him since yesterday. All he could do was nod.

It didn’t matter. The deed was done, the covenant made. This was his life.

Forever, as long as he didn’t get himself staked or beheaded. Or burned in the sun.

Rubey wasn’t finished with her litany of questions. Ones he didn’t want to hear, and yet, ones he could no longer ignore. “Do you ever wonder why he chose you? Why the offer was made to you? What did the demon see in you, Voss, all those decades ago, that made him think you would be worthy?”

He gulped the whiskey, closing his eyes as scenes from his past whirled behind his lids, prodded his memory. He’d heard people describe it: how their life passed before their eyes during a near-death experience. He understood that experience.

And what he saw there, the summary of his hundred forty-eight years, was starkly clear. It was all about him. It always had been, since he was a child.

Petted, fussed over, indulged.

“You’ll have to answer for it all someday, Voss.”

He opened his eyes. “I don’t want to,” he said, speaking more honestly than he could ever remember doing. Something hot and raw inside him exploded, and so did the searing pain of his Mark. He felt Lucifer’s hate at that moment.

“If you’re afraid to answer for what you’ve done here,” Rubey said as she leaned forward and rested her hand on his, “then change.”

11

OF SNEAKING INTO BEDCHAMBERS AND UNEXPECTED REUNIONS

There were many ways to sneak into a woman’s bedchamber, and Voss had tried a good variety of them in the last century, with great success and few disappointments.

Since, after all, there was little danger to him physically should he be found with his hand down (or up) a frilly night rail—being shot, tossed from a window or otherwise attacked were not real threats—Voss had no qualms about taking advantage of the lowered defenses of a slumbering woman. There was something even more attractive and sensual than usual when a woman was tousled with sleep, her face slack and without artifice, her slender arms and delicate shoulders exposed from beneath rumpled sheets, her lashes fanning over pale cheeks.

But most of all, he appreciated the way she would come to consciousness under his touch. Most often, like a cat—stretching and sighing, with a languorous roll. Warm skin and creased cheeks, and, most of all, the soft, hot valley between her br**sts…easily accessible when bare of a corset. His gentle strokes and nuzzling lips brought her slowly awake to delicious pleasure, and once she opened her eyes, his own would be there…glowing, coaxing and easing any hesitation.

Sneaking into a woman’s chamber in the home of a Dracule, however, was a different challenge. Especially if the Dracule was Dimitri.

Nevertheless, Voss had managed it.

Dimitri would be prepared for Belial and his cohorts to attack by climbing over walls or rushing the doors, using brute force. Or perhaps by hijacking a returning maidservant, groom or carriage, or tricking them into coming out—all after the sun was setting, of course…but Voss had a simpler way. It required more patience and planning than Belial or his ilk would have, but he didn’t mind.

The earl’s household ran like most other gentrified households in London, despite Dimitri’s necessary proclivity for sleeping during the day and moving about during the night. As it was, such a lifestyle was not so different than that of most of the ton, particularly the gentlemen—which, as a rule, socialized well past midnight most nights. Thus they slept late in the day, often past noon. Since normal business was conducted during the daylight hours as well, it was simpler for most Dracule to have a household that ran thus.

Voss gained admittance, therefore, when he assisted in delivering the large haunch of pig and various other packages from a butcher shop, just after the servants ate supper. In the confusion in the kitchen as he and the butcher’s son carried the wrapped pieces in, Voss slipped away to the servants’ quarters.

After that, it was a simple matter to remain hidden until the time was right to find Angelica. Being among the servants would also help him determine who was going out for the evening and who would need to be avoided. The staff was busy throughout the rest of the evening, only coming into their living quarters briefly. When they did, Voss heard and smelled them in plenty of time to hide. He moved more quickly than any mortal and made no noise.

Thus, his plan was simple, but it also required foreplanning and patience.

He must stay out of sight for hours in the same house that Angelica lived in, and far enough away that Dimitri wouldn’t scent him. Angelica had left the house shortly after his arrival; he knew this, for her maid was discussing her mistress’s choice of gown for the night’s engagement. Yet, despite her absence, Angelica’s scent somehow rose above every other smell—and there were many of them, not all pleasant—in Blackmont Hall, reminding him that she was near.

Even when two of the upper chambermaids somehow found the opportunity to retreat to their shared attic room shortly after supper, undress and conduct simple ablutions in front of a grainy mirror, Voss was hardly distracted. In the past, he would have considered such an opportunity a gift, and he would have emerged from where he hid beneath a narrow bed complete with glowing eyes and a variety of ideas that involved the three of them.… But he had no desire to bestir himself while he was waiting for Angelica to return. When the chatting maids left, smelling of lye soap and cheap rose petal water, Voss found himself wondering precisely why he had taken the trouble. Why he was here, hiding under a dusty bed on a threadbare rag rug.

Of course, a good portion of the reason was that he enjoyed the challenge. And he had the inexplicable desire to annoy Dimitri. He meant to leave the man a farewell gift of sorts so that he was aware that Voss had breached the house on his way from London to…wherever he was going to go now. Seville? Venice?