The Vampire Voss (Regency Draculia 1)

Constantinople was appealing.

He’d stop first in Paris to do business with Moldavi—or perhaps in Barcelona to see Regeris—and then be on his way. Despite his disregard for governments—imperial or otherwise—Voss had no desire to remain in a land in the midst of a war.

Yes, there were benefits to it: many women were left lonely and unprotected whilst their men were off fighting, and of course, some Dracule appreciated the smorgasbord of fallen soldiers on a silent battlefield. Voss liked fresher blood than that, but he’d been known to partake when necessary. After all, a vampire really only needed to feed once every few days or so. The other times were merely enhancements to or ways to prolong sexual pleasure. It was difficult—and, really, unnecessary in Voss’s mind—to separate a bit of a fang-slip and a taste of lifeblood from other physical pleasure. Why bother to try?

Of Voss’s relationship with Moldavi, there was no love lost. Despite what others might think, Voss had never done significant business with him. Just enough to keep the man from being suspicious or offended so that Voss didn’t become one of his particular targets as Dimitri had become so long ago in Vienna.

Voss crawled from beneath the bed that was barely wide enough to hold a child, let alone a woman, and thought he might have to have a word with Dimitri about his servants’ quarters. Not that he was terribly concerned for the comfort of servants—who was?—but at least if they slept well, they were more productive during the day or night.

But that bit of advice he would save for later, of course. Decades from now, perhaps a century, when Angelica was long dead and this whole incident was well in the past and forgotten.

Yes. A hundred years from now, all this would be forgotten and Voss would still be visiting Rubey’s.

Voss lurked about well into the night, easily evading notice. Aside of the two chambermaids who’d changed earlier, he was also privy to a passionate encounter between one of the young, muscular footmen and a curvaceous blonde kitchen maid. He couldn’t help but mentally critique the footman’s technique, which could have been more visually attractive—for he knew from experience just how a man and woman looked when they were together against the wall. He’d utilized a mirror more than once to determine the best angles.

Another incident involving a less fortunate groom and a redheaded girl ended with the groom half falling down the back stairs after being rebuffed by the toe of a well-placed slipper.

Smirking to himself, Voss shook his head. The groom’s advances had been clumsy and doltish…just as his own had been. One hundred and twenty-five years ago.

Originally Voss had assumed that Angelica would be staying in tonight, after her unpleasant experiences that had begun three days earlier with the masquerade ball. But to his surprise—and perhaps annoyance—his eavesdropping indicated that she had gone to a dinner party. Although he didn’t see the frock in question, the discussion between the two upstairs maids about her choice of a periwinkle gown with dark blue ribbons induced an unseen nod of approval from Voss.

She would look lovely in blue, with her dusky rose complexion and dark eyes. Perhaps her hair would be dressed high, leaving the slender column of her neck bare for all to see. The delicate ridge of her clavicles, a bit of a swell of bosom, and perhaps even the hint of a shoulder blade…

A twinge of regret tightened his belly, but he pushed it away. He would see her soon enough, mussed from the pillow and sheets, warm with slumber. A pang tightened his gums, but he kept his fangs sheathed.

How would she have hidden the marks he’d left on her shoulder? It had only been two days; they wouldn’t have quite healed yet.

Voss frowned. Perhaps with a well-placed curl and a wide necklet. It might mar the picture, but it would preserve her reputation.

He wondered if her reputation was, indeed, intact. Would she find a suitable groom, a man who either didn’t know what had occurred—or didn’t care?

Not that anything terribly untoward had happened, at least in Voss’s mind. A bit of kissing and a single, abbreviated nibble shouldn’t be enough to remove a woman from marriage consideration. And as for his own discomfort…the pain from his Mark, while it hadn’t completely dissolved, had at least become bearable. It ached more than it ever had before, and occasionally he got a stubborn streak of fire radiating over his torso, but it wasn’t enough to send him gasping for breath as it had before. Feeding on Angelica, for however brief a time, had obviously been the right thing to do to stop it.

It was well past two o’clock before the ladies returned from the dinner party. Corvindale was not with them, and Voss suspected that he was scouring London for none other than himself.

Such an irony that he should be hiding here in Corvindale’s home, of all places, whilst the very man was hunting him. He grinned in the dark library, where he’d taken refuge shortly after midnight. None of the servants would be looking for reading material, and the ladies were otherwise occupied. He was reluctantly impressed with the choice of literature lining the walls—a great variety of novels as well as books in languages from Greek to Latin to Spanish and even Egyptian and Aramaic. Apparently studying was what Dimitri did instead of socializing.

Studying, researching. Trying to find a way to break a covenant with the devil. Poor damned sot.

There was no way to break the unholy bargain.

Voss’s keen ears heard bits of conversation as the ladies came in, and even as they chattered in and around their chambers. Angelica laughed more than once and she seemed rather g*y, considering what had happened to her three days earlier. When Voss heard the word “Harrington,” followed by a quickly muffled feminine squeal, he frowned. And then low laughter and murmurs that even he couldn’t discern.

It didn’t take much for him to realize she had likely seen Lord Harrington tonight.

His frown deepened. How quickly she seemed to find other companionship.

Voss was forced to wait for another hour before he could make his way from the dark library up to the second floor, where the bedchambers were. At last, silence reigned over the household, and he slipped from the dual doors of the library. Angelica’s scent led him to her room, and after he opened the door and slipped inside, he stood for a moment, his hand still on the knob.

Her scent, her presence…it overwhelmed him. So familiar and so much what he desired.

A sharp twinge of pain burned over his shoulder as if to urge him on, but Voss ignored it. Yet, he salivated as he smelled the citrusy-floral scent melded with woman and a waft of summer breeze from the open window. His mouth throbbed and he had a difficult time controlling the shoot of his fangs—like a green boy who grew hard at the mere mention of a breast.