The Vampire Voss (Regency Draculia 1)

What was it about this woman that made him so foolish? So thoughtful?

What was it about this one that put him in so much agony?

Luce’s blood, he was a hundred forty-eight years old. He’d had thousands of women and never given one more than a second or third thought. Even Rubey.

Even Giliane, a woman he’d even considered making Dracule. Only for a day, but the thought had crossed his mind during one of their energetic bouts, back in 1755. They— she—had survived the horrendous earthquake in Lisbon and were celebrating with wine and cheese, stolen from one of the shops.

Now, as Voss looked down at the woman in the chamber he’d invaded, all thoughts of Giliane and every other of the thousands he’d known faded. A shaft of moonlight rippled over Angelica like the caress of a hand, and the curtains fluttered in a soft breeze. She slept with her face half buried in the pillow, her hair loose and curtaining her cheek. One hand was curled beneath her pillow, and the other tucked beneath her chin.

Voss moved closer to the bed, his heart pounding, suddenly rampant. A violent surge of awareness had taken over, trammeling through his veins, rushing to fill his c**k and to thrust his incisors free. His skin flushed hot and his eyes warmed with heat.

Yes.

He turned and silently bolted the door behind him.

Angelica shifted onto her back and sighed, moving the pillow in her sleep.

And then she opened her eyes.

Voss froze and their gazes met in the darkness. He stiffened, preparing himself to clamp a hand over her mouth, but then her eyes closed and she turned her head away. Still asleep.

Why was he so relieved?

He reached to touch her hair, gently sliding his hand over the long tresses in a way he hadn’t had the chance to before.

There’d been no gentleness, no caresses, no learning the texture and shape of her.

Before he realized it, Voss had come to sit on the bed next to her. His heart pounded, rampant and apprehensive. Ready, again, to cover her mouth to stifle a scream, he gently lifted a thick lock of hair from her bare shoulder, skimming his fingertips over the smooth warm skin.

He wondered how she’d looked in the periwinkle-blue dress. If Harrington had found an opportunity to coax her into a private corner. If she’d smiled at him with the wise light in her eyes, as if to say all would be well. If she’d talked with him about thoughtful things, like life and death.

If she’d told Harrington the secret she’d told Voss.

He bent, pressing his lips to the curve of her shoulder, resisting the sudden blinding urge to slide his fangs into that sweet muscle. Instead his teeth slid along her skin and he flicked his tongue out to taste her.

She was salty and hot, citrus and musk, and he curled his fingers into the blankets. A wave of pain clashed with the new rush of desire and he kissed her again, squeezing his eyes closed against the battle. Lucifer versus Angelica.

Taking, violating…versus coaxing, seducing. It would be nothing to slide into her. Release that hot flood of rich blood. White light shot down to his hips and burned over his back. Take.

She was well asleep.… She would enjoy it. She would moan and her eyes would flutter behind her lids and she might perhaps spread her legs so that he could slip a hand into that warm crook, pleasure her while she dreamed.

And then, suddenly, Voss felt something pushing into him.

Poking into his torso.

“Get away.”

Her words, cold and low, were unmistakable. And the pressure in his torso could only be…

Voss eased back and saw that, yes, indeed, she had a whittled wooden stick pressing against him. A bit too low for his heart, but too close, nevertheless. She must have pulled it from beneath the covers.

She’d been sleeping with a stake. Expecting him?

He tried to smile, but it felt weak. Surprisingly his fangs had retracted, although his gums still throbbed a bit.

“Get away from me,” she said again, and jabbed him hard enough that he felt a definite point through his shirt, into the soft part of belly below his sternum.

Hands raised in placation, he shifted off the bed. “All right, then. There’s no need to be overset.”

To his chagrin and delight, Angelica sat up, still holding the stake like a talisman in front of her. Her technique left much to be desired, for it wobbled a bit, and it wasn’t quite at the right angle…but Voss was not about to underestimate the sister of a renowned vampire hunter.

“Get out of here,” she said from between tight jaws. “Or I’ll scream.”

“Corvindale isn’t here to rush to your assistance,” Voss couldn’t help but mention.

“Are you certain of that?” she replied steadily.

He relaxed a bit and leaned slightly against the bed with his thigh. “Of course. He’s searching the City for yours truly, Angelica. He’d never think to look for me here.”

“What do you want?” She obviously couldn’t find an argument for that, so she tried a different tact. “To finish what you started? Are you going to bleed me dry and tear me into ribbons of flesh?” Bitterness filled her voice.

Voss’s belly tightened. Never. “No,” he said. “Of course not.”

She sniffed and the play of moonlight over her face told him that her jaw tightened.

Angelica could have no idea how enticing she looked at that moment, with the pearly light half illuminating the details of her face, and the dip and curve of her shoulder. The strap of her night rail was nothing but a three-finger-wide pink ribbon, and the eyelet lace that edged the straight neckline gapped a bit. Her lips were gently parted and full, and the cloud of dark waves cascaded over her shoulders and onto the pillows.

The only aspect marring that beautiful image was the loathing burning in her eyes. Even in the ineffective light, he saw it. The smile he’d tried to force wavered.

“What do you want, then?” she said again, still as coldly as before.

This was not as simple as he’d expected it to be. Voss knew he could easily overpower her, remove the stake from her hand and do whatever he wanted. He could take what he needed, and be gone from London within hours.

The sharp, pounding pain radiating over his back urged him to grab those delicate shoulders and drag her to him. Take.

“I have something for you,” he said, pulling two velvet pouches from the inside of his coat. “And for your sister. An apology. To both of you.”

“I don’t want anything from you.” Her voice was cold, and she didn’t even glance at the jewelry bags.

“Nevertheless, I shall leave them. Perhaps your sister will accept them. They are quite valuable.” He turned and set them on her dressing table. The gifts were really more for Dimitri’s sake than Angelica’s.