How could she bear it? How could she have such peace in her eyes?

Voss would never understand what made him speak at that moment, to ask the question that suddenly, unexpectedly, jumped into his mind. But he did, and later, he found that he didn’t regret it. “Do you know when you are to die?”

Her eyes widened a fraction and he heard the subtle intake of her breath. He thought she might ignore the question, as she had done earlier when he asked if she’d known about her parents’ death before it happened.

“No,” she said softly, rising from the becloaked chair. “I attempted it once, holding one of my gloves and concentrating upon it…but I could see nothing. Perhaps it is for the best.” She’d taken a few steps and the hem of her dress dragged on the floor. It pulled the neckline of her gown awry and he couldn’t help but notice. “I know enough.”

“Did it make your childhood very difficult?” he asked, wondering why he didn’t simply grab her and drag her up against him, sink inside her. Everything about her filled the room.

He turned away and opened the whiskey. A quick sniff told him it was only marginally better than the rotgut he’d had during a brief trip to Kentucky, but it was something.

He poured a glass and sipped. No, it was even worse than the Kentuckian drink they called moonshine. He managed another sip and restrained a grimace. Perhaps the wine he’d ordered would be better.

“Granny Grapes wouldn’t allow me to dwell on it. She helped me to learn how to set things aside. How to accept.” Her slippered toe dug into a hole in the rug braided of rags. “I have no doubt I’d be a different person if it weren’t for her wisdom.” She hesitated, digging her toe deeper. “May I tell you something I’ve never told anyone?”

Yes. But…why? Why him? Something inside his chest swelled, warming him. The Mark burned in warning. “I would be honored,” he said, ignoring it, “Angelica.” He set the glass down.

She gave him that odd look again, a wry sort of expression. “So it is back to Angelica once more. What has happened to ‘Miss Woodmore’? Or is she about only when we are in the presence of your Cyprians?”

The layers of meaning in her words assaulted him, but Voss was a master at paring through to the core of a woman’s speech, whether it be murmured pillow talk or screamed demands. “In truth, I think of you as Angelica, regardless of what I might say. Angelica.” He said her name, drawing it out slowly like a verbal caress.

“Is that so?” she said. But her voice was rough and he saw that her cheeks were flushed tawny pink. Then she drew herself up and he recognized tension settle over her. “Were you with Rubey when those…vampirs attacked us?”

Once again, he understood what she was truly asking. He couldn’t find it odd or even flattering that she should assume that he and Rubey had been intimately engaged. Not only was it a logical assumption, even for a sheltered young woman and especially after what she’d been exposed to, but Angelica had already proven she had a facile mind.

“We had left to go to her place of business. To settle my accounts. My pocket is now that much lighter.” The light tone he’d adopted faded. And Rubey, whom he had considered a friend, had all but exiled him from her place. “If I’d had a glimmer of suspicion that Belial’s men would have found us and attacked in the daylight, I would never have left. But neither Rubey nor I had fathomed she might be betrayed by one of her closest employees.”

“The daylight. So that part is true? That they cannot go about in the sun?”

Voss nodded, wishing he’d left out that bit of detail. She seemed to know too much already. “I’m relieved that we returned in time to keep anything worse from happening to you. One of the chambermaids managed to get out of the house and to come after us.”

“But you weren’t in time to save Ella.” There was reproach in her voice, and Voss realized he’d forgotten about the dead girl.

“No,” he said. Although it had been more than a century since he’d been the cause of a mortal’s death—from reckless feeding—he’d also come to accept that it was a casualty of the Draculia and its need to feed on mortal blood. One could learn to control the blind need and leave the victim alive, as Voss had learned to do early on, but many of the Draculia had no concern about doing so. They had no reason to care any more about the lives of the mortals upon which they feasted than a butcher was concerned with the slaughtering of his cow or pig.

This was by design of Lucifer, of course.

Yet, Ella had been the victim of a particularly vicious vampir, and Voss had seen tendons and torn muscle beneath the ravaged skin of her shoulders and bosom. And blood, so dark and plentiful that it was nearly purple. The snapped and protruding collarbone and the awkward angle of her neck. He went still.

It could have been Angelica.

“How much longer am I going to be hunted by them?” she said. Her voice was thin. “When will it stop?”

“Moldavi won’t rest until he gets his sister back, or until he has revenge on your brother for taking her.”

“Chas took a vampir’s sister? Do you mean he kidnapped her?” The fear was replaced by surprise and confusion. “What on earth do you mean? How many of those creatures are there?” Panic stretched her voice.

“To be quite honest, I’m not certain whether he abducted Narcise…or whether they—er—eloped. It’s all conjecture, really, but I do know that Moldavi is looking for your brother because Narcise is with him. Or was last seen with him, in Paris. Moldavi is rather closely associated with Bonaparte and has been staying there for some time. And until he gets Narcise back, or until he finds Woodmore, you are in danger because Moldavi will want to use you as bait or ransom for Narcise’s return. And if your brother is dead—”

“He’s not dead.”

Voss stilled. “You know this?”

But she wasn’t listening; it was as if she were having her own conversation. “Are you suggesting that my brother has eloped with a vampir? How could you even fathom such a thing? Chas would have nothing to do with monsters like that. Or is she not one of those horrible creatures, but just the sister of one?” Her eyes blazed with shock and accusation.

“Narcise is one of them, yes,” he replied, feeling as if he were walking on a very delicate sheet of ice. And once again, he wondered why in Luce’s name did he even care if he fell through. At least if he did, there would be no reason to wait any longer. His blood surged at the thought.

Tags: Colleen Gleason Regency Draculia Vampires
Source: readsnovelonline.net