The Vampire Voss (Regency Draculia 1)

“It will be well-nigh impossible for me to remain in the same chamber as you,” he said. “Without wanting to… With out wanting…you.” His voice was low, very low, and not nearly as smooth as she was used to. “It’s part of the affliction…the need for blood. We have to have it to survive. But it’s not just blood,” he continued. “It’s you. I’m dying for the need of you, Angelica.”

Her breath clogged and she found herself hypnotized, not merely by his gaze, but his words, as well. Her hand crept to her throat, settling there before she realized it, offering nothing but weak protection.

“And so,” he said, his voice gravelly, his golden eyes burning hot. She even saw his nose lift a bit, as if scenting the air. He closed his eyes briefly, then reopened them. “I had my valet prepare something for you. To help. To help you trust me.”

He gestured to a flat, metal case no larger than the palm of her hand. It sat on the table in the center of the chamber; perhaps he had taken it out earlier, or just now when digging through his satchel.

“What is it?”

“Open it. Wear it,” was all he said, and then turned away, bumping into one of the chairs. He paused, his fingers closed around the top of it, whitening as they dug into the upholstery.

She did as he bid, opening the thick silver case. It was lined with lead. Inside, she found a chain intertwined with the stem of a plant. It was a necklace made from some herb, fortified by a gold chain so that it wouldn’t break.

“I don’t understand,” she said, lifting it, smelling the small, oblong leaves that grew in clusters from their stem. They had a faint, minty scent and some of them boasted tiny, fuzzy lavender flowers.

“Wear it and I won’t be able to approach you.”

Before she could reply, there was a brisk, businesslike knock at the door.

“That would be the bath,” he said. “Perhaps you’d like to step behind the screen? And take that with you, if you please.”

He spoke in French, rapidly and yet with his customary charm, to the maids. It took some time, but the bath was moved behind the folding screen and filled with steaming water by a small army of chambermaids. A second, smaller tub was brought in for Voss to use, and Angelica couldn’t help but appreciate his consideration.

There was lovely, scented French soap and warm towels, along with a clean robe and shift. One of the servants assisted Angelica in peeling off her filthy, worn clothing. She had taken Voss’s suggestion and stepped behind the folding screen, and now she slid gratefully into the tub. The choker-like necklace settled around her neck, plastering to her throat and dipping into its hollow.

“Take these filthy ones,” Voss directed from beyond the screen, still in French but much more fluidly than Angelica could speak, “and bring back some clean clothing for the lady.”

She thought briefly about arguing—Maia certainly would. It wasn’t proper for a woman to accept gifts from a man, especially something as intimate as clothing. But how ridiculous it would be not to accept something so practical, and even more so to posture about it. Sometimes, propriety was so illogical.

So she said nothing, humming to herself to cover up the sounds of his own bath as she washed quickly. After, a maid assisted her in dressing in a loose lawn shift and long peignoir.

Her damp hair pinned up loosely, dripping occasionally down her neck or onto her shoulder, Angelica emerged from behind the screen to find that Voss had also finished his ablutions. Her humming stopped.

All at once, the maids were gone, and they were alone— now in a far more intimate environment of warm, damp skin that had recently been bare, the scents of lavender, lemon and orange in the air, and fewer layers of clothing.

“Explain this,” Angelica said, sitting on one of the chairs. She hooked a finger under the necklace and lifted it from her skin. Her fingers trembled but she kept her voice calm. Her belly was in knots.

Voss gave her a crooked smile. “Again with the irrelevant questions, my dear. All you need know is that it is a great deterrent to me.”

“To you? Not to anyone else?”

“I’m afraid not.” He turned away and Angelica gasped. The shirt he’d donned was not only worn so thin that it was nearly transparent, but the fact that his skin was damp and caused the fabric to cling made it easy for her to see the ugly, dark lines through it.

“My God, Dewhurst…what is that?”

He looked back, frowning. “What?”

But she’d already risen from her chair, moving toward him automatically, reaching for the shoulder where she’d seen something that looked like horrible scarring. Twisting black lines radiating from the back of his shoulder and along his arm, down past where the shirt no longer stuck to his skin. It was no wonder he could hardly move.

“Don’t,” he said, but it was too late…she’d already moved close enough to touch him.

Remembering the necklace, she stopped and stepped back a pace. “Does it pain you?” she asked, once again lifting the leaf-entwined chain, smelling its mint, now damp from her bath.

His face drawn, his lips flat, Voss nodded, then gave a shrug. “A bit.”

She stepped back again and saw that his chest moved in an easier breath. Odd, fascinating…and a bit frightening.

Angelica sat in a chair across from him, leaving what she judged was space enough for his comfort. “Is it the proximity? The smell? The sight? I thought it was silver that repelled vampires. That was the way Granny Grapes told us.”

Voss smiled and moved carefully to sit at the edge of the bed, leaving more space between them. “Your grandmother sounds like a fascinating woman. I wonder how she knew so much about the Draculia. That,” he added, “is what we call ourselves.”

“Her grandmother was my great-great-grandmother, the Baroness Beatrice Neddelfield, whose much-older husband died when she was merely twenty. The baroness fell in love with a blacksmith, who happened to be the son of a Gypsy from Romania. The way Granny tells it, they fell in love at first sight and Beatrice would have no one but Vinio for her husband. Since she was a widow, she no longer cared what Society thought, and they wed—living happily ever after.” Angelica shrugged, thinking, as she had done many times in the past, about the way some people seemed to find a strong, intimate connection to another person so quickly and easily without any explanation or logic. And how, for others, it was something that seeded, rooted and eventually blossomed.