The Vampire Dimitri (Regency Draculia 2)

He looked up at her and lifted his whiskey glass. “I have all I need right here.” There might have been a flicker of affront in her eyes that she wasn’t specifically included in his statement, but Dimitri wasn’t certain. And he was sorry if it was the case. She was a beautiful woman, but she required more attention and care to maintain her happiness than he was able, or willing, to give.

Thanks to Meg.

The fresh bite marks on Lerina’s shoulder were a testament to the attention and pleasure he’d given her—and, to be fair, she’d given him—earlier today. Lerina was one of those relatively rare mortals who craved the touch and bite of a vampire, particularly when such feeding was accompanied by coitus. And Dimitri was inclined to oblige since a man had to get his pleasure from somewhere.

Yet…she hung on too much, touched him too much, talked too much, and when she did talk, it was of things he had no interest in: fashion and gossip and picnic outings. He never wore a wig, and had no interest in hearing about her trials and tribulations in finding a fashionable one. He didn’t know if she’d ever read a book. Like most women, her knowledge of history—except for the most recent events here in Vienna with the Turkish siege—was dismal. And once, early on, when he’d actually thought she might help him forget Meg, he’d expressed interest in obtaining a copy of Sir Isaac Newton’s telescope to look at constellations, she’d suggested that he invest in real diamonds instead of the ones in the sky.

Lerina’s laughter, becoming more high-pitched, had begun to grate on his nerves. She simply wasn’t interesting or stimulating, and nor was she silent and forgettable.

Aside of that, she had been trying to convince him that he should turn her Dracule—so that they could live together forever.

Forever, Dimitri knew, was much too long to spend with any woman—including Lerina. And when he thought about it in that way, he was almost relieved that Meg had left him. Almost.

And so, tomorrow, when the sun came up and the last of the patrons left, Dimitri intended to bid farewell to Lerina. He’d send her off with a fat purse and three chests of fabrics, as well as the deed to a small house here in Vienna.

He looked up at that moment and saw Voss threading his way toward him. Voss had never been a particularly close associate of Dimitri’s, for he was much more interested in seeing how many women he could feed on and bed, smoking opium, and generally drinking himself into a stupor, but they’d played cards together more than a few times in London and Paris. He was charming enough, and didn’t grate on Dimitri’s nerves as much as unintelligent people did, but there was one problem with Voss. It was that, while Dimitri found him an amusing companion, he didn’t trust him.

“Charming place, Dimitri,” Voss said. He was holding a leather-wrapped parcel. “I’ve brought you a congratulatory gift.”

“That’s kind of you.” He took the parcel and found a bottle of most excellent brandy wrapped up with a pewter goblet. The cup’s craftsmanship was exquisite: detailed and yet masculine.

He would have set it aside, but Voss smiled. “Do taste it tonight. I’ve never had better. I thought perhaps you’d be able to tell me from whence it comes.” His eyes glinted with mischief.

Always agreeable to a challenge that exercised his mind, Dimitri agreed to the test. Holding his large, wide coat sleeve out of the way, Voss poured him a generous dollop in the pewter goblet, then, with a lifted brow for permission, poured himself a drink of the same in another glass.

Dimitri sipped from the brandy. It was excellent, indeed, and he fully enjoyed the warmth as it burned its way to his belly. Even Lerina’s constant toying with the ends of his hair didn’t detract from the pleasure of the excellent libation.

Voss had noticed, and had been admiring Lerina, of course, for a man would have to be blind not to notice her. But Dimitri saw that his admiration was merely objective, not possessive.

Aside of that, with Dimitri’s marks, as well as his scent, on Lerina, no one would dare make an overture. It was a point of honor among the Dracule that no one fed upon—let alone coupled or otherwise interacted with—one who was marked. Whether it be mistress, servant, or other associate, a mark was a claim of possession not to be violated. Voss might be an arse, but he certainly wasn’t stupid.

And the consideration that Voss might be interested in becoming Lerina’s protector was rejected almost as instantly as Dimitri thought of it. The blond man wouldn’t be interested in the obligation of maintaining one single woman. “Obligation” and “one” being the detrimental modifiers.

As Dimitri rolled a second sip of brandy around in his mouth, he realized with a start that it wasn’t merely brandy. He swallowed, trying to place the additive. It wasn’t blood, but it was nearly as pleasant.

“Have you decided on the location of its vintage?” Voss asked, watching him closely. “Spain.” But there is something else.

His companion’s brows raised. “Indeed. You do not disappoint me, Dimitri. But precisely where?”

“I’ll have to sample a bit more,” he replied, moving now. Lerina’s hands fell to his shoulder, but then she shifted onto the chair next to his and began to toy with the large, heavy buttons on his coat.

Dimitri was, thankfully, distracted for a moment by the approach of Yfreto, who needed his attention in the card room. By the time he returned to his seat after addressing the issue, Dimitri noticed that Voss had just returned, as well.

“Have you had enough time to consider now?” the latter asked, handing him the refilled goblet.

Dimitri sipped again, once again noting the additive. “Salvi,” he said. “You’ve added salvi.” It was an herb mélange that caused a heightened sense of pleasure and relaxation in a Dracule. For a mortal, however, it would put them to sleep in moments.

Voss inclined his head. “Indeed. I thought a bit of additional enhancement might make it all that more difficult for you, expert as you are, to identify the genesis of the drink. But you’ve yet to tell me—where in Spain?”

They were interrupted three more times during the course of their conversation, and the enjoyment of the very excellent brandy. Dimitri was feeling the effects of the salvi, and recognized the same in Voss’s eyes. Just then, Dimitri’s front steward approached, carrying an unfamiliar wooden chest. As he looked up to greet him, Dimitri noticed Voss suddenly go very still.