The Vampire Voss

10 Corvindale’s Chambers Invaded

The Earl of Corvindale swept into the chamber like a violent storm.

Angelica leaped up from her seat on the chair—not the chair on which Voss had…oh, God, on which he’d attacked her, but the other one.

Corvindale scanned the room quickly, then looked at her with dark, piercing eyes. “You’re unhurt?”

Angelica nodded, catching herself before reaching toward the soreness at her neck. Despite the fact that it was his, she’d pulled the cloak Voss had left up and around her shoulders, hiding the bite marks and dried blood.

Without another word, Corvindale gestured to the door through which he’d come and she walked toward it. Her heart felt heavy and her head pounded, and she wished for nothing more than to quit this place.

She was relieved that Voss was nowhere to be found as she stepped into the corridor; not that she’d expected him to be, considering what she knew about his interactions with Corvindale. The back of her throat burned and tears threatened her eyes. How could he?

“Angelica!” cried a voice, and the next thing she knew, Maia had enveloped her in a crushing hug.

“Blast it, Miss Woodmore,” Corvindale snapped. “I told you to remain in the bloody carriage.” Pausing to glare at two dishonorable-looking men who’d appeared from around a corner, he urged them down the narrow, dirty hall and gestured even more sharply than he had in the chamber a moment before. “Can you not listen to reason for one moment?”

“It’s my sister we’ve come to retrieve,” Maia shot back. Her arm curved tight around Angelica’s waist as she propelled her down the corridor ahead of the furious earl. Uncharacteristically, Maia’s chestnut-auburn hair was in disarray and she was not only dressed in an old daydress, but she was also gloveless. “And leaving that aside, what harm could come to me when you are here, my lord?”

Even through the mix of emotions that whirled in her mind, Angelica heard the dip of sarcasm in Maia’s voice.

“This is no place for a lady.” Corvindale reached past them to fling the external door open. Only a bit more illumination filtered into the hall, for it was well past twilight now. “Devil take it, Miss Woodmore. Do you have a complete lack of sense?”

Maia sniffed and pushed past him out into the darkness, pulling Angelica with her. In her haste, she narrowly avoided a puddle of something disgusting and climbed into the carriage with her sister’s help. Maia settled in the seat next to her.

Corvindale spoke to the groom then joined them inside, taking up nearly the entire seat across from them with his wide shoulders and arms stretched across the back. His long legs were tucked into the space between Maia’s skirts and the side of the vehicle. The door closed and with barely a jolt, they started off.

“You’re not hurt?” Maia was asking as Angelica tried to bury herself in the corner of the seat, huddling beneath the cloak that smelled of Voss. The scent was both nauseating and familiar. “What happened? Where have you been?”

But Angelica didn’t wish to talk. Now that she was safe, all she wanted to do was curl up in a corner and cry.

“Angelica,” Maia said, tugging at the cloak as if to draw her attention.

Angelica clutched it tighter, partly because she was chilled and partly because she sensed that it would not bode well if Maia or the earl saw the marks on her neck. There would be more questions, more demands and remonstrations, along with pity and sympathy. None of which she wanted to contend with. “Miss Woodmore,” Corvindale broke in icily, “perhaps you might leave your sister to her own thoughts. It’s clear, at least to me, that she is in no humor to speak at this time.”

Angelica felt Maia’s outrage and eyed her sister with interest. It wasn’t often that she received a set-down, and even more rare that she would decline to respond in her own bitingly proper way. But to her surprise, she merely turned away from the earl and redoubled her efforts to get Angelica to answer her questions.

The drive to Blackmont Hall took much too long, in Angelica’s estimation, but she managed to appease her elder sister’s demands by giving brief, vague answers to some of her questions. The night was dark, for clouds filtered across the portion of the moon that was showing, and even the streetlamps gave off weak illumination. She could hardly wait to climb out of the carriage and find the sanctuary of her own chamber—or at least, the one that had been allotted to her during their stay with Corvindale.

The thought brought her brother to mind, and Angelica once again felt confusion and surprise at what Voss had told her about Chas.

But the peace she sought was not to be, for no sooner had they stepped into the foyer of the grand but sober house than the earl turned to her. “Angelica,” he said. “A word if I may.”

Angelica didn’t like the expression on his face. It wasn’t frightening so much as fearsome: tight and dark, as if he were about to explode with some great fury. She knew that it wasn’t directed at her, but regardless, his countenance gave her pause, made her more than a bit apprehensive. “Of course, my lord,” she said, and started down the corridor in the direction he gestured.

“If you’ll excuse us, Miss Woodmore,” he said behind her.

“But—” Maia’s voice, strained and just as furious as his expression, was cut off by the earl.

“I will speak to your sister, my ward, in private, Miss Woodmore. Perhaps just this one time, you will accede to my orders.”

“I wish to be present. I will be present,” she replied. “She may be your ward temporarily, but she is my sister. Once Mr. Bradington and I are wed—”

“Maia,” said Angelica, strangely relieved that her sister wouldn’t be there during the interrogation that was sure to come, “I will come directly to your chamber when Lord Corvindale and I are finished.”

“Angelica,” Maia said in a heartfelt whisper, “I want to be there with you.”

Angelica turned to look at her elder sister, who stood as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown on her. “I’m sorry, but it will be easier if you are not. I promise I will come to you straight away.”

Maia met her eyes, and Angelica nearly gave in. Her sister seemed not only shocked and saddened but hurt, as well. And she realized at that moment that somehow, Maia felt as if she’d failed her. Somehow, she felt responsible for what had happened.

“As you like,” Maia said at last, and then turned away.

The earl gave Angelica a brief nod of gratitude and opened the door she knew led to his study. Once inside, he closed the door, but not all the way.

This brought a bit of a dark smile to her lips. “I appreciate the attention to propriety, my lord, but it’s a bit late to be worried about that now.”

His face darkened. “Take off that damned cloak and let me see what he’s done.”

Angelica shouldn’t have been surprised that he knew, but she was. The cloak fell away and the earl leaned closer so that he could see her neck.

“Anywhere else?” he asked, shifting back.

She shook her head.

“Anywhere else?” he asked again, looking both distinctly uncomfortable and darkly furious at the same time.

“No.” Then she realized what he was asking. “I am… intact.” Her cheeks heated but she ignored it.

“By Fate, I’ll kill him if your brother doesn’t first,” Corvindale said, stalking over to the massive desk. A vase holding a collection of roses and lilies sat there, and he paused, staring at it as if it were some foul object. “But I’ll make it quick instead of painful.”

“Now that you have introduced the topic…” Angelica said, gathering her courage. Corvindale was intimidating in his demeanor, and there was no reason he wouldn’t turn his anger on her if she annoyed him, but she would try.

After all, he hadn’t yet beheaded Maia.

“Is it true that Chas has gone off with a vampire woman?”

Corvindale cursed, and didn’t even attempt to hide the fact that he said something terribly improper. “What else did he tell you?”

“He told me that Cezar Mol…davi, I believe it is, wants to kill Chas and that’s why Maia and I are in danger. He wants to use us as ransom. Cezar is one of those horrid monsters, too.”

The earl had picked up the slender vase with the flowers in it and now he stalked over to the other end of the study. With a quiet, forceful clunk, he set the vase on a table near the window. “What he told you is true, surprisingly enough. Dewhurst isn’t known for his candor. What else did he tell you?”

“Little else. Is my brother truly in danger?” Despite the fact that she’d foreseen Chas’s death many years in the future, after all of the upheaval in the last days, Angelica needed reassurance. It was possible that things could change, wasn’t it?

“Your brother is more than capable of taking care of him self,” Corvindale replied in the most gentle voice she’d heard him use. Which was to say, it was neither loud, sharp, nor harsh…but it wasn’t particularly kind by normal standards. “Did Dewhurst not tell you about him?”

“What do you mean?”

The earl shook his head. “It’s best that I keep his confidence. But when next we see him—and I am confident we will—I’ll insist he tell you and Miss Woodmore the truth.”

“Dewhurst said that he might have eloped with Cezar’s sister. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—marry one of those monsters, would he?”

Corvindale’s face was a study in stonework. “I cannot say what your brother’s intention would be, but I sincerely doubt marriage is a possibility. The thought is absurd.” He’d walked back toward the desk, then turned and looked at her once again. “Is there anything else you wish to tell me?”

She took that as an invitation to tell him the details of what happened at Rubey’s, and his face grew darker. But he said nothing else, other than, “Anything else?”

As if his demeanor invited confidences. Angelica closed her eyes, suddenly weary and heartsick again. “No. May I be excused now, my lord? I would like nothing better than to lie down.”

His expression eased slightly, making him look almost handsome. “Yes, go. Tell Mrs. Hunburgh you are to have a bath sent to your chamber.”

Angelica left the study and closed the door behind her. She didn’t pause to ring for the housekeeper, nor did she go to her chamber. Instead she found her way to Maia’s room and opened the ajar door to find her sister pacing the floor.

“At last,” she said, rushing to embrace Angelica again. “My darling, I’ve been so worried for you.”

Taking care to keep her marked neck covered by her hair, Angelica hugged her sister back and then allowed the tears to explode.

The peremptory knocking jolted Dimitri from an uneasy sleep, strewn with images and memories he’d much prefer to forget.

He opened his eyes, wondering where in hell his valet was, and rolled over onto his swollen shoulder, twisting in the already amassed sheets. He was as used to the incessant burning as one could become to white-hot pain, but the added pressure sent a sharp, jagged jolt down his hips and legs and he muttered a curse.

Now he was fully awake. And Lucifer’s blade, a line of bright light peeked through the shutters of the far window. It was bloody midday. Who in the name of blind Fate was banging on his door and where in the burning hell was Greevely to stop them?

“Corvindale!” The voice was familiar and bossy and feminine and had Dimitri bolting up in bed. “I must speak with you!”

Miss Woodmore. He was so furious he couldn’t grasp an appropriate curse and instead bellowed, “Go away.”

The door cracked open. “Corvindale, I must speak with you. It’s nearly two o’clock and I’ve been waiting all morning—”

He was going to kill Chas Woodmore. There were so many ways to do so to a mortal, and he was going to find the one that took the longest. And if Cezar Moldavi happened to beat him to it, Dimitri was going to stake himself just so he could find Woodmore in the afterlife and murder him again.

“Go away, Miss Woodmore,” he said again. She hadn’t yet peeked around the door, but he suspected it wouldn’t be long before she did, propriety be damned. “If you must speak with me, you can wait until this evening.” After he’d finished his first full day’s sleep in more than a week. Even then, he had no intention of allowing Miss Woodmore to keep him from his most pressing task: to find Voss and fling him onto a stake.

The door opened further, but revealed nothing of the irksome woman but her voice. “Corvindale! It’s imperative that I speak with you. This is a matter that cannot wait, and if you do not come out then I will come in.”

Who in Lucifer’s world did she think she was?

Dimitri, who of course slept in nothing but his own skin, flattened his lips and made to rise from the bed. He was no fool; she would make good on her threat and then…

Blast it—why not? Perhaps it would put the fear of God, or something, into the chit. It would serve her right.

“I am abed, Miss Woodmore, and have no intention of leaving it. If you insist upon speaking with me at this time, then don’t let something as ridiculous as propriety keep you out.”

Arranging the sheets so that they at least covered the bare minimum of his dark, hirsute and scarred body, Dimitri settled back against his pillow and waited. Which would win out for Miss Woodmore, propriety or determination?

Or would mere obstinacy drive her actions?

The door inched open a bit more and her fingers came around its edge. “My lord, I must speak with you regarding Angelica.”

A contrary smile curved his lips. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come in. I can’t hear what you are saying.”

The door jerked in her hand, and Dimitri’s smile became more pleased. Now go away and let me sleep.

Even though he didn’t particularly wish to revisit the dream he’d recently grappled with, that would be better than the alternative.

But then the door opened and there in the doorway stood Miss Woodmore. Defiance blazed from her very properly dressed and coiffed person. Her chin was raised and her full lips tight. She glanced at him once, then swiftly looked away, and even from his position half across the chamber, he could see the flush that darkened her cheeks.

“This is exceedingly untoward,” she announced.

“What is it, Miss Woodmore?” he couldn’t help but taunt. “Surely the sight of a man’s torso isn’t all that upsetting to a woman who is due to be married in short order.” It was, he acknowledged privately and a bit maliciously, a rather fine specimen of a torso—notwithstanding the amount of dark hair covering it.

“You could cover yourself,” she said from between unmoving jaws.

Dimitri was nearly enjoying himself. Nearly. But despite her discomfort, this entire situation was the outside of unpleasant, and he wished to end it as soon as he could. Nevertheless, he replied, “I see no reason to do so. Now what is it you must speak with me about?”

Her jaw moved but she steadfastly refused to look at him. “It’s Angelica. She has been bitten by a…by one of those creatures that came to the masquerade ball. Vampirs. And she had horrible nightmares last night, my lord. I held her all night long, and she cried and thrashed.”

Luce’s filthy stick.

“She won’t tell me what happened, but I fear that the worst has been done. Not to mention…”

Was it possible that Miss Woodmore’s voice had broken? Had cracked with emotion? Dimitri looked closely at her, wishing she would turn in his direction again. He was certain she’d been peeking from the corner of her eye.

“I’m aware of all that you’ve told me. And if you find it reassuring, your sister has assured me that…er…there is no reason to demand satisfaction or that Dewhurst come up to snuff. She is intact.”

“Up to snuff? I should hope not!” Miss Woodmore exclaimed, forgetting herself and glancing at him. “Even if he did—well…I would never… Chas would never…allow him to come near her again.” The choked-up emotion had left her voice and was now replaced by outrage.

“You seem to have forgotten that I am Angelica’s guardian at this time,” Dimitri said, just because it was strictly true.

His reminder seemed to have the desired effect, for her cheeks flushed even more and her dark eyes flashed. “As I said, my lord, I would not allow it.”

He shifted purposely, and she looked away again. Her lips were so tight they were probably sheet-white, though he was too far away and it was too dim to see that sort of detail.

“What is my brother doing? How long has he been involved with these creatures? And what is your involvement, my lord? Do you associate with them, as well? Did you know that Dewhurst was one of them?”

“Do not concern yourself with me or the other details, Miss Woodmore. All you need know is that you and your sisters are safe under my care, here at Blackmont Hall and at St. Bridies, too. As for your brother… When he returns, I’m certain that he will answer at least some of your questions. And I am hopeful he will do so in short order. Now, is there anything else, Miss Woodmore? This conversation hardly seems worth interrupting my sleep and threatening your reputation. Or is that not a concern for you, now that you are off the marriage mart?”

She snapped upright and once again turned to look at him. This time, she seemed to have somehow girded herself, for she didn’t waver as she met his eyes head-on. “You are beyond vile, Lord Corvindale.”

It was painful, but he managed a smirk. She had no idea how accurate that statement was.

“I insisted on speaking with you because I felt you should know all of the information. I had hoped you’d do the courtesy of telling me what is happening and why. But apparently you cannot be bothered to do even that.” She drew her shoulders back, which had the effect of thrusting out her rather noticeable bosom, but that lovely picture was ruined by the glare in her eyes and the hand on her hip. “I also wanted to speak with you because it will be of the utmost importance that Angelica is seen out and in Society as soon as possible so as to combat any rumors or on dits that might have begun since the masquerade. That is the only way to preserve her reputation.”

“And this concerns me, how?”

She didn’t move except for an unpleasant twitch of her lips. “Because you must be seen out and about with us. Quite a lot. In the next few days. In order to ensure that Angelica’s reputation isn’t besmirched, we will need the presence of an earl.”

She turned to go, presenting him with her slender back and long, ivory neck and then paused to look over her shoulder. “I shall determine which invitations we will accept and then give them to your valet so that he can see you are properly dressed for the occasions.”

With that, she walked out of his chamber and closed the door with finality.

Voss rolled over and opened his eyes. He found himself lying in a massive bed of twisted sheets next to a great, yellow pool of sunshine. He froze and eased back, wondering who’d left the blasted shutters open. At the same time, he realized that his head pounded and the room was altogether unsteady. His mouth felt as if he’d been sucking on a piece of rag all night.

But by now he’d seen that he wasn’t in his own chamber, nor was he at Rubey’s, or even anywhere he recognized. The window was wide-open and not only did the sun pour in, but so did fresh summer air. Blasted birds chirping outside. A table next to the bed held three bottles—empty, or nearly so, based on the smell of whiskey that permeated the chamber as well as the pain in his temples and the vague wisp of memory.

A pool of dark liquid had dried on the table, and the residue of red-brown lined the bottom of one of the glasses. His stomach shifted alarmingly when he recognized it.

Gingerly Voss settled back down and rolled in the other direction. When he saw the white shoulder rising from amid the blankets, and the pool of dark hair…and the red marks on her neck, he remembered.

For a moment, panic seized him. Was she dead?

He tried to focus, tried to slice through the fog and remember.… Oh, Luce, it had been a whirlwind of heat and pleasure and feeding laced with horrible wildness. He remembered finding her at Bartholomew Fair, and because she had exotic eyes and wavy dark hair, he’d enticed her away with a pouch of coin.

But the frenzy of feeding…the blood whiskey…the animal that had taken hold of him… It was all dark and hellish. Voss chose to reach for her shoulder instead of the chamber pot when his stomach heaved, and when he touched, not icy flesh but warm skin, he exhaled.

Thank you.

He wasn’t certain whom he was thanking. Or why.

She shifted and stirred and he saw more marks on her shoulder, her arm, her throat. By Luce, it was a miracle she wasn’t dead.

Nauseated, Voss stumbled from the bed, relegated to climbing over the foot so as to avoid both the deadly sunshine and also the woman next to him.

That was when he realized, with distaste, that he still wore his clothing. A night of debauchery and still fully dressed. His white shirt was bloodstained, his neckcloth crooked and forlorn, but hanging from his throat, his pantaloon flap undone but the waist settled at his hips.

Even his damned boots were still on his feet.

At least he didn’t remember any of his dreams.

He looked at the door and around the chamber and realized he was trapped by the sunshine. There was no way to reach the shutters and close them, nor to make his way to the door without walking through a pool of light.

For a moment he thought about doing it anyway, walking into the warmth and allowing it to touch his skin. Could the pain be any worse than what he’d felt yesterday, when he’d been with Angelica?

He’d wanted her so badly. And Lucifer knew it, and had made it impossible for him to resist.

At the memory of her stricken, accusing face, the nausea rushed through him again. The loathing that had been there. The devastation in those bright, wise eyes.

What else could he have done? He’d been in agony. The pain had been so unbearable, he would have gone mad if he’d had to live another moment with it.

Hell, he had gone mad. Mad with need and desire.

A glance at his sleeping bed partner reminded him of how easy it had been to entice her. If his thrall had worked with Angelica, she would be the one in his bed right now.

He would have pleasured her, too.

Instead he’d frightened and disgusted her. And she certainly wouldn’t be of any willing assistance to him now.

Much as he hated the thought, he’d best leave England straight away. After this, Woodmore and Corvindale would be on his trail, after his heart. Voss preferred to keep his life as free of violence as possible, and if they found him, there was more than a chance he might actually get hurt.

Especially if the two were together.

So he would have to depart London and go somewhere else for civilization and culture. Rome. Lisbon. Perhaps Barcelona, where he could make a deal with Regeris. Definitely not back to the Colonies.

Frowning, his knees weak and his world spinning—not to mention the foul taste in his mouth—Voss snatched up a pillow and, sliding his hands into the case, held it up as a shield and rushed through the sunbeam. It burned where it caught a slice of his wrist and wavered over a segment of his temple, but he made it into the shadows on the other side of the lethal light.

He no longer had his double-lined cloak that worked so well to keep every bit of the sun from him, and now when he left this chamber in the boardinghouse, he’d be vulnerable to the light.

But he had to leave. He wanted to get away from this room, the smell of stale blood and spilled whiskey and sex, and be somewhere else. And the problems between France and England wouldn’t keep a Dracule from making his way across the Channel and going where he wished. That was the least of his concerns.

Voss glanced at the woman, who’d begun to snore delicately. Definitely not dead, and for some reason, he was relieved yet again. She had given him a good ride last evening, and been very generous with all of her bodily fluids. Perhaps he hadn’t compensated her enough. He jammed his hand into the pocket of his coat and found another guinea.

As he pulled out the coin, his glove came with it and Voss paused, suddenly paralyzed by a thought. A glove.

His glove.

Angelica had been holding his glove when he opened the carriage door for her.

Did she know that he was going to die?

“What are you doing here, Voss?” Rubey’s blue eyes peered through the small door panel. They weren’t kind nor welcoming in the least. In fact, he’d never seen them so cold.

“Won’t you let me in?” Voss wheedled, and allowed a bit of that enticing glow into his eyes. “I just want to talk with you, Rubey, darling.” The weight of the sunshine beat down on the hooded cloak he’d stolen from the front closet of the boardinghouse, and although it didn’t touch him directly, he could feel it like a heavy hand. “Perhaps a bit of tête-à-tête, too. I know how you like—”

“No,” she said, and made to slide the door panel closed.

“Wait, Rubey. Please,” he said, panic in his voice, jamming his hand into the slot. “I haven’t anywhere else to go, and I need to talk with someone. And the sun—”

“Dimitri was here. He and Giordan. Looking for you. Sure as the sun, they’re going to kill you when they find you.”

A little prickle skittered down his spine. “Angelica? Is she… Did they say anything about her?”

“So it is about Angelica.” The blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and the small panel remained half open. Then she shook her head. “No, Voss. The last time I let you sugar-talk me into something I shouldn’t have, you know what happened.”

“I am sorry about the maid,” Voss said, removing his hand so he could adjust the slipping cloak.

“You’re only saying that because you want me to change my mind.”

Voss paused, then smiled in chagrin. It was true. He hadn’t given the maid much thought. “I am sorry,” he said again, and this time, he did mean it—especially when he thought that it could have been Angelica there in bloody ribbons. “Please, Rubey. You know how it pains me to beg.”

That brought a laugh and a bit of reluctant sparkle to her eyes. “That’s not strictly true, Voss, darling. I seem to remember that time you took me to Paris and there was more than a bit of begging going on…on your end.”

But even that memory—as pleasant as it was—failed to bring a smile to his lips. “Rubey. As a friend, I ask you to let me in. You’re one of the wisest people I know. And I need to talk to a wise person.” And it wasn’t as if Dimitri was going to have a conversation with him that didn’t involve a stake or a sword.

The little slot slammed shut and for a moment Voss thought he’d overdone it, but then the door opened and Rubey was there, gesturing angrily. He stepped into the foyer of her private home, the same place that had been violated by the vampires only yesterday.

Or was it the day before? Lucifer’s burning soul, he’d lost track of the time since he and Angelica had been at Black Maude’s.

“If they come back, I’m not going to lie,” Rubey was saying as she slammed the door shut and locked it. Three locks and a heavy slab of wood across it. “I’ll tell them you were here, and gladly, Voss.”

He noticed fresh marks on her shoulder. “I see that you’ve been entertaining Cale.”

Rubey tossed him a sidewise look. “Giordan and I have an understanding, and don’t try to pretend that it’s of any concern to you. If it ever was—of which I have immeasurable doubt—that was ten years ago when we first met.”

Voss felt the edges of his eyes crinkle in a smile. He didn’t need to make any other reply. She was right and they both knew it.

“As you’re risking your life being here, I rather suppose we ought to get on with whatever you needed to speak to me about,” Rubey said.

“Did Corvindale say anything about Angelica?” he asked, surprising himself, for that was not what he’d intended to say. His only concern was whether the chit had somehow died. “You never did tell me.”

“No, he merely commanded me to tell him where you were.”

“Perhaps Cale said something further during your…er… pillow talk?”

Rubey gave him a slow smile. “Now, Voss, you know that there’s very little time—or energy—for mere talk when I am thus engaged.” Then the smile went away and that shrewdness came back in her eyes. “You are concerned for her, aren’t you? Isn’t that odd for you, Voss? Or is it merely because you know that if she’s dead, Dimitri and Chas will be even more intent on sending you to join your friend Brickbank in hell? I wonder what it’s like down there, being with Lucifer all the time. Don’t you, Voss? At least—”

“Enough,” Voss said, uncertain why her taunting annoyed him so. He showed a bit of fang to let her know he was damned serious.

She sobered and gestured to a chair. “Very well, then. Here I am, the wisest woman you know, at your disposal for whatever it is that’s on your conscience.” Then she laughed. “Oh, dear. Did I truly say that? When have you—or any of you—ever had a conscience?”

Voss felt his eyes warm with a deeper glow and he didn’t bother to retract his incisors. And then, suddenly, his annoyance faded. It was replaced by something he didn’t recognize, some odd, empty emotion.

“Voss, I am expecting Giordan again shortly. Perhaps you’d like to conduct this conversation now, before he arrives?”

“You’re going to die,” he said. Her eyes widened, and he continued, “Someday. You and everyone you know…except us.”

Rubey nodded, eyeing him as if he were a mouse. Voss happened to know that, while she had less than a fondness for rodents, she wasn’t particularly frightened of them. Which was probably just about how she felt about him. “Everyone dies,” she said in an eerie echo of Angelica. “Except the Draculia. And even then…well, that fierce Chas Woodmore has seen to the demise of more than a few of your brethren.”

Voss didn’t say anything for a moment. He’d battled his way in here because he needed to talk to someone, and it wasn’t possible to talk to Angelica without abducting her again.… But he didn’t quite understand what he wanted from Rubey.

But he knew he wanted—needed—something. Direction. Wisdom. Hope?

What was happening to him?

Somehow, she seemed to sense what was on his mind. “You Dracule, you prize your immortality and live for centuries, but I’ve never understood why. I think I should find it lonely and monotonous after a time.” She leaned forward in her chair, affording him a generous view down her bodice, corset and shift. But even that delightful sight didn’t distract him because she was speaking thoughts he’d always tried to ignore. “Giordan offered to make me Dracule. He suggested that if he did, I could be Rubey’s proprietress forever. I told him I didn’t want to do anything forever.”

“Not even live?”

But what happens when you die?

She shook her head. “It’s unnatural, living forever. Nothing lives forever. Nothing, Voss. Only the demon who made you this way, made you unnatural. Look at how you must live—by feeding on other living beings. I have often wondered why he would do such a thing, but I’ve come to believe it’s because it ties you more tightly to him. You take from your own race. You must. What sort of creature is he that makes you take life from your brethren to live? It’s interesting, and frightening. Like copulating, the very act can be intimate and pleasurable… or it can be a violation. Which way do you think the demon wants it to be? Which way does he make it easier for you?”

He needed a drink. Voss stood and went to the cabinet, helping himself to a finger of brandy. Yet…he didn’t tell her to cease speaking.

“I’ve only known you for a decade, Voss, but I can see the emptiness in your life. Nothing changes, does it? The only relationships you have are with other Dracule, and none of you truly trust the others. Instead of envying you, I pity you. All of you. Each of you has nothing but sameness, emptiness, every day. You’ve nothing to strive for, nothing to look toward. Your lives—even Giordan’s—are filled with debauchery and pleasure and nothing else.”

“And Prinny’s life, and Byron, and Brummell—none of them are denying themselves pleasure. But they’ll grow too old or too poor or they’ll die and their days will be over. Ours— mine—goes for eternity. It will never change. I’ll never be too old to fuck—”

“Ah, yes, the monotony of it all. But it’s the very nature of your existence—the need, the drive for pleasure. Do you never get tired of indulgences? Pleasure? And not even the hair on your head turning gray or falling out?” Rubey shrugged. “You remain the same, for eternity—unless you land on a stake. Or a sword separates your head from your shoulders. And then what happens? What has your devil promised you then?”

Voss’s mouth went dry. His body turned empty and cold because she had said what he couldn’t put out of his mind. The thought had tortured him since yesterday. All he could do was nod.

It didn’t matter. The deed was done, the covenant made. This was his life.

Forever, as long as he didn’t get himself staked or beheaded. Or burned in the sun.

Rubey wasn’t finished with her litany of questions. Ones he didn’t want to hear, and yet, ones he could no longer ignore. “Do you ever wonder why he chose you? Why the offer was made to you? What did the demon see in you, Voss, all those decades ago, that made him think you would be worthy?”

He gulped the whiskey, closing his eyes as scenes from his past whirled behind his lids, prodded his memory. He’d heard people describe it: how their life passed before their eyes during a near-death experience. He understood that experience.

And what he saw there, the summary of his hundred forty-eight years, was starkly clear. It was all about him. It always had been, since he was a child.

Petted, fussed over, indulged.

“You’ll have to answer for it all someday, Voss.”

He opened his eyes. “I don’t want to,” he said, speaking more honestly than he could ever remember doing. Something hot and raw inside him exploded, and so did the searing pain of his Mark. He felt Lucifer’s hate at that moment.

“If you’re afraid to answer for what you’ve done here,” Rubey said as she leaned forward and rested her hand on his, “then change.”