The Vampire Voss

15 An Unfortunate Slip

Voss’s world was a war of agony and relief. When her soft lips touched his, half parted and sweet, he nearly cried out from the pleasure, then gasped against her at the sudden, searing pain that followed, driving him to take more. Oh. God.

The hyssop, small amount that it was, was so close that he could barely lift a hand, could barely uncurl his fingers from the bedding beneath him. The delicate curve of her throat was right in front of him, the V of her robe, the golden necklace, there…so close. Yet he couldn’t move to touch her. He felt his muscles slowing, becoming heavy, even as the rush of desire surged through his veins.

And all the while Angelica’s mouth tasted his, and his fought to taste hers back, the Mark on his skin twisted and throbbed, knifing beneath his skin, tempting him… Take, take, take.

Slick and full, her lips molded over his, nibbling and licking as her body strained closer. Her breasts, right there, free and loose just beyond his reach. Her nipple strained against the thin material. The druglike mix of lavender and orange and Angelica, warm and sweet and sensual.

Her hands brushed over his hot skin and he felt the flesh on his face tighten beneath her fingers. He lifted his chin and her touch slipped to cup his jaw. More, more…he wanted more. His lungs no longer worked and he felt as if he were drowning, spiraling into a vortex of pain-matched pleasure.

Her hip pressed against his torso, the fabric of her robe slid along his thigh. His fangs thrust hard and sharp, his gums swollen with the same need that filled his cock. Voss tried to say her name, but he couldn’t drag his thoughts together enough to take the breath.

The next thing he knew, she was lifting his shirt, pulling it from his trousers. The cooler air was good against his damp skin, and her hands were there…over his shoulders, his chest, along the tops of his arms. Tentative, so tentative and light that he wanted to groan with frustration.

She gasped in horror when she brushed over his Mark, and it leaped and pulsed beneath her touch, shooting dark, evil pain through him. “Oh, God, Dewhurst…” Angelica breathed.

Voss. Call me Voss.

He didn’t know why it was so important to him, but he wanted it. He wanted her. Deep within, his body strained and writhed with so many battling demands, weak and on fire.

Voss closed his eyes, tried desperately to block out the agony, to gather the strength to touch her. If he didn’t, he would die.

“Dewhurst,” she said, her voice penetrating the blaze of pain. She was close, her words warm on his desperate skin. He managed to lift a hand, though it felt like a hundredweight, and touch her face. “I’m going to take this off.” She lifted the necklace.

Yes, yes, yes. Oh, Luce. Oh, God, please, yes.

Voss drew in his breath as she closed her fingers around the chain. He struggled, his back was on fire, his body wouldn’t work…yet it strained and throbbed and needed.

No. He moved his lips. No.

He tasted blood—his own blood, and knew in a moment, if she pulled on that chain, if she yanked it away, it would be her blood. In his mouth. Her skin, her blood. Hot and sweet, so thick and filled with her…sliding down his throat, warming his belly, filling him. Yes, yes.

Voss was shaking as he fought it. Squeezed his eyes closed. No, he whispered. “No.” A single breath was all he could manage.

Angelica stepped away, taking her warmth, and he opened his eyes. Her fingers were still closed over the chain. Her dark, velvet-brown gaze covered him, wide and hot with pleasure. Beckoning. Her lips, full and well kissed, half parted. Her chest and breasts, nipples outlined, straining against the robe, rose and fell. Thick waves of her hair had come undone, half tumbled over her shoulders, a strand caught against her damp neck.

If he’d been able to breathe, he would have groaned at the pure beauty of her.

“If I remove some of the leaves…some of it?” she asked, and began to pluck at them. “Will it be…better?”

Voss swallowed. He couldn’t speak; he could formulate nothing. He managed a short nod and wondered, what next?

How long could he live through this torture?

Angelica felt the smooth leaves beneath her fingers, and watching Voss, breathless from the expression on his face, she pulled some away. Careful to gather them in her palm so they could be disposed of, she picked from the necklace.

Three, four clumps. A quick glance in the mirror showed her that more than half of the original remained. It also showed her a woman there, with unbound hair and flushed, rosy skin and parted lips. Nothing beneath her robe and shift but skin. Unbound, her breasts felt full and ready, and the place between her legs hot and damp.

Turning away from the alluring image, Angelica took the small handful of leaves and put them into the small metal case in which they’d come. And then she turned back to Voss.

His eyes hadn’t left her. Dull, glassy with pain, yet hot and wild with desire, they followed her. The edges of his lips were white and he remained on the bed, half sprawled against a mound of pillows. The discarded shirt was a crumpled white heap on the floor; the awful neckcloth that predicted his death a snake on the rug.

And his chest, golden and broad, with sleek, hard muscles so different from her own soft and curvy torso. Hair grew there.… She’d never imagined hair on a man’s chest, a generous patch of gold and bronze over slabs of muscle. His shoulders, square and smooth, the skin soft and hot, called her back to his side. So beautiful.

What am I doing? she asked herself again.

But she closed her mind to the worries, the concerns, the propriety. Let herself feel.

She was in control. Safe. And she wanted to touch him, taste him. He wanted her to. His eyes begged her to, yet his face drew tight with pain. White near his lips, his skin shiny and damp from struggle.

This time when she came to him, he moved a bit, as if some of the restraint was eased. It had worked, then, she thought dimly as she bent to kiss him again. The necklace flipped forward, and he jolted when it hit his skin. His body whipped taut beneath her hands, bowing sharply. Angelica pulled away, slamming her hand over the plant stem, smashing it against her chest.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she breathed, horrified at the red mark that now appeared across his throat. Like a burn.

“Kiss…me,” he managed to say, his fingers trying to close around her arm. “Just…kiss…me.… Touch…me.”

She did. She slid her hands up and over the flat planes of his chest, into his hair, kissed the salty-warmth of his skin. It trembled and shook beneath her touch and when his hand moved slowly and awkwardly to cup her breast, Angelica pushed into him.

His finger shifted, finding her nipple, somehow easing its way down beneath the fabric to touch it. She snatched in a breath of surprise and pleasure as he moved, just so slightly, over the very sensitive tip. Little shocks shot down into her belly, down into the heat between her legs where her quim felt full and ready. Ready.

Oh, she said silently as he moved his finger, swirling around in delicate circles, his eyes fastened on her. Red-hot. His breath came faster and his face darkened, tightened into a shiny mask. Folding into themselves, his lips disappeared into a grim line. His great effort was evident as he shifted his other hand, moving down her belly, toward the throbbing center of herself.

“Please,” she managed, still holding the necklace away from him, tempted to tear it away…but the sight of his fangs, long and sharp, so close to her kept her from doing so, even in that fog of pleasure.

He’d warned her. She wasn’t a fool.

Then somehow, his hand found its way between her legs… there, in the hot, swollen place, he slipped and slicked long, elegant fingers. Angelica gasped again in surprised pleasure, and then she couldn’t think of anything but the heat building inside her.

Her legs shifted, she half fell against him on the bed, barely remembering to hold the necklace at her throat. His breath came faster and more ragged, as if he were running, his skin heating and dampening against her, his fingers moving in faster and faster strokes.

Angelica couldn’t breathe, she closed her eyes, her body swelled and suddenly exploded into something indefinable. Something that set her to trembling and shuddering, billowing and hot and suddenly…softness.

Release, pleasure, a smile settling over her whole body.

Voss’s hand fell away from Angelica and her hot, sleek warmth, and he lay there, her sated body collapsed against him, the searing pain from the necklace she’d forgotten about burning into his bicep.

Pain such as he’d never experienced blazed through his body, pounding into his shoulder and beyond, to the very tips of his fingers and toes…hot and sharp, constant, unrelenting agony. His eyes could no longer focus, sweat trickled from his hair. He was swamped by the musky, sweet scent of Angelica’s pleasure…felt the sleekness of it on his fingers.

Please, someone, please, God, help me.

I’m ready.

His body burned and radiated with streaks of pain, his cock was filled to bursting, his mouth swollen with need. He was weak, breathless but needing desperately to breathe, wanting… He truly thought he would die. Please…help me.

Angelica shifted next to him, lifting herself after what seemed like an eternity, blessedly taking the hyssop from his skin. The pain lessened, but barely. He could hardly focus, but fastened on her eyes, heavy-lidded and sated, her lips full and lush, half-parted. Incredibly beautiful.

His heart hurt. Deep inside him, his heart hurt.

“Please,” she whispered, and leaned forward, leaned to brush her lips against his, holding his gaze.

He moved, using his last bit of strength and awareness to lift his face up and taste her, so desperate, needy. Their lips met, his rough and demanding, taking…her hand settling onto his chest, his heart thumping erratically beneath her palm.

And then it happened. Their mouths and tongues slipped and slid together, mashing and molding and he moved too sharply and cut her lip.

Instantly the tang filled his mouth, slid over his lower lip, the thick, heavy blood. It was just a nick, just a tiny slice, but the taste of it was as if something exploded inside him: relief, pain, pleasure, madness. He cried out against her mouth.

More.

He licked her lip, tasted, sucked, and suddenly she pulled away. Her eyes, moments earlier, had been half-closed and soft…now they looked at him in question. A bit of fear shone in her gaze.

Please…please… The flavor of her was still on his tongue, the scent in his nose. Ambrosia, water to a dying man.

The loud pounding on the door penetrated his consciousness, and set Angelica to stumbling off the bed, away from him.

“Dewhurst!” Something slammed against the door, heavy and strong.

Voss tried to focus, to bring himself out of the depths of dark pain. He could hardly pull himself to a sitting position. Unlock it, he wanted to say. He knew full well what awaited him. But he couldn’t find the words.

Angelica’s eyes were wide with fear and shock now, and as she looked over, the door bowed threateningly. Gathering the robe close over her chest, she moved nearer to Voss just as the doorjamb gave way.

With a loud, fierce splinter, the frame pulled from the wall and the door burst open. A figure burst into the room with a swirl of cloak.

“Chas!” Angelica cried.

Before Voss could react, before Angelica could say another word, Woodmore was there, over him, a stake resting in the center of his bare chest.

Eyes blazing, Woodmore stared down at Voss. “The only reason you aren’t already dead,” said the vampire hunter softly, “is because you succeeded in getting my sister away from Moldavi.”

Voss scrambled to gather his thoughts, what little strength he had left and to rise above the shattering pain. “I should have known…you wouldn’t give me…two days.”

Woodmore’s face darkened further. “You seem to have accomplished enough in the short time you had.” He looked over at Angelica, who stared at them with wide eyes. “Are you hurt?”

“No. Chas, I—”

“There’s blood,” Woodmore said flatly. “And you are barely clothed. Both of you.” His voice heavy with distaste and loathing, he turned back to Voss and the stake poked harder. “You truly are a bastard. It’s a damned good thing I didn’t trust you.”

Voss met the man’s deathly gaze with his own burning one: straight and fearless. He would not explain himself. Do it. Put me out of my damn misery. I’ll face whatever comes. Judgment. Condemnation.

Woodmore’s muscle flexed and the stake pierced Voss’s skin. Blood oozed, dark and red. “I’ll take it slow, draw it out a bit. Wouldn’t want it to be over too quickly. Make it too easy.”

“Chas, no!” Angelica had flown to her brother’s side, and now curled her slender hands around his stake arm.

Woodmore turned on her, his face dark and angry. “This is not your concern, Angelica. Get back.” He turned back to Voss. “What is it with my sisters pleading for your miserable life?”

Very aware of the point being made into his breastbone, Voss merely looked up at his opponent. Boldly. Waiting. He tried to force his lips into the familiar smirk, but couldn’t manage more than a twitch. Yet, the feel of wood driving into his skin was hardly more than an annoyance in comparison to the pulsing of his Mark, and the terrible weakness from the hyssop.

It would be a relief when Woodmore shoved it through.

“Chas,” Angelica said, pulling at his arm. “Leave him be. He saved me from Moldavi.”

“With…the help of your…clever smoke explosions,” Voss said, trying not to sound too breathless and weak. He failed miserably. Glancing at Angelica, he managed to add, “That was how…your brother…nearly killed me once before. Took me…by surprise.”

Woodmore responded to Angelica as if Voss hadn’t spoken. “He might have saved you from Moldavi, but it appears no one saved you from him.”

“Chas, no. Please. He did nothing.” Her voice sounded calm and steady, but her eyes were filled with fear.

Voss could do little but lie recumbent and try to ignore the bloodscent from Angelica that still lingered in the air. The essence was long gone from his tongue, and his fangs had slid back into place. Even his raging erection had eased. But the Mark still writhed and burned white agony through him.

“You cannot call this nothing,” Woodmore snapped, gesturing to her bloodied lip and the sagging neckline of her robe. “This is a world you do not understand, and a man who is no longer a man…. He hasn’t a conscience, Angelica. None of them do. They live only for themselves, for their moment of pleasure. They do nothing but take.”

“And yet you love one of them yourself. You’re one to talk,” she responded.

Woodmore blanched as if slapped, then acknowledgment flared in his eyes. “You don’t understand. And I’m not about to let you—”

“It’s too late, Chas. I—I love him,” Angelica said. Her voice was still calm but sad.

“Then all the more reason for me to rid you of him,” Chas said. And pushed the point harder. It had gone through flesh and muscle. Blood pooled enough that it ran down the side of Voss’s torso onto the bedding. One sharp thrust and it would go through his sternum and into the heart.

“Do it,” Voss managed to say.

Their eyes met, his and Woodmore’s. He dared not look at Angelica. He just wanted the torture to end.

And he could never really have her. Not without fear in her eyes. Not without having to battle the pain and agony and the devil on his back. Not without hyssop and his betrayal and her blood between them.

Suddenly he remembered the blonde woman. The voice in his head. Are you yet ready?

Another excruciating wave sliced through him, and his fingers and toes curled against it. Just end it. I’m letting her go. I haven’t taken her. Isn’t that enough?

“Chas,” whispered Angelica. “I will never forgive you. Please…take me away. Let’s go. Leave him here. Please.” She gestured to the sun blazing through the thin curtains. “He can’t follow us.”

“You’ll never see him again,” Woodmore said, lifting the stake a bit, turning to look at her. It was the first time his voice and expression had softened since he entered the room. “I won’t allow it. Get any thought of it out of your head.”

Angelica didn’t look at Voss. “It’s gone. Please. Take me home.”

Woodmore turned back to Voss one last time. “I’m doing it for her, not for you.”

“If you were doing it for me,” Voss managed with every bit of strength he had, “you’d finish it.”

“Damn you to hell, Voss,” Woodmore said, taking Angelica by the arm and starting toward the splintered doorway.

Already done, Woodmore. Already done.