The Vampire Voss

7 Wherein Our Heroine’s Horizons Are Greatly Broadened

Angelica opened her eyes.

Sun shone through the window of an unfamiliar room, cascading onto the bed where she slept. The chamber was clearly that of a woman, with floral paper on the wall and little glass bottles on the dressing table. Lace-trimmed curtains hung at the open window and in front of what appeared to be a large dressing room.

It took only a glance over at the blue-lined cloak and the pile of her black Greek gown on a bepillowed chair for her to remember.

All the blood. All the violence.

Angelica sat up and the coverlet fell away, leaving her to see that she’d been dressed in a night-rail. Her hair fell around her shoulders, loose and heavy. She was cold, despite the warmth of late afternoon sun pouring into the chamber.

Voss. She looked around, as if he might be lurking in the corner—which of course he wasn’t. And which would be outside of unseemly.

But his presence lingered—there, in the cloak he’d draped over her shoulders. In the clean comfort of the room and even, faintly, in the air.

Before she could decide what to do, a firm knock came at the door and it cracked open.

“Ah, you’re awake.” The woman came in before Angelica bade her to do so. Her clothing, her demeanor, even her opening the door immediately after the knock, indicated that she wasn’t a servant.

“Good morning,” Angelica said, examining the new arrival.

She was older, perhaps in her late thirties. Her frock, a daydress that showed enough bosom to qualify for an evening gown, was nevertheless made of good lawn and was at the height of fashion. Large, bright scarlet roses patterned the fabric and wide pink ribbon trimmed the sleeves and hem. Although she didn’t wear gloves, her strawberry-blond hair was dressed in a proper chignon and a bit of curl flattered her striking face. One wouldn’t consider her beautiful, but she had a pleasing, if not shrewd, countenance with high cheekbones and good skin.

“I’m Rubey,” she told her, and then turned to make an abrupt gesture behind.

Another woman, younger and clearly a servant, came in carrying a tray with food and tea, and Angelica instantly realized she was hungry.

“Thank you,” she said as the tray was deposited on the bed next to her. The servant left and the two women were alone.

“And I can see you’ve slept well,” Rubey said as she poured tea. It was a clear statement rather than a question. “After a frightening night.”

Angelica swallowed a delicious bite of orange scone and immediately wanted another. “Where am I? Lord Dewhurst brought me here.”

Rubey nodded and settled into a chair in the corner. Perhaps to watch her eat? “Voss is still abed.” Her eyes seemed to glint with humor. “He was in need of a bit of…rest…after the events of the night and into the morn. I believe he intends to speak with you shortly.” Although her expression wasn’t unkind, it and Rubey’s demeanor gave Angelica the impression that she was missing some important information.

“You haven’t told me where I am.”

“You’re safe. That’s all you need to know for now.”

“I need to get a message to my sister,” Angelica said. “She’ll be frantic by now. There’s no clock in here. Do you know what time it is?”

“It’s nearly four o’clock.”

Angelica’s eyes widened in surprise. She’d been vaguely aware of their arrival here, and that the sun was just beginning to rise, but she could hardly credit having slept so long. Usually, even after a late night of dancing and revelry, she woke before noon.

But last night had been different…in more ways than one.

Rubey continued, “And as for the message, I’m certain Voss has seen to that. But you’ll have to ask him.”

“Only one of many questions, I’m certain,” came a deep voice.

Angelica hadn’t noticed the door opening, but then she’d been rather involved with her tea and the plate of cheese and scones. The sight of his figure, well illuminated by the splash of light in her room, made her heartbeat kick and her belly flutter, chasing all thoughts of orange-glazed biscuits from her mind.

In surprising dishabille, he wore no coat over his shirt, trousers and waistcoat, and a neckcloth sagged casually around his neck. She couldn’t remember ever seeing a man so handsome, so golden and striking and delicious. And whose lips were so full and soft and warm… Her cheeks flushed at the memory and she quickly lifted her teacup to drink. Perhaps to hide her face.

“How do you feel today, Miss Woodmore?” he asked in that same smooth voice, standing in the doorway. He glanced at Rubey, who rose from her seat. “Well rested, I trust?”

“Yes, and also well fed,” she replied, gesturing to the remains of her scone. “I’m certain I have you to thank.”

Voss inclined his head in polite acknowledgment and stepped just inside the door, leaving it ajar next to him. “In addition, I had already presumed your need to be in contact with the eldest Miss Woodmore and thus, I have sent word to Corvindale that you are with me, and to pledge your continued safety. So you need not worry that your sister is concerned for you.”

Rubey had moved to the window. She left the curtains and windowpane open wide, but closed the shutters, leaving only a fraction of the sunshine sliding through the top half of the opening. The room was still well illuminated by the day, but the warmth was gone.

“Oh,” Angelica said in dismay, her attention turning to the other woman. “Why did you do that?”

“It’s safer,” Voss replied, stepping farther into the chamber. “We must take no chances that Moldavi’s men might glimpse you through the window.”

A spike of fear jolted her. “Do you think they’ve followed us? Or know where you’ve taken me?”

“I suspect they haven’t, for they didn’t know you were with me when we left Sterlinghouse last evening. But I intend to take no chances with you and your safety, Miss Woodmore.” His eyes settled on her as he smiled slowly. “Not at all.”

Standing by the window, Rubey made a soft sound that could have been mistaken for a snort, but Angelica wasn’t certain. The woman eyed Voss with a raised brow, and he merely turned his charming smile onto her. “Now, Rubey,” he said. There was affection in his voice—something that Angelica hadn’t noticed when he spoke to her—and also a bit of warning. “You give me too little credit.”

“A lie that is, to be sure. I give you more credit than you deserve,” she replied, folding her arms over her middle. For the first time, Angelica noticed a bit of Irish lilt in her voice. “And it lightens my coffers more than I care to admit.”

“But, Rubey,” he said, his voice still easy. “You know I’m good for it.” His voice lowered and Angelica felt a little responsive shiver in her belly.

“That you are, which is why I keep you around. But a little slow on the settling up. After this—” she gestured abruptly at Angelica and moved toward Voss “—I expect your account to be settled most generously.” Then, to Angelica’s shock, she poked him in the chest with her finger, just below the loose neckcloth.

Voss didn’t seem to care. “I am always generous,” he told her in that low, nearly purring voice that made Angelica vacillate between warmth and annoyance. He was fairly ignoring her and quite clearly flirting with this woman.

She didn’t like it at all.

Rubey gave a little huff of laughter that ended on a low note. “Indeed,” she added in a more husky tone. “When you are finished here, I’ll expect you to see to all of it.”

She glanced briefly at Angelica to say, “I’ll send clothing up for you shortly. And a maid.” And then she left the chamber, closing the door in her wake.

For a moment, Angelica sat stunned and speechless. She was alone in a bedchamber, clothed in little more than a thin shift, with a man.

With Voss.

He turned to look at her, but before she could speak, he gave a little smile. “Ah, yes. Propriety.” To her relief, he opened the door, leaving it more than halfway ajar.

“Thank you,” she said, fumbling her hands over the top of the puckered coverlet. The thing that frightened her the most was that the idea of being alone in the bedchamber with Voss didn’t frighten her, or concern her. In fact, the thought was more than a bit alluring.

Standing near the door’s corner, against the wall, he nevertheless seemed to fill the room, his shoulders wide and solid against feminine wallpaper. Though he remained near the darker side of the room, his skin picked up a hint of the golden glow of sunlight. Thick hair, the color of her old ginger cat, streaked with all shades of bronze and honey caught by the light, had been combed back neatly and rose above his high forehead. Yet, its very color and the hint of untamed waves near his ears and throat suggested something less staid and proper lurking beneath.

The sensual little curl at one side of his mouth contributed to that lack of propriety…along with the fact that his neckcloth hung loosely knotted from the opening of his shirt. The shallow V of golden skin and the hollow of his throat she found fascinating, and more than a bit disturbing as her imagination ran to places it had never been.

“Angelica.”

Her gaze flew to his and the expression she saw there made her insides plunge. Oh.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to close the door again,” he said in a voice that tempted her to ask him to do so.

Heat rushed to her cheeks and Angelica caught her breath, aware of a sudden, very pleasant tightening in her insides. What if he did? What if he came to sit on the edge of the bed—no. That was outside of proper. She swallowed.

As if to put a distance between himself and that enticement, Voss stepped away from the opening and sat on an upholstered stool in front of a small dressing table. His long legs were bent up a bit and, sitting amid lace and glass, he appeared more out of his element than she’d ever seen him.… Yet, with him there was no real awkwardness. He wore no coat, but the crisp white sleeves of his shirt and the intricate pattern on his waistcoat detracted from the pink and yellow florals surrounding him.

Angelica decided she should be relieved that he’d taken a seat so far from her. “Where are we? And who is Rubey? Is she your…sister?”

Her cheeks warmed when he gave a short little laugh. “No, indeed, Rubey is not my sister.”

Angelica drew herself up a bit and pulled the coverlet higher. “I suspected not,” she added in what she thought of as her Maia-voice. “I was simply giving you the benefit of the doubt. She is a proprietress of some sort, I suppose. Is this her home?”

A suspicion had begun to form during Voss’s exchange with Rubey, wherein Angelica realized she was missing some of the underlying meaning of their words. She didn’t know much about the demimonde or the sorts of women who would become a man’s mistress, but the way Rubey had looked at Voss and the ease of manner between them—along with the very low line of her bodice—made her wonder. She’d spoken of services and of settling accounts.… Angelica became more suspicious.

“Rubey owns the place,” Voss told her. “One of several, in fact. She’s agreed to let you stay here until I can make other arrangements.”

“Is she your mistress?” Angelica asked. “Or is this a brothel?”

The slight widening of his eyes was the only indication of his surprise. “I didn’t believe young, well-bred women knew of such things.”

“Am I to presume that is a confirmation?” she asked, trying to decide why she felt so uncomfortable. Right in the pit of her belly.

“You needn’t presume anything of the sort,” Voss said. “Rubey is merely a woman with many skills and assets—not unlike yourself, Miss Woodmore.”

She couldn’t help but wonder just exactly what sort of skills and assets Rubey had.

And then she realized that, a moment earlier, he’d called her Angelica. Now it was back to Miss Woodmore.

Angelica frowned and all of her warm thoughts dissipated.

But Voss didn’t seem to notice, for he continued. “In fact, I was hoping you might use one of your talents to assist me.”

Her attention flew to him, but his expression was neutral. Perhaps even…apprehensive. For the first time, she noticed that despite his easy manner, his eyes held weariness. “What exactly do you mean?” Angelica asked, resisting the urge to ask if he hadn’t slept well.

Voss shifted in his seat, his long legs ruffling the lacy table cloth, causing the glass bottles to clink gently. “You foretold the death of my associate Lord Brickbank. And I understand that you have been able, in the past, to predict or foresee the death of others.”

When she would have spoken, something like dismay and perhaps anger bubbling up inside her, he continued. His voice lowered and became…tentative. “I confess, it was more than a bit of a shock to me—that which happened with Brickbank. You’d warned us, you’d foretold it…and yet we couldn’t prevent it.”

His face seemed to sag in the uneven light. Emotion clouded his eyes, and the bit of annoyance she had with him ebbed. “Perhaps not,” she said, but gently. “If you had stayed away from the bridges—”

He looked sharply at her. “But you clearly said which bridge. We went nowhere near it, and he still died in the manner you’d foretold.”

Angelica eased back against her pillows, closing her eyes briefly. Yes, that very same realization had settled uncomfortably in her thoughts, as well. It made her fingers grow stiff and icy, despite the mild summer day, and her insides tighten.

There was no escaping fate.

And she was fated to bear its knowledge.

“How do you manage it, Angelica?” he asked suddenly, as if it burst from him. Earnestness and something much deeper blossomed in his gaze. “Seeing death at every turn?”

She sensed that he needed the answer; that it was a need for him as much as an understanding about her. “It’s become part of my life,” she said. “Since I was very young, I would touch something and sometimes the flash of a vision would rush through my mind. I didn’t understand what it was at first.”

“The first time you realized it was something more, you must have been quite distraught.” His voice had gentled.

“I was perhaps five or six. One of the footmen had dropped a glove and I picked it up. The vision was very strong and it startled me. I had an image of him lying on the floor of the stable. He looked odd, but I couldn’t have known it was because his neck and legs were broken. I returned the glove to him and two days later, he fell from the loft of the barn.”

Voss’s eyes glinted golden-green. “Were you the one to find him?”

Angelica shook her head. “No, I was spared that, at least. But I’d told Maia about the vision, and she had managed a peek into the stable when all of the activity was happening. She wouldn’t let me look, but she did.” Her lips moved in the hint of a smile. “Chas was at Eton or he would surely have taken charge himself.”

Voss wondered if Chas had been tossed in the privy his first week at school, or if that sort of tradition had gone away with powdered wigs and knee breeches. Regardless, having encountered Chas more than once, Voss was inclined to suspect that he’d not been subjected to such an indignity at that age. He might even have been one of the ones doing the dunking of pretty but scrawny underclassmen.

Or, more likely, he allowed reluctantly, the pulling of them out of the muck.

Removing himself from such circuitous musings, he asked, “What happened after you made the connection between the vision and the groom’s death?”

She understood what he meant. “Maia, and later, Chas, knew about it, but I never told my parents. They were still alive then.”

He stilled, arrested in the midst of a movement on the short stool. “Did you know they would die?”

Angelica focused on her fingers, playing with a loose thread on the coverlet. “It was another year before it happened again. I was playing with my cousin’s coat and wrapped myself up in it while we were playing hide-and-seek. In the dark corner under the piano, I was hidden and had to remain quiet…and that was when my mind—it was rather like it opened. I saw him in his bed. His face was pale and his lips and eyelids blue. At the time, he was nine or thereabouts, but in the image, it was clear he was some years older.”

“He died, then? A few years later?”

She nodded. “I didn’t tell anyone about the vision that time because…well, I didn’t really know what it meant. But later, my old Granny Grapes came to me. She knew about it. She’d figured it out.”

“Granny Grapes?” A smile flickered in his eyes.

Affection swarmed her. “She died five years ago, but she was the one who inherited the Sight in our family from her mother. She was part Gypsy.” She’d been the one to help Angelica understand, learn to accept and control her gift. If it hadn’t been for her wisdom and knowledge—

“How do you live with it? With knowing that everyone you meet will die?” His voice was filled with compassion, but also with need. He needed something…but she didn’t understand what it was. “Don’t you ever wonder what happens after?”

Angelica looked at him. Their eyes met, but not in the sort of heated, explosive way they’d done at the masquerade ball or even when he came into the chamber just now. Something tugged, soft and deep, inside as she connected her gaze with his. “Everyone dies, my lord.”

His handsome face seemed bleak. “Why must they?”

“It’s the natural way of things, the cycle of life. To everything there is a season, and a time.” She dropped the little thread she’d been curling around her fingers. “If there is one thing I’ve learned from this gift I have, it’s that one cannot fear death. It’s rarely pleasant or expected or convenient. Most times it’s tragic and painful. But we can’t avoid it. And for some, it can even be a relief.”

She nibbled on her lip, thinking about how long it had taken for her to become comfortable with her Sight. How many nights of worry and anguish she’d slogged through in darkness—both literal and figurative—before Granny Grapes had taken her under her wing and helped her to understand that death was merely a transition to another part of life.

Voss didn’t say anything, and she was struck by what seemed to be deepening shadows beneath his eyes.

“I don’t mean to sound nonchalant or uncaring,” she told him when the silence stretched moments too long. “I didn’t always feel that way.”

“Didn’t you try to block it out? Did you not try to keep it away? Or did you revel in the knowledge?”

“Yes, and yes…and, at times, yes.” She spread her hands. “I’ve become comfortable with it now. I’ve learned to control it, and I’m judicious in my use of the Sight. Careful with how and when I call on it.”

Except…she hadn’t controlled the image of Lord Brickbank falling to his death. That had been visited upon her in her dreams.

She’d never met the man, never touched any of his belongings.

While she’d had other dreams of death in the past, they’d been just dreams. She’d not seen or met the persons portrayed in them.

And that was what made this incident with Lord Brickbank particularly discomfiting…and frightening. Had those other dreams actually happened, without her realizing it? And why did she dream some deaths, but “see” others by touching a personal item? Angelica had looked away as the reminder of Brickbank came to her thoughts, but now she glanced over at Voss. Strangely silent and contemplative, he sat unmoving. For the first time, she saw him without a coy or charming demeanor. Without a light in his eyes or even the dangerous fury that had been there last night during the attacks.

“My lord,” she began…but then her voice trailed off.

He shifted suddenly on the little stool, and then that smile was back…the sensual, smooth one that had sent little prickles down her spine. “Well, then,” he said. “I cannot say that I’ve ever had such a moribund conversation with a woman in a bedchamber.”

“I’ve never had any conversation with a man in a bedchamber,” she replied primly. Her heart had begun to beat harder, but despite his light comment, she noticed the glint was missing from his eyes.

Voss stood, suddenly looming over her, and she realized once again that she was dressed only in a night rail. And, she decided, this was not the time to ask if he had been the one to arrange for that event. She sincerely hoped he had not, her cheeks warming at the very idea.

“I should like to dress now,” she said. Her throat was dry and her lips felt suddenly very full and warm.

Now his gaze lit with humor. “Indeed. Are you requesting maid service from me?”

“No, indeed!” she said, the flush bursting hotter over her face.

“Very well, then,” he said, his voice oozing with exaggerated reluctance. “I shall send for someone.”

“V—” she said as he started toward the door, then realized her mistake. “My lord, I mean—”

He turned, his hand still on the knob. “Call me Voss. I like the way you make it sound. Angelica.”

She could hardly breathe when their eyes met, and for a moment, the only sound was that of low breathing and the distant thumps and bumps of others in the house. “Dewhurst,” she said firmly.

He made an odd sort of movement, as if to step toward her and then halting himself at the last moment. Something like a wince crossed his face, and he turned sharply. “I’ll send a maid,” he said, and then left the room.

Angelica heard the steady, solid clump of his shoes as he strode down the corridor and then, it seemed, down a flight of stairs. Then it was lost amid the other household noises.

Her heart didn’t stop pounding, nor the tingling in her belly cease until several moments later when the first servant arrived with buckets of steaming water for her bath.

Angelica closed her eyes and sank back into the tub, the water swishing over her shoulders. Whatever scented oil the maid had sprinkled into the bath was sweet and citrusy, and its residue sat atop the steaming water like circular rainbows.

“What is it called?” she asked without opening her eyes. “The scent you poured into the water?”

Ella, whose movements were neat and exceedingly efficient, had moved behind Angelica and was brushing out her hair. “It’s named neroli,” she said as Angelica sighed at the heavenly feel of the bristles over her scalp. “The mistress would give you a small bottle of it if y’like.”

“That would be very kind,” Angelica said and lifted her head as the young woman tucked a folded towel between her neck and the edge of the metal tub. “It’s a lovely and unique scent.”

“Comes all the way from It’ly,” said Ella. “Or is it Ind-ya? Alack, I don’t try to remember it all.” She giggled and continued with the brushing.

Angelica had noted that a gown, chemise and under-necessaries were waiting for her on the dressing table and marveled to herself at what comfortable lodgings Rubey provided. If she felt a pang of unease in regards to what other services the red-haired woman might offer, Angelica pushed it away with relative ease.

Voss was trying to keep her safe, and so far he’d succeeded. She had made the decision to trust him, and so far he hadn’t given her reason to question his motives.

But then, Maia’s disapproving expression, complete with wagging finger, popped into Angelica’s mind and ruined the relaxation of the bath.

Pickle bumps and fern-dots and blast it all! Her eyes opened and she realized that her mouth had twisted into a frown, all on its own.

She could just hear Maia, like an annoying shriek of conscience: “But you don’t know the man, Ange. And you’ve gone off with him without a hesitation! What are you thinking?”

What was she thinking, indeed.

She was thinking about his beautiful eyes and the way they made her feel when he looked at her. And the lush kiss he’d coaxed from her, making her knees weak and her body rush with heat.

And she was thinking about the deeply hidden, almost lost expression in his eyes when they’d been speaking only a few moments ago. He needed something from her.

Perhaps he was afraid of dying. Or someone he loved was dying, or had died. Something.

Ella had set aside the brush and had just finished pinning Angelica’s hair into a loose knot at the base of her neck. Now she watched as Ella bustled about the chamber, preparing towels that had been warming in a little metal trunk near the fire. Such a luxury she’d never even conceived.

“The mistress says what a terrible night y’had,” Ella said, closing the top on the trunk with a quiet thud. “You were s’tired when you came in, I thought I was dressin’ a babe for bed. I hope you slept well.”

“I did,” Angelica said. Well, there is the answer to that question. Too bad Maia isn’t here for the confirmation that her sister’s virtue is still, indeed, intact.

Ella came forward, a renewed wave of neroli wafting from the warm towel, and Angelica rose from the tub. As she stood, she noticed two little marks low on the maid’s neck.

They looked like small red dots. Or puncture wounds.

The skin around them was smooth and white, and the circles were neat and each was perhaps the diameter of a tiny pea. As Ella shifted, draping the warm, scented towel around her, two more marks were exposed on the back side of her upper shoulder.

A chill replaced the steamy comfort from Angelica’s bath, and she couldn’t tear her eyes from the marks on Ella’s neck. She was suddenly, uncomfortably certain she knew from where those four wounds had come. If she hadn’t been witness to the carnage from the vampirs last night, Angelica might have thought little of it. But after seeing it for herself, she knew there was no mistaking bite marks.

The maid tucked the towel around Angelica and moved away, seemingly unaware of the horror that must be shining in her charge’s face.

Had she been attacked also? And Voss rescued her as well, bringing her to safety at Rubey’s? Try as she might, Angelica could see no other marks or scars on Ella’s arms or throat, and she was just about to be bold and rude and ask the maid about the marks when a loud shout erupted from below.

Ella turned, holding a chemise, and they both paused to listen. Loud thumps and thuds reverberated, followed by a scream and more alarmed shouting.

“What in heaven?” Angelica said, but she and Ella had both sprung into action. “Someone is in trouble.”

“Stay here,” Ella said, thrusting the chemise at her and then dashing to the door to peek out.

The sounds of what was clearly a struggle had become more violent, causing the little glass bottles on the dressing table to clink together as the walls and floor shook. More shouts and another scream, followed by crashes and a loud thud.

As Ella peeked out the door, Angelica struggled to tug the chemise over her damp body. Her fingers shook as she tied the lace at the neckline, and then the door slammed shut as the maid turned toward her with wide eyes. “They’re coming. I think we should hide.”

Angelica could hear the pounding of footsteps on the stairs and looked around for a weapon. The stool Voss had sat on, the brush and combs on the table, the chamber pot…the fireplace poker. She seized it and swung around, her hair sagging at the back of her neck and the chemise still sticking to her belly and the curve of her rear.

Ella, who had lost every bit of her previous efficiency in favor of stark terror, began to shove at the bed. Angelica recognized her intent and rushed to help her push it against the door. In her haste, she bumped against the flimsy dressing table, sending it and its contents crashing to the floor and against the fireplace brick.

“Blast,” she muttered, avoiding the broken glass and heaving at the bed, poker in hand. Now she’d done nothing but draw attention to their presence.

The ominous thuds of footsteps reached the top of the stairs by the time the bed was in place against the heavy door. Angelica whirled toward the shuttered window to see if it offered some possibility of escape. She felt the bite of glass under her heel and then the ball of her foot, but the sounds of violence in the hall beyond their door had other worries on her mind.

“Can we get out here?” she asked as she reached the window.

Ella had frozen in place. “It’s them,” she whispered, her eyes so wide Angelica was certain they’d pop from her skull. “They’re here! In the day!” Then she gasped and pointed down. “You’re bleeding!”

Angelica’s bloodied foot slipped on the stretch of wooden floor as she worked to unhinge the shutter. “That’s the least of our worries,” she snapped. “Can you help me?”

Where was Voss? Was he in the midst of the fight? Or was he not even here?

“Oh, lordy, lordy,” Ella said, grabbing the towel and thrusting it at Angelica. “Wipe it up! Quick, before they—”

She stopped with a little scream as something slammed into the door. The wooden slats bowed and creaked threateningly.

“Who is it?” Angelica shouted to Ella, who was doing nothing but gaping. The shutter released, opening so hard it rebounded against the wall and then back against her temple. Ignoring the unexpected pain, she yanked on the heavy window frame as she stood in tepid sunshine.

The door protested again under another, more ferocious onslaught, and Angelica gave a brief thought to the possibility that Voss might be the one attempting to gain entrance…but, no—surely if it were him, he’d be shouting at her to let him in.

At last, the window opened, and Angelica stuck her head out into the warm sunshine to look down…and down.

Blast! The street was two levels below, and she couldn’t see any way to—

There was a loud splintering sound behind her and Ella screamed again. Angelica turned, her heart in her throat, and reached for the poker. The door sagged and she could see two powerful arms reaching through a ragged hole, and just then, a booted foot smashed through near the bottom.

With no other choice, she rushed toward them, swinging the poker, slamming it at the fingers as they tore, bare-handed, at the iron-bound wood. She smashed the poker against one arm and then used its pointed end to stab at the other, then down at the foot kicking at the large hole.

Nothing seemed to stop the intruders; they kept ramming against the weakening door and Angelica tried to fight them back…but only moments later the pieces of wood fell away and two men burst into the room.

Angelica had the impression of hulking figures, burning eyes and the gleam of feral smiles. For a moment, she lost her breath, freezing in fear. But when one of them grabbed Ella and the other lunged for Angelica, she came back to life and swung her poker.

Her cut foot slipped again and she nearly lost her balance, but the poker met its mark, slamming into the side of the fiery-eyed man who reached for her. The blow didn’t seem to affect him, and he shoved the metal rod away as if it were a twig, sending Angelica skidding aside as Ella’s screams filled the room.

Somehow, Angelica managed to evade the grasping hands and dive under the bed. She lost the poker in the process, and huddled in the corner, frantically trying to think of an escape. If she could get past him and dash toward the doorway….

Suddenly, the bed rose, lifted straight above her, and then flew against the wall. Wooden pieces and bedding crashed in all directions, raining on her and giving her a moment in the flurry to dash to her feet.

She stepped on glass and tripped over a sheet, staggering against a piece of splintered bed frame. Terror gripped her as she fell and one of her attackers moved, trapping her where she crouched in the corner.

He paused, looking down at her as if to give her fear a chance to build. A tall man with broad shoulders and a long face, he had the glowing eyes she’d come to recognize as belonging to the vampirs. His hair was short and thick and curling, and he might have been considered attractive if it weren’t for the wildness of his smile, the pointed length of two of his teeth, and the murderousness in his eyes. And what looked like a streak of blood on his jaw.

Oh, God, help me.

Those eyes bored into her as a half smile twitched his lips, and he waited as if trying to lull her. Meanwhile, his chest rose and fell as if his own anticipation was heightened.

Angelica realized at that moment that silence had fallen. Even Ella was quiet. The only noise was her own gasping breaths and a soft, eerie gurgling sound that made the hair on her arms rise.

Something heavy and metallic-scented filled the air, and in that frozen moment, she realized it was blood. Lots of blood.

A horrified gasp escaped her and her fingers groped for something on the floor—a broken bottle, a piece of the bed, a pillow—anything. Her hand slipped through the puddle of blood gathering beneath her foot, roaming over the uneven wooden planks.

“Woodmore,” said the vampire. “Art thou Woodmore’s sister?” He stepped closer. “Speak now, or meet thy fate.”

A flicker of his attention to the opposite side of the room tricked her into looking there, where Ella lay half-sprawled across the tilted dressing table. The other intruder bent over her, his hand curled up into her hair. She’d stopped screaming and fighting, and even in her quick glance, Angelica saw the faint twitching of her feet and one hand. Blood stained the front of her gown and tinged her fingers.

“I am,” Angelica whispered, hoping that was the proper thing to say. The answer that would save her life…or gain her some time until Voss arrived.

Where was Voss?

“Chas Woodmore’s sister?” the man demanded in a voice that could only be described as disappointed. “The hunter?”

Hunter. Suddenly something snapped in Angelica’s mind—a vague memory crystallizing into a surge of hope. Stories from her childhood.

A stake. Right. A wooden one. Where? In the…in the heart.

“Yes,” she said to him as much as to herself. Yes, that was how the story went. Not the metal poker; that wouldn’t help. But wood.

A piece of the bed.

Now she felt blindly on the floor with purpose.

His eyes bored into her and she felt a surge of fear. He looked as if he wanted to tear her into pieces. His smile revealed two sharp incisors and as his grin widened, she saw that his teeth and gums were stained red.

With blood.

“Methinks you lie,” he said. A hand swung down and grabbed at her, but before he could drag her to her feet, an emphatic No! erupted from the corner. The grip released and she sagged back onto the floor.

He turned to glower at his companion, who, as Angelica watched, dumped the bloody mess that was Ella onto the ground. It landed in the faint square of sunlight. In the moment of distraction, she found what she sought and her sticky fingers closed around a splinter of wood.

“You are the sister of Chas Woodmore,” said the one who was obviously the leader, and who’d saved her life. At least for the moment. He walked toward her, swiping his mouth with a scrap of cloth. A quick, sharp look at his companion had the other one stepping back.

Angelica didn’t miss the look of fury he cast the leader, but her attention was caught by this new threat.

“Who are you?” she forced herself to ask. A strange calmness had settled over her—a moment when everything seemed to slow down and become very clear. She would have one chance to try and penetrate his chest with this piece of wood.

Whether it would work—

Suddenly a great, sleek force burst into the chamber. Angelica ducked instinctively, and the next thing she knew, the vampire in front of her was flying through the air. The other one lunged, but too late, and Voss—of course it was him, tall and golden and ferociously catlike—grabbed him by the back of the neck and lifted him effortlessly.

Angelica gaped as Voss flung—literally flung—the man across the room, pitching him through the sunny window like a rag doll.

The sound of agonized screams faded into descent as Voss turned to the leader of the pair, who’d landed next to Ella in the pool of sunlight. The intruder was gasping and writhing as if pinned there by some invisible bondage.

Voss lashed out and snatched him by the leg, then spun him neatly up and out into the full sunlight. This one didn’t scream, and a sudden quiet descended.

Angelica stared. It had happened so quickly, within a matter of breaths, that she could hardly credit it. Voss was turned away from her, still staring out the window as if to be certain the invaders wouldn’t return.

Through the fog of shock, she nevertheless noticed and admired his shoulders—so wide and solid as they rose and fell—and the thick mass of tawny-golden waves brushing the collar of his coat. One hand hung at his side, veined and powerful. Tightly-fisted.

“My lord,” she whispered after a moment when he didn’t turn.

“Go,” he said in a short, tight voice. His breathing was deep and controlled, and she could see it move through his body as if it were being dragged. A little shudder rippled over his shoulders as he added, “Get help.”

He made a sharp gesture to Ella as he knelt slowly, reluctance in his very movement.

Angelica had pulled to her feet, her knees shaking, her fingers still closed around the wooden splinter, her other hand curled into the front of her chemise.

“Angelica,” Voss said. “Go. Now.”

Confused, frightened and sick to the very depths of her being, Angelica obeyed and fled the room.