The Vampire Voss (26 page)

“I don't understand,” Maia said. “Then why did you come?”

“To get Angelica away from Voss—although that has already occurred—and to kill the bastard.”

Maia gasped at the use of profanity, and it was all Angelica could do not to roll her eyes. They were in a chamber, dressed in their nightclothes, with a vampire and two strange men. An off-color word was the least of their worries.

“That's what I do,” Chas said, stepping away from where he'd been leaning on the desk. “I might as well tell you now, so you understand.”

Angelica frowned, but before she could speak, her brother continued. “I kill vampires. Some of them, at any rate,” he added with a sidewise glance at Narcise and then Corvindale. “Only the ones who endanger humans.”

“What are you talking about?” Maia said. Her voice was faint and Angelica felt a little sorry for her. Between the profanity and their casual state of undress, her very proper sister seemed out of her element. No surprise: she wasn't in control. And Maia, for all she might desire it, hadn't been bit by a vampire—or even come in close proximity to one.

Chas gestured toward Angelica. “You were blessed, or cursed, with Granny Grapes's Sight. And so is Sonia. I've discovered my own ability, courtesy of that same Romanian heritage. I can do something vampires can't even do. I can sense the presence of one…identify them, even if I don't know them.”

“Oh,” was all Angelica could say. And then she realized what he'd said. “You do this
all the time?
You kill vampires? Isn't it—” she glanced at Narcise, who was looking at her as if she were a toad “—dangerous?”

“Of course it's dangerous,” Maia put in. “Don't you recall the stories Granny used to tell us? About the vampires, and the men who hunted… Oh.” She looked at Chas. “That's how you knew? What to do?”

He nodded. “All my gratitude goes to Granny Grapes. And as soon as I learned from Cale that Voss had abducted Angelica,
I came back. Corvindale is your guardian for the foreseeable future,” he said, looking at Maia, “but I wasn't going to stand aside and let Voss compromise my sister.”

“I'm not compromised,” Angelica said.

“We know he was here tonight, Angelica. Whether you invited him or welcomed him or—”

“I certainly didn't invite him,” Angelica shot back in horror, her heart pounding. “I wouldn't invite a terrifying creature like him anywhere!” How had they even known he was there?

“It doesn't matter,” Chas continued. “Corvindale and Cale are going to help me find him. And then I'm going to kill him.”

T
he public house known as the Gray Stag was raucous and crowded, with more than one shadowy corner in which one could hide oneself. Ale and whiskey flowed freely, and although the particular libation that Voss preferred wasn't served here, he didn't mind a decent ale on occasion. Not that the Stag offered that, but there were times when one must adapt.

He chose the dark corner nearest the rear entrance, and sat with his back to the intersection of two smoke-blackened, stained wooden walls. One benefit to facing away from them—aside of the obvious—was that he wouldn't find himself contemplating what had caused said stains. Some of them were blood, which, of course didn't offend his sensibilities in the least—but there were others that, based on the underlying stench in the area, he suspected were caused by more unpleasant casualties.

The whole place, in fact, smelled like any other public house Voss had ever entered: stale, close, smoky and of unwashed humans with a tinge of animal.

He hailed a harried serving girl by showing her a handful of shillings, and was treated to the sight of her long, slender
neck from behind as she hurried away. He smiled to himself in admiration, but made no other move.

He wouldn't leave until after the appointed time had come and gone by an hour. After that, well…who knew what sort of pleasure might await the woman with the long neck?

Voss arranged two tankards on his table so that he would be recognized by the messenger he awaited: one upside down and the other next to it, handles touching. A third he reserved for himself, although he doubted he would actually ingest the ale.

Not that he was certain Angelica would even follow through on her agreement. She'd said she'd send word through Rubey, but Voss knew it wasn't safe for him to wait at her establishment anymore. Corvindale and Woodmore were certainly looking for him, so staying out of sight was the safest way to avoid the inconvenience of a stake in the heart, or any other disruption. Rubey had agreed that if she got word from Angelica, she would send a messenger to meet him at the Gray Stag by midnight.

An uncomfortable twinge tightened his belly as it did whenever he realized he would never see Angelica again. It was for the best, of course, but…it made him feel hollow. Unaccountably empty.

Turning his thoughts away from that unhappy thought, Voss scanned the establishment, watching for any sign that all might not be as it seemed. Waiting for someone to approach him. There was a woman in one of the corners who attracted his attention—not because she looked as if she might want to slip into the dark shadows with a man who'd bite her neck, but because she didn't look as if she belonged in a dingy place like this. She sat alone and no one seemed to give her any notice. She had long blond hair and was dressed in a shapeless gown. There was something…different…about her. And familiar,
perhaps. Or perhaps it was simply her appearance that attracted his attention.

Once, Voss turned quickly and caught her watching him. She had a faint smile on an otherwise serene face…but she made no move to approach him.

He kept half an eye on her, simply because she seemed so out of place. He wondered if she were some make of Moldavi's who'd managed to track him…or just an odd whore looking for a trick. Or some servant of Angelica's? When she rose from her seat and approached his table, Voss watched in surprise and hope. Was she from Angelica? Could he be that fortunate?

The woman made her way around and between the servants and patrons as if they didn't exist. None of them seemed to acknowledge her, even when she passed close by.

For some reason, his heart beat faster as she came to stand in front of him. It certainly wasn't because he found her attractive. She was lovely to look at in a serene, peaceful sort of motherly way, but not in the way he was accustomed to thinking of women who approached him in a public house. He looked up at her, wondering if she would be amenable to his particular sort of sport.

“Been a while since you've seen a seamstress, hmm, m'dear?” he said, lifting a brow as he scanned her figure. “You really ought to remedy that if you expect to do well in this city.” She looked as if she had emerged from some Saxon or Welsh legend, with a pale, shapeless tunic that dragged upon the floor. Her sleeves were long and she showed not a hint of bosom or even the shape of her figure. His Mark twitched and burned, and he looked with interest at the line of her neck, half obstructed by long blond hair. It was a lovely, long neck.

The faint curve of a smile shaped her lips, and he slightly
revised his opinion that she wasn't attractive. He could sink into that.

“Aye, Voss. That's what's come to be expected of you. Always the superficial. Always planning your next conquest. Always the game. 'Tis why he chose you, you know.”

His mouth went dry as his old wig powder and Voss suddenly felt as if his brain was about to shatter. Pain and light warred in his mind, and he tried to focus, to make sense of what she was saying.
That's why he chose you.
Something dark and heavy settled in his gut.

“Who are you?” he managed to choke out.

She lifted her shoulders delicately and he noticed her pale, elegant hands and the circlet of keys that hung from her woven leather belt. A medieval chatelaine.

“It matters not,” she replied. “You aren't yet ready.” The peace and serenity that had shone in her eyes wavered into something like sadness. “I'll be here when you are. I pray that it happens before she's gone.”

“Who? What are you talking about? Who are you?” He'd found his voice, even through the rage of pain and the whirl of thoughts that he couldn't seem to control.

“I'd hoped—but you don't remember me. We've met before, on several occasions.” Her smile was sad. “Mayhap you'll remember me after this time. But I can tell you naught more. Not until you're ready.”

“What are you talking about?” he said again.

“Your friend Rubey is very wise. You were right to go to her. Now, if you'd only listen to her.”

Voss closed his eyes against the pain of Luce's fury and his own confusion, and when he opened them a moment later, she was gone. Even though it had been a mere breath that he'd done so—or so he thought—when he scanned the pub,
he didn't see a hint of long, flowing sleeves or a shapeless pale tunic. Anywhere.

He took a long drink of the abysmal ale and ordered another one from the wench with the long neck. Had he met the blonde woman before? When? Where?

Why didn't he remember her?

I pray that it happens before she's gone.

What did she mean by that? The little wrench stuttered his heart. Could she be speaking of Angelica?

Likely not. He was leaving here, as soon as he heard from her—and even if he didn't, he had to leave London. Things were simply too…uncomfortable and difficult here.

You aren't yet ready.
Ready for what? For what?

Ready to change.

He shook his head. It was as if her voice found its way into his mind.

Change? He couldn't change. He didn't
want
to change.

When Belial walked into the Gray Stag some time after midnight, Voss wasn't overly surprised. Annoyed…yes. Surprised. No. Not in his world.

Especially not tonight.

Despite the fact that there were numerous pubs in London, it was simply his misfortune that the cock-biter would also choose this one in which to imbibe. Voss eased further back into the shadows and half turned his face away as the other vampire and his two companions settled at a table across the room. A structural beam partially blocked what would be their view of Voss, and he settled back into his corner. Checked his pocket watch again.

The meeting time had been set at half past eleven; it was nearly half after twelve. He'd been here since before eleven.

Apparently he was waiting in vain. Angelica had not kept her promise; the hope that perhaps the strange blonde
woman might have been her messenger had disappeared, for the woman had slipped out a few moments ago. But he hadn't truly expected Angelica would contact him with news about the watch chain. She didn't seem to realize how valuable her Sight could be to someone…someone with nefarious purposes. Had she never thought of how powerful it could make her?

Voss eyed the drink in front of him. No. She didn't think that way. A wise young woman, she was, but also very innocent in many ways.

Had she never realized what a pawn she could be for someone with unsavory intentions?

Not that his own intentions were unsavory. He merely wished to have as much information as he could have. And to fund his travels.

And who knew when such information might come in handy, especially when dealing with Moldavi?

Voss eyed Belial, keeping his lids half lowered to hide the burning there. He didn't often feel the urge for violence—it was too messy, too much effort—but at this moment, something nagged at him. Some dark urge to fling his table away and to tear off its leg and slam its jagged point into the torso of that freckled, snakelike vampire. Watch him die.

Even the thought sent a rage of fire through his shoulder's Mark, although Voss barely shifted. He was becoming used to the incessant pain.

How much worse
could
it get? Last night, when he'd sent Angelica from her own bedchamber… Even now, the thought of that searing, white pain took his breath away. How he'd even formed the words to warn her to leave, Voss didn't know. He didn't remember anything but that white, hot world until his feet landed in the cool, damp grass.

Lucifer didn't approve of his immortalized men killing other Dracule members—mercenaries, as he called them, in
his earthly army—and he expressed his anger the way he always did: through the mark of their agreement.

Already, the symbol of Voss's covenant with Lucifer had become slender, brownish-red ropes of agony. For self-preservation purposes, he hadn't been to his London home for more than a week, although he had sent for Kimton (who could travel easily during the daylight) and new clothing. The valet had tried everything including a foul-smelling salve to ease his master…to no avail. Its rage was a constant reminder of Luce's control.

Voss's fangs pressed into the inside of his lower lip and his fingers curled around the edge of the table.… No, there was no point in angering Lucifer any further. He had a better idea, and crooked his finger to the slender-necked serving girl. Obviously remembering the pile of shillings earlier, she hurried to his side. Another slip of coin, a few whispered words into her ear and she was off to do his bidding.

Even as he watched her from his shadowy position, Voss toyed with the idea of attacking Belial anyway, and putting the made vampire out of his misery instead of relying on the serving girl to eavesdrop. The only person who would miss Belial would be Cezar Moldavi, and the bastard could always sire another arse-licker who'd serve him unquestionably.

That gave Voss food for thought. How did Lucifer feel about Moldavi having makes—minions that answered to
him
and not Luce? Why did the devil even allow it? His mind circled around that for a moment—better to meditate upon that, he supposed, than to contemplate the fact that Angelica hadn't done what she said she would. Far better to mull about Moldavi and his habits than to think about Angelica in that warm, sleepy state…and the alluring scent that clung to her hair and around her shoulders when he'd come into her chamber last night.

That was, he thought, a good enough reason to rid the earth of Belial. Angelica would be safe. His mind fairly made up, Voss felt his lips stretch in a nasty smile. His pulse pounded beneath his skin, his muscles tensed as he prepared to rise… then eased. Moldavi would simply replace Belial and Angelica would be in jeopardy once again. It was best to let the serving girl find out what she could so that Voss could prevent any further attacks.

There was one good thing about Belial appearing at the Gray Stag tonight with his companions: that meant he wasn't attempting to abduct Angelica or her sisters.

Voss's attention had continued its constant sweep of the irregularly shaped room, and now it focused on the figure that had just entered. Standing just inside the door of the pub, tall and slender with dark eyes and wearing the cloak Voss had purposely left at Rubey's, the young man was unfamiliar to him. But he was wearing the red cloak trimmed in gold…and Voss trusted Rubey.

Voss shifted in his seat and waited, smothering his impatience. The tankards were in position. The young man would find him.

He extracted a guinea from his pouch and set it on the table next to the tankards and lifted his own to drink.

Or, rather, to pretend to drink. And to hide his face should anyone look in his direction.

The young man didn't waste any time. In fact, he was more obvious than Voss would have preferred, but Belial didn't seem to notice how the red-cloaked figure made its way around the pub to the corner where Voss sat. He dropped a packet on the table and swiped up the guinea, then slipped out the rear entrance.

The packet of paper was heavy, and Voss unfolded it with hands that shook more than he'd care to admit. On the creamy
paper, the scent of ink was laced with the smell of Angelica's fingerprints, rising over stale ale and sweat. He breathed. A pang, unfamiliar and surprising in its intensity, sizzled through him—a pang different from the constant agony that had become part of his person, radiating from the Mark on his back.

As Bonaparte's watch chain slipped from the packet, cool and snakelike into his palm, Voss reflected that he knew how to make the searing stop—if he chose to.

It would be easy. And very, very pleasurable. And, after all, pleasure was what he lived for…was it not?

It was all he had.

Yet…as he fingered the chain and unfolded the letter with it, he told himself he didn't wish to endanger his own person by going after Angelica—after all, Dimitri and Giordan Cale would be watching even more closely for him now. And he'd heard from Rubey that even Woodmore had chanced a secret appearance in London, looking for Voss. The letter crinkled in his hands.