The Vampire Voss

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