The Vampire Voss

Another disappearing and then reappearing act? Are you here to take care of your sisters or not?”

No. She didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t believe it.

They were the wards of a vampir? My word, were they everywhere?

And…her brother worked for him? A vampir hunter was the associate of a vampir? Her head began to hurt.

“Oh, aye, I got your message—along with two bloody pairs of ruby earbobs, you sneaky bastard.” Corvindale had stood again, and a vein at the side of his temple throbbed so hard she could see it from across the room. He would have lunged if Chas hadn’t thrust an arm out in front of him.

Dewhurst shifted a bit, then thrust his chin belligerently and this time Maia saw a flash of—dear God, fangs? “It was a jest, nothing more. I warned her not to wear them in your presence.”

“Damn your soul to Lucifer, it’s your bloody fault she’s been taken,” Chas said. “You and your cursed jests and games, Voss.” The stake shifted and the next thing Maia knew, the tension in the chamber snapped, and the place was in an uproar.

Something strong and powerful whipped her off her feet, gathering her up and spinning her away as Chas flew toward Dewhurst. The two men tumbled to the floor as Maia fought in vain to pull away from the strong hands that held her.

“Release me, you idiot man,” she said, jamming her elbow into the vicinity of Corvindale’s belly. She must have missed, for whatever she hit was solid and hard and made her gasp with pain. And he didn’t release her, merely holding her firmly away from the fray and muttering vile things under his breath.

Her brother and Dewhurst were on the floor, and then back on their feet, squaring off, facing each other, half crouched and wild-eyed. Chairs flew, crashing onto tables and sending glass flying. Dewhurst’s eyes blazed with fire, and Maia could, for the first time, clearly see the jut of his fangs. He seemed to favor his right shoulder, unable to lift his right arm as high as his left, wincing with pain when Chas flung him into the wall, cradling that arm. Dewhurst stumbled and tripped over Corvindale’s outthrust foot, somersaulting into the wall.

The stake rose and Chas followed and Maia stifled a gasp as it whipped down toward Dewhurst’s torso, hiding her face even as she cried, “Don’t! Chas!”

There was a loud noise, a scuffle and then…silence. Followed by the sound of a muttered curse. Maia realized suddenly that her face was buried in a broad, cotton-covered chest, warm and solid and very, very wide. It smelled fresh and sharp and like some pungent herb. A sudden vision of that very same chest, dark and bare and muscular, half covered beneath his bedclothes, rose in her mind.

At just about the same moment as the blast of embarrassed heat rushed over her face, Corvindale said, “I do hope you aren’t wiping your nose on my shirt, Miss Woodmore.”

The realization that, while she was still clutching him, he was no longer holding her added to her mortification and Maia spun away. She opened her eyes, fully expecting to see the bloodied corpse of a staked vampire on the floor.

Did vampires bleed?

But Dewhurst stood, brushing easily at his own shirt and Chas faced him, menace in his eyes, stake in his hand. Not a drop of blood in sight, and both men panting as if they’d been running.

“Armor?” Chas said, looking chagrined. He shoved the stake into some interior pocket or sling.

“After a fashion,” Dewhurst replied. “I warned you I’d come prepared—for all of you. Now, if you would cease attacking me, I would appreciate the opportunity to assist you in retrieving Angelica.”

“Your assistance is neither wanted nor needed,” Chas told him. “Aside of that, I want you in no vicinity to any of my sisters. A different country would be preferable. Just because you were prepared this time doesn’t always mean that you’ll escape my stake.”

Dewhurst gave a short, biting laugh. “I didn’t believe you were that foolish, Woodmore. In fact, I’m the only one who can assist you in saving Angelica.”

Corvindale snorted and walked over to stand next to Chas. He picked up one of the glasses. “Not bloody likely.” The earl sipped.

Dewhurst made a sound of great exasperation. “Very well, then.” He shrugged and glanced at Maia. “Best of luck to all of you.” He turned toward the door.

“Wait!” Furious, Maia stomped her foot. “Are you just going to allow him to leave?” she demanded, glaring at Chas. “Without hearing what he has to say? Angelica’s in danger and all you care about is…is whatever insults you’ve given to each other in the past. I vow, the three of you are like little boys fighting over a ball.”

“I don’t need his help,” Chas said, puffing up his chest and giving her a dark, older-brother look. She ignored it and opened her mouth to speak.

“Perhaps the lady is right.” The calm voice came from the corner and Maia whirled to see…Mr. Cale. He appeared so comfortable in their presence that she could only assume that he, too, was a vampire. Although he’d remained out of the fray, now he was the recipient of a frigid glance from her brother. “At least hear what the bastard—pardon me, Miss Woodmore—has to say. Then turn him out.”

“It’s because of me that you even knew they were to attack this evening,” Dewhurst said, looking at Corvindale meaningfully. He glanced at Maia and once again, she thought she recognized real concern or even anguish in his eyes as he spoke to her. “I was fortunate enough to cross paths with the vampire Belial, who is the one sent by Cezar Moldavi to find either your brother…or someone else that could be used as hostage. One of the serving girls at the Gray Stag complied with my…request,” he added, flashing his burning eyes, “and got him talking and bragging about his plans for tonight. I assumed a warning to you would be sufficient, Corvindale, but apparently not.” He cast a brief, pointed glance at the earl and then gestured lazily at Maia. “When I arrived here to find her arguing with the butler, rather than leaving her on the doorstep where she might have been otherwise noticed, I thought it best to bring her within.”

“They had ample opportunity to abduct her as well as Mirabella this evening,” Corvindale said from between clenched teeth. “They chose not to. It was Angelica they were after.”

Dewhurst nodded. “Because they’d already identified her. I’m certain, for by now, Moldavi has heard of her unusual ability. Angelica wasn’t very secretive about it, at least among her friends. Not only does Moldavi want to use her to bring her brother into submission, but also to put her to work. He can force her to tell him what she knows about the person who owns any item he brings to her.”

“You’re wasting time,” Chas said. “We’ve just about finished our plan to search the city and now you’ve set us back.”

“And where exactly were you going to search in the city?” Dewhurst asked. His lean stance was lazy, as Maia had come to expect, and his voice easy—but under it all, she recognized tension simmering. He felt the urgency just as much as she did. Perhaps more. “Because she’s no longer in the city. They’re taking her to Paris. They’re already well ahead of you on a boat going down the Thames.”

Paris? How? They were at war, the French were collecting troops just over the Channel. Impossible.

Maia was prepared for the other men to scoff at the viscount, but to her surprise, they remained silent. Mr. Cale even gave a brief nod as if to instruct Dewhurst to continue, which he did.

“You didn’t think Cezar would risk himself to come here, did you? Belial is bringing Angelica to him. The good news is that she’ll arrive unharmed—for Cezar will want to use her for everything he can. And Belial won’t dare allow anything to happen to her. The bad news is…not one of you could expect to gain entrance to Moldavi’s residence in Paris to get to Angelica. Except for me.”

“You forget about me. Moldavi will see me,” Cale said. His voice was flat and his eyes empty. “I’ll go.”

“That’s not necessary,” Dewhurst replied, just as Corvindale snapped, “No, Giordan.”

“I’ll go,” Dewhurst said firmly. “Moldavi will see me. I have acquired some information he wants about Bonaparte. And I’ll be able to get her back.”

“How are you going to get to Paris? We’re at war!” Maia asked. But it was as if she weren’t even in the room. “Mrs. Siddington-Graves has been trapped there for a year!” Which was why her husband had become much less discreet about taking his mistress to the theater.

“Why should I trust you?” Chas was saying.