The Vampire Voss

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.

16 The Ordeal

Voss didn’t know how long he lay on the bloodstained, Angelica-scented bed after they left. Hazy, dimmed beams of sunlight still streamed through the windows. A gentle breeze ruffled the curtains.

Damned Parisian summer day.

At least Moldavi wouldn’t be out, searching for them. Woodmore and Angelica would be safe.

He was forced to stir, to try to move his abused body when a knock came on the sagging door. At his bidding, a chambermaid entered, ironically carrying the new clothing he’d ordered for Angelica.