The Vampire Dimitri

Voss shrugged, and glanced at Miss Woodmore. “Very well, then,” he said coolly. “Best of luck to all of you.” He turned toward the door.

“Wait!” Miss Woodmore stomped her foot.

Dimitri resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Always the dramatics.

“Are you just going to allow him to leave?” She glared at her brother. “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.”

Dimitri opened his mouth to tell her precisely how addled she was when Woodmore beat him to it. “I don’t need his help.” His tones dripped with brotherly disdain.

“Perhaps the lady is right.” Giordan had remained out of the fray due to the fact, Dimitri presumed, that somewhere on Voss’s person was some essence of Giordan’s Asthenia since he didn’t appear to be in possession of an actual cat. And since Giordan obviously didn’t feel compelled to manage the annoying Miss Woodmore, he’d been in the enviable position of observer. “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,” Voss said, with a flinty look at Dimitri. Then he turned to Maia. “I was fortunate enough to cross paths with Belial, who is the vampir Moldavi sent to find your brother—or one of his sisters—who could be used as a hostage.”

Dimitri watched him as he explained to Maia how he came to overhear Belial’s plans. The man seemed truly overset, especially for Voss. Was it possible that he was sincerely concerned for Angelica? That it wasn’t just another bid for attention, or a jest? He narrowed his eyes and watched, even as disdain crawled into his belly.

Voss didn’t truly care for women.

He simply used them. Coaxed them and took what he could. While he meant no real harm to anyone, neither did Voss care about anyone else aside of himself and his pleasure.

Angelica Woodmore, a young mortal woman, would hardly be any different from the hundreds or thousands of others over the years. Willing and otherwise.

“When I arrived here to find her arguing with the butler,” Voss was explaining about Maia coolly, “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,” Dimitri reminded him between clenched teeth. He was still enraged over the debacle. “They chose not to. It was Angelica they were after.” Moldavi could find any number of uses for the younger Woodmore sister’s Sight.

“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 Chas 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 our time,” Woodmore said. “We’ve 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?” Voss asked, lifting an arrogant brow. He removed a handkerchief and wiped his hands of a streak of blood as he glanced up at Dimitri. “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.”

Satan’s bloody stones.

Chas and Dimitri exchanged glances. They hadn’t expected them to use a riverboat to get out of Town. A ship or a stage, but not one of the small river vehicles.

Giordan nodded thoughtfully, and Voss continued, for he had their attention now.

“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 Belial won’t dare allow anything to happen to her. She’s going to be very valuable to Cezar. 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.”

Dimitri didn’t bother to correct him. Moldavi would see him, if only for the chance to slam a stake into his heart. In fact, he’d relish it just as much as Dimitri would to do the same.

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

“No, Giordan,” Dimitri snapped, looking at his friend in concern. Cale didn’t need to put himself through that again. There were other ways.

“I’ll go,” Voss said firmly. “Moldavi will see me. I’ve 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!” Miss Woodmore interjected. “Mrs. Siddington-Graves has been trapped there for a year!”

Dimitri didn’t know who Mrs. Siddington-Graves was, and he certainly didn’t care, but he forbore to say anything. Let Woodmore take care of his sister while he was present, blast him.

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

“I returned her once before, didn’t I?” Voss pointed out.

“Complete with nightmares, frightening memories, not to mention marks on her skin. Not quite unharmed.”

Dimitri saw a flash of emotion in Voss’s expression that he would have described as chagrin, or even guilt, if he hadn’t suspected that those feelings were as foreign to Voss as sunlight. “As you well know, I’ve spent my life collecting information and learning the weaknesses of my associates and enemies alike. I know how to influence Moldavi,” he said steadily.

Glancing over at Miss Woodmore, Dimitri saw that she was following the conversation with interest. Hope and terror warred in her expression, and he thought it must have to do with worry for her brother. For, after all, if Chas never came back, she’d be under Dimitri’s wardship forever—or at least until she wed.

The very thought struck terror in Dimitri’s own heart and he focused in on the conversation, willing to offer up Voss first in the effort to retrieve Angelica. The man’s arguments, much as he hated to admit it, were logical.

Chas seemed to come to the same conclusion. “Very well, then. I’ll accompany you to Paris.”

“No! Chas! What if Moldavi captures you, too?” Miss Woodmore interjected in an unnecessarily shrill tone, confirming Dimitri’s suspicions. He winced, his ears ringing.

Her brother gave her an affronted look. “I am quite able to take care of myself, Maia. I’ve already evaded him once, and now I know exactly what I’d be walking into.” He glanced at Dimitri, then Giordan. “Narcise will have to stay here, of course.”

Damnation. Dimitri was not going to be responsible for another woman. Especially a Dracule who’d destroyed his best friend, and by all accounts seemed to be working on doing the same to his closest associate. Both of them were fools of the highest order.

Meg had nearly done the same to him.

“But, Chas…I still don’t understand. Why are you working with vampirs if you kill them?” Miss Woodmore asked, glancing briefly at Dimitri. She looked exhausted and confused, and he felt an unwilling softening in his belly again.

He ruthlessly hardened his thoughts and lifted his chin so he could look down at her from an even higher level. If she’d stayed home like any reasonable woman, instead of bartering her way into the most private apartments of an exclusive gentleman’s club, she’d be sleeping restfully by now.

And dreaming.

Dimitri yanked his thoughts away from that avenue and drilled his attention steadfastly onto Chas Woodmore, who was trying to explain to his sister why he worked for Dimitri when he was bound to kill those of his race.

It really wasn’t all that complicated, when one thought about it logically. Just as there were good and moral men, there were also members of the Dracule who were less inclined to live uneventfully alongside their mortal counterparts. People like Moldavi, who fed from children and left them to die. Or, when they wanted something, they’d burn a house down and watch people perish.

Or they’d feed on injured soldiers on a field, prolonging their agony just for pleasure.