Her heart felt crushed, her breathing impossible. Why did you have to betray me?
She pulled her attention away and found Moldavi looking at her. “Perhaps you would care to join us in a toast, Miss Woodmore?” he asked. “It is in your honor, after all.”
The tone of his voice clearly indicated sarcasm, and Angelica wasn’t certain what to do. But before she could decide, there was a clatter, and the crash of breaking glass.
Moldavi gave a sharp exclamation and leaped to his feet. Voss did the same, but his movements were sharp and jerky and he seemed to be clutching the side of his chair for support.
The glass that had been in Voss’s hand had shattered on the table, and the dark liquid spread in a pool, draining onto the fur rugs below. The other two men in the room had moved immediately to flank Voss, and in spite of herself, Angelica’s heart lodged in her throat.
One of them wrenched Voss’s arm behind his back and she saw that he had begun to reach into his pocket, but was arrested in midmove.
“Did you not care for my choice of liqueur, then, Voss?” Moldavi said. His face had settled into a complacent smile that bespoke evil. “Absinthe doesn’t appeal?”
“Take your hands from me,” Voss said to the men. “You’re… mussing my coat.” His voice sounded weak to Angelica, and his face still seemed drawn. He’d shifted away from the chair and table during the little melee, moving farther from the furniture where they’d been sitting and nearer to the fireplace.
He looked at Moldavi. “You didn’t care to ask for the purpose of my visit,” he said. “If you had…you’d know that I come to do you a service. So if your men will take their hands off my person…our discussion can commence. Or…I can see what Regeris is willing to pay to find out when Chas Woodmore will die.”
Angelica managed to hold back a gasp of fury. He was using her information? Giving it to Moldavi? And then his words penetrated, and she realized that Voss didn’t actually know when her brother was going to die—for she hadn’t told him. And even if he did know…it was to be decades from now. Her tension eased and she waited to see what would transpire.
Moldavi must have moved or given some sort of signal, for Voss was released—but not until after his pockets were searched. “Indeed?” Moldavi sounded bored.
Voss stood, his fingers still curled onto the back of a different chair, his face still taut as the contents of his pockets were flopped onto the table. A small pouch of coin, two small cloth-wrapped packets tied with string, a pistol and a knife. A handkerchief.
“What, no passport, Lord Dewhurst?” Moldavi said. “No identification papers. What a surprise.”
“If you don’t mind,” Voss said, and began to carefully scoop the items back into his pockets. “Do you wish to know… the purpose of my visit…or do you wish to sit about sipping women’s liqueur?” His speech was slow and careful.
“Personally I prefer the…women’s liqueur, as you call it. I rather appreciated the gray expression on your face when you smelled it.” Moldavi stood and came toward Voss.
By now, Angelica’s heart was beating furiously. Although she couldn’t tell what precisely was going on, she knew that something was not as it appeared. Was he hurt? Ill?
Did Moldavi have some sort of power over him?
Other than that brief connection of their gazes, Voss hadn’t acknowledged Angelica at all. Surely if he’d come to abduct her—or to save her—he would have at least made reference to her presence.
Moving only his eyes, Voss glanced at Moldavi, then at the other two vampires. His actions were still slow and careful, and he’d tottered backward so near the fireplace that Angelica had a sudden jolt of fear that he’d fall into it. He seemed labored, and Moldavi seemed to be enjoying it.
“Or was it the glass? Cut crystal?” asked Moldavi, turning back to lift his own glass from the table, his rings clinking against its stem. “Perhaps it was this particular sort of cork?” His eyes narrowed in delight, giving Angelica the impression that he was a cat playing with a mouse.
“I am in possession of…information,” Voss said. He raised his hand to his forehead as if to wipe it off, then his fingers slid weakly to settle on his chest, curling into his shirt and tucking under the edge of his coat.
Voss. What is it?
“What sort of information?” Moldavi asked lazily. He swirled his glass and looked at the dark purplish liquid inside. “The only thing I want to know about Woodmore is that he is dead.”
“Then…about your emperor’s…future.” Voss tripped and Angelica gasped, barely catching herself from leaping out of her chair as he grabbed the edge of the massive fireplace…just missing falling into the blazing flames.
As he did so, and made an awkward little spin, something slipped from the hand behind him. The small packet tumbled into the fire. Then Voss looked directly at Angelica, held her gaze with purpose. His lips moved; he seemed to be counting: three, two… Suddenly, with effort, he pushed himself off the edge of the fireplace and rolled along the wall away from the enclosure.
Boom!
Angelica screamed just as an explosion of smoke erupted from the fireplace. The room was enveloped in a billowing, ugly, purple cloud, and the last thing she saw before the space became dark was Voss’s silhouette, hugging the wall.
Shouts and curses and coughing filled the air, but over it all, she heard him call out her name.
“Angelica!”
She didn’t think about all of the reasons she shouldn’t—she simply moved toward where she’d seen him last. Voss was an infinitely better option than Moldavi.
Thick smoke filled her nose and eyes, and she breathed its heavy air that was unlike any smoke she’d ever smelled. Fingers grasped at her in the fog, low and weak, and she knew it was Voss. “Angelica,” his voice was near her ear. She grasped at him, felt the hard muscle in his arm and clung to his solid figure. Voss. Yes.
The sounds of rage, of furnishings crashing and grunts and exclamations of pain told her that Moldavi and his men were furious and intent on finding them. Something crashed above—a window breaking to release the smoke.
Someone bumped into her from behind. She stifled a gasp and skittered away, grasping Voss’s arm tighter, as he staggered and half ran with her.
He seemed to know where he was going, and pulled her down, jerking her along in a crouching stagger rather than a run. She stumbled after him, with him, tripping, bumping and jolting, and then there was a pause as he slammed an arm into her, shoving her back against the wall. The smoke had lessened enough that she could see his eyes glowing through it. Smoldering red-orange, close to Angelica, intense and frightening…but soft when he turned them on her.
Suddenly they were moving again, out of the smoke and into some other space. She heard the door close behind them, found that they were in a narrow, dark hall. She could see, and breathe, and there was Voss, grabbing her hand with more strength than moments before…and they ran.
Angelica stumbled and Voss steadied her. She could tell that whatever had weakened him—if it hadn’t all been a ruse—was no longer in effect. He was fast, so fast, strong, and she held on to him for dear life. In fact, her feet hardly touched the ground after he slid his arm around her waist.
He navigated them through a twisty corridor, up and down steps and suddenly they were going through doors, slipping into chambers, shops and even a pub. All at once, they were outside, under a dawning sky, bursting from the building onto a street.
No one on the walkway seemed to notice their sudden appearance, and Angelica couldn’t have hoped to find her way back through if her life depended on it. Nor did she have any idea where she was, other than a shop-filled rue in Paris.
“Quickly,” Voss said, when she paused to catch her breath. He let her feet slide to the ground, and released her except to hold her fingers in his warm ones. “The sun is rising.”
Right. The sun was no friend to vampires.
Perhaps it was because he didn’t wish to draw attention to them, but now Voss walked more slowly along the street. Since it was just beginning to dawn, revelers were stumbling home after a long night, and early shopkeepers and porters were out preparing for the day.
Voss had removed his coat and carried it under his arm and, with a flirtatious smile and a lightning-quick exchange of coin, he induced a tawdry-looking woman to part with her cloak. He draped the heavily sweet, smoke-scented wrap around Angelica’s shoulders, covering her tattered evening frock, and hurried her along. She noticed he stayed close to the buildings, obviously trying to avoid direct beams from the emerging sun.
Angelica had no idea what he’d planned, but certainly she hadn’t expected to be hustled along to a very proper, very expensive-looking hotel—La Maison—as she was. Voss breezed in through the main door as if he weren’t dressed in the most outdated trousers and his face wasn’t marked with dirt and smoke. Hers likely was as well, Angelica realized, and remembered the blood from her nose. She ducked her head to hide her face, mortification flushing her cheeks. What was he thinking?
Without pause, he directed her up a flight of stairs to a third story, produced a key and flung the door open to a well-furnished chamber. Light from the new sun poured through three tall windows, cascading over two chairs and a chaise, a screened-off corner next to a footed bathtub and a small fireplace. And a large bed. Her body went cold, and then warm, and then shivery. She did not look at him.
“Blasted chambermaid,” Voss muttered, still standing in the entrance. “Told her to keep the curtains drawn.” He looked at Angelica almost sidewise, his lips pressed flat as if he were trying to be casual…yet perhaps a bit discomfited. “If you don’t mind?”
She walked into the chamber, a bit dazed, but realized with a start that he meant for her to close the drapes so that he could enter. Angelica walked over to do so, opening the windows to allow the summer breeze access. One of them was actually a glass door leading to a small balcony, and she walked out onto it to look down over the creamy buildings of Paris. Then she came back in, pulling the light under-drapes closed and leaving the heavy over-curtains pulled back in their original position. Still, the room was much dimmer than when they’d entered.
