She’d seen that image before, once, after she’d picked up the man’s handkerchief he’d dropped.
And only moments later, her mouth open in a silent gasp, she saw the image in reality.
Angelica might have fainted if the wall hadn’t been behind her and if Voss hadn’t been standing so nearby. She tried to tell him, tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come…and he rounded on her, fierce and dark, grasping her arms so tightly. Don’t move. There is nothing you can do. Stay here until I come for you.
She listened. Angelica was no fool.
Whatever was happening out there on the dance floor, whatever Voss was doing or saying to the attackers, she didn’t know. But the man with the glowing red eyes, the one whom she’d stabbed with her shears, was there, standing next to the leader. Who also had burning eyes.
And then she understood. He was what they called a vampir. Creatures who drank blood. Legends, tall tales. The stuff of Granny Grapes’s ghost stories.
Or so she’d thought.
But now she knew…they were real. And they were all vampirs, all of those animalistic men, dragging people out into the middle of the room and feasting on them, tearing into them with claws and long, pointed teeth. Mauling their flesh and draining them of life. The smell of blood floated heavy in the air, and she remembered what Voss had said earlier, about smelling blood on her.
Was this what he meant?
It could have been her, out in the garden. It could have been her.
Chills and nausea took over Angelica in the same way they had when she had learned her parents were dead. The same empty, awful feeling she’d had the first time she realized what her visions meant. As if life would never be good again. As if she’d never smile again.
The fountain was there, a handy receptacle for the contents of her stomach. She managed to hold it back until the vampirs left the room.
They left. They left. A miracle?
Somehow, somehow Voss had managed to talk them into leaving. How? How did he know them? What had he said?
Frozen, weak, her throat burning from the vomit and her head weightless, Angelica sagged against the wall, trying to sort through the thoughts and memories, visions and fear that pummeled her.
If she’d seen Mr. Hoosman earlier tonight in his Roman emperor costume, and had recognized he was dressed the way he was when he died in her vision…could she have prevented it? How?
Her head was pounding, her belly felt raw and tight. She tried to pull what she remembered of the vision back into her mind, but it was no use. She couldn’t think about that any longer.
Because there was a much more important factor to consider. More terrifying than anything she’d seen, and try as she might to banish it, she couldn’t.
What had those men wanted from her and Maia?
And… Oh, God, where was Maia?
That thought had Angelica stumbling from her sanctuary at last, tearing through the vines and bumping into the fountain on her way. She had to find her sister.
Blood was slick on the floor, and she vaguely registered reddish-brown footprints on the scuffed wood. Someone had moved the bodies, and most of the party attendees had fled the room. Masks, canes, reticules and other accessories were scattered about, testament to the confusion of fear and terror.
Angelica didn’t even know where to look for Maia, but she didn’t get far before a hand reached out from nowhere and clamped on her arm.
She stifled a startled shriek and spun to see Voss. Relief battled with urgency and she tried to pull away. “I have to find Maia,” she said. “I have to—”
“She’s safe,” he told her. “She’s all right. Corvindale hid her.”
“She’s safe?” Angelica said. “I want to—”
“She’s safe,” he said again, turning her around firmly. “Come. We have to leave, now, before they come back.”
Angelica didn’t argue. She didn’t have the strength, and aside of that, she wanted nothing more than to leave this horrible place, the scene of a terrifying evening. She wanted to be home, safe, and to see for herself that Maia was safe. And being in Voss’s company on the way there was even better.
“This way,” he said when she would have started toward the main entrance. “The carriage is here.” His arm was strong and solid, sliding around her waist in gentle support as he hurried her away from the ballroom and out through the deserted kitchens to a servants’ entrance.
It wasn’t until they were outside and had walked beyond the drive leading to Sterlinghouse that she realized that the carriage to which he’d led her was not the one she’d arrived in with Maia and the others. Angelica stopped and looked at Voss. “What’s this?”
He nodded at her question, stepping back slightly at the vehicle. “It’s mine. They won’t recognize it and won’t know that you’re inside.” He didn’t need to say who “they” were. She knew.
He stood next to the open door, gesturing for his footman to climb into the driver’s seat. The interior of the carriage was empty.
She hesitated a moment. Did she trust him?
“Miss Woodmore,” he said, urgency in his voice. “Please. The pretense will only be effective if you aren’t seen climbing in. Or standing here with me.”
It was one thing to waltz with the man, and another to speak privately in the dark corner of an occupied room…but this was beyond the pale. Maia would be furious. Angelica could be ruined if anyone found out.
Although, after the terrifying, chaotic events of tonight… would anyone even know or care? Surely more than one young woman had left the party in horror, seeking safety, without a thought to her reputation.
Angelica was too numb to care. Too exhausted, and still fighting back those images of blood and screams and terror. It could have been her.
They’d wanted her.
Voss had protected her.
He had saved others, too.
Angelica gathered up her skirts and climbed in, her heart pounding and her palms damp, her knees still weak. She settled on the cushioned seat, unsure whether she ought to tuck herself in the corner so as to put as much distance between herself and Voss as possible in case he sat next to her…or to take up a lot of space on the seat so that he would be compelled to sit across the way.
Yet, if he sat next to her, he’d be large and warm, solid and comforting. He might even put his arm around her.
Or kiss her again.
Angelica swallowed hard, so confused, so unable to control or even organize the storm of thoughts and memories from tonight. Her teeth threatened to chatter and she couldn’t get warm, despite the fact that it was a mild summer’s eve.
Voss spoke to the driver, then climbed in with the flourish of his cloak and settled on the seat across from her.
And then the door closed and they were alone in the shadow-swathed vehicle.
Even in the faulty light, Voss could see how pale she was. Her lips were bloodless and her eyes deep in shadow, wide and very nearly empty of emotion. She huddled in the corner, a quiet and colorless version of the intriguing woman he’d danced with, bantered with, kissed.
Nevertheless, he wanted her. So much that he could barely draw a breath without being fully immersed in her presence. His veins leaped and pounded as he watched the play of passing illumination on her face, the light slipping over her cheeks, her lips, the hollow of her throat.
It was the close confines of the carriage. The silence, the privacy, the realization that they were alone and he could have her. Just as he’d had any number of women, willing, unwilling, coaxed or convinced, over the decades.
He could slide across and sit next to her, murmur in her ear and tempt her to him. It would be over before she knew it, his incisors buried in her neck, her blood flowing onto his tongue, hands on her skin, their bodies straining and twining. Voss swallowed, considering.
And if his hot-eyed thrall didn’t loosen her restraints and bring her willingly into his arms, so be it…she’d find pleasure. Eventually.
It would be effortless. He could pull her to him, yank her across the space between them, gather her into his arms, find what he wanted.
Yet, he didn’t move. His Mark twinged as if to ask why he held himself back, but Voss ignored it. Instead he pulled off his cloak and leaned forward quickly, draping it over Angelica, covering her half-bared shoulders. Then he settled back in his seat to plan his next move.
Angelica murmured her thanks and drew the cloak, which must be warm from his body, closer beneath her chin. Her eyes were so dark in her pale, oval face.
And as he looked over at her, captured by the curve of her cheek and the dark, exotic eyes fastened on him, something shifted inside him. Deep within, like a little mechanism falling into place.
He didn’t want to hurt this woman.
“Who were they?” she asked. She trained her gaze on him, still wide and shocked, but with some emotion therein. “What do they want from me and Maia?”
The second question was infinitely easier to answer than her first, and he saw no reason to lie. “They want to use you to get to your brother. As collateral or a ransom.”
“Chas? Why? For what?”
“He’s taken something that belongs to a man named Cezar Moldavi—there’s long been bad blood between his family and that of Corvindale and his associates.”
That was the simplest way to explain the two factions, or cartels, which split the Draculia: those who supported Cezar Moldavi and his thirst for power over the mortal world, and those who did not. Voss tended not to ally himself openly with either, but that was because he preferred to remain neutral in the ongoing struggle. It was much less messy—and infinitely less dangerous—to remain above the fray. He wasn’t about to get caught in the crossfire, so to speak.
“Moldavi wants the…item your brother took returned to him. Those were Moldavi’s men tonight.”
“Men? Those weren’t men,” she said, her voice choked, her eyes flashing suddenly with rage. “They were…” She couldn’t seem to find the words, and her voice trailed off. “Vampirs. They were vampirs, weren’t they?”