Good, Voss. You give me hope. Are you ready yet?
He paused and looked at her from across the street.Idon’t know what you mean,he thought, sensing that she’d hear him.
She nodded, and revealed a bit of a smile. Even from a distance, he felt warmth.You’ll know when the time comes.
A mass of people walked between them, and when they passed by, she was gone.
An uneasy feeling settled over his shoulders, and the rage of his Mark reminded him why he was here. He put it out of his mind and prepared himself for what was certain to be a tenuous, if not deadly, meeting with Moldavi.
At last Voss found the shop front he sought. The spicy sage and rosemary scent of Corcellet’s renowned sausages didn’t have to fight hard to be noticed above the other smells ofpatisserieor cigar smoke, although the sweet and overbearing gillyflower perfume of the whore who stumbled into Voss gave it some competition.
“Pardon, madame,” he said, walking past her into the littleepicerie.The patés and sausages were of little interest to him, ofcourse, although the scent of blood was heavy in the space and his mouth watered a bit.
How long had it been since he’d fed?
The thought hadn’t occurred to him until now, startling Voss as he pushed through the crowded little shop. For it was rare that he went more than a day or two without at least a bit of pleasurable sucking, drinking and fucking. And along with that, perhaps once a week he needed to find three or four willing participants to completely replenish his fluids.
“Monsieur,” said the gentleman behind the counter even as he wrapped a package for one of his customers, and gestured sharply to an employee to assist another. The dull roar of shouted orders and animated conversation muted his greeting.
Voss merely nodded and met the proprietor’s eyes over the throng of men. A bit of a glow, a flash of fang, was all Corcellet needed to ascertain Voss’s requirement. Despite the claims on his attention, he eased from behind the counter and gestured for Voss to follow him.
Moments later, he slipped a generous handful ofsousinto the man’s hand and was given admittance to the presumed cellar. He’d been here several times in the past, but it had been nearly a decade since his last visit.
Nothing had changed, however. The air was cool and dank, and smelled of peat and mold along with the spices from above. The large oaken door still led to stairs that spiraled down into one of the old Roman quarries, now little more than tunnels beneath the city. In some areas, skulls and other human bones now literally covered what had been walls carved into stone—a result of overcrowded cemeteries being emptied in the latter part of the previous century. But no one had yet dared breach Cezar Moldavi’s subterranean hideaway with such macabre decor.
Not that it would have bothered Moldavi to have stacks of skulls and femurs lining his walls. It was just that no one but a select few knew of this particular entrance and set of tunnels through Corcellet’s.
Voss checked the deep pockets of his coat as he followed the familiar route. The packets were there—flat, odd-smelling items that would seem inconsequential to Cezar Moldavi if he bothered to check. They were his ace in the pocket, and he hoped they’d be as effective for him as they had been for Chas Woodmore. If he had a chance to use them.
He strode quickly, passing three other doorways, until it swept up to a higher level and at last ended in a fourth door. Behind that door, he knew, was a space set just below the ground. Narrow windows, placed right at ground level, offered natural illumination that was sketchy enough to be safe for even the most sun-sensitive of vampires and kept the chamber from being dark and gloomy.
Draculia members spent much of their effort looking for ways out of dark and gloom. With the exception of Dimitri.
Voss paused when the guard sitting in the shadows moved into better view. Hmm. He didn’t recall there being one the last time—but then again, he’d been drunk on blood whisky and a variety of other influences, and some of the details had been lost. But…a guard. With a sword, and very, very wide shoulders.
“Voss Arden, Viscount Dewhurst,” he said to the wall-like man, clearly a made vampire—and likely a newly minted one at that, if the way he tried to sneer around his fangs (awkwardly) was any indication. Voss smiled back, easily, without puncturing himself with his own show of fangs, and made his eyes burn. “Tell Moldavi I’m here.”
And all at once, Voss smelledher.
He had to steady himself. The scent was so rich and so strong, filtering unerringly to his nostrils, he was certain it had to be from blood. Spilled blood.
Please. No.
Until now, he hadn’t allowed himself to think too closely about his mission, other than general urgency. Just:Get there. Get there.
He hadn’t dwelled on what it meant. What he might find. Why he really was there. But now… Suddenly his heart pounded like a cavalry cresting a hill.Angelica.“Thevoivodeis not to be disturbed,” the guard said.
“He’ll want to see me. I must insist you announce my presence,” Voss replied, keeping his voice charming with an effort. A great effort. Angelica was…just there. Behind that door.
“I think not,” replied the guard. “You can wait. Until tomorrow. When Voivode Moldavi is finished.”
Voss moved quickly, smoothly, and had the guard against the wall before the bloody bollocks-sucker could react. “I’ll see Moldavi now.” His fingers closed over the man’s windpipe even as the guard’s sword clanked ineffectively against the wall behind him. “Trust me. He’ll want to see me.”
Of course, there was no strangling a Dracule—even one not invited directly by Lucifer—but it did weaken the bloke enough to make his point. A quick jerk of Voss’s powerful hand slamming flat-palmed over the man’s ear and the guard jolted, stunned, head-spinning and half deaf, beneath Voss’s fingers.
That was all he needed to wrench the sword from the guard’s weak fingers and press the blade against his neck.
“Now,” said Voss, “shall I see Moldavi with your assistance, or without?” The wiry, ropelike Mark on his flesh seared hotter in warning, but he ignored it as the blade he held made a thread of blood over the vampire guard’s throat.
