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 he had begun to reach into his pocket, but was arrested in mid-move.
“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 I came 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 wasusingher 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?
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?” Hiseyes narrowed in delight, giving Angelica the impression 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 heisdead.”
“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 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.
