“Release me, you idiot man!” She slammed an elbow that was as sharp as her tongue into his gut and Dimitri grunted, shifting her so that she didn’t have another chance at him. But she tried to kick at him and to yank away, even as chairs flew and tables upended. Chess pieces scattered. The bottle of whisky crashed to the floor.
Addled woman. Did she want to get herself killed?
He whipped her out of the way just in time to keep from being crashed into by Chas and Voss, who were putting on a damned good show. If Dimitri weren’t so furious with the latter, he’d be watching the fight with interest. For being mortal, and not as strong or fast as a Dracule, Chas Woodmore was brilliant. One would never know he was overmatched.
And perhaps he wasn’t overmatched with the vampires. Perhaps he was made that way—to hunt them. After all, God would have some sort of defense against the malignance of Lucifer’s makes.
Chas whipped Voss into the wall, following him with his stake raised. They crashed against the brick, and Dimitri stuck out his foot and sent Voss staggering away. Chas leaped, the stake in hand, ready to deliver the death blow as Miss Woodmore screamed.
“Don’t!Chas!”she shrieked, burying her face in Dimitri’s shirt.
Naturally, Woodmore ignored her as he plunged the stake toward Voss’s heart. The powerful blow fell, and Dimitri watched as the stake fairly bounced off Voss’s torso.What in the bloody hell…?
Some sort of armor, blast him.
Everything fell silent for a moment, except for the sounds of labored breathing from the two fighting men. And then, with a muttered curse, Chas pulled up and away from where he’d landed on his target, a splintered stake in his hand.
As the action waned, Dimitri was no longer able to ignore the bundle of femininity clutching his shirt with two fists, and her warm breath burning through the linen to his skin. Not to mention the very evident press of breasts against his belly.
A rush of heat swarmed through him and he made the mistake of drawing in a breath, getting a good sniff of her hair. Lemon and jasmine, and an undernote of cardamom-vanilla. Flowers and spice.
He forced himself to release her slender arms and made his own fall to his sides. “I do hope you aren’t wiping your nose on my shirt, Miss Woodmore.” He had to work hard to make certain his tones were laden with disdain.
Miss Woodmore jerked back as if she’d been stung, and he saw very pink cheeks just before she spun away.
“Armor?” Chas was saying to Voss as he brushed off his shirt. He looked bloody annoyed.
“After a fashion. I warned you I’d come prepared—for all of you.” He glanced pointedly at Dimitri and Giordan, as well. “Now, if you would cease attacking me, I would appreciate the opportunity to assist you in retrieving Angelica.”
“Your assistance is neither wanted nor needed,” Chas told him. “Aside from that, I want you in no vicinity to any of my sisters. A different country would be preferable. Just because you were prepared this time doesn’t always mean you’ll escape my stake.”
Voss’s laugh was short and sharp. “I didn’t believe you were that foolish, Woodmore. In fact, I’m the only one who can assist you in saving Angelica.”
Dimitri smothered a snort of disbelief and walked over to pour a new glass of whisky. “Not bloody likely.”
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 stamped 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 indangerand 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.”
Until now, 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,” said Cale.
“It’s because of me 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 thevampirMoldavi sent to find your brother—or one of his sisters, who could be used as a hostage.”
Dimitri watched Voss as he explained to Maia how he came to overhear Belial’s plans. The man seemed truly overset, especially for Voss. Was it possible 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.
