The Vampire Voss by Colleen Gleason

ignored the rest of the occupants. Non-Dracule members of Society meant little to him for a variety of reasons, and he’d long become impatient with the strictures of their domain: the farce of rigid politeness on the outer crust, while beneath it, a reality nearly as immoral and corrupt as his own world. He’d long ago come to the conclusion that he had no reason to follow mortal rules and live by mortal standards.
    It had been a freeing discovery. And it had given him carte blanche to take and do whatever he desired.
    And, he realized as he stood at the edge of the room, he desired Angelica Woodmore. Deeply.
    It wasn’t lost on Voss that Maia Woodmore hadn’t made any statement of welcome. He could only assume that Corvindale had already begun to impress upon her all of the reasons Voss should be avoided. Hopefully the earl was still abed like any other sane Dracule would be.
    Nevertheless, Voss decided that he had no time to waste.
    â€œI’m terribly sorry to interrupt,” he said, actually putting sincerity in his tones, “but I must have a word with you, Miss Woodmore.”
    He was looking at Angelica, so it was clear to which sister he was speaking, but Maia was the first to respond. “Pray have a seat, then, my lord. We have just been discussing the newest play at Drury Lane.”
    â€œI wish I could join you, for I hear the lead actress is devastating,” Voss replied, his voice now dripping with innocence. “But I fear that I have only a short time to enjoy your company, and it’s imperative that I speak with your sister.”
    During this exchange, Angelica had risen from the sofa and, with a tempered glare at her sister, managed to navigate between the shod feet and pantalooned legs of the myriad of male callers. She was wearing a pale yellow frock today, trimmed with gold ribbon around the neckline (which was, of course, much higher than last night’s), and her hair was pulled into a smooth, neat gather at the back of her head. Only a few wisps of hair fanned her cheeks, giving her the look of an exotic pixie. A slender golden chain rested around the base of her throat, with a tiny, matching cross settling into the hollow there.
    Voss swallowed hard and deflected his wayward thoughts ashe trained his gaze up . To her eyes. Cocoa-brown eyes, wide and dark as night.
    â€œI’m certain we don’t wish to keep Dewhurst,” Angelica was saying to her sister and the room at large. “If you’ll excuse me?”
    â€œAngelica,” Maia said, beginning to rise. “I don’t—”
    â€œNever fear, Miss Woodmore.” This time he clearly spoke to the elder sister. “Despite whatever warnings Corvindale might have given you, I have no plans to corrupt your sister in the few moments I will speak with her in the foyer.”
    With that, he gave a little bow to Angelica, and gestured her to cross in front of him toward the parlor door. Before he turned to follow her out of the room, inhaling subtly as she swept past, Voss turned and took a moment to memorize the faces of the men in the room.
    He locked eyes with each of them in turn until he saw the familiar leap of fear and terror in their eyes. Then, quite pleased with himself, he followed Angelica from the room.
    â€œThe library is here,” she said. “We’ll be able to speak privately there.”
    Indeed. Voss contained a rush of pleasure. The door would remain open, of course. But—blast! His belly felt prickly and odd as he followed her into the room. And his damned shoulder ached.
    He mentally patted himself on the back when he not only left the door open, but much wider than was strictly necessary. Merely a first step, he told himself and his Mark. There will be other opportunities to close it later.
    Then he turned to face her, and for a moment, his thoughts and words scattered. Angelica stood near a tall window across the room from him, and in a sort of