“You didn’t think Cezar would risk himself to come here, did you? Belial is bringing Angelica to him. The good news is that she’ll arrive unharmed—for Belial won’t dare allow anything to happen to her. She’s going to be very valuable to Cezar. The bad news is…not one of you could expect to gain entrance to Moldavi’s residence in Paris, to get to Angelica. Except for me.”
Dimitri didn’t bother to correct him. Moldavi would see him, if only for the chance to slam a stake into his heart. In fact, he’d relish it just as much as Dimitri would to do the same.
“You forget about me. Moldavi will see me,” Giordan said. His voice was flat and his eyes empty. “I’ll go.”
“No, Giordan,” Dimitri snapped, looking at his friend in concern. Cale didn’t need to put himself through that again. There were other ways.
“I’ll go,” Voss said firmly. “Moldavi will see me. I’ve acquired some information he wants about Bonaparte. And I’ll be able to get her back.”
“How are you going to get to Paris? We’re at war!” Miss Woodmore interjected. “Mrs. Siddington-Graves has been trapped there for a year!”
Dimitri didn’t know who Mrs. Siddington-Graves was, and he certainly didn’t care, but he forbore to say anything. Let Woodmore take care of his sister while he was present, blast him.
“Why should I trust you?” Woodmore was saying.
“I returned her once before, didn’t I?” Voss pointed out.
“Complete with nightmares, frightening memories, not to mention marks on her skin. Not quite unharmed.”
Dimitri saw a flash of emotion in Voss’s expression that he would have described as chagrin, or even guilt, if he hadn’t suspected that those feelings were as foreign to Voss as sunlight. “As you well know, I’ve spent my life collecting information and learning the weaknesses of my associates and enemies alike. I know how to influence Moldavi,” he said steadily.
Glancing over at Miss Woodmore, Dimitri saw that she was following the conversation with interest. Hope and terror warred in her expression, and he thought it must have to do with worry for her brother. For, after all, if Chas never came back, she’d be under Dimitri’s wardship forever—or at least until she wed.
The very thought struck terror in Dimitri’s own heart and he focused in on the conversation, willing to offer up Voss first in the effort to retrieve Angelica. The man’s arguments, much as he hated to admit it, were logical.
Chas seemed to come to the same conclusion. “Very well, then. I’ll accompany you to Paris.”
“No! Chas! What if Moldavi captures you, too?” Miss Woodmore interjected in an unnecessarily shrill tone, confirming Dimitri’s suspicions. He winced, his ears ringing.
Her brother gave her an affronted look. “I am quite able to take care of myself, Maia. I’ve already evaded him once, and now I know exactly what I’d be walking into.” He glanced at Dimitri, then Giordan. “Narcise will have to stay here, of course.”
Damnation. Dimitri was not going to be responsible for another woman. Especially a Dracule who’d destroyed his best friend, and by all accounts seemed to be working on doing the same to his closest associate. Both of them were fools of the highest order.
Meg had nearly done the same to him.
“But, Chas…I still don’t understand. Why are you working with vampirs if you kill them?” Miss Woodmore asked, glancing briefly at Dimitri. She looked exhausted and confused, and he felt an unwilling softening in his belly again.
He ruthlessly hardened his thoughts and lifted his chin so he could look down at her from an even higher level. If she’d stayed home like any reasonable woman, instead of bartering her way into the most private apartments of an exclusive gentleman’s club, she’d be sleeping restfully by now.
And dreaming.
Dimitri yanked his thoughts away from that avenue and drilled his attention steadfastly onto Chas Woodmore, who was trying to explain to his sister why he worked for Dimitri when he was bound to kill those of his race.
It really wasn’t all that complicated, when one thought about it logically. Just as there were good and moral men, there were also members of the Dracule who were less inclined to live uneventfully alongside their mortal counterparts. People like Moldavi, who fed from children and left them to die. Or, when they wanted something, they’d burn a house down and watch people perish.
Or they’d feed on injured soldiers on a field, prolonging their agony just for pleasure.
Just as there were mortals who hunted game, killed it neatly and quickly and used it for nourishment, and there were others who tortured the animals just to watch them twist and cry and squeal…there were also Dracule, who fed expediently and took just what they needed from mortals, and quite often from willing ones, and there were Dracule who fed until the mortal was bled nearly dry. And left for dead.
As there were mortal men who hungered for power until it became all consuming, there were Dracule who did the same.
There were Dracule who merely lived lavish lives, filled with luxuries and pleasure, but who were content to simply enjoy the sensuality of it, without desiring to control everyone around them.
And then there was Dimitri, who no longer did any of those things. Whose Mark blazed with constant pain for precisely that reason: because he denied the pleasure, the very covenant that Lucifer had given him.
And searched for a way to renounce it.
Thus, instead, he lived in solitude and darkness, seeking an escape from an eternity of hell.
“At any rate,” Chas was saying, “I’m going to Paris with Voss and we’ll bring back Angelica. That’s all you need to know at this time, Maia.”
Voss interrupted, shaking his head sharply. “If you want to jeopardize my chances, then you may come. Otherwise…follow if you will, but some days behind me. There can be no hint to Moldavi that we’re working together.”
Dimitri snorted in agreement. “Even if he saw the two of you shaking hands, he wouldn’t believe it.”
Voss shot him a look of pure dislike. “Precisely.”
8
OF FEROCIOUS DOGS, HISSING KITTENS AND PROPER SYNTAX
Maia had so many questions she could hardly quiet her mind to select one for consideration.
But when she climbed into Corvindale’s landau—for he’d absolutely forbidden her to hire a hack to take her home from White’s, and she was simply too tired to argue about propriety—and settled into her seat across from him, suddenly her wild musings and whirling thoughts scattered, leaving her mind blank and focused on one thing: him.