The Vampire Voss

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To my dear Kelly…you’re always such a bright spot in my life.

Thanks for all your wisdom and guidance.

London, 1804

“What in the dark hell is he doing here?” Dimitri, the Earl of Corvindale, set his glass precisely on the table, then adjusted it with great deliberation. He still held his cards but was no longer looking at them.

The man in question—the term “man” being a loose one, of course—had walked through the door of the hidden apartments at White’s. These rooms were reserved for Dimitri and those of his ilk, and could only be accessed by someone who knew the right thing to say.

It was more than unfortunate that the man in question knew what to say to gain entrance. It was damned annoying.

The newcomer strode into the chamber and scanned the space, which hosted fewer than a dozen occupants on a good night. He was average in height, with thick hair the color of molasses and a square, dimpled chin—both characteristics that made him very popular with those of the feminine persuasion. More than a bit of swagger colored his step, making Dimitri itch to adjust the glass again. Bloody nuisance.

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