D.B.Reynolds Amerikai vámpírok sorozat

 D.B.Reynolds Amerikai vámpírok sorozat angol nyelven

 

Raphael 1

 

Prologue

Malibu, California

The woman’s fingers flew along the piano keys, filling the air of the candlelit room with the music of a long-dead composer. From behind her, a dark, slender man slid onto the bench, his nimble hands quickly picking up the melody, then just as quickly transforming it into something different, something modern. She lifted her fingers from the keyboard with an indulgent smile, watching his hands dance over the keys of the venerable concert grand in an upbeat tune. Leaning lightly against him, she let her head drop to his shoulder, her eyes closing, their bodies touching with the familiarity of old lovers. From the hallway came the sound of footsteps and the door opened.

“It is nearly time, Alexandra.”

The woman sighed. “Thank you, Albin.” She stood, pressing her palms down the front of her full satin skirt, smoothing away nonexistent wrinkles. Her lover offered a hand to assist her around the bench and she accepted it with a smile, laughing as he twirled her into a graceful embrace. “Matias,” she chided softly, fondly. He’d been a dancer when they met, the toast of European society. But that was long ago. Not that he looked old. None of them did; they were Vampire, their appearance forever frozen in the aspect of youth.

Alexandra glanced toward the big windows and the black night beyond. There was not even the faintest gleam of the coming dawn, but sunrise was near; she could feel it. The dour Albin drew closer, looming over her petite frame, his milky white skin glowing in the candlelight.

She looked up at him in surprise, then tilted her head to listen as an odd rat-a-tat sound echoed nearby, repeating over and over. Matias muttered a curse, moving quickly past her, but Albin stopped him, his arm swinging forward with a hard jerking motion. Matias gasped, then turned and reached out for her, a look of utter disbelief on his boyish countenance. She caught him instinctively as he fell, his weight carrying her down even as he disintegrated in her arms. A wave of pure grief swept over her as she stared up at Albin. “Why?” she asked.

The red-haired vampire said nothing, granting only a disdainful glance before spinning away. The room’s double doors slammed open with a crash, and two masked humans crowded into the room, matte black guns held before them. Albin exchanged a few sharp words with the invaders, then turned to regard her with hooded brown eyes.

“Come along, Alexandra.”

Alexandra stood once again, her hands now brushing the dust of her dead lover from the satin. “This is a mistake, Albin,” she said calmly, backing away until she touched the smooth wood of the piano.

He strode over and grabbed one of her slender arms with his huge hand.

“He’ll kill you for this,” she said.

“Perhaps,” Albin agreed, then bared his fangs. “Or perhaps I’ll kill him instead. Now come.” He pulled her around roughly, but Alexandra shook him off and walked from the room, head held high. He gave her a mocking bow and followed, turning at the last moment to give the empty room a contemptuous grin.

The candle flames fluttered briefly in the vampire’s wake, before retreating to burn steadily through the remaining darkness and into the morning, long after the sun’s light had overwhelmed their small brilliance.