D.B.Reynolds Amerikai vámpírok sorozat angol nyelven Raphael 1

D.B.Reynolds Amerikai vámpírok sorozat angol nyelven

 

Raphael 1

 

 

Chapter Eighteen

RAPHAEL AND DUNCAN went directly to the underground level, entering from the courtyard and pacing the long, dimly lit corridors until they reached the detention area, well within. Every vampire they met dropped immediately to one knee, eyes cast downward, sensing their master’s seething temper. Raphael barely glanced at them, his body still thrumming with unslaked lust, his mind focused solely on getting the information he wanted from the witless humans awaiting his pleasure.

Duncan opened an unmarked door, entering first and then standing aside as Raphael strode past and over to the observation window dividing this room from the one next door. Two humans waited beyond. They were unbound, still clothed in the black uniform shirt and pants of his daytime guard, although their jackets had been taken. Neither had been bloodied yet, and they lounged in seeming nonchalance, one sitting at the table drumming his fingers restlessly, the other tipped back against the wall, his eyes closed as if resting.

“Do you know them?” Raphael asked.

“Peripherally. As well as I know any of the human guards. The one on the right, leaning against the wall, has been with you since you bought this estate. He has an excellent record and was actually being considered for promotion. The other, at the table, was hired six months ago on the recommendation of his friend there.”

“Six months, then.”

“Most likely.”

“And not a whisper. Have they been questioned?’

“Not yet, my lord. We awaited your instruction.”

Raphael nodded. “I promised Cyn she could participate in the interrogation,” he said, with a sidelong glance.

Duncan controlled his look of surprise, mindful of his master’s uncertain temper. When he spoke, he chose his words with visible care. “Ms. Leighton may not understand what must be done, my lord.”

Raphael stared at the prisoners pensively. “Perhaps it’s time she learns, Duncan.” His private thoughts raged at the human female and his own timidity in dealing with her. Why did he care if she accepted him? Why not simply take her as was his right?

He stepped away from the glass with a downward frown, his eyes widening in surprise at the red stains soaking into his white shirt, thickening the elegant fabric of his handmade suit. His mouth turned up in a smile that would have terrified the men beyond that window. “Yes, I think it’s time Cyn learns what it means to be Vampire. Call Ms. Leighton and ask her to join us. Then choose one of these, make it the one who’s been with us longer, he’ll understand the lesson better. Bind him securely and let him watch the interrogation. By the time Cyn arrives, I think our friend will be eager to tell us everything he knows.”

“Yes, my lord. Shall I have Juro join you?”

“No,” Raphael said, unbuttoning his jacket. “I’ll do this myself.”

RAPHAEL STEPPED back from the trembling mass of flesh that had once been human. Tortured groans still issued from the man’s unrecognizable face, but they were the witless grunts of an animal. All vestiges of human thought had been ripped from his mind long ago. In the corner, his bound and gagged ally watched horrified, his eyes rolling in terror, wordless shrieks trapped against his mouth by the tape wound around his head. Rancid sweat coated his body and soaked his clothing, joining the stench of human excrement where fear had released his bowel and bladder. Raphael’s gaze slid to the human and he smiled slowly, revealing fully extended fangs. The man in the corner squealed, pressing himself against the wall, twisting his head from side to side in useless denial.

Raphael glanced over at his lieutenant. “I must change,” he said mildly.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Join me in my office, Duncan, and have that one—” He jerked his head at the terrified survivor. “—brought to me after Ms. Leighton arrives.”

 

Chapter Nineteen

CYNTHIA SAT IN her darkened office, headphones on, eyes closed, the security footage from Raphael’s estate playing unseen on the screen in front of her. Her chair was tilted back, her bare feet crossed on the desk. She listened as Alexandra played the piano. Definitely Mozart, but barely recognizable the way she had the sound tweaked. It was a lonely sound, and she didn’t think Mozart had meant it to be played that way.

Cynthia understood loneliness; she’d been alone most of her life. Even as a child, surrounded by nannies and housekeepers of various temperaments and longevity, she’d been alone. It wasn’t like the stories. No nursemaid stepped in to mother little Cynthia while her dashingly handsome father traveled the world. None of them had stayed long enough. And even if they had, they were more concerned with pleasing her father than in mothering his little girl. He wanted to be home for her birthday or Christmas, or any number of occasions in her young life, they told her. But there was always some unavoidable, last minute emergency that kept him away. Cynthia had stopped believing by the time she was six, had stopped even pretending to believe a couple years later. She’d erased those special dates from the calendar and spent the holidays alone in her rooms at the excellent private schools arranged by her grandmother.

In her teens, she’d tried contacting her mother. But the former Estelle Leighton had been happy enough with her new husband and her new daughter, her Holly who was the perfect blond, bouncy cheerleader, so much like Estelle herself. And so unlike Cynthia with her dark, angular beauty that reminded her mother of nothing but a failed marriage and the man who had not only left her, but, perhaps more importantly, had kept his substantial wealth out of her grasping hands.

Eventually, Cynthia found she preferred being alone. During her senior year at prep school, her guidance counselor had been horrified to discover that when Cyn talked about a career in law, she meant law enforcement, not law school. The counselor had hustled her off to the school therapist to deal with her “social adjustment” issues. The therapist had, in turn, informed Cyn that she had difficulty forming meaningful human connections because of her poor relationship with her father. No kidding. She had stayed with the sessions only long enough to get the guidance counselor off her back and get on with her life.

Hey! What’s with the pity party, Cyn? It was that damn vampire. He made her feel insecure, out of control. And if there was one thing Cynthia hated, it was feeling out of control of her own life. She kicked her feet off the desk and sat up, rolling the file back to Albin’s conversation with the two men. She’d taken two years of Russian in college, the result of an infatuation with a Russian literature grad student. They’d broken up after only six months, but by then she was committed to the language which she needed to graduate. It was either that or go back and start over with something else. At the time, she’d figured since she’d already learned the damn alphabet, she may as well stick with it. It came in handy now. Not that she could understand everything that was said. But she could follow the pattern of sentences and pick out a word here and there, and if something caught her ear, she could always look it up later.

Thus far, however, nothing. She cued up the final footage from the camera outside the kitchen door. The three humans seemed to exchange a few words before climbing into the van, and Cynthia was trying to filter out the engine sounds to pull the conversation out of the noise, hoping for a destination of some sort. She was bent over the board, fiddling with the sound when her phone rang, triggering a visual caller ID message on her screen.

She sighed. It was Raphael’s number. She’d really hoped to go a day or two without seeing him again. With every visit, it was a little harder to resist him, a little harder to keep from making a total ass of herself by fucking not only her client, but a goddamn vampire. If she could have a couple of days to cool down, find some distance, some logic.

The memory of Raphael’s cool fingers on her neck, his breath against her cheek as his honeyed voice caressed her ears shattered any illusions of self-control. She hit the pause button and picked up the phone.

“Ms. Leighton.”

“Duncan. A pleasure as always.”

“My master requires your presence. How soon will you be here?”

“Tonight?” She checked the time on her computer; it was nearly two a.m. “But I—”

“We are interrogating one of the human guards. You told Lord Raphael you wanted to be here. If, however, you have changed your mind—”

“No,” she said quickly. “No, of course not.” She glanced down at her clothing. “Give me half an hour. Is that all right?”

“That is acceptable.”

The line went dead and Cyn scowled at the phone. Raphael might be dangerously seductive, but Duncan certainly wasn’t going to win any charm contests. She sighed again and went to her closet to the find the least attractive clothing she owned.

 

 

Chapter Twenty

RAPHAEL STOOD AS she and Duncan entered his office. He’d showered and changed since she saw him last, and very recently. His black hair was slightly damp, and he smelled of fresh soap. In place of his usual elegant suit, he wore a black pullover sweater and snug-fitting, black denims that made her stomach hurt. The sweater was cashmere. It would feel wonderful beneath her fingers as she ran her hands over the flat planes of his broad chest. Cynthia closed her eyes briefly, schooling her expression to something more professional and less . . .

“Thank you for joining us, Cyn.”

Her eyes flashed open. The vampire stood less than two feet away, watching her with a pleased expression. So much for professionalism. She gazed up at his handsome face. He must have been quite young when he died, late twenties or so. In his usual power suits and mantle of authority, he seemed much older, but tonight he looked his natural age. If anything about a vampire could be called natural.

The door opened behind her and Juro appeared, all but dangling a human from one massive paw—a human bound, gagged and blindfolded. The huge bodyguard hauled the prisoner to the center of the room and dropped him on the floor at Raphael’s feet.

The vampire lord’s eyes went cold and appraising, a hungry wolf sizing up a plump rabbit. He crouched down next to the man and grabbed the blindfold, tearing it off over his head with a single jerk. The man blinked uncertainly, then focused on Raphael. His eyes widened in terror and he struggled to get away, whimpering behind the gag, fighting to drag himself across the antique Persian carpet.

Cynthia frowned. “Did you already question him?” she asked.

Raphael stood, glancing at her over his shoulder. “Of course not, Cyn. You wanted to be here.”

“Where’s the other one? Did you get both of them?”

“Ah, yes. I’m afraid my people were a bit too enthusiastic. The other guard was dealt with before I conveyed your desire to participate.”

He was lying. But that was all right, it made it easier to resist his charm. She swung her gaze around the room, seeing nothing but blank faces, then turned back to the pitiful creature on the floor. This man was terrified. Not of the vampires in general, but of Raphael specifically. She’d seen lots of people on this estate, both human and vampire, and while they all treated the vampire lord with deep respect and caution, she hadn’t seen anything that equaled this level of fear.

“Can you take off the gag?”

Raphael signaled Juro wordlessly.

“What’s his name?”

“Duncan?” Raphael said.

“Judkins,” Duncan supplied. “Scott Judkins.”

Cynthia stepped around Raphael, putting herself between him and the frightened prisoner. Then she crouched down and spoke quietly, her words only for the two of them. “Scott?” she said softly.

The man lay nearly face down on the carpet, his knees bent, curled up to his chest protectively, his hands bound behind him. At the sound of her voice, his head swiveled in her direction, his gaze searching her face without comprehension, constantly darting to the vampires all around. Cynthia swore under her breath. What the hell had they done to him? She didn’t see any physical injury. Had they done something to his mind then? Was there anything left for her to question? “Don’t pay attention to them, Scott. Look at me, just me.”

The man blinked rapidly and his eyes seemed to focus, seeing her for the first time. They widened and he thrashed as he tried to sit up, to get closer to her. She felt more than heard Raphael move and held up one hand to stop him. This broken man was no threat to her. She braced his shoulders and helped him straighten as much as possible.

“You know what they are?” he whispered harshly.

“I know,” Cynthia confirmed. “I want to help you, Scott. You have to talk to me, so I can help you.”

“He didn’t even touch him.” He stared at her, his eyes wide and haunted. “He ripped his own . . .” Judkins closed his eyes as if shutting out the sight of something too terrible to remember.

“Who, Scott?” she asked, confused. “Who do you mean?”

“Him,” he said furtively, his eyes flashing back and forth, his horrified glance touching on Raphael, then skittering away. “They caught us this morning. I knew they would. I told them it wouldn’t work, but they have my family.” His eyes filled with tears as he gave her a pleading look. “I didn’t want to do it, but they have my family.” He started sobbing. Cynthia stared at him in dismay.

“Scott,” she persisted. “You’re not making any sense. You have to help me understand. Who has your family?”

Judkins blinked again, obviously confused and trying to concentrate. “Kolinsky. He took my little girl, grabbed her off the street when she was walking home from school one day. She’s only a baby, eight years old. He drove her to the house and dropped her off, just so I’d know. So I’d know what would happen if I didn’t give him what he wanted. What else could I do? And now it’s too late,” he moaned, his head weaving back and forth in denial. “Too late.”

“Too late for what? Who’s Kolinsky?”

His head came up and he stared at her. “You know about Kolinsky?”

“I don’t know everything. I’m trying to figure it out. What does he want?”

“He needed to get some guy inside here, he said. Inside the vampire’s estate. Told me the guy’s name was Barry, but I think he was lying. What did I care what his name was? Either way I was a dead man.”

“Who’s Kolinsky?”

“I’m not sure,” he said, suddenly evasive. “What do I know? I’m only a security guard. I don’t know how they found me. I don’t talk about my job much, but my wife . . . you know how wives are, they know things, even if you don’t tell them. And she talks too much. Her cousin, I think. I’m not sure. But they came to me. Said if I didn’t cooperate, they’d take my family . . . my wife, my little girl. What else could I do?”

Cyn tried to make sense of the disjointed monologue. “I understand. Where’s your family now, Scott? Are they safe?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. We’ve been locked down since it happened, they probably don’t know yet that Barry’s dead.” Cynthia swore to herself when he said that. Raphael had all but admitted the other guard was dead, but . . . “Poor bastard,” Judkins continued. “Even if he was an asshole, nobody should die like that.” He was muttering mostly to himself, but twisted to stab her with a searching look. “You won’t let them do that to me, will you? They can kill me, I don’t care, but don’t let them do to me what they did to Barry. Please. Oh God . . .” He began crying again and Cyn looked away, embarrassed and ashamed.

“I’ll try, Scott. I will, but . . .” She drew a deep breath. “You helped kill six men. Men who knew you and trusted you. You betrayed that trust. I don’t know—”

“Not me. No, no, that’s not what I mean,” he insisted at her skeptical look. “I did those things. You’re right. I knew those men, knew their families and I . . .” He swallowed hard. “If I help you, if I tell you everything I know, can you save my family? Get them out of here, a fresh start? I’ve got life insurance, death benefits; I’ve earned that. If I tell you, will you help them?”

There was no madness in his eyes any longer, only a bleak acknowledgment of his own fate and a desperate hope for his family. Cynthia didn’t want the burden of this man’s hope. She was nobody’s savior; she didn’t want to be.

“Please,” he whispered. “You’re human. You’re like me.”

I’m not like you, Cynthia wanted to scream. It’s not me lying on the floor, stinking of my own piss and sweat and begging a total stranger to save my family because I fucked up my life. She closed her eyes and looked away, opening them to find Raphael watching her. She matched gazes with him, then rubbed one hand over her face tiredly.

“I’ll try,” she said finally. “Give me your wife’s name and address, and I’ll try. But you have to tell me everything you know. You have to give me something to work with.”

“Okay,” Scott said, nodding eagerly. “Okay.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he started talking.

THE DOOR CLOSED behind Juro and Duncan, poor Scott Judkins held between them. He was right about one thing. He was a dead man and there was nothing she could do about that. He’d signed his own death warrant the minute he’d decided to betray a vampire. He could have gone to Steve Sipes, to Duncan, or even to Raphael himself, and told them he’d been approached. That would have been the smart move. But people never thought about the smart move. They simply reacted and then watched their lives go down the toilet and wondered why it was happening. And now six men were dead, their families grieving, and a little eight-year-old girl would never know what happened to her daddy.

Cynthia watched the door close, then turned away, sickened by the waste of human life. She walked over to the sliding window behind Raphael’s desk and pulled it open, stepping out onto the balcony, into the cool, salty air. She raised her face to its freshness, wanting to wash away the last hour of her life.

“That was well done.” Raphael’s silky voice blended perfectly with the dark night.

Cynthia closed her eyes. “He was terrified of you.”

He didn’t say anything, and she turned her head slightly, listening. She wanted to know where he was. “How did the other one die? Was it you who killed him?”

Raphael gave an elegant shrug. “I am Vampire, Cynthia. They betrayed me and murdered men who trusted them. Did you not say the same to Judkins?”

She gave him a bleak look. “So is this like a palace revolt or something?”

“Just so.”

“I thought your own couldn’t betray you.”

Raphael turned to regard her, his dark eyes unreadable. “I said it was unlikely, but not impossible. In any event, this is most probably not one of my own children.”

“How do you know she’s still alive?” she asked suddenly, wanting to crack his ever present cool façade. “Bait doesn’t have to be living.”

He regarded her steadily, not saying a word, but she felt the reproach all the same. She met his gaze, refusing to look away. He smiled slightly and said, “We are . . . linked, Alexandra and I, in more ways than one. I would sense her death in the instant it happened. Vampire bait does need to be living, sweet Cyn.”

Cynthia blushed, ashamed at her lack of subtlety, though she’d never admit it to him. She raised her chin defiantly. “Do you know who has Alexandra, then?”

“A suspicion, nothing more. Someone who has sworn an oath of loyalty and is now reconsidering.”

“Kind of like your buddy Albin.”

“Does it please you to know I have enemies, Cyn?”

Cynthia thought about that. “No,” she said finally, knowing it was true. “No, it doesn’t. Will you help them?”

He frowned. “Help whom?”

“I promised Judkins I’d try to help his wife and daughter. You bragged to me how fair you are to your men, how you help their families when they die for you. That man served you faithfully for ten years. He was stupid, not malicious. His family shouldn’t suffer for that. They’ve already suffered enough, and only because he made the mistake of working for you.”

“As you do.” His voice was smooth, but there was an underlying anger.

“As I do,” she agreed wearily. “So, will you give them his death benefits?”

He regarded her somberly, and then lifted one side of his mouth in a bare smile. “I will indeed, Cyn.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “If you deliver the benefits personally.”

“What? No. I don’t know these people. I don’t want—”

“Ah. So there are limits to your compassion? Or is it that you don’t want to face the result of what you wrought this evening?”

He was right. She didn’t want to look in some woman’s face and say her husband was never coming home. Didn’t want to make up a story to explain why he had died, to try and make him a hero. But maybe he was a hero. Everything he’d done had been to protect his family, misguided perhaps, but he had tried.

“Fine. I’ll do it myself,” she said, then turned away, staring out at the ocean. “Are you safe out here?” she asked, hoping he’d go back inside.

A soft scuff on the tiled balcony warned her as he drew closer, until he was standing right behind her, his mouth next to her ear. “Are you worried about me, Cyn?” He was so big his body blocked the light from his office, casting a shadow that eclipsed her own. She could feel his strength surrounding her, his breath stirring the small hairs on her neck, a hint of aftershave teasing her senses. He stood so close that if she inhaled too deeply their bodies would touch. And she would be lost.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Please?” Raphael repeated in a low voice. “Please what, Cyn?” He stroked her hair behind her ear, fingers trailing down her neck and over her shoulder, barely touching the curve of her breast before resting his hand below her waist. The slightest pressure, a mere tightening of his fingers, pulled her against him, eliminating that last tiny fraction of space that separated them. His erection was hard against her as his long fingers stroked her belly, teasing downward. A wave of need washed over her, so intense her knees almost gave way, and she swayed with the force of it, leaning her head back against his shoulder. His warm mouth bent to her neck, his tongue darting out to lick slowly along her jaw, before pausing over the steady rush of her jugular.

“No. Please,” she whispered, barely able to force out the words.

“Which is it, lovely Cyn? Is it no?” He sucked her neck gently, letting his teeth press into the skin without breaking it, and a frisson of desire made her gasp before flowing down to light a fire between her legs.

“Or is it, please?” His hands came up under her swollen breasts, cupping them, holding their weight in his broad palms, his thumbs strumming her sensitive nipples to the edge of pain. “I can smell your arousal, Cyn. I can hear the racing of your heart beneath your ribs.” His voice grew even lower, more sensuous, the words flowing from his mouth directly into her brain. He rubbed his obvious arousal along the cleft of her ass, letting her feel its hard length straining against the rough denim of his jeans. “I know you want this.”

Cynthia covered her face with her hands, almost laughing at the wretched absurdity of it. Raphael froze. She could feel the muscles of his arms tighten with anger, no longer caressing, but trapping her against his body.

“Yes, I want you. I want you until I can think of little else,” she whispered, not even trying to break away from him. “You stalk my dreams and haunt even my days when I should be free of you. Every nerve in my body is tortured with wanting you, wanting to touch you, to fuck you, to have you fill me until I scream with the delicious pain of it and beg for more.” She did laugh then, a sobbing cry of desperation.

“Then, why?” There was an edge to his voice now; she was not the only one aroused and he was not accustomed to being denied.

Because I’m terrified, she wanted to say. Terrified my own need would drown me until there was nothing left of who I am, nothing but the smell of you, the touch of you on my skin, until there was nothing but you.

She opened her eyes and turned to find his glittering black orbs staring from only inches away. Her fingers reached up to touch those sensuous lips for the first time, and she sucked in a breath, unable to bear their softness. She took a step back, wiping away cold tears as the night air flowed between their bodies again.

Raphael watched her, his jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring with every breath. He blinked and his eyes became only eyes once again, beautiful and dramatic, but only eyes. “You will be mine before the end, Cyn. Make no mistake about it.”

“And what will happen when you grow tired of me?” she asked softly. “Will I be discarded too, Raphael? Trapped in a pretty palace with nothing but memories? I have seen what you leave behind.” She slipped by him, almost running back to the house. His words made her stop.

“It is not what you think,” he said harshly.

Cyn turned and stared at him. “Then what is it?”

“A long story.” He walked over to her and paused to stroke her cheek with one finger. “For another night, perhaps, when you are more inclined to listen.” He pulled the sliding door open as Duncan appeared from the hallway. “Sleep well, Cyn.”

She fled without looking back.

Raphael stared at the ocean, brooding about Cyn, about Alexandra. His discarded lover? He choked back a laugh. If only it were that simple. Memory took him back to that fetid dungeon in Paris. Nothing was ever simple with Alexandra.