D.B.Reynolds Amerikai vámpírok sorozat

 

D.B.Reynolds Amerikai vámpírok sorozat angol nyelven

 

Raphael 1

 

 

Chapter Ten

“LOVELY NIGHT FOR a walk, my ass. It’s fucking freezing out here,” Cynthia muttered to herself as she stumbled along the dark pathway beneath the trees. She’d pulled on her favorite Zanotti boots this afternoon before leaving for her office; they were gorgeous and perfectly comfortable for running errands and working at her desk. But if she had known there would be late night hikes through the woods, she sure as hell would have worn something more practical.

The grounds between the two houses were much more cultivated than the dense forest outside the walls. The undergrowth had been cleared out to create a maze of elegant tree trunks of all shapes and sizes. There was room to walk among them if one chose, and if one wasn’t wearing six-hundred-dollar boots with metal studded heels. Cyn sighed. At least there was a pathway, she thought, even if it was completely unlit and paved in gravel. Besides, the great Raphael had deigned to provide her with a flashlight to augment her meager human sight. She’d flicked it on as soon as they left the house. Much to the amusement of that bitch Elke. But Cynthia had gotten some amusement of her own when Elke discovered she wasn’t invited on this little midnight stroll. Juro hadn’t been too thrilled either, but he was much better at concealing his emotions than the volatile Elke. Her rage had been blatant . . . and quickly cooled by a single glance from Raphael.

“It’s not far now,” Raphael commented. She jumped as his silky voice seemed to come from nowhere, then sighed in irritation when he appeared from the trees on her right side. She would have sworn he was walking several feet behind with the Southern boy, but here he was gliding along next to her with an uncanny grace, his dark eyes flecked with moonlight. She looked away, wondering how anyone could ever mistake him for human. Duncan could have passed easily, but Raphael was just too . . . something. Too everything. Too gorgeous, too smooth, too graceful, too predatory. That’s what it was. There was a predatory quality that surrounded him like an invisible cloak. That’s what her hind brain had been trying to tell her earlier, screaming at her to run, run for her life! She imagined herself running down Raphael’s elegant hallways, screaming like a lunatic, and chuckled softly.

“Something amuses you, Ms. Leighton?”

It was said gently enough, but it triggered a little thrill of fear. She didn’t know how to explain what she’d been laughing about without looking foolish, or maybe even insulting, so she said instead, “Call me Cynthia. Or Cyn. If we’re going to be working together, you can’t keep up with the Ms. Leighton. We’ll both get sick of it.”

“Cyn,” Raphael repeated thoughtfully. “Interesting choice.”

“C. y. n,” she spelled.

“Of course,” he agreed. “Ah, here we are.”

Cynthia looked up and finally saw white light filtering through the tree trunks. The path curved sharply up ahead, winding around a particularly thick stand of leafy trees before emerging into a clearing bordered by a lush privet hedge. She stopped short, uncertain how to react to the “guest house.” There was nothing about Alexandra’s house, not the design, the color, or even the landscaping, that was remotely similar to Raphael’s Southwestern style mansion. It was a two-story French manor house, plucked whole from the 18th century, with whitewashed walls and blue peaked roofs, dormer windows and climbing ivy. It reminded her of the old houses she’d seen in Europe during her college days, albeit a hell of a lot better kept than most of those. It was even attractive, in an old country sort of way. Except for a black and white checkered courtyard occupying the entire frontage like some sort of bizarre ice skating rink. That didn’t belong in front of this house or any other to Cynthia’s mind.

She blinked at it a few times, then gave Raphael a doubtful sideways glance. He caught the look. “Alexandra saw it in a magazine. Quite by chance.” He gave a minute shrug.

Cynthia let her raised eyebrows speak for her and turned back to the house, trying to see it as a crime scene. From where they stood she could tell there was a separate entrance on the far side, with a driveway running directly in front of it, probably so they wouldn’t have to use the courtyard much. That made sense. Why mar the garish perfection of the black and white squares with regular wear and tear. Of course, why pave the front of the damn house with the things in the first place? But hey, not her house, not her decision. She walked to the edge of the courtyard, then hesitated before stepping onto it. “May I?” she asked formally.

“Of course, Cyn,” Raphael responded smoothly, seeming quite entertained by the whole thing.

Cynthia crossed the squares carefully, very aware of the smooth surface beneath the leather soles of her boots. There was no point in lingering here. It was a certainty the kidnappers hadn’t come in this way. If they had, Alexandra would never have been kidnapped. She would have been too busy laughing as they slid around on the slippery marble. Instead, Cyn went directly to the side door, and looked up the concrete paved driveway. “This road connects to the main drive?”

“It does. In fact, this is the terminus of the main drive. It was only extended to reach this far when I built the cottage for Alexandra.”

“And that was?” She didn’t really need to know; she was just curious.

Raphael gave her a bemused glance. “Roughly ten years ago, wasn’t it, Duncan? Shortly after we built the new main house.”

“Ten years last month, Sire,” Duncan said, popping up out of nowhere, which was something vampires seemed to excel at. Although Cynthia was pretty sure she’d seen him moving around the outside of the privet hedge earlier. Raphael was much slicker about it. Great, Cyn, what are we, in junior high school now? She walked past the doorway and along the side of the house, mostly to distract herself from Raphael’s disturbing presence. Trees closed in all around, coming right up to the walls of the house itself in the back. She looked up beneath the eaves and spotted the gleam of a security camera. This had to have been an inside job. There was too much security around this place for someone to have made it all the way to the guest house and back out again without getting caught.

“Video?” she asked, tilting her head to gaze at the camera. “Does it archive?”

“Digital video and audio direct to a server in the basement of the house,” Duncan answered.

“You have the night in question?”

“Certainly.”

“Do I get to see it?” she asked, somewhat exasperated by the vampire’s less than forthcoming responses.

“Indeed, you do,” Raphael interjected easily. “That’s one of the reasons we’re here.”

“And what’s the other reason?”

“So you can see the crime scene, of course. That’s what you humans do, is it not, Cyn?”

Cynthia sighed. It was going to be a long night. “Yes, it is, Lord Raphael,” she said, remembering Lonnie’s advice. “I don’t know any other way to run an investigation.”

“Excellent. Then, come, Cyn.” Every time he said her name, he separated it out from the words around it, as if savoring the taste. Sin. “I think things will be much clearer to you after you’ve seen the security footage,” he continued, taking her arm gently and steering her back toward the doorway. “And do call me Raphael. After all, you’re human. You’ve no allegiance to me . . . as yet,” he added softly.

Cynthia turned and stared at him, uncertain she’d really heard those final words. Raphael seemed not to notice, guiding her down the side of the house in the dark, then pulling open the heavy wooden door with ease. As they went through, she saw the door had a double-keyed deadbolt, in addition to a keypad lockout inside. Which meant she’d been right in her earlier assessment. Whoever had taken this Alexandra, for whatever reason, had at least one accomplice on the inside. A thought occurred to her. “What time did you say it was when your . . . when Alexandra was abducted?”

“It was nearly sunrise. She would have already been feeling the pressure of dawn. It would have made her, and her guards, slower, less alert.”

Duncan stared at his Sire in alarm, and Cynthia wondered if this was one of those secrets vampires usually didn’t share. And then it occurred to her to wonder why Raphael was being so free with this information. She pushed aside that worrisome thought and considered what he’d told her. “Humans,” she said.

Raphael smiled. Beautiful and deadly.

“It was humans who took her,” she repeated, breathless and a little aggravated he hadn’t just told her.

“Very good, Cyn. This is why I believe you, a human, will be best able to find her.”

“But if she was still awake, some of the other vampires must have been also. You wouldn’t have left her here with only human guards, especially not at night.”

Raphael’s expression quickly turned blacker than a moonless night, his eyes pits of darkness that sucked in the light and gave back nothing. “No, indeed, not. But the traitor will be my concern.” She watched the fury roll out of his expression just as quickly, watched the moonlight sparkle come back to his eyes. “Your job,” he continued, “will be catching the human puppets, who will in turn lead me to their vampire masters.”

“Okay,” she breathed, shaking herself slightly. “Let’s uh, let’s—”

He gestured toward a dimly lit hallway. “It’s all set up for us.”

 

 

Chapter Eleven

THE HOUSE WAS dark inside, with only a faint light coming from the hallway. There was a slight smell of bleach in the air, like a cleaning solution. She looked at Raphael in question.

“Human guards patrol the house and grounds during daylight hours. They were murdered, their bodies dragged into the kitchen. My staff has already cleaned.”

Cyn nodded. If this had been a regular forensic investigation, valuable evidence would have been destroyed by that cleaning. But there was little “regular” about this whole case. They continued on through the large French provincial kitchen, and Cynthia couldn’t help noticing the big side by side subzero refrigerator/freezer. She didn’t want to think about what was stored in that one. Ugh.

The hallway was brighter than the kitchen, though not by much, with some low wattage lights recessed into the crown molding along the ceiling. She noticed bracket-mounted candleholders all along the wall and shone her flashlight on one of them curiously. It was the real thing. Although the candles currently stuck in the fixture were fresh, she could smell the paraffin from previous burnings. Raphael had gone ahead of her, but he came back down the hall to see what she was looking at.

“Candles?” she asked.

“Alexandra preferred things as they had been. She never adapted well to the modern era. There are additional lights, of course.” He gestured above. “Mostly for the human staff. I forget sometimes what poor eyesight you humans have in the dark, Cyn.”

“You know,” she muttered, half to herself. “You and I will get along a lot better if you stop pointing out all of my human deficiencies. I’m sure you all must have a few of your own.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “My manners are a bit rusty, I’m afraid. I have so little direct contact with humans anymore.”

Cynthia eyed him doubtfully. He said all the right words, but there was always the tiny hint of a smirk on that handsome face, as though he was playing along for his own entertainment. “Right. So where’s this security setup then?”

“This way.” He continued down the hall, making a turn into a small foyer near what would have been the main entrance if not for the useless checkerboard courtyard. Cyn followed him past a winding stairway and toward the back of the house where a square of light on the wood flooring marked an open door. Raphael paused in the light to wait for her, then preceded her down the stairs to the basement.

Duncan was already there, seated at the hub of a very sophisticated security control center. Every console was lit up, and as she glanced from monitor to monitor, she saw there was precious little of the guest house that wasn’t under surveillance. She did a quick survey of the room, noticing the locked gun cage and what looked like a closed bank vault door against the far wall. Curious.

“Nice,” was all she said, focusing on the security console. “Do you have any redundancy between the houses? The main gate?”

“Not at this house. Not a live feed anyway,” Duncan said. “Alexandra lived apart.” He frowned slightly. “For many reasons. We do have the main gate, however. Video only. His fingers flew over the keyboard and he gestured at a large monitor hanging on the wall to her right. “The morning in question.”

Cynthia walked over to the monitor and watched as a black, late model panel van pulled up to the gate. The guards were human, she noted. “Pause that.” The screen froze. “Human guards,” she said. “When I came through earlier the guards were all vamps.”

“As you noted, they timed it carefully,” Raphael said right behind her. She started a little and his eyes shifted to her, his gaze lingering long enough to make her uncomfortable. “It was close enough to sunrise that my vampires had already retired for the day. These humans—” He paused and pointed at the monitor. “—would have been on duty perhaps half an hour, no more.”

“You must have video of the shift change. Did you see anything different, unusual?”

“No. Most of Alexandra’s vampire guards are my own, my children—”

“What does that mean? Your children?” Cynthia asked in surprise. “You don’t mean literally . . .”

Raphael gave her an assessing stare. “Of course not, Cyn. Among us, the term ‘child’ refers to one whom we personally have brought over. One we have . . . reborn. It is a powerful connection among our kind and one not easily broken.”

“But it can be broken?”

He frowned at her. “Rarely. But, yes.”

“You referred to a traitor. Was he one of yours?”

“No.”

“But he was one of Alexandra’s guards?”

“Yes. I thought I knew him. That was my mistake and one I shall personally rectify.”

Cynthia waited for him to expand. When he didn’t, she shrugged and turned back to the monitor. “Go ahead, please,” she told Duncan. The video activated again, showing the driver of the black van having a conversation with one of the guards. The guard was arguing with him, gesturing toward the house, then back to the paperwork the driver was trying to offer him. She saw the van shift as the back doors were opened and four men jumped out, two going to either side of the vehicle. At the same time, the driver opened his door, ramming it into the guard talking to him and distracting the others. She scowled as the intruders opened fire; AK-47’s mowed down the human guards almost before they could raise their own weapons. One of Raphael’s men inside the wall did manage to rake the front window of the van, cracking the windshield, but within seconds all of the guards were down and the gate was open.

Without audio, she couldn’t hear what was said, but the driver was visibly cursing as he searched behind his seat and came up with a tire iron which he used to break out the rest of the glass, clearing the vehicle’s front window. He barked a few words and his team piled back inside, before he drove beneath the camera’s frame and out of sight.

“When I came through the gate tonight,” Cyn said, “I saw at least six vampires on the gate itself and an uncounted number throughout the grounds and in the main house. Why were there only the four humans three days ago?” she asked.

“Lord Raphael is in residence tonight,” Duncan explained quietly. “The main security detail travels with our master, which is why Alexandra has a separate unit. She prefers the comfort of familiar surroundings and rarely travels. When our master is gone, only her security detail remains.”

“But you have cameras on the gate, someone must have seen what was happening.”

Duncan nodded in agreement. “Again, with Lord Raphael absent, the gate would have been monitored from here at the manor house. There is a separate, smaller control room off the kitchen upstairs. It is used by the guards during the day.” He glanced at Raphael before continuing. “The traitor murdered the human guards here at the house before the van arrived and remained outside the vault after the others had retired for the day. We never thought—”

“Shall we move on?” Raphael interrupted.

Duncan bowed his head in acquiescence and turned back to the keyboard. The next bit of footage was from an interior camera and included some audio, although the quality was not very good. From the high ceilings and windows, Cynthia thought it must have come from one of the upstairs rooms. A young woman was playing the piano, something light and pretty. Mozart, she thought. The camera was behind her, so Cyn couldn’t see her face yet. But long, black hair hung down her back in thick, shining curls, and she was small, almost childlike in size. A perfect size one, Cyn thought cynically. A man sat next to her, his hair just as black, but completely straight, cut blunt at the shoulder. He wore the same charcoal suit as Juro and the other bodyguards she’d see at the main house.

Cyn felt more than saw Raphael step up behind her, felt his breath stir her hair as he whispered a name, “Matias.”

Cynthia glanced at him over her shoulder, uncertain if he’d intended her to hear, and then looked away from the naked pain on his face. She focused instead on the slightly Asian cast of Matias’s face, wondering how old he was and where he’d come from. This was the vampire Lonnie had told her about, Alexandra’s supposed lover. The camera angle was high, but she thought the rumor was probably true. The two of them, Alexandra and Matias, seemed very relaxed together, like old friends, or old lovers.

A man’s voice said something off-camera and Alexandra’s back stiffened. She stood and turned, Matias holding out a hand to assist her as she came into full view for the first time. Cynthia sucked in a breath. She looked so young, little more than a girl, almost doll-like in a full-length gown of peach-colored satin. Small breasts plumped out of a low-cut, lace bodice that narrowed tightly to her waist, then flared over what had to be panniers of some sort beneath her dress. She reminded Cyn of the porcelain-faced dolls her grandmother used to bring her from Europe. Pretty little things to be put on a shelf and admired, but never touched, and never, ever played with.

“She’s only a child,” Cyn said, her voice thick with disapproval. “How old was she when you turned her?”

Duncan jolted to his feet, a protest on his lips, but Raphael held up a strong, square-fingered hand to stop him, his gaze never leaving Cynthia’s face. “I take into consideration, Ms. Leighton, that you are human and perhaps do not know our customs. My people—” He indicated Duncan with a tip of his head. “—are fiercely loyal to me and will not be so tolerant. You might want to consider that in the future. Whether you wish to acknowledge it or not, I am one of only eight vampire lords on this continent. My power is, frankly, beyond your comprehension. I expect, and have earned through my own efforts, the respect of those around me, and if not respect, then at least courtesy.

“Alexandra’s physical age is not your concern, and such a question is an unforgivable breach of etiquette among my kind. Regardless of her appearance, she is an adult of several hundred years.”

Cynthia flushed, embarrassed, angry and scared stiff. She’d been rattled by Raphael’s obvious pain at seeing Matias and shocked at the girl’s youthful appearance, but that was no excuse. She was smarter than this. “I apologize, Lord Raphael. I was . . . surprised and reacted without thinking.” She lifted her chin, daring him to refuse her apology.

Raphael held her gaze, his face nearly expressionless. Cynthia forced herself to breathe.

“Duncan,” Raphael said at last, his dark eyes still on Cynthia. “Please continue.” Then he gave her a small nod of acceptance and gestured once again to the screen.

Cynthia turned slowly, her heart pounding, her legs wobbly with adrenaline rush. It took her a moment to focus on what she was seeing. “Who’s the redhead?” she asked finally.

“Albin.” Raphael’s voice was so cold it made her shiver, and she knew without asking that she was looking at the traitor.

The rest of the scene unfolded on screen as they watched. Cynthia sucked back a gasp of disbelief when she saw Matias literally dusted and gave a hard smile as Alexandra shook Albin off and strode from the room ahead of him. Duncan gave a little tsk of disgust when Albin paused before leaving the room to cast a contemptuous grin right at the camera. “He knew the cameras were there,” she commented.

“Of course,” Raphael agreed.

The remainder of the video was a montage of images cut together from the hallway and exterior cameras, showing the rest of the abduction and including Albin’s obviously human accomplices. It ended with a shot of the rear end of the black van as it drove away, leaving bodies scattered on the ground around the gate.

“Who found the bodies?” she asked, subdued.

“My security forces, when they rose for the night. Alexandra’s room was empty, unused, as were those of Albin and Matias. Alexandra’s . . . former security chief immediately instituted a search of the house and grounds. His men reported back from the gate with the unfortunate news.”

“Unfortunate,” Cynthia repeated. She drew breath to go off on him for his callousness at the human guards’ deaths, remembered the loss in his voice when he spoke of Matias, and said instead, “The human deaths. You didn’t call the police. What happened to them?”

Raphael was watching her, and with that uncanny intuition of his seemed to understand the realignment she’d just worked out . . . and the question she was really asking. “It has been some time, Cyn, since my people were reduced to scavenging bodies for sustenance. These,” he gestured at the monitor, “were cared for and sent to their families, if they had them. If not, they were cremated and scattered to the winds even as our own bodies are. Their families were compensated, to the extent money can compensate for life, and their funeral expenses, if any, were paid. I treat my people well, Cynthia. All of my people.”

She nodded, not having really expected anything else. She looked down at the floor, thinking over what she’d seen and heard, then raised her head. “Albin spoke to the human abductors, not much, but a few words. It was Russian, wasn’t it?”

Raphael gave her another one of those long, assessing stares. “It was,” he confirmed. “Nothing of substance. He asked the status of the gate, then ordered them back to the vehicle, saying he would bring Alexandra. The humans’ response was too low to distinguish.”

“May I ask . . .” She had learned from her earlier mistake. “Why would Albin speak Russian?”

“Like many of us, Albin lived in several countries before coming to this one. Imperial Russia was one where he dwelt for some time.”

She wanted to ask if that was why Raphael also spoke Russian, but didn’t want to press her luck.

“Okay,” she said, thinking. “I’d like to see the room they were in, the one with the piano, and I’ll want to follow the route they took out of the house. And also . . .” She drew a breath, knowing Duncan, at least, would not want to give her what she was about to ask for. “I’d like a copy of all the footage from that morning. That—” She gestured at the now blank screen. “—was edited together from several cameras. I want the actual feed, including any audio, from every camera you have. The gate, the hallways here, the room Alexandra was taken from, anyplace Albin might have been before he showed up in that room.”

As predicted, Duncan’s face flashed immediate refusal. He stood from the console and gave his master a beseeching look, but Raphael again held up his hand to forestall him. “Why do you need it and why can you not simply watch it here?” he asked.

“For one thing, I’m not familiar with your equipment, and I don’t know if you even have what I need. I have specialized programs of my own that can go over the video frame by frame, letting me zoom in on details that might mean nothing to you, but which can tell me quite a bit. And I might be able to enhance some of the audio for you. The equipment is in my home office, which is more private and more secure than the office you visited, so you needn’t be concerned about confidentiality. No one will see or hear it except me. If I think a sound or image can benefit from enhancement beyond what I can do myself, I will show you the segment and ask your permission before letting anyone else work with it. As for the other, I don’t mean to offend you, my lord, but this place creeps me out a little bit.”

Raphael blinked, then laughed. It was a genuine sound, not the harsh bark from earlier.

“Duncan,” he said, still smiling. “Make a copy for Ms. Leighton.”

“Sire, please.” Duncan was in obvious distress.

“Make the copy, Duncan,” Raphael said softly. “Ms. Leighton has guaranteed its confidentiality and I’m sure she understands the negative consequences of betraying that guarantee.” He fixed her with a gaze which promised a very short future for anyone who crossed him. “Don’t you, Cyn?”

“Yes,” Cyn whispered. “Yes, of course,” she said louder. “Thank you.”

“I’ll show Ms. Leighton the rest of the house while you make the copy, Duncan. Meet us out front when you finish.”

“My lord,” Duncan agreed, bowing his head. He sounded so depressed Cynthia almost felt sorry for him.

“Come, Cyn,” Raphael said. “Let me show you the rest of Alexandra’s cottage.”

CYNTHIA FOLLOWED Raphael up the broad staircase, around the balcony and through an open set of French doors. It was the room in the video, although it was much larger than it had seemed. The Steinway concert grand was at the far end of the room, near west-facing windows overlooking the front of the house and the checkerboard courtyard. What were probably genuine Louis XVI antiques were scattered throughout the room—brocaded settees, armoires and tables with fluted legs and carved reliefs of leaves and flowers. Cynthia located the security camera, barely visible within the deeply projected crown molding. She followed the line of sight of the camera across the room to the piano and beyond, to where Raphael stood at the window gazing down at the gaudy marble below.

Cynthia watched him silently for a few minutes, then crossed the room to stand next to him, trailing her fingers lightly over the keyboard as she went by.

He glanced around. “Do you play?”

“Not anymore. I took lessons for years; my first nanny insisted on it and no one else cared enough to stop them.” She shrugged. “I don’t think I could even read a piece of sheet music now. I heard Alexandra playing, though. It was lovely.”

“Yes. One of her many acquired talents. Born in the dirt, she worked very hard at being a lady.” He gestured around them.

“But you love her.”

“Yes,” he whispered, closing his eyes briefly, before opening them to stare out at the brightly lit night beyond the window. “Sixteen,” he said, without looking back.

Cynthia frowned. “Sixteen what?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “You asked how old Alexandra was when she was turned. She was sixteen. I found her much later, in Paris during the Revolution.” He shrugged and turned back to the window. “I killed her Sire and made her mine.”

“I see,” Cyn said, not knowing what else to say.

“It was a long time, ago, Cyn. A different time, a different culture. You would do well to remember that if you’re going to spend time around vampires.”

“I know. I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did.” He turned completely, giving her a wistful smile. “But I forgive you.”

Cynthia bristled automatically and Raphael chuckled. “Delightful,” he said. He touched her cheek with one cool finger, sliding it over her jaw and down to her neck, where he stroked it twice over the gentle swell of her jugular. “Delightful.”

Cynthia swallowed, torn between wanting those cool fingers to touch her some more and wanting to get as far away as possible. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “Are you going to wipe my memory of tonight?”

Raphael pulled his hand back, clearly unhappy. “You do know a lot about us, don’t you?” He looked thoughtful, then tilted his head, as though listening. “Duncan is waiting for you downstairs. He has assembled Alexandra’s security team and will stay with you while you talk to them.”

“I’ll need some privacy; they have to be interviewed individually.”

“Whatever you need. Duncan will see to it.” He pulled a thick white business card from an inside pocket and handed it to her. “Should you want to get in touch with me . . . for any reason . . . you may call that number. I expect to receive regular updates on your investigation, and I don’t have to tell you that time is of the essence. We will proceed with our own inquiries from this end, and should we discover anything pertinent to your own efforts, I will get a message to you.”

Cynthia understood a dismissal when she heard one. “I should have something for you by tomorrow night, a place to start looking. I, uh . . . thank you, my lord.” He seemed preoccupied, having turned again to stare out the window, and Cynthia took a step toward the door.

“The answer is no, Cyn.”

She looked back at him. “My lord?”

He stood perfectly still, not even looking at her. “Your memories of this evening will not be erased. You will remember me.”

“Oh,” she said, flustered. “Thank you . . .” But he was lost in his silent study of the night.

RAPHAEL LISTENED to Cynthia’s footsteps as she walked around the balcony and down the stairs. Her scent lingered in the room; not perfume, but something lighter. Shampoo perhaps. Something fresh and clean that barely registered, even to his extraordinary sense of smell. His eyes shifted when he heard the side door open and close, looking to the right where the driveway curled around the house. He could barely make out the two figures, Cyn and Duncan, as they made their way down the drive. It was more their shadows he watched, not them. An engine started up and he smiled to himself. Duncan had ordered a car brought around so she wouldn’t have to walk back through the trees. As the sound of the engine faded away, he turned back to the room that was so much Alexandra’s. The entire house had been built and decorated with her in mind, but it was this room more than any other where she felt comfortable. She’d personally picked out every piece of furniture, selected every delicate fancy of porcelain crowding the tabletops. The piano had been the crowning glory; he could still hear her delighted laughter when she’d woken to find it installed, already tuned and waiting for her elegant hands. One of the few times, she’d exhibited a genuine affection for him.

He sat down at the piano and sighed, running his long fingers lightly over the keys. Unlike Cyn, he’d never had a single lesson. There had been no time for such things where he grew up, no money to pay for it if there had been. He pulled the cover down over the keys, resting his hands on the shining black lacquer. Hands that were soft and well-cared for, nails manicured and buffed. A gentleman’s hands, not the hands of a peasant. Not anymore.

Muscovite Russia, 1472

VADIM NESTOR closed the door of the ancient barn, dropping the heavy bar down to secure it for the night. They’d had a problem with wolves lately, damn clever things that seemed to find their way in through every hole or crack in the worn siding. He’d spent a goodly amount of time today, filling in holes dug under the walls, patching any gap he found. It would be hard enough trying to get through the winter with only the two healthy animals left to them; they didn’t need to lose any more to the damn wolves. He sighed, gazing out over fields lying fallow, fields that would have been ready for late harvest if his older brothers had not gone off in search of better lands, a better life than this hard scrabble farm. Vadim hoped they found it, but he’d heard sorry tales of harsh servitude in the new lands.

“Volodya!” His little sister’s voice carried across the hard, dry yard as she ran to him, her long, black hair flying loose from its proper braid, her pale legs flashing as she lifted her skirts away from the dusty ground.

“Sasha,” he scolded, “you must remember to act like a lady. What would Arkady think if he saw you running across the yard like a hoyden?”

“Pffft, what do I care about that old man? He stinks of pigs. I don’t care what Father says, I’ll run away to Novgorad like our brothers before I marry that toothless relic.” She looked up at him, her face flushed with the cold air, her black gypsy eyes, so like his own, sparkling with mischief. How he loved her, and how he hated the idea of her going to the bed of a pig farmer.

“Softly,” he said, pulling her around the side of the barn, away from the shabby house where no doubt their father was watching their every movement. “You mustn’t speak so where Father can hear you.”

She leaned into him, resting her head against the middle of his chest. “I’m not afraid of him. Besides, you’ll protect me, won’t you, Volodya? You won’t let him hurt me again.”

“No,” he whispered fiercely, drawing her into his embrace. “No, he will not lay hand on you ever again.” He kissed the top of her head. “But we must be smart, dushenka. This is still his farm, no matter that I do all the work. He could throw us both off the land, and then what would we do? We’d have to find somewhere else to live, somewhere to work. I worry about our brothers, worry they’re little better than slaves working for strangers.”

She shivered in his arms. “Papa wants rid of me,” she said in a small voice. “He says my only value is between my legs and Arkady will pay good silver.”

Rage burned in his chest until he thought he’d choke on it. “I’ll kill him first, Sasha. You won’t be wasted bearing brats for an old man.”

It was her turn to urge caution as she put her fingers over his lips. “Sshhhh, Volodya! Don’t say such things. Father Feodor says God is listening.”

“Then let God show us the way, little sister. Or I will find my own.”

IT WAS FULL dark outside when Vadim sat up straight, shivering in the cold air as his furs fell away. Something had woken him. Was it wolves? Were they at the barn again? He listened, reluctant to venture outside. The animals came in packs, vicious beasts with no fear of man, especially not one armed with nothing more than a pitchfork.

Something was moving on the other side of the thin wall. Not the snuffling padding of wolves, but softer, more furtive. Feminine laughter lilted close to his head, and he leapt from his pallet, staring at the wall. Sasha? Was she outside on a night like this? He raced for the door, grabbing his heavy tunic as he ran, then chanced to look across the room where his parents slept, where Sasha lay deep in slumber on her pallet next to the fireplace.

The door rattled softly and he dropped his tunic, shuffling backward on all fours, reduced to a terrified animal. Something was out there. Something unnatural. His skin shivered over his bones and his breath froze in his lungs as he stared at the pitiful wooden latch holding the door closed. It shook slightly as something pressed against it from the outside. The stink of sweat filled his nostrils as his own fear ran down his chest to his belly.

There was more laughter, then. Louder. Not just a woman anymore, but men too, laughing like animals braying in the night. He heard the cows lowing and cried out at the thought of the poor animals helpless against whatever ravening beast was upon them.

“What?” His father’s gruff voice sounded from the alcove. “Vadim, something’s at the animals.” He sat up in bed and began pulling on his boots, his lip curling with disgust when he saw his youngest son crouched on the floor in fear. “What’s the matter with you, boy? Afraid of a few wolves? I’ll show you what—”

Vadim jumped up and grabbed the old man, wrestling him back to the bed before he blundered into the night and cost them all their lives. “Listen! Listen, Father! It is not wolves, not this time. Listen, you fool!”

“Fool?” his father roared, bringing one thick arm around to knock Vadim to the floor. “You dare call me fool?” He stormed over to the door, grabbing the pitchfork as he yanked it open. “I’ll show you—”

Vadim shouted in horror as the creature grabbed his father’s outstretched arm, jerking him out of the house and sinking impossible teeth into his neck. Blood sprayed over the old man’s chest, his body convulsing like one of Arkady’s pigs at the slaughter. Sasha’s screams joined their mother’s, jolting Vadim from his own shock. Their mother streaked by, leaving the safety of their home to beat on the creature holding her husband. Sasha followed, clinging to her mother’s arm, trying to drag her back into the house. Vadim jumped up and grabbed the fallen pitchfork, charging into the yard and stabbing at the monsters, shouting at his mother, at Sasha, to get back. But it was too late. The dreadful creatures were everywhere in the yard, tossing his father’s body between them, playing with him as the barn cat played with a dead mouse. His mother’s bloody form was draped over the grisly arm of another, its fangs buried in her neck and making obscene slurping sounds as the life drained from her body. Vadim swung about in terror. Sasha. Where was his Sasha? A shrill scream spun him fully around and he moaned in horror. Two of the creatures had her between them, their hands crawling over her body, ripping her bodice to bare her breasts, their foul mouths closing over tender flesh. Sasha’s terror-filled eyes found his and she mouthed his name, no longer able to scream.

He howled, raising the pitchfork and thrusting it at her attackers, one of them shrieking in agony as the sharp implement buried itself in his side. The ungodly creature turned to snarl at Vadim with gore-filled teeth, and he thrust the pitchfork mindlessly, again and again, until they were forced to let go of his sister and deal with him.

“Run, Sasha,” he screamed. But she lay limp and lifeless, fallen to the ground only to be taken by yet another monster who lapped the blood from her torn neck like the sweetest cream. Vadim fell to his knees, numb with horror and loss, waiting for the creatures to take him, to tear his throat out and let him join his family in death.

A woman’s laughter drifted over his shoulder. He shrank from the sound of it, watching fearfully as the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen circled around him, her hips swaying seductively beneath a whore’s tight dress, her tongue sliding out to lick full, red lips.

“Don’t,” she snapped.

Vadim twisted around to find one of the creatures backing away, hissing at the woman, its eyes glowing red in the dark night.

“I want this one,” the woman said, jerking Vadim’s attention back to her. “He’s pretty.” She strolled around him, running a delicate hand through the silky black length of his hair, along the breadth of his shoulders. “And so strong.” She leaned her face into his and he almost gagged on the carrion stench of her breath. “Would you like to live forever, pretty one?”

Vadim shook his head in denial, fighting to break away from the impossibly strong grip of those delicate hands.

“Too late,” she whispered. And then she laughed again, her shrieks rising into the night sky as those red, red lips opened and her fangs sank into his throat.

HE STUMBLED down the rutted track, weak with hunger, with unquenchable thirst. Dried blood caked his clothing, his hair . . . he lifted his hands and stared at the crusting of black beneath his nails. Not the clean earth of mother Russia, but blood. An endless amount of blood. Wolves followed along in the underbrush, whining pitifully, drawn by the smell of flesh, but confused by the scent of danger exuded by this pitiful remnant of a human.

He was only peripherally aware of the wolves. All that mattered was satisfying this overwhelming hunger, a craving as if he’d never before eaten in his life. He heard human voices and lifted his head. A monastery shone in the darkness, candles lighting its windows, the sound of singing echoing over the green fields surrounding it. He blinked, suddenly confused, not remembering how he came to be standing on this road covered in blood, knowing only that he was empty, hollowed out by grief. He howled his anguish to the night sky and the wolves shrank away, their bellies pressed to the ground in fear.

“Jesu Christu!” A monk hurried out from the gates, a lantern held out before him to light his way. “My son,” he said, his voice filled with a terrible compassion when he saw Vadim. “My son, do not despair, God is with you. He is with all of us.” The monk circled him with strong arms, ignoring the bloody stench surrounding him. “Come,” he said. “Come inside. We will find a way. God will help us.” He put his sturdy shoulder beneath Vadim’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “A short way, my son. A little further to the succor of God himself.”

Their progress was slow, but steady, down the dirt pathway and back through the gates of the monastery. Vadim looked up and spied the chapel with its cross and welcoming light and cried out, falling once more to his knees. It was a desperate cry, full of pain and grief.

“What terrible fate has been visited on you, brother, that the sight of God’s house reduces you to such a state.” The monk eased Vadim once again to his feet, guiding him to the guest quarters where wayward travelers were cared for, supporting him as he fell to the small cot, then pulling back the rough woven blanket. “Rest,” the monk said. “I’ve water and bandages. And some food when you’ve recovered enough.” He bustled about the sparse room, dashing outside to fetch water, then back to the bedside where he set about tending Vadim’s many horrific wounds.

“It is a miracle you live, my son. God’s miracle. Surely he has a special purpose in mind for you that he has saved you and sent you to us.” Vadim’s eyes fluttered open as the monk began bathing his face, his tongue lapping out almost without volition to taste the skin of the other man’s arm. “What is your name, my son?” the monk continued talking. “What shall I call you?”

Vadim stared at the monk with eyes empty of everything but grief. “No matter,” the monk assured him. “I shall call you Raphael. It means ‘saved by God,’ and surely you have been saved by Him for some great purpose. Do you like that name?” The monk dropped the bloody rag into the basin, then surveyed Vadim’s clothes, what little was left of them. “I’m afraid your clothing is ruined, Raphael. But I shall fetch you one of the brothers’ robes. We’ve none so tall as you, but it will be enough for now. We will make a proper robe for you before long.” He patted his arm. “You wait here and do not fear. You are with us now, Raphael. You are safe. I will be back soon with food and clothing. You rest now.”

VADIM STRETCHED to his full height and gazed around the bloody hall. His savior had been the first to fall, but the others had succumbed readily enough. Holy men, learned men, living by the book, grown soft with their prayers and meditations, no match for the blood thirst of one freshly risen, especially one gifted with the size and strength of a Muscovite farmer.

He licked his lips, the hunger already beginning to gnaw at him anew. Would it never end? Would no amount of blood slake this thirst? He felt the pull of his mistress, far away and to the west, but turned from it easily enough. She was not calling him. If he survived, if he grew in strength, she might one day summon him to her side, and to her bed. But for now, he was alone. He spied the grisly corpse of the monk who’d found him and felt a momentary sadness. The man had tried to help him, and in the end had helped him in the only way he could. His blood had been rich and plentiful. Still, death seemed a poor recompense for his efforts. Vadim stared at the monk’s body. Vadim? No, he thought. No more. Vadim Nestor had died with his family.

What was the name the monk had given him? Raphael. Saved by God. A small tribute to his rescuer then, a fitting gesture. He felt the sun over the horizon like a warm wind on his face and made his way downstairs to the wine cellar where it was cool and dark. As he fell into nothingness, he whispered his new name. Raphael.