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

 

D.B.Reynolds Amerikai vámpírok sorozat angol nyelven

 

Raphael 1

 

Chapter Thirty-one

RAPHAEL SHOT THE cuffs on his crisp, white shirt, then stood in front of the mirror and began knotting the length of blue silk that was his tie. The door opened behind him and Duncan walked in, already dressed in the standard gray pinstripe. Raphael had guests this evening. Complex negotiations were underway over commercial rights in Santa Barbara and northward up the coast. While the Malibu estate was Raphael’s favorite residence, especially during winter, he ruled all of the western territories. The entire vampire community within the bounds of his territory was under his authority, including all commercial ventures. Being a wise ruler, and a good businessman, he shared the profits of these various ventures with the subordinates he necessarily had to trust to run them on a day-to-day basis. Moreover, while there were nowhere near as many vampires as the popular culture would have one believe, there were enough that order had to be maintained, and Raphael could not personally oversee such a large territory. He relied on his people and rewarded them generously for their loyalty.

His guest tonight was one such. One who felt, perhaps, that his loyalty deserved a bit more freedom of action than Raphael was willing to grant.

Duncan entered the room quietly, crossing to stand nearby.

Raphael eyed him in the mirror. “Where is she?”

“Ms. Leighton departed the estate a few minutes after three o’clock this afternoon and arrived at her condo almost immediately thereafter. The guards at the gate had no orders to detain her; she insisted she was only going home to change clothes.”

“And the guard at the condo?”

“She shot him, my lord.”

Raphael stopped tying and looked over his shoulder at Duncan.

Duncan nodded. “Painful, but not fatal. She actually made him quite comfortable before she left, even provided pain medication. Which is why it was nearly an hour before her departure was noted.”

Raphael frowned and turned back to the mirror and his tie. “What is it about her, Duncan?” he said finally. “She fights me at every turn, then nearly dies defending me. She comes more than willingly to my bed, then runs the very next morning. She wants nothing to do with me, and yet I find her . . . fascinating.”

“She is a beautiful woman, my lord.”

“Beauty is cheaply had, Duncan.”

“You said it yourself, my lord. She confounds you. She is, to put it bluntly, a pain in the ass. One such as you would find that irresistible.”

Raphael finished his tie, smoothing it down over his deep chest. He looked up. “One such as me?”

“You are a vampire lord, Sire. Thousands of immortal lives continue by your will alone. And yet, this human woman resists you.”

Raphael studied his lieutenant thoughtfully. “You surprise me, Duncan.”

Duncan tilted his head in acknowledgment.

“I want her home and office watched.”

“It is already done.”

“Inform me the moment she is found. No matter what am I doing, Duncan.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Are the others here?”

“In the conference room, Sire.”

“Let us begin, then.”

They took the elevator from the underground level, where Raphael maintained his living quarters, to the second floor conference room. There were only a very few participants at this meeting, all of them Vampire. Raphael smiled to see that two of his visitor’s party avoided the expansive windows along the one wall. An ingrained habit that was hard to break.

His visitor stood as soon as Raphael entered the room, turning to greet him with a lingering bow intended to convey deep respect. He was an average-looking man with the unruly hair and dark skin of his half-African ancestry.

Raphael studied him for a silent moment. “Pushkin,” he acknowledged finally and continued to the head of the table.

 

Chapter Thirty-two

THE DEEPER THEY wound into the canyon, the more Cyn began to think this whole plan had been a mistake. By the time they pulled up to the rambling ranch-style house, she was ready to drop her friend off and drive away. This evening made no sense on so many levels. First of all, it had finally penetrated her thick head that it was unusual at best, and highly irresponsible at worst, for Benita to take her along to a party using her undercover identity. What if someone recognized Cyn? Or became curious enough to check her out? Benita’s real ID might be carefully shielded, but Cynthia’s wasn’t. A simple Google search would turn up the salient facts of her life—her father, her LAPD past, her current P.I. work. So why didn’t that bother Benita?

And if that weren’t troubling enough, the knowledge that she shouldn’t have run out on Raphael was like an itch in the back of her brain. She felt guilty, stupid, childish, and downright cowardly. You don’t fuck a man’s brains out, then disappear the next morning. That was a guy’s trick. A sleazy guy’s trick. And it wasn’t as if she’d been unwilling. So what if she’d taken some of his blood. They’d both been bleeding; it would have been hard not to take a little sip. And besides, this wasn’t the first time she’d taken a bite out of a lover. Cynthia had never been one for vanilla sex. Not that she wanted anyone to tie her up and beat her, but Nick rarely walked away from one of their encounters without at least a few tooth marks as a memento, and often a lot more than that. Besides, Cyn was honest enough to admit that it wasn’t the blood that had her freaked out, it was the very fact that she was sitting here worrying about him, worried about how he’d react when he found her gone. He had gotten inside her defenses somehow, and that was far more troubling than a little blood.

“Yo, Cyn. You gonna sit there all night, or are we gonna do this?”

Cynthia looked up, startled, at Benita’s voice. Her car door was open, and a young, buxom female valet was regarding her with a mixture of boredom and impatience. “Oh, sorry,” she said. Leaving the keys in the ignition, she started to climb out, but something made her pause. It was that bad feeling again, the sense that something wasn’t quite right.

“Listen, I’d rather park it myself. Where can I do that?”

Benita groaned. She was already out of the car and heading for the front door, the headlights casting unflattering shadows on her stocky form. “Relax, chica. Give the nice girl your keys. Look around, it’s in good company.”

Cyn looked around. Benita was right. The yard in front of the house was packed with every model and color of Mercedes, BMW, even a Rolls or two. A lot of cars. Too many cars. The long, winding drive back to the canyon road was lined with parked vehicles and a steady stream of valets were moving cars from the yard out to the road. This was a big party. All the more reason to have her own car at hand.

She took the keys out of the ignition and walked over to her friend. “You know, Benita, I’m thinking this probably isn’t a good idea, after all. It’s been a long few days. I might head on home—”

“And leave me here? Thanks so much, Cyn. No way. You’re staying, girl.”

Cynthia frowned. The stench of this evening was becoming stronger. “You’re right,” she said easily. “I wasn’t thinking. Look, you go on in, I’m going to get my jacket from the car.”

Benita looked like she’d argue, but then shrugged and kept walking. Cyn watched her stroll across the dirt yard, high heels exaggerating the sway of her hips in the tight, red sheath she’d donned for the evening’s festivities. Cynthia couldn’t remember ever seeing Benita in a dress before. She was more of a jeans and polo shirt kind of gal. But she was a friend, and Cyn wasn’t about to abandon her on a suspicion. Circling around the Land Rover, Cyn ignored the impatient valet and opened the back hatch. Letting the door half-close over her, she pulled the duffel bag closer and rummaged inside, pulling out her boots, then quickly unsnapping the strap securing the Glock in the shoulder holster where she’d tucked it into a corner of the bag. Pushing the door open, she sat on the edge of the cargo compartment, kicked off her pretty, new heels and tossed them over her shoulder, donning her cowboy boots instead. They weren’t her first choice for a party dress, but they were a hell of a lot more reliable if she had to run for it. Next, she pulled on her leather jacket. Again, with its buckles and metal detailing, it wasn’t much of a party coverup, but too bad. It had nice deep pockets. With a quick check for the valet, she grabbed her weapon and jammed it into one of two inside pockets. It didn’t fit, not really, but close enough, and Cyn had no intention of going into that house unarmed.

As she closed the hatch and walked around to the driver’s door, the valet reappeared, raising her eyebrows at the changes in Cyn’s attire. Right, like Cyn cared what a teenaged car parker thought about her wardrobe. “How much to leave it right here?” Cyn asked bluntly. These kids lived on their tips.

“I can’t let you leave it right here,” the girl said meaningfully.

“Okay. How about over there?” Cyn pointed at a fence about thirty yards away. “I’ll parallel park right next to the fence, out of the way.” She opened her wallet, making sure the girl saw the thick wad of crisp green money. One lesson Cyn had absorbed from her rare visits with her father . . . always carry cash. Her fingers began ruffling through the money thoughtfully. She looked up at the girl. “Couple hundred?” The valet’s eyes widened and she looked around carefully. None of the other attendants were in sight.

“Sure.”

Cyn extracted two one hundred-dollar bills and handed them over, being careful to shield the transaction from casual observers. “I keep the keys,” she confirmed.

The girl barely nodded, already tucking the money away.

Cyn parked the car and pocketed the keys, then strolled around the outside of the house looking at doors and windows before climbing the shallow porch and joining the party.

 

Chapter Thirty-three

THE THIRD TIME someone tripped over her feet, Cyn said screw the upholstery and curled her legs up beneath her on the short leather couch. Hell, her boots probably cost more than the damn couch did anyway, which was odd because the house itself, with its acres of pasturage, hadn’t come cheap. Of course, it obviously hadn’t come with any taste either. A sprawl of Southwestern design, it featured every kitschy decorating element in garish abundance. Antlers of various ruminants hung on the walls, interspersed with an assortment of Southwestern art, none of it good. Black and white cow patterns graced—if such a word could be used in conjunction with cows—not only the throw rugs scattered about, but much of the furniture as well. And completing the questionable theme were chairs that looked like tractor seats, saddles and, of all things, camp stools.

She glanced at her watch. Almost nine o’clock already. She’d spent nearly two hours playing wallflower and watching the ebb and flow of the party. And there was a lot of ebb and flow going on. Russian music pounded loudly, pulsing through rooms packed almost claustrophobically with men in expensive but ill-fitting suits and women who’d clearly spent a fortune on their clothes, but who’d never met a designer they didn’t love. Which meant there was way too much jewelry and not enough style involved. Not that it seemed to bother anyone but Cyn. There was an almost manic quality to the gaiety, a level of excitement that seemed unwarranted from what she’d observed. Party goers kept disappearing into the back rooms of the house and reappearing later, usually after only a few minutes, but sometimes much longer. Cyn figured there were probably drugs being handed out in the nether regions of the house, but she had no interest in finding out for sure. Drugs had never been her substance of choice. She didn’t even drink that much anymore. It was, as always, a matter of control, and Cyn liked to be in control. And then there was the whole disgusting idea of actually snorting anything up one’s nose. Ick.

She swung her long legs back to the floor with a thump, admiring her boots as she did so. Maybe they didn’t do much for the narrow, black knit dress, but they sure as hell blended with the decor in this house. Time to blow this party, Cyn. A vice cop would have had a field day in this place, but there was nothing here for her. Time to find Benita and make like the birds. She stood and looked around with a frown; she hadn’t seen her friend in some time. Damn.

She’d taken a single step toward the back of the house when a meaty arm came around her waist, nearly tugging her off her feet. “Hey!”

“Where’ve you been hiding, pretty thing. Come on, I pick you.”

Cyn flinched at the rank breath of her captor, leaning away to glare at him. And froze in surprise. Vampire. Shit! They weren’t doing drugs in the back; this was a feeding hole just like Lonnie’s beach house. But . . .

The truth jolted her. Raphael had said all along that Alexandra’s kidnapping was the first move in an attempted takeover. Someone had gotten to Kolinsky, who’d blackmailed Judkins to get Barry on the estate and set the kidnapping plot in motion. And that someone was running a feedlot right here on the ranch, right in the middle of Raphael’s territory. She had to get out of here now. And where the hell was Benita?

The vampire was all but carrying her down the dim hallways, passing closed doors on every side. It was like a teenage grope party at someone’s parents’ house, or maybe a whorehouse, and Cyn had no intention of joining either activity. She grabbed a passing doorway and dug in her heels, jerking the surprised vampire to an abrupt halt. He spun around and gave her a dull-witted look of puzzlement, as if he couldn’t figure out why they’d stopped moving.

“I have to find my friend,” she explained. “Benita.”

A light clicked on in the blank eyes. “Benita? Sure, I know Benita. I’m not allowed to touch her though. Boss’s orders.”

Cyn’s heart lurched sickeningly. Benita said her target was someone higher than Kolinsky. Good God, would she go so far as to let her target feed from her? And if she had, could she be trusted anymore? This kept getting worse and worse. And Cyn was a lousy actress.

“Okay, listen,” she said. “This is a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here, I didn’t know it was this kind of party, so maybe I’ll just turn around right now and go home.” She put action to her words, spinning on one heel, intending to go straight to her car, find a clear spot and call Raphael. She took a step and was pulled up short. The vampire was like a rooted tree holding her in place.

“But I’m hungry,” he whined. “Boss said we could take whoever we wanted here.”

Cynthia took a deep breath. “Look. I bet your boss only lets you take volunteers, right? Because it’s against the law to force someone, and if you break the law, your boss could get in big trouble, couldn’t he? Isn’t that how it works? Now, I know you’re hungry, but there are lots of perfectly willing donors out there. Tell you what, why don’t I go with you and we’ll pick someone out. Someone pretty. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Another girl?” He grinned eagerly.

Cyn blinked at him in confusion. “What?” she said, and then it dawned on her. Oh, geez, what was it with guys and the lesbian fantasy? “You bet,” she said. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Creep. But it got them moving in the right direction.

“Yeah, I—”

“And what is this, Tommy?” A new voice intruded from the now-open door they’d just passed. Tommy paused, stopping Cyn dead in her tracks yet again.

“I got a pretty one, Albin.”

“I can see that.”

Cyn froze when she heard the name. Albin. Raphael’s traitor, the vamp who had killed Matias and kidnapped Alexandra. He grabbed Cynthia’s other arm as Tommy tightened his fingers and yanked her closer. Both vamps were holding her painfully tight, and Cyn found herself hoping they’d somehow forget about her and go after each other before they turned her into a human wishbone.

“Tommy,” Albin said softly. That’s all he said. Just the name. Cynthia could feel the slight pulse of his power, could hear the threat beneath the bland voice.

Blowing a long, rancid breath into her face that nearly triggered her gag reflex, Tommy let go. As he shoved past angrily, Cyn knew her best chance of an easy escape had just stormed away.

“Ms. Leighton,” Albin purred. Her heart jumped hard against her ribs. “Someone wants to talk to you.”

“Look,” she said breathlessly, desperately pretending she had no idea who he was. “I didn’t know what this place was. Not that I care. It’s your business. Let me go home and I’ll happily forget this whole evening.”

“Very amusing.” Albin’s voice was hard as he yanked her down the hall, shoving her ahead of him and into a room at the very back of the house. Cyn tripped forward, struggling to stay on her feet. The heavy weight of the gun in her pocket slammed into her hip, and Cyn could only hope she’d have a chance to use it.

“Chica!”

She straightened in shock. Benita lounged on a king-sized bed, her shoes kicked off onto the floor, one strap of the tight, red dress, hanging down her arm, baring the brown areola of a plump breast to curve above the fabric. And she wasn’t alone. Stretched out next to her, one heavy arm draped around her shoulders, was another vampire. Handsomely Latin with fine features and straight, black hair, the vamp grinned at Cynthia with bright, white teeth, fangs fully displayed.

“Benita?” she whispered.

Benita laughed too loudly, waving a dismissive hand at Cyn’s obvious shock. “Don’t look so surprised, girl. Like you haven’t shared a little blood in your day. All those gorgeous vamps hanging around Malibu? You’d be crazy not to.”

“No,” Cyn said, finding it hard to breathe. “No, I never did.”

Benita gave her an angry look. “Always so much better than the rest of us, aren’t you? You always were, with your Daddy’s money and your fancy clothes. Well, honey, money won’t get you out of this one. I was telling my friend here about your client. You know, the one with the kidnapped girl? He’s very interested.”

“I never said it was a girl,” Cyn said softly, a sick feeling in her stomach.

Benita looked at her, confused. “What? Sure you did. You said they kidnapped his girlfriend or something.”

“No, Benita. I never did.” She shook off Albin’s hand and stood straight. “How long, Beni? A couple of months? Is that why you switched to the Russians, or did it happen afterward?” she asked bitterly. “Any cops die yet, Officer Carballo?”

“Hijo de tu puta madre! What do you know about it?” Benita said, pulling away from the vamp and scrabbling across the bed toward Cynthia. “I don’t have the money to go off and be a fancy private dick. I had to stay and make a living! They pimped me out to the gangs like a fucking whore! At least this way I’m fucking who I want to instead of some slimy tattooed pendejo who wants a five dollar blow job in the backseat.”

The Latino vampire suddenly hauled Benita back against him, whispering in her ear as he slid one long-fingered hand up her thigh and between her legs. Benita moaned softly, nuzzling into his neck. Over her head, the vamp’s dark eyes laughed mockingly at Cyn.

She turned her face away, disgusted, devastated by her friend’s betrayal.

“You are most fortunate, Ms. Leighton.” Benita’s vampire spoke with a heavy Castilian accent. “My Sire wants you for himself.”

“Not fucking likely,” Cyn muttered viciously.

The vampire laughed. “On the contrary. It is almost a certainty.” His face hardened as he signaled Albin with a jerk of his head. The red-haired vamp dug his fingers into her arm once again, yanking her out of the room and down yet another hallway as Cyn searched frantically for a way to escape. She couldn’t let them lock her away until this master whoever showed up; she needed to get out of here before that happened. They passed a few open doors and Cyn saw shuttered windows. When she’d circled the house earlier, she’d seen a couple of doors at this end. One was a sliding glass door that probably fed into another room, but the other had been an ordinary back door. Logic said it would lead off a hallway of some sort. If she could find that door and distract Albin long enough to break away, she could get outside and make a run for it.

And then what, Cyn? she mocked her own plan. These are vampires. They’re stronger, faster, and, oh yeah, they can see in the fucking dark. Okay, so it was a chance in hell, but it was the only one she had.

Albin stopped her with a jerk and pushed her ahead of him into an empty room. Didn’t this guy ever just walk into a room? Did he always have to push? Cyn stumbled forward, falling onto the bed. She immediately jumped up, putting her back against the wall and watching warily as the pale vampire closed the door and walked slowly towards her. His gaze upon her was hot and hungry, eyes gleaming like pennies in the low light, fangs sliding out in a grotesque parody of arousal.

“I thought I was . . . that is, I thought your master . . .”

He gave a low, scathing laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself, whore. He wants your brain, not your blood. If your friend in there is right—”

“She’s not my friend,” Cyn muttered. “Not anymore.”

“Ah. Betrayal. It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“What would you know about it?” she snapped. “Raphael trusted you and you betrayed him—”

His arm shot out, fingers wrapping around her throat, choking off her words, her air. “I was betrayed long before this, human. We fought wars together, survived unimaginable odds, and he offered me nothing more than the scraps from his table. Do not speak to me of betrayal. You couldn’t begin to understand what true betrayal is.”

Cyn scratched frantically at his fingers, gasping for breath. In a desperate move, she kicked out with one pointy-toed boot, connecting solidly with his shin. Albin howled, letting go of her throat long enough to backhand her across the room. She hit the bed hard and bounced to the floor where she lay choking, sucking in long, frantic breaths. Rolling to her knees, she scrabbled away on all fours, tucking herself into a corner beneath the window.

“You will regret that, bitch.” Albin stalked toward her, hands curled into claws, fangs sliding from a mouth half-opened in a snarl.

Cyn scooted farther back into the corner, tugging on the leather of her heavy jacket with shaking hands, struggling to reach her gun. To hell with a plan, to hell with trying to be discreet. She was going to blow this motherfucker’s brains all over the room and get the hell away from this place.

Frantic fingers found the gun’s cool metal. She slid it out of the inside pocket, using the bulky jacket as cover, then slowly reached in with her other hand and worked the slide.

Albin grabbed her with both hands, fisting huge handfuls of leather. In a single movement, he yanked her up and off her feet and his mouth went to her neck. Cyn screamed as his fangs pierced her flesh, screamed again as she felt the pull of his mouth and her awareness began to fade. The gun was heavy as she dragged it up and forced it between their bodies. Her hands barely had the strength to pull the trigger.

She shrieked in pain as the gun went off, the recoil kicking back against her ribs. Albin’s mouth sagged in shock and he staggered back, gaping in disbelief at the small rosette of red blooming on the front of his shirt. Cyn stared at it blankly, then saw his gaze come up, his eyes the color of hot metal. She lifted her gun in shaking hands and pulled the trigger again and again, until it clicked empty, until the vampire fell to the filthy carpet. She leaned against the wall, the gun hanging from one hand, waiting for someone to rush through the door. The shots had been loud. But no one came. The music, the incessant, pounding music had drowned it all.

She straightened slowly. Blood was pouring from the wound on her neck. But not gushing, she thought groggily, not spurting. He hadn’t pierced the jugular, only worried at her neck like a dog on a bone. She grabbed a pillow and pulled off the pillow case. It was stained and smelled of too many sweaty heads, but it was the only thing handy. Wrapping it around her neck as tightly as she dared, she tucked her now empty gun back into her pocket and struggled to think clearly. Her vision kept fading in and out, and she was shivering with shock. Shock. That was her greatest danger right now. Blood loss and shock.

She struggled past the window, aiming for the door. Window. She blinked stupidly at the shuttered window, then reached out a trembling hand and opened the shutters. She wanted to weep with relief. A quick, desperate search told her the window wasn’t designed to open, so she took a reverse grip on her gun and slammed it into the glass. Jagged shards sliced her fingers and sprayed into the room, but she hardly noticed. She knocked as much of the shattered pane away as she could, then lumped the dusty comforter over the frame and hefted herself up and out.

She fell nearly headfirst onto the cold ground, rolling over to slump against the wall, exhausted by the effort. Laughter sounded somewhere nearby, and she jumped as a car engine revved and tires spun on the gravel drive. Her head swung in the direction of the sound. That was her target. She started forward, keeping to the shadows near the house, pausing at the slamming of a door, at an angry shout, at a scream of pain. She closed her eyes dizzily, wondering if anyone had heard her own screams.

As she drew closer to the front of the house, the activity level increased, but so did the noise. The music was shaking the walls, people laughing and talking only inches away from where her bloody hands clung to the side of the house. She sank to the ground, panting with effort. Headlights splashed over the yard and the white fence loomed in the darkness. Her Land Rover was parked near a fence. She turned her head quickly, biting back a groan at the pain in her neck, feeling the blood trickling from beneath the makeshift bandage to drip down her chest. A few more yards, Cyn. You can do it.

Yes, she could do it. She’d be damned if she was going to die out here in the dark like a wounded animal.

Drawing a deep breath, she made a staggering dash for the fence, bending to slip between the rails, nearly falling into the field beyond as her head spun from blood loss. Remembering her first aid training, she paused, hanging her head between her knees until her sight returned with nauseating clarity. Her head came up as a sudden flurry of cars arrived, the valets rushing out from the porch. Vampires. Well-dressed and confident. These were not the Tommies of the vampire world. She was pretty sure her inquisitor was in one of those cars; she needed to get going.

It was dark near the fence, so she hurried as best she could, one hand gliding along the lowest rail, using it for support, for balance. Searching for her car, she saw there were far more vehicles parked here now than when she had arrived. She had a moment of panic, thinking her car would be blocked in, but then the big Land Rover came into sight. There wasn’t much room, but there was enough.

Cyn pulled the keys out of her pocket, using the key in the lock rather than the remote which would have caused the lights to flash. She slipped inside quickly, pulling the door closed, hoping no one had noticed the dome light through the tinted windows. Sobbing with relief at having gotten this far, and terrified that at any moment someone would discover her missing, she maneuvered herself painfully across the low console and into the driver’s seat. She rested her head on the steering wheel for a few precious moments, waiting for her vision to clear, for the nausea to pass. Once she started the car, there’d be no room for error. There was a good chance someone would notice the car leaving, but there were people coming and going all the time. And the noise of the party should cover the sound of the engine.

She turned the key, her eyes on the rearview mirror, which she’d angled to reflect the front of the house. No one seemed to notice. The valets were still rushing around trying to park all the cars that had arrived with the big boss. Cyn eased the car into reverse, backed up as far as she could, then spun the wheel hard to the left and hit the accelerator.

 

Chapter Thirty-four

RAPHAEL STOOD IN his second-floor study and stared out at the dark night. Pushkin was stalling. Oh, he’d been the very picture of respect and courtesy, not too demanding, a trusted vampire petitioning his lord. But Raphael had seen early on that no matter what he proposed, the other vampire would not agree. He would consider. He would consult. But there would be no agreement tonight. Which left only one conclusion. Pushkin was stalling for time.

Time for what? Raphael wondered. The easiest answer was that it was Pushkin who had suborned Albin and kidnapped Alexandra. All along he’d known the kidnapping was a feint, that Alexandra was nothing more than bait to pull him into a trap. But it was one thing to suspect and another to act on that suspicion. Even a vampire lord as powerful as Raphael could not lightly afford to alienate someone like Pushkin.

And although Pushkin might aspire to rule the western territories, even if he succeeded in destroying Raphael, it would not be Pushkin who rose to the top. Powerful vampires from all over the country would contest the succession. Pushkin wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy the fruits of his betrayal. Not that there would be any fruits. Raphael had no intention of permitting this insurrection to succeed.

The door opened behind him and he looked up, seeing Duncan in the reflection of the glass as he entered the room. He was hurrying, and Raphael turned around, watching him curiously.

“My lord,” Duncan began. “Ms. Leighton has returned to her condo.”

There was an underlying stress in Duncan’s voice and Raphael tensed. “Duncan?”

“My lord, she is injured—”

He never got a chance to finish as Raphael strode from the room, Duncan following. “What happened?” he snarled as they walked.

“Twenty minutes, ago, Sire, maybe less. She was driving herself, erratically, the guards said. Their first thought was that she had been drinking, but then . . . She pulled into her garage, closing the door behind her almost immediately. It took the guards only moments to get inside, but she had already entered her residence.”

He paused and Raphael looked at him sharply. “Blood, my lord. She is obviously badly injured. Blood filled the car and marked her path into the house. The guards called her through the intercom, pounded on doors and windows. There has been no response. My lord, they have disengaged her alarm. I could have human guards—”

“No one touches her,” Raphael snapped. They were climbing into the big SUV by then, Raphael calling for the driver to move before the doors were even closed. Why had she run from him? And what had she run to?

HER CONDO WAS dark when they arrived; the only light was from the garage where Cyn’s Land Rover stood, the driver’s door hanging open. He smelled the blood before he saw it. So much blood. Could a human survive such a loss?

“Get me inside.” He didn’t ask if it was possible. He didn’t care what it would take.

“The other door, Sire,” said one of the guards who’d been watching the condo.

With a whirlwind of movement, the four vampires rounded the building and flowed up the stairs to the second story. The door there was heavy, impassable for a human. It yielded easily to a vampire. The guard didn’t pause, simply pulled back his leg and kicked it in. The thick door flew from the frame, breaking into two pieces, shattering inward.

The scent of blood billowed out from the dark interior, sweet and recognizable. Cyn. The vampires reacted without thought, fangs running out, low rumbles issuing from their throats. Raphael felt his own teeth elongate, felt an answering heaviness in his groin. He whirled with a snarl, forcing the others back, asserting dominance, claiming possession. As he crossed the threshold, Duncan dared to follow, his instincts to protect his Sire stronger than any fear. He stopped short with an agonized grimace.

“My lord, I cannot enter.”

“Then she is still alive,” Raphael growled and strode into the building.

 

Chapter Thirty-five

CYNTHIA LAY IN the darkened stairwell, too weak to climb any farther, fading in and out of consciousness. Some part of her knew if she didn’t move, if she didn’t get help, she would die here on the stairs, her kitchen and its telephone only steps away, steps that might as well be miles.

The drive from the ranch house was a blur of remembered pain and confusion. She’d driven in the dark, afraid to turn on her headlights, afraid they would give her away on the pitch black canyon road. She remembered waking up several times to find herself sitting in the middle of the road, or spun off to one side, groggy and half-sick with pain, having passed out yet again. It was only dumb fortune that her truck never swerved to the steep canyon side, which would have sent her crashing down into the underbrush, not to be found until weeks or months had passed.

It had seemed like hours, but she knew it couldn’t have been that long, before she reached Pacific Coast Highway. It was humming with traffic, cars racing by at freeway speeds, sweeping along its broad curves. Their lights blinded her, confusing her muddled brain. She finally ventured onto the highway, flicking her headlights on at the last moment. Cars swerved around her, honking their horns angrily, drivers eager to get to their own evening’s entertainment, irritated with what they assumed was a drunk weaving perilously in the right lane. Road signs encouraged drivers to report drunks to 911 in Malibu, and she knew it was only a matter of time before some responsible citizen did just that and she was pulled over. But her condo wasn’t very far, a couple of miles, maybe less.

When the lights of her building came into view, tears of relief blurred her already cloudy eyes. Relief quickly dissipated when she saw the shadowy forms lurking outside the building, their heads turning her way at the sound of the Land Rover’s engine as it downshifted for the turn. A spike of fear made her heart race, giving her a clarity of thought that had been lacking on the tortuous drive from the ranch house. She fumbled for the garage opener, holding it in her bloodied hand, praying she could time the opening tightly enough to get inside before the vampires could reach her. The flimsy roll down door wouldn’t stop them for long, but all she needed was enough time to get inside her condo.

Crushing the button from only feet away, she watched the door travel upward, hoping it was enough. Her hood passed under the metal door as it was still retracting and she heard a faint scrape as the roof of the truck cut it too close. She didn’t wait for the door to stop, but hit the button twice in rapid succession. The first hit froze the door in place, the second started its downward motion.

Her ravaged neck shrieked in pain as she shoved out of the truck. She gave the pain voice with a scream of her own, almost falling to the garage floor as a wave of blackness threatened to overtake her. No, no. Not this close. She would not be caught when she’d come so far. Gripping the truck door for balance, she climbed back to her feet and started toward the door to her condo, using the wall, the shelves, anything she touched for balance. Halfway there, she remembered she didn’t have her card key. It was in her duffle, all the way back in the truck cargo space. Her eyes filled with angry tears.

No time. The vampires would be on her soon enough. Too soon. She stumbled to the cabinet on the back wall near the door and yanked it open, tossing aside the nearly empty boxes and useless tools that were stored there. They were window dressing, nothing more, camouflage for the keypad concealed in the dim corner, where no one would think to look. She closed her eyes, resting her throbbing head on the shelf, her hand stroking the keypad.

Almost there, Cyn. She entered the code, and the harsh buzz of the magnetic lock disengaging was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard.

She made a desperate lunge for the door, falling against it, sliding to the floor inside and shoving it closed even as the first massive fist sliced through the metal of her garage door.

How long ago had that been? She huddled on the stairs, listening to her breaths turn to gasps for air, feeling her heart thud in her chest, each beat a little weaker than the last. A sudden crash startled her, sucking away her last breath, sending her heart into a staccato of fear. But no vampire could enter. Not without an invitation. The darkness folded her in its arms. She was safe, in the dark, in the cool dark.

“Kiss me, Cyn,” a familiar honeyed voice murmured.