D.B.Reynolds Amerikai vámpírok sorozat

D.B.Reynolds Amerikai vámpírok sorozat angol nyelven

 

Raphael 1

 

Chapter Sixteen

STILL DAMP FROM the shower, Cyn wrapped a towel around herself and stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Crossing over to the fireplace, she reached down and flicked the electronic ignition, smiling when the fire immediately leapt up to dance cheerfully on the open hearth. She loved the feel of the warm air on her naked skin and let the towel drop to the floor as she went over to check her cell phone. There were no messages. She was no expert, but the sun had been down nearly an hour. How long did it take for a vampire to wake up or whatever they called it? Back in the bathroom, she began massaging moisturizer into her skin, first her legs, then the rest of her body and arms. The lotion was unscented. Cynthia didn’t wear perfume of any kind. In her line of business, she frequently had to move around incognito, and it wouldn’t do to have an identifiable perfume trailing along behind her.

She snapped the front clasp on a particularly fetching champagne lace bra and was pulling on a fresh pair of jeans when the security intercom sounded its discordant buzz. Someone was at the door downstairs in the garage. Cynthia stared at the offending intercom for a few seconds, then grabbed a sweater, pulling it over her head while she walked down the hall to her office. The security setup here at home was very much like the one at her Santa Monica office, except this one actually had a wider angle lens. That was a flaw in her Santa Monica security she intended to remedy very soon. She was still spooked over the ease with which Raphael and Duncan had slipped in after Lonnie. If it had been someone else, someone who meant her harm, things could have gotten really ugly really fast.

She brought up the display, muttering under her breath, “If that’s you, Holly, you can turn right around and go back to Chuck, because this hotel is closed for the duration.” What she found instead stopped her cold.

Duncan turned and looked directly at the camera as she turned on the monitor, as if he heard the tiny click from two stories above. His blond hair was freshly slicked back and he wore what she now recognized was a uniform of sorts for Raphael’s security people—charcoal gray suit, but with a black shirt and pewter tie this evening. He looked quite good, actually, and on anyone else she would have appreciated the view. She took in the scene behind him and saw at least two other vamps standing near an open limo door. She pressed the intercom button with an audible sigh.

“Duncan. Why am I not surprised?”

“Ms. Leighton,” he answered with a short nod. “You did say it was urgent.”

“So I did. You could have called, you know. I have my own car.”

“My master insisted.”

“Doesn’t he always. Okay, look. I’ll buzz you in, but you’ll have to wait downstairs for a minute. I’m not ready—”

“Don’t be coy, Ms. Leighton.” The vampire’s expression tightened in irritation. “You have to invite us in.”

Cynthia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she was glad the vampire couldn’t see her expression. So that part was true. But wait . . .

“You didn’t have a problem barging into my office the other night.”

“Your office is a business, Ms. Leighton. Many people come and go. This is your home, and Lord Raphael’s patience is limited. Invite us in immediately.”

“Are you saying Raphael is down there waiting? He’s in the limo?” And what a terrible thought that was.

Duncan was positively glowering. “You will invite us in now, Ms. Leighton.”

Cynthia stared at the monitor. She really didn’t want a bunch of vampires traipsing around her home. On the other hand, she could hardly refuse the local vampire lord, who also happened to be her client. She smiled. “You know, I don’t think so, Duncan.” She raised her voice. “Lord Raphael, you are invited into my home.”

She heard male laughter just before Raphael unfolded his studly self from the limo with sinuous grace. He walked up behind Duncan and she could see the flashes of silver in his eyes even over the fibre optic connection of her security camera.

“Sire, you cannot!”

“Of course, I can, Duncan. Ms. Leighton doesn’t mean me any harm.” His gaze pierced her soul, even through the camera. “Do you, Cyn?”

Cyn caught her breath, suddenly reliving the erotic dreams that had jolted her out of sleep this morning. He smiled and she felt her skin shiver with desire. “Shit,” she whispered.

“Cyn?”

“Yes, sorry. I mean, no, of course I won’t harm, I mean I don’t intend to . . .” She shut up and pushed the button, hearing a loud thunk over the intercom as the magnetic lock released.

Raphael’s dark bulk blocked the camera as he moved past, then Duncan was glaring up at her fiercely. “If any harm comes to my master, I will make your torment and that of all your family my personal mission, Cynthia Leighton.”

“Geez, Duncan,” she said, enjoying the chance to breathe normally again. “Overdramatize much? This wasn’t my idea, remember. You’re the ones who showed up uninvited. Besides, I hardly think Raphael needs protection from me. More like the other way around,” she added to herself.

“You’ve been warned,” he intoned.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” She released the intercom button with a shake of her head and realized her hair was still wet from the shower. Damn. She raced out of her office, intending to do a quick blow dry and pull on some shoes, and nearly ran into Raphael in the hallway. A little shriek of surprise came out before she could stop it.

Raphael caught her with both hands, his cool fingers curling over her arms and gliding down to stroke her palms before finally letting go.

“Raphael!” she blurted out. “I mean, Lord Raphael . . . I thought you’d wait—”

“I did wait, Cyn. I grew tired of waiting.” He turned and walked into her bedroom, past the jumble of sheets on her unmade bed, strolling over to the window to pull back the curtains and let in the night sky.

She hurried after him. “I still have to . . . I mean you would probably be more comfortable—”

“I’m comfortable here.” He turned to study her, his lids dropping over black eyes in a long, slow blink before he leaned forward, nearly touching her as he drew in a long breath. He smiled slightly. “It’s your shampoo.”

“What?”

“Your shampoo. I detected a very faint scent the other night. You don’t wear perfume. It’s your shampoo.”

“Oh. Yes, I guess so.” Cynthia tried to focus, but it was so hard with this incredibly sexy man—okay, vampire—standing there smelling her hair and smiling like he’d like to do a great deal more. He’s a vampire, Cynthia! She sucked in a stabilizing breath and took two steps away from him, reminding herself she was a professional and this was her client. “Give me a moment.” She managed another step. “I need to put on some shoes.”

He glanced down at her bare feet with their brightly polished toes, and then let his gaze travel lazily over her body and back to her face. She almost got down on her knees and begged him to fuck her right there. Just get it over with so she could become a rational human being again, a woman who ran her own affairs and her own life and didn’t throw herself at the feet of any man. She felt the words pressing against the back of her throat and ran.

WHEN SHE RETURNED, her hair was—almost—dry and she was wearing a pair of no-nonsense Frye boots with a sensible, solid heel that made her feel tough and in control. She faltered for the space of a breath when she came out of her walk-in closet to find Raphael still standing at the window. His broad shoulders were outlined in black against the moon spangled ocean beyond the glass, and she knew exactly how his eyes would look if he turned. She steeled herself against his natural seduction. He probably wasn’t even aware of it, it was so much a part of who and what he was.

“Lord Raphael,” she said firmly, and then she tried again. “I do think you’d be more comfortable downstairs.”

“No. I like it here.” He turned his head then, his eyes lingering over the tumbled bed before giving her a sidelong gaze. “Don’t you? Downstairs is your public space, Cyn. It is not you. This—” He gestured around him. “This is your nest.”

She frowned. He was right, damn it. “I didn’t call you here—well, I didn’t call you here at all—but it wasn’t to discuss my housing arrangements, my lord,” she began as she crossed to the window where he stood. “I reviewed all of the footage from the day of the abduction. Based on what I found, I was either much more thorough than whoever you had doing it, or you have another mole in your organization.”

Raphael spun around gracefully, like a dancer on a stage. “And what did you find, Cyn?” he inquired.

“Five bad guys came through the main gate that morning, my lord, but only three went out. If I’m right, you have two intruders who are no doubt infiltrated among your security staff. Most probably, they were already working for you and simply slipped away after helping their buddies get through the security at the gate. They were wearing masks, of course, so we can’t identify them from the video, but I’d like to schedule the rest of the interviews with your human employees and try to weed them out. They’re probably still feeding information to whoever paid them in the first place. As far as the abduction goes, they would know security was light with only Alexandra in residence. They would know all of the routines—when the vamps went down for the day, how many human guards would be on duty and where. Not to mention any . . . relaxation of performance that might have occurred in your absence.”

Raphael’s eyes flashed and she hurried on. “It happens in every organization, my lord. At least among humans. When weeks and months go by with no threat, there’s a tendency to relax, to be less vigilant. And with the big boss—that would be you—gone, it would have been even more lax. These two men would have known this, would have known whom to count on to be particularly slow, especially in the morning.”

Raphael whipped a small cell phone from his pocket and hit a speed dial number. Cyn could hear it ringing downstairs below the deck. She stepped outside and found Duncan on the beach, staring up at the condo, cell phone to his ear. He stared at her unblinkingly as he spoke to Raphael, then disconnected and immediately dialed another number, giving her his back before speaking. Cyn went back inside.

“Duncan will take care of it,” Raphael assured her. “I should know by morning who these spies are. No one has been permitted to leave the estate since the abduction. Whoever they are, they’re still there.”

“Well, that’s good. Now what about the guy who reviewed the footage in the first place, or was supposed to? Either he did a bad job, or he intentionally left out that little detail. I don’t remember talking to anyone like that the other night, so we should talk to him too.”

“Ah. That would be Gregoire. He was lately in charge of Alexandra’s security detail.”

“Lately?” she repeated with a sinking stomach.

“Gregoire is no longer . . . a concern.”

Cyn opened her mouth to say something, sucked in a breath instead and let it out. “Okay. What about these two other guys? What will you do with them?”

“I will get answers from them, Cyn,” he said coldly. “Answers which will take me one step closer to my enemy.”

She swallowed hard. “I’d, uh . . . I’d like to be there when you talk with them, my lord. There are some questions I’d like answered and it’s possible,” she hurried on when he gave her a forbidding look. “It’s possible I might notice something the rest of you would overlook.” It was a gentle reminder, but a reminder nonetheless, that it had been she who discovered the presence of the infiltrators in the first place.

Raphael glided across the room toward her, his footsteps silent on the thick carpet, the soft wool of his suit seeming to caress his long, lean body. He walked right up to her, not stopping until only a few inches separated them. Cynthia froze, her heart pounding so hard it was visible beneath the fine knit of her sweater. “You’re quite right, Cyn,” he said softly. “I am in your debt.”

“It’s—” She started to lick her suddenly dry lips, then stopped, aware of his eyes following the movement of her tongue. “It’s part of my job, my lord. It’s what you hired me to do.”

“So it is.” He tilted forward slightly, bringing his body a little closer to hers, his breath brushing her skin. “It will take some time, Cyn, to find these men. And the entire night lies ahead.”

Cynthia struggled to think clearly. He was so close. Her entire body was screaming at her to touch him, just touch him, just once . . . please. She clenched her fists hard enough to draw blood with her nails, and saw Raphael’s nostrils flare with the scent. It was like a cold slap in the face. She drew a single deep breath and then another and stepped away. “I’ve got work to do. If they’ve overlooked this, there might be something else. And I want to enhance the audio. The kidnappers might have said something to each other, something the main pickup wouldn’t have caught, or even something your boy Greg didn’t want you to hear.”

Raphael’s eyes shuttered. “Of course. You will keep me informed.”

“Yes. Absolutely. And you’ll let me in on the interrogation, right? You won’t do it without me?”

Raphael’s eyes gleamed. “Oh no, Cyn. I won’t do it without you.” He strolled over to the stairs and started downward, pausing before taking the second step. Cynthia, following on his heels, pulled up short when he stopped. “Tell me, Cyn,” he said softly, their faces almost even. “Did you dream last night?”

She blinked, her heart thudding with fear instead of desire. “What do you mean?” she whispered.

He gave her a knowing smile. “I’ll be in touch.”

She sank to the stairs as he disappeared around the corner, moving far faster than a human could have. The door to the garage slammed loudly and she leaned against the railing, listening until she heard the distant thud of car doors followed by the smooth growl of the limo as it made its way up the hill to the highway.

She stared down at the tiny, blood-filled crescents on her palms. “Well, Holly,” she whispered. “Chuck might have a point this time.”

 

Chapter Seventeen

RAPHAEL STORMED down the stairs, his anger building with every step. How dare she treat him like some sort of overreaching commoner! Beautiful women, powerful women had knelt before him as supplicants, begging for a single kiss, but not this one. She thought to toy with him, but it was a dangerous game she played. Oh, he would have her, his Cyn. He saw the desire in her eyes every time she looked at him. He would play her game for now, even let her think she had won. But when she came to him, it would be on her knees like all the others. As for tonight . . . There were many who would serve him willingly, many who would eagerly slake his thirst. He yanked the door open and let it slam loudly behind him, pushing him away, locking him out. His rage soared anew with the sound of it. “The beach house,” he growled, passing Duncan without even a glance.

“My lord, is that—”

Duncan’s protest was cut off as Raphael’s hand shot out, grabbed him by the throat and squeezed until he was lifted off his feet and crushed against the wall. Raphael drew close, pinning him with his gaze, baring his fangs in clear warning. “You are like a brother to me, Duncan,” he snarled. “Even closer. But you too will obey.”

He opened his hand and let the other vampire fall to the hard concrete of the garage floor. Duncan knelt on all fours, bent over, choking, gasping for breath. Raphael stared down at him, already regretting this loss of control, fighting the fury that threatened to overwhelm him. The rest of his security detail watched in silence, frozen into immobility.

He held out his hand, dropping it down to Duncan’s level. Duncan kept his eyes lowered, crawling forward with a sob of breath and taking the proffered hand. He brought it to his face as if to kiss it, but Raphael withdrew it impatiently and offered it again. “Take my hand, Duncan.”

The blond vampire obeyed and Raphael tightened his grip, jerking his lieutenant to his feet in an effortless movement. “The beach house,” he said, spinning around and sliding quickly into the dark limo.

As they drove down the coast, Raphael brooded in silence, aware of Duncan sitting next to him in the back of the limo, of the two other vampires sitting up front. He waited until they were well away from Cynthia’s house before he spoke. “Well?” he said.

“We have them, Master,” Duncan said in a subdued voice. “It was a simple matter to check the security footage on the main house.”

Raphael’s mouth tightened grimly. “A simple matter.”

“Yes, my lord. I take full—”

“Don’t bother.” He held up a hand. “I am as foolish as that old man in Buffalo. Could this have happened fifty years ago, Duncan? Even ten? No. I have grown complacent, fat and lazy in my comforts. This is a power play. Someone has seen what I did not until this moment.”

“It will not succeed, my lord. Your people are loyal to you alone—”

“No, it will not succeed,” he agreed in a hard voice. “My enemy has overplayed his hand and I will know his name before the new moon.”

“My lord,” Duncan ventured. “At the beach house . . .” Raphael gave him a slow, threatening stare. Duncan swallowed, the obvious ache in his throat a reminder of his too recent punishment. “Do you want Lonnie—”

“No. I will select my own.”

“May we at least go in the private entrance, my lord?” Duncan pleaded.

“Of course, Duncan. I am not unreasonable.”

“No, my lord,” his lieutenant whispered. He pressed the intercom and instructed the driver.

THE BEACH HOUSE was located in the very center of Malibu, two stories and six thousand square feet of opulence with an entire wall of glass facing eighty feet of prime ocean frontage. It had a private wine cellar fully stocked with the vampires’ rather unique beverage of choice and a huge gourmet kitchen used primarily to feed the very willing donors who crowded the house four nights a week. The house was dark Monday through Wednesday, and on certain holidays, the latter being a small joke on Lonnie’s part. The rest of the year was a constant round of parties. Beautiful people of every variety and sexual preference were invited, as well as those among the power elite who fancied a walk in the shadows. The purpose of the gatherings was never discussed, although everyone who made it through the front door knew exactly what transpired in the bedrooms and dark corners. There were no innocents at the beach house.

Raphael glided out of the limo without a word, stalking through his private entrance and into the house. The main room was a huge, wide open space, resembling nothing so much as an exclusive night club. Lighting was kept intentionally low to accommodate the vampires’ sensitive eyes and to camouflage not only the frequent comings and goings of vampire and human alike from the private rooms upstairs, but the less discreet encounters in the corners as well. Music blasted from speakers throughout the interior, throbbing in a constant drumbeat designed to enhance the feeling of danger and of promise. Raphael moved through the crowd smoothly, knowing he was a predator among his prey. He kept his face hidden by the constantly shifting shadows. Humans in his path groaned in mingled fear and lust as he passed, their bodies straining toward him, even as their eyes betrayed the abject terror yammering in their animal brains. He could see his vampires watching him, their master, covertly, glimpses in the darkness of pale faces filled with ecstasy, bathing in the wash of his power and soaking in the desire and fear of the human cattle all around them.

Raphael searched the crowd with a restless gaze, his body hard and ready, rage riding the surface of lust pounding in his veins, driving him to sink his teeth into the sweet warmth of a woman’s blood and his cock into the wet heat between her legs. But the one he hungered for wasn’t here. She was miles away, hiding behind her steel door and her fragile resistance. He growled in renewed frustration and grabbed a tall, dark-haired woman. She was as eager as the others, dressed to entice with high, high heels stretching long, slender legs up to a firm ass sheathed in a short, tight skirt. Her ragged hair brushed bare shoulders and he leaned over, drawing in her scent. A snarl of impatient fury rumbled in his chest as he pulled her down the hallway and into a ground floor bedroom reserved for his use only. He barely managed to close the door before he sank his fangs into her soft neck, his cock growing harder with every draw of succulent blood.

The woman moaned wantonly, pressing herself against his erection, clasping her arms around his back to rub her breasts against his chest. Raphael ignored her pleading until he’d drunk his fill, until the blood ran from his mouth and he could swallow no more. She gave a small cry of protest when he released her, holding on to him, crying now, begging him. He threw her to the bed face-first, pulling her hips up to meet his groin, pushing the tight skirt up over her buttocks and ripping away the flimsy bit of lace covering her. Freeing his throbbing cock, he thrust it against her, seeking entrance. She arched her back, spreading her legs wider in invitation, panting with desire.

He froze, staring down at the whorish display, disgusted with her, with himself. His mind conjured the image of Cyn, her green eyes filled with mingled fear and longing, her full breasts swelling with every breath, hard nipples begging to be touched, her heart pounding so loud it was everything he could do not to grasp it in his hand. The woman on the bed began to sob openly, thrusting herself at him, begging him to fuck her. Raphael backed away, realizing suddenly why he’d chosen this particular woman. She was a poor imitation of his Cyn, but Cyn would never have debased herself like this. He thought to warn the woman, to chasten her to have more respect for herself, but he knew from experience that his warning would go unheeded. And besides, who was he to chasten another after his own disgusting display of lust?

His erection faded. The blood that, only moments before, had tasted so sweet now sat on his tongue like vinegar. He zipped himself up, wiped his mouth, and spat to one side before striding from the room without a single glance back.

Duncan was waiting in the hallway, Juro nearby; Juro’s brother would be outside with the car. Lonnie was speaking to Duncan in a low voice when Raphael emerged, the embodiment of wrath bearing down on them. “Handle that,” he growled to Lonnie and was gone, out the door and into the waiting limo.

Duncan followed him into the car wordlessly, opening a compartment behind the driver’s seat and handing him a warm, wet washcloth. Raphael accepted it with a grunt of thanks, wiping his mouth and hands with some care before handing the now bloody cloth back to his lieutenant.

“Are they waiting?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good.” There was more than one way to work off his lust, he thought grimly.