D.B.Reynolds Amerikai vámpírok sorozat

D.B.Reynolds Amerikai vámpírok sorozat angol nyelven

 

Raphael 1

 

Chapter Two

Buffalo, New York

RAPHAEL LET HIS gaze roam the sparsely populated conference room, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses against the garishly bright lights. He and his fellow vampire lords were arrayed around a huge oval slab of marble that served as a table. The table was large enough, and the vampires unsociable enough, that they sat far apart, making private conversation among them impossible. Several had aides or bodyguards standing in attendance behind them. Some had even brought their human servants into the room, leaving them to huddle against the walls, hoping not to be noticed. Of them all, only Raphael sat alone. Only Raphael, it seemed, had no need for the reassurance of his minions.

He gave his watch a careful glance, wondering how much longer courtesy would force him to sit and listen to the ramblings of their host for this meeting. The vampire lord was ancient . . . and as doddering as an old human. Despite the physical appearance of youth, his voice quavered and his mind wandered, clinging to the glories of his past, cloistered in his fluorescent-lit tower. Raphael’s gaze traveled to the powerful and much younger vampire standing at the old lord’s back. They measured each other for the space of a few seconds, each exquisitely aware of the other’s regard behind their darkened lenses. That one wouldn’t wait much longer, Raphael thought to himself. The old lord’s nights were numbered.

He stifled a sigh and stared out the window. The real business of this meeting had been concluded in previous nights. Tonight’s gathering was little more than a formality, serving only to delay his departure. But courtesy was the hallmark of vampire society. When one lived and mingled with others for hundreds of years, such niceties mattered.

The door at the back of the room opened softly, and Raphael heard the bare whisper of footsteps on the deep carpeting. His nostrils flared as he scented the air; it was one of his own, his lieutenant, Duncan. Duncan had been with Raphael for over two hundred years, had been his foremost liegeman for more than half of that. Whatever news he was bringing, it would not be good if it could not wait until they were alone. Duncan reached the space behind Raphael and leaned forward, his breath feather-light against Raphael’s skin as he spoke words for his master’s ears only.

“Sire, Alexandra has been kidnapped.”

A lazy blink of his eyes behind the dark glasses was Raphael’s only outward reaction. He nodded slightly, gesturing with one finger for Duncan to remain. There was a faint movement of air as his lieutenant straightened and stepped back the requisite two paces. A thousand questions raced through Raphael’s head as the speaker droned on, babbling about bonds of honor that tied them all, and on and on. It was in essence the same speech given by every host at every annual gathering for the past three hundred years on this continent, and probably long before that around the world.

Raphael forced himself to listen politely, to nod in agreement and present a confident face. Until he knew more, he would give no sign of distress, show no vulnerability. Weakness was unacceptable in this company, for between them, Raphael and his fellow vampire lords controlled a continent and beyond. All of the United States, Canada, Mexico—no vampire existed within those bounds, but that they owed fealty to one of these eight lords.

And yet as powerful as each of them was, none was so powerful as Raphael himself. Some were older, but age was not everything. Some claimed greater skill, but skill was no substitute for strength. These things were never spoken of; they were simply understood. Boundaries were observed, respect was paid. Anything else would lead to war. And none of the men in this room wanted another war. But someone did. Someone thought to use Alexandra against him. And that someone would pay dearly.

RAPHAEL EMERGED from the conference room, going directly to the elevators, his people forming a cordon of security around him. They were uneasy, tense. He could feel their skin shivering with nerves, could hear their hearts beating rapidly, their blood pulsing with excitement. Likely they already knew more than he did. But not for long.

The heavy door of the bulletproof limousine closed behind him with a muffled thud. He waited until the vehicle and its escorts had pulled out into traffic, then glanced at Duncan.

“Moments before dawn this morning, my lord. They must have timed it to the shift change, to limit the number of us they had to deal with. The human guards were already on station for the day, the vampires had gone to the barracks beneath the estate. They knew nothing until they woke this evening.”

“And our human guards?”

“Dead, Sire.”

“Surveillance?”

“Yes, my lord. Waiting for you in Los Angeles. Gregoire has briefed me—”

“I want the estate locked down. No one comes or goes until I get there.”

“Already done, my lord.”

“Her bodyguards?”

“One destroyed . . . Matias. We cannot be certain of—”

“Albin, then?”

Duncan sighed. “It would appear so, Sire.”

Raphael’s jaw tightened. “You warned me against him, Duncan.”

“Sire—”

“No. You were right. I wanted to trust him.”

“You couldn’t—”

“I should have, Duncan. I allowed old ties of friendship to blind me to the truth. I am as big a fool as that babbling old man in there tonight.” He was silent for a time, staring sightlessly at the city passing beyond the darkened windows. “He is mine.”

“My lord?”

“No one touches Albin, Duncan. He is mine.”

“Of course. My lord, we will get her back.”

A dangerous smile crossed Raphael’s face, his gaze meeting Duncan’s, his fangs extending in a slow, predatory glide. “We will, Duncan. Never doubt it. And then they will pay. No one takes what is mine and lives.”