Authors: D. B. Reynolds
Raphael (11 page)
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.
Raphael and Duncan went directly to the underground level, entering from the courtyard and pacing the long, dimly lit corridors until they reached the detention area, well within. Every vampire they met dropped immediately to one knee, eyes cast downward, sensing their master's seething temper. Raphael barely glanced at them, his body still thrumming with unslaked lust, his mind focused solely on getting the information he wanted from the witless humans awaiting his pleasure.
Duncan opened an unmarked door, entering first and then standing aside as Raphael strode past and over to the observation window dividing this room from the one next door. Two humans waited beyond. They were unbound, still clothed in the black uniform shirt and pants of his daytime guard, although their jackets had been taken. Neither had been bloodied yet, and they lounged in seeming nonchalance, one sitting at the table drumming his fingers restlessly, the other tipped back against the wall, his eyes closed as if resting.
"Do you know them?” Raphael asked.
"Peripherally. As well as I know any of the human guards. The one on the right, leaning against the wall, has been with you since you bought this estate. He has an excellent record and was actually being considered for promotion. The other, at the table, was hired six months ago on the recommendation of his friend there."
"Six months, then."
"Most likely."
"And not a whisper. Have they been questioned?'
"Not yet, my lord. We awaited your instruction."
Raphael nodded. “I promised Cyn she could participate in the interrogation,” he said, with a sidelong glance.
Duncan controlled his look of surprise, mindful of his master's uncertain temper. When he spoke, he chose his words with visible care. “Ms. Leighton may not understand what must be done, my lord."
Raphael stared at the prisoners pensively. “Perhaps it's time she learns, Duncan.” His private thoughts raged at the human female and his own timidity in dealing with her. Why did he care if she accepted him? Why not simply take her as was his right?
He stepped away from the glass with a downward frown, his eyes widening in surprise at the red stains soaking into his white shirt, thickening the elegant fabric of his handmade suit. His mouth turned up in a smile that would have terrified the men beyond that window. “Yes, I think it's time Cyn learns what it means to be Vampire. Call Ms. Leighton and ask her to join us. Then choose one of these, make it the one who's been with us longer, he'll understand the lesson better. Bind him securely and let him watch the interrogation. By the time Cyn arrives, I think our friend will be eager to tell us everything he knows."
"Yes, my lord. Shall I have Juro join you?"
"No,” Raphael said, unbuttoning his jacket. “I'll do this myself."
Raphael stepped back from the trembling mass of flesh that had once been human. Tortured groans still issued from the man's unrecognizable face, but they were the witless grunts of an animal. All vestiges of human thought had been ripped from his mind long ago. In the corner, his bound and gagged ally watched horrified, his eyes rolling in terror, wordless shrieks trapped against his mouth by the tape wound around his head. Rancid sweat coated his body and soaked his clothing, joining the stench of human excrement where fear had released his bowel and bladder. Raphael's gaze slid to the human and he smiled slowly, revealing fully extended fangs. The man in the corner squealed, pressing himself against the wall, twisting his head from side to side in useless denial.
Raphael glanced over at his lieutenant. “I must change,” he said mildly.
"Yes, my lord."
"Join me in my office, Duncan, and have that one—” He jerked his head at the terrified survivor. “—brought to me after Ms. Leighton arrives."
Cynthia sat in her darkened office, headphones on, eyes closed, the security footage from Raphael's estate playing unseen on the screen in front of her. Her chair was tilted back, her bare feet crossed on the desk. She listened as Alexandra played the piano. Definitely Mozart, but barely recognizable the way she had the sound tweaked. It was a lonely sound, and she didn't think Mozart had meant it to be played that way.
Cynthia understood loneliness; she'd been alone most of her life. Even as a child, surrounded by nannies and housekeepers of various temperaments and longevity, she'd been alone. It wasn't like the stories. No nursemaid stepped in to mother little Cynthia while her dashingly handsome father traveled the world. None of them had stayed long enough. And even if they had, they were more concerned with pleasing her father than in mothering his little girl. He wanted to be home for her birthday or Christmas, or any number of occasions in her young life, they told her. But there was always some unavoidable, last minute emergency that kept him away. Cynthia had stopped believing by the time she was six, had stopped even pretending to believe a couple years later. She'd erased those special dates from the calendar and spent the holidays alone in her rooms at the excellent private schools arranged by her grandmother.
In her teens, she'd tried contacting her mother. But the former Estelle Leighton had been happy enough with her new husband and her new daughter, her Holly who was the perfect blond, bouncy cheerleader, so much like Estelle herself. And so unlike Cynthia with her dark, angular beauty that reminded her mother of nothing but a failed marriage and the man who had not only left her, but, perhaps more importantly, had kept his substantial wealth out of her grasping hands.
Eventually, Cynthia found she preferred being alone. During her senior year at prep school, her guidance counselor had been horrified to discover that when Cyn talked about a career in law, she meant law enforcement, not law school. The counselor had hustled her off to the school therapist to deal with her “social adjustment” issues. The therapist had, in turn, informed Cyn that she had difficulty forming meaningful human connections because of her poor relationship with her father. No kidding. She had stayed with sessions only long enough to get the guidance counselor off her back and get on with her life.
Hey! What's with the pity party, Cyn?
It was that damn vampire. He made her feel insecure, out of control. And if there was one thing Cynthia hated, it was feeling out of control of her own life. She kicked her feet off the desk and sat up, rolling the file back to Albin's conversation with the two men. She'd taken two years of Russian in college, the result of an infatuation with a Russian literature grad student. They'd broken up after only six months, but by then she was committed to the language which she needed to graduate. It was either that or go back and start over with something else. At the time, she'd figured since she'd already learned the damn alphabet, she may as well stick with it. It came in handy now. Not that she could understand everything that was said. But she could follow the pattern of sentences and pick out a word here and there, and if something caught her ear, she could always look it up later.
Thus far, however, nothing. She cued up the final footage from the camera outside the kitchen door. The three humans seemed to exchange a few words before climbing into the van, and Cynthia was trying to filter out the engine sounds to pull the conversation out of the noise, hoping for a destination of some sort. She was bent over the board, fiddling with the sound when her phone rang, triggering a visual caller ID message on her screen.
She sighed. It was Raphael's number. She'd really hoped to go a day or two without seeing him again. With every visit, it was a little harder to resist him, a little harder to keep from making a total ass of herself by fucking not only her client, but a goddamn vampire. If she could have a couple of days to cool down, find some distance, some logic.
The memory of Raphael's cool fingers on her neck, his breath against her cheek as his honeyed voice caressed her ears shattered any illusions of self-control. She hit the pause button and picked up the phone.
"Ms. Leighton."
"Duncan. A pleasure as always."
"My master requires your presence. How soon will you be here?"
"Tonight?” She checked the time on her computer; it was nearly two a.m. “But I—"
"We are interrogating one of the human guards. You told Lord Raphael you wanted to be here. If, however, you have changed your mind—"
"No,” she said quickly. “No, of course not.” She glanced down at her clothing. “Give me half an hour. Is that all right?"
"That is acceptable."
The line went dead and Cyn scowled at the phone. Raphael might be dangerously seductive, but Duncan certainly wasn't going to win any charm contests. She sighed again and went to her closet to the find the least attractive clothing she owned.