Authors: D. B. Reynolds
Raphael (19 page)
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.
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.
Cynthia lay in the darkened stairwell, too weak to climb any further, 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.
Raphael followed her scent, the delicious enticement of her blood pounding against his senses, making his cock swell ruthlessly. She was little more than a blot of shadow on the dark stairs, no movement, no sound. But she lived. Raphael could hear the sluggish beat of her heart, the thin rush of her blood. He dropped to her side, his breath running out in a hiss when he saw what had been done to her. A vampire had done this. Someone had dared to mark what was his.
Rage drew his lips back in a snarl of fury, but he forced himself to calm, to gather her in his arms and lend her the slight warmth of his body. He bent to the worst of her wounds, the ravaged muscles of her neck and shoulder, the skin stripped away, the blood flow weakening as the strength of her heart failed. Her taste on his tongue was overwhelming. He swallowed a groan of pleasure, fighting against instinct, knowing if he yielded now, he would lose her forever. He continued to lick the wound, the clotting factors in his saliva working to stop the bleeding, the euphoric chemicals of his enhanced system easing her pain, lulling her into passiveness. She moaned softly, a sob of loss rather than pain.
His strong fingers brushed the hair away from her battered face, stroking it carefully from her bloodied forehead, tucking it gently behind one ear. Her breath was a bare touch against his mouth as he lowered his face to hers, whispering against her lips.
"Kiss me, Cyn."
She sighed softly, opening her warm mouth. He bit his lower lip, letting the blood flow, then covered her mouth with his, twining his tongue around hers and feeling her begin to suck gently. His fingers massaged her throat carefully, forcing her to swallow. She cried out, no longer lost, but hungry and wanting. He couldn't help himself; he clutched her to his chest, turning the kiss from gentle healing to heated passion. Cyn responded in kind as his blood warmed her skin, as her body healed enough to feel the ecstasy of his kiss, and her mouth began to demand more.
She shuddered softly into orgasm, and her arms fell away to trail down his chest, her body going soft beneath his. “Raphael,” she whispered.
Raphael felt her lips curve with pleasure beneath his. “Sleep, sweet Cyn."
In the open doorway, Duncan stood as his master carried Cynthia past, helpless to do anything but watch. Raphael paused before the final set of stairs. “She will live,” he said, his voice tight with simmering rage. “Twice they have touched what is mine, Duncan. I will know what happened here. And then we will hunt."
The vampires listening outside howled their approval, and Raphael returned a fearsome smile.