Raphael

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.

Chapter Eighteen

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."

Chapter Nineteen

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?" ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">