Raphael

Her office phone was ringing when she walked in. She dropped everything on her desk and grabbed it before voice mail kicked in.

"Leighton,” she said.

It was the lawyer next door. “I heard you pull into the parking lot,” he explained. “And I wondered if maybe you had time to meet with a client of mine. She's here now. The usual cheating husband."

Cyn hoped the wife wasn't listening to the lawyer's blithe dismissal of her broken heart. She was tempted to decline the job. She might joke with Linville, but it really got to her sometimes. She sighed. On the other hand, she had no other cases on the horizon, and while she wouldn't exactly starve without the income, she did try to make the agency pay for itself. She told the lawyer to send his client on over.

Nearly an hour and a full box of Kleenex later, Cyn was regretting the impulse and thinking it was too bad the therapist wasn't in today, because this woman really needed someone to talk to far more than she needed a PI. But Cynthia was not going to be that someone. She'd learned the hard way not to get personally involved with her clients’ marital problems. Some jilted spouses cried, some stared vacantly in a sort of bleak acceptance, and still others were mad as hell and determined to make the offending spouse suffer as much as possible. But they all had one thing in common. They were looking for someone to blame for their current predicament. And too often that blame fell on Cynthia for providing evidence of the very infidelity she'd been hired to uncover in the first place.

After ushering the distraught woman out the back door with assurances of sympathy and a speedy indictment of the wandering husband, Cyn sank down into her chair with a relieved breath and thought about taking the rest of the night off. On the one hand, with the information the wife had already provided, she could probably get the evidence she needed and close the case by morning; on the other—Her phone rang and she answered, hoping for a reprieve.

"Don't break my heart and tell me you have plans for tonight.” It was a man's voice, filled with laughter beneath the smooth bourbon of a Southern accent.

"Breaking hearts is your specialty, not mine, Nicky. You in town?"

"I don't break hearts, darlin', I heal them with sweet love. Meet me."

Cynthia laughed. She couldn't help it. Nick was an unrepentant rogue, charming, handsome ... and an animal in bed. She thought about the latest cheating husband and shrugged. “When and where?"

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."

Chapter Three

Malibu, California

They arrived at his estate overlooking the Pacific Ocean in the deepest dark of morning; already he could feel the sun lurking just below the horizon. There were some, Raphael knew, who trusted human servants enough to lock themselves away in a closed compartment and fly through the sunshine, at the mercy of any who meant them harm. Raphael had not lived so long by trusting. Every member of his immediate entourage, every one of his bodyguards, his chauffeur, his pilot, even his housekeeper, was a vampire of his own making. Every one of them owed his or her eternal life to Raphael and was incapable of betraying him as long as his powers remained potent. He was the undisputed master of his territories and his children were absolutely and completely loyal to him. Or they were dead. There could be no other choice.

As his limo rolled through the gates of his estate, the vampires on guard stood at stiff attention. Raphael permitted himself a small smile. It was good they feared him, but he would not destroy a loyal soldier for deeds not his own. No, it was Albin who would pay for this treachery. Albin. They had a history, the two of them, a history going back almost to Raphael's turning.

They had been children of the same mistress, cut adrift when she fell victim to her lover's jealous wife, her heart pierced as she slept through the day. It had been a foolish death and yet not entirely unpredictable. She'd been careless, wanton and wasteful, not only of her own powers, but of those of her offspring. Many of her vampiric children had died along with her, sucked into her death throes, unable to bear the shock. The stronger ones survived; some only to fall prey to the very carelessness learned at her feet.

Raphael had been young as such things were measured, little more than a hundred years old when she died. Much younger than Albin, but already more powerful—not only in the strength of his vampiric magic, but in strength of will, in the discipline necessary to build, to thrive and to grow over the long centuries. The two had spent decades together, parting only when Albin could no longer bear to be the weaker one, to be dependent on Raphael's greater strength. For his part, Raphael had eventually decided to break altogether from Europe and its ancient vampire royalty. He'd gathered his few minions and undertaken the journey to America and the chance to build a dynasty of his own. Albin had stayed in Europe, wandering from master to master, never finding the power he craved. 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">