Raphael

"More,” she whispered hoarsely and began moving against him once again, rousing him to meet her demand.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Cynthia woke slowly, jarred from an almost drugged sleep by pain. She rolled over and gasped, swallowing a groan as every muscle complained. What the hell? She opened her eyes, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings. And then she remembered. The warehouse. Kolinsky. Oh my God, Raphael! She rolled over in a panic, thankful to discover she was alone. She closed her eyes in a different kind of pain, and tears found their way down her cheeks. You are such a fool, Cyn.

She groped to the side of the bed and stood. Spying a bathroom across the room, she made her way over to it, turned on the light and stepped in front of the mirror, almost afraid of what she'd see. The gash on her forehead where Kolinsky had hit her was closed, scabbed over in a neat line above her right eyebrow and surrounded by bruises that were already beginning to yellow with age. Twisting to one side, she frowned at the grazing bullet wound on her arm from early in the fight. A stab of pain answered her probing, but nothing more than an angry red scar marred her pale flesh. She wrapped her arms around herself uneasily. Had she been out that long? Long enough for wounds to heal or ... She flashed back to the small office in the warehouse, Raphael's eyes gleaming as he licked her wounds, her own mouth filling with...

She spun around and dropped to the toilet, vomiting uncontrollably, gagging in horror when she saw the black of regurgitated blood, like coffee crystals floating in the artificially blue water. Had she actually drunk some of Raphael's blood? And what did that mean? She only knew rumors about how vampires were changed, reborn, whatever the hell they called it. Was she a vampire now? Gripping the sink for support, she pulled herself to her feet and staggered back to the elegant bedroom. Heavy drapes covered the window, but she could see a line of light around the edges and hear the steady hiss of the waves. She walked slowly over to the glass and, cursing herself for an idiot, hesitantly slipped the fingers of one hand into the hot sunlight. Nothing. Okay. So she wasn't a vampire.

She yanked the drapes fully open. The sun was dropping fast. Which meant she had to get out of here now.

A frantic search of the bedroom turned up the remnants of her clothing. She tugged them on, snarling in frustration to find the zipper on her jeans torn beyond recovery. Her sweater was more or less intact, enough for modesty anyway, but it wasn't long enough to cover the gap at her waist. She opened the closet and found Raphael's long, leather coat hanging there, dark and stiff with blood and ... other things. A vague memory surfaced of the big vampire wrapping her in its warm depths before carrying her out to the cars where Duncan waited. Duncan and the other vampires. Waiting while she and Raphael had sex, for God's sake, in the middle of a fire fight. What the hell was wrong with her?

Her face hot with belated embarrassment, she dragged the heavy coat from its hanger and pulled it on. It would have to do for now. Her boots sat next to the bed, splattered with blood like everything else, but undamaged. It felt good to tug them on her feet, to have something solid, something of her own. A quick glance around the room sent her rushing over to a table near the door where her weapons lay waiting for her. Both had been cleaned and reloaded, one tucked into her shoulder rig. She took off the coat long enough to don the holster, then drew it back on quickly, sliding the other weapon into a pocket. That was it. No keys. Where was her car?

She stood next to the door, listening, but heard no sound from the other side. She twisted the knob slowly, then pulled the door open and peered into the hallway. No one. Orienting herself by the view from the window, she figured she was on the second floor, not far from Raphael's office. Probably where he stashed his blood donor du jour for easy access, she thought nastily. Reaching the first floor, she hesitated, edging down the hall and into the spacious entry.

There were guards here. Human guards. Looking past them, she could see her car parked outside, exactly the same spot as last time. So maybe the keys were in it again? Was she a prisoner? If she simply walked out like she knew where she was going, would they try to stop her?

Cyn straightened, tugging the heavy coat closed, and slipping her right hand into her pocket, feeling her spare Glock's reassuring weight. With a confident nod and a smile for the surprised guards, she strolled toward the glass doors and was out the door and into her car before they'd really registered her presence. The keys sat in the ignition; she twisted them quickly, and the Land Rover responded with its usual heavy rumble. The pressure rolled off her chest as she drove away from the house, then tightened again as she thought about the guards at the gate. Maybe that's why the house guards hadn't bothered to stop her. There was no need.

She slowed down as the guard stepped out of the gatehouse and approached the side of her car. “Ms. Leighton, I didn't know you'd be leaving."

"Going home to change clothes.” She wrinkled her face meaningfully. “You know how that is."

The guard looked uncomfortable, but nodded. “I guess I do, but I don't—"

"I'm not a prisoner, am I?” she asked, feigning confusion.

"Of course not, but—"

"Well, then, I want to go home and change clothes. It's only five minutes from here."

"Uh, okay. I guess. You'll be coming back?"

"Of course.” Eventually. Someday.

The guard frowned, but signaled his buddy and the gate rolled open. In only minutes, Cyn was breezing down the highway toward her own place.

Her garage door stood open, so she rolled inside and opened the car door. She was moving slowly now, the high of her easy escape beginning to wear off as sore muscles asserted their unhappiness. She wanted nothing more than a long soak in a hot bath, and maybe a nice, deep tissue massage. She almost groaned out loud at the very thought of how good it would feel.

"Ms. Leighton?"

Cyn jerked in surprise, her hand going to the gun in her pocket before she recognized one of Raphael's human guards standing in her garage. “What?” she said irritably.

"Are you supposed to be here, ma'am? I mean, I was told to watch the place because you'd be staying up at the estate for a few days."

"Really? And who the hell told you that?"

"Lord Raphael, ma'am."

"Figures. This is my house.” She peered at his name tag. “Tony. So as for whether I'm supposed to be here. I think that's up to me."

"I don't know, ma'am. I better check in.” He lifted his cell phone ... so Cynthia shot him in the leg. He fell to the hard concrete with a cry of pain.

"I'm sorry, Tony,” she apologized, rushing over. “Really, I am. It's nothing personal. I'm sure you're a nice guy trying to do your job. But I can't have you bringing down the house on me. I need a little air. You can understand that, can't you, Tony?” Cyn was babbling, almost as shocked by the turn of events as poor Tony, who could only moan in response.

"I'm sorry,” she repeated. She grabbed the small pillow she kept in her back seat and shoved it under his head. A quick check of the bullet wound verified that she hadn't hit anything vital, but there was still some bleeding. Ignoring his fretful attempts to stop her, she stripped off his belt and slipped it around his upper thigh in a tourniquet of sorts, grimacing at the position of his leg. The bullet might have hit bone, but she couldn't do anything about that right now.

Next, she jumped up, ran over and hit the button to close the door so her neighbors wouldn't see a bloody man lying in her garage. Bad enough they might have heard the shot, but most of them should be gone on a workday afternoon, and people really didn't pay attention to what went on outside their own little worlds anyway.

After confiscating Tony's cell phone and gun, she hurried into the condo, yanking blankets and more pillows from the downstairs closet and dumping them on the floor near the stairs. Upstairs, she snagged a couple bottles of water and some nice Percocet the oral surgeon had prescribed after pulling her wisdom teeth. As drugs went, it had been major overkill, which was why she'd never taken any, but it had made her wonder what kind of wimps he usually dealt with. On the other hand, it was perfect for poor Tony, who was going to be feeling a world of hurt very soon. She ran back to the garage. Tony glared at her with pain-fogged eyes as she was making him a nice little nest to rest in.

"You shot me,” he moaned in disbelief.

"I know. I said I'm sorry."

"I can't believe you shot me."

She just looked at him. Maybe it was shock. “Come on,” she said, tugging him up onto his one good leg. He cried out and Cyn winced in sympathy as she helped him over to the pile of blankets she'd arranged. “I'd put you in the house, but you're really better off out here, especially if it's vamps that come to rescue you. They won't be able to get into the house, you know, and even you guys,” she meant the human guards, “would have some trouble. I'm a bit paranoid when it comes to security. If they did manage to break in, the alarm would go off and the security company would come and ... well, I think Raphael would be pretty unhappy about that, don't you?"

"You shot me,” he mumbled.

"Yeah,” she said shortly. “Look, take this nice pill.” She put the pill in his mouth and held the water bottle up, forcing him to drink. “This will all seem like a dream soon.” She gave Tony a quick pat and dashed back up the stairs, racing through the rooms like a mad woman. She tore off what was left of her bloodstained clothes and put on fresh jeans and a t-shirt, along with her own heavy leather jacket. Raphael's long coat she hung in her closet, remembering with a pang how perfectly it had draped the vampire's powerful body.

Focus, Cyn! Yanking off her bloody shitkickers, she drew on her most comfortable Zanotti western boots. She grabbed whatever else she thought she might need, threw it into a duffel bag and was back in the garage in fifteen minutes. A fast check of Tony found him dozing happily, his color good, the bleeding all but stopped. All good. She nudged him awake. 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">