She stepped into a pair of beautiful satin and crystal Manolo Blahnik pumps. The heel wasn’t as high as she usually preferred, but the shoe was so pretty that she’d bought them anyway. And they added a little something to the little black dress that she’d dragged out for the occasion. This one happened to be sleeveless, but that was only by chance. She had at least ten LBDs hanging in the closet, all interchangeable. She didn’t even look before grabbing one to wear.
Reaching behind her back, she tried to finish zipping up then decided to make use of the gorgeous male in the next room.
She strolled out of the walk-in closet to find Raphael sitting in his big chair, looking devastating as always. Tonight was a semi-formal affair, cocktail dresses for the women, black tie for the men. And no one did black tie better than Raphael.
He looked up from the documents he was reading and gave her a smile.
“Zip me up?” she asked.
He stood at once, setting aside his papers and twirling a finger to indicate she should turn around.
Cyn took a step closer and presented her back as requested. She felt the warm glide of his big hand as he slipped it inside her dress and around to her belly where he pressed gently, tugging her back toward him as his lips came down on her bare shoulder.
“You look lovely, my Cyn.”
“So do you, my Raphael,” she murmured and blinked rapidly to keep the tears that welled in her eyes from ruining her makeup. This was the first time in days that he’d seemed himself.
He kissed her shoulder, then her neck. “What am I supposed to do here again?” he teased.
“Zip.”
“Ah, yes.” Giving her belly a final brushing caress, he removed his hand and zipped the dress up past her waist to the low neckline.
She looked over her shoulder. “Thanks, fang boy.”
He grinned then sobered abruptly. But it was only his usual seriousness, without the tinge of sadness that had shadowed his eyes for too many days.
“Did you identify a messenger for me, my Cyn? The one for Mexico?”
She nodded, relieved that he seemed to be getting back to business, but a little worried that the business involved Mexico. “Lana Arnold,” she told him. “She’s a bounty hunter, but does some P.I. work, too, mostly using her hunter skills, like finding people who have gone astray. She took on a couple of jobs for me recently and we worked well together. Her agency’s in Arizona, but she’s done a lot of work on the other side of the border.”
Raphael nodded then picked up the papers he’d been reading and handed them to her. “Take a look at these.”
Cyn took the proffered pages with a glance up at him but saw nothing in his face that told her what to expect. She bent her head and started reading. There were three letters. The first one was straightforward, a draft letter of instruction to his attorneys, Kimiko and Boyd Lorick, requesting that they deliver the other two documents to . . . and that part was left blank, presumably because he’d been waiting to learn the P.I.’s name from Cyn.
The other documents were more interesting. One was short and sweet, a handwritten note in Raphael’s flowing script to someone named Xuan Ignacio telling him it was “time to tell the story” to whoever handed him this message. The story of what, she wondered. She frowned and set it aside to read the last document.
This was also from Raphael, but like the letter to his attorneys, it was a typed draft. It asked that all aid and assistance been given to . . . another blank space for Lana’s name . . . to facilitate her search for Xuan Ignacio, and it was addressed to . . . her frown deepened.
She looked up at Raphael. “Vincent?”
He nodded silently.
“Look, I get that he’s Enrique’s big bad number two guy,” she said. “But he struck me as kind of a player. If this is important, are you sure he’s up to it? And who’s Xuan Ignacio anyway?”
Raphael smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear, carefully extracting it from the dangly diamond earring she was wearing. “Xuan is a very old friend with a secret. As for Vincent, you’re right. He can be a player. But there is no more time for playing, my Cyn. War is upon us, and Enrique has to go.”
Cyn studied his handsome face, almost afraid to ask her next question, but it was something she needed to know.
“Did Enrique kill Alexandra, Raphael?” She spoke softly, trying to lessen the impact of her question.
A brief flash of remembered pain crossed his face, and she worried she’d gone too far. But then he smiled slightly and stroked a gentle finger over her cheek. “You can ask me anything, lubimaya. I know you’ve been worried.”
She met his gaze, waiting.
“No, Enrique was not the one who executed Alexandra. That was another.”
“Do you know he was?” she asked, because she knew Raphael, knew the ferocity of his loyalty and the ruthlessness of his revenge.
“I do, and his death will be mine in the end.” Silver sparked in his black eyes, betraying the rage he was feeling before he blinked and it was gone. “But Enrique’s death trumps even my revenge,” he continued smoothly.
“And you expect Vincent to challenge Enrique and kill him, since that’s how you all do things. Am I right?”
Raphael nodded again. “Either that or die trying.”
Cyn raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Do you know if Vincent is even interested in challenging Enrique? If he even wants to be Lord of Mexico?”
Raphael bared his teeth in a predator’s grin. “If he doesn’t now, he will soon. Xuan Ignacio and your friend Lana will see to it.”
To be continued . . .
(Please continue reading for an excerpt of D.B. Reynolds next novel and more information about the author)
Deception
(excerpt)
by D.B. Reynolds
JURO SHOWED UP in Raphael’s office just a few minutes after they were settled, with Raphael in his big chair behind the desk, and Cyn pacing around the room restlessly. She couldn’t help it, couldn’t stand still. This was too big; it was what they’d all been waiting for. The doors opened, and she stared as Juro strode in, with Jared only a few steps behind him.
Cyn stopped pacing and glanced at the envelope in Juro’s hand. Knowing it was from a powerful vampire, maybe more than one, she half-expected it to morph into something else. A shrieking, flying lizard maybe, one that would spit poison to blind them while it tore Raphael’s heart out. Vamps were magic, after all. What was a little morphing between enemies?
She was letting her imagination, and her fear, run away with her. But she couldn’t seem to stop it. Ever since Mexico, she’d had this lingering sense of doom, as if, despite all of their precautions, some insidious enemy was about to slip inside the barriers they’d erected and destroy everything that mattered to her. And the only thing, the only person, who mattered to her that much was Raphael. She’d never survive it if something happened to him. She wouldn’t want to.
Her fears were an ache in her chest as she walked over to stand protectively next to him, inching over until her leg touched his. Seeming to sense her unease, Raphael ran his fingers along the back of her thigh before scooting closer to his desk and reaching for the envelope which Juro had placed there.
“Wait!” Cyn said, stopping him, “How do we know there isn’t something inside, something other than a letter, or in addition to the letter?”
Juro gave her an understanding look. “You’re familiar with our security protocols, Cynthia,” he said patiently. “It arrived via Federal Express, and the package was carefully examined before it was opened. When the separate letter envelope was discovered inside, it, too, was tested for all manner of threats, both physical and biological.”
“What about magic?” she asked, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“If it was magic,” Raphael told her, his deep voice easy and unhurried, “I would know.”
Cyn let out the breath she’d been holding. “Okay,” she said reluctantly.
What she wanted to do was toss the damn envelope in the industrial incinerator downstairs where they disposed of empty blood bags and, Cyn suspected, the occasional body. But she knew Raphael would never go along with that.
He gave her thigh another light caress, then reached for the letter once more.
It was a heavy linen envelope. The kind one rarely saw anymore, especially in this day of electronic communication. Raphael’s name was written on the front with lots of extra pen strokes and curlicues—the sort of writing one found on wedding invitations and little else. The flap didn’t have adhesive, but was closed with a wax seal.
“Pretentious fuckers, aren’t they?” she muttered.
“They’re very old,” Raphael replied.
“So are you, but I don’t see you sending people letters written in blood and secured with a fucking royal seal.”
“The seal isn’t royal, only personal.”
“Raphael.”
He smiled without taking his gaze off the letter. “Are you ready, my Cyn?”
“No, but go ahead.”
Raphael slipped a finger beneath the flap and broke the wax seal, then turned the envelope upside down and let the letter fall to his desk. Cyn watched as Raphael used an elegant opener in the shape of a sword to flatten the letter to his desk.
She could see the writing. The reddish brown “ink” bled slightly into the heavy linen paper with every character, and she couldn’t help but think that was appropriate, since it wasn’t ink at all, according to the vampires, but blood. She wondered if they watered it down to make it easier to work with or if the vampire writing the letter simply ordered a minion to open a vein so he could use him as a living ink pot. She frowned at her own gruesome imaginings, then leaned forward to get a closer look at the text.
“French,” she said.
“It is,” Raphael confirmed. “Can you read it?”
“I spent two years in a French boarding school.”
“But did you learn anything?” he murmured teasingly.
“Enough to know that’s written by someone a lot older than I am.”
Raphael nodded. “The text is somewhat archaic.”
“What does it say?”
“They want to meet.” Raphael’s gaze lifted to meet Juro’s, holding for a moment before dropping to the letter once more. “To discuss terms.”
“Terms of what?” Cyn scoffed.
“They want us to accept their troublemakers, younger vamps who want more than the European lords are willing to give up,” Jared suggested. “But I bet they didn’t phrase it that way.”
Cyn glanced at him, then back at Raphael who said, “The letter simply requests a meeting to discuss a reasonable accommodation, in order to avoid a war that none of us wants.”
“That’s it? Where’s this meeting supposed to take place?”
Raphael seemed to be reading further, and then he said thoughtfully, “Hawaii.”
Cyn stiffened in surprise. “I didn’t know there were any vampires in Hawaii.”
“A few, less than ten that we know of,” Juro said slowly, as if he, too, was surprised by the request.
“But . . . who’s their lord, then?” Cyn asked, confused.
“Strictly speaking, the islands are mine,” Raphael responded. He leaned back a little, his fingers steepled thoughtfully under his chin. “But the distance is great, and their true master is a vampire named Rhys Patterson. Most vampires don’t like islands. But Patterson wanted his own territory and knew he wasn’t strong enough to hold one, especially not against me. So, he requested permission to journey to Hawaii and set up a colony of his own. He sailed to Oahu with a diplomatic delegation from the U.S. just before the turn of the century.”
Raphael had lowered his hands and was tapping one finger on the arm of his chair, a gesture of stress from a guy who rarely showed any outward signs, no matter how bad it got. Cyn wanted to comfort him, to sit on his lap and put her arms around him, but that wouldn’t do. So, instead, she moved closer under the guise of bending over the desk and studying the vampire missive. Raphael immediately made room for her, pushing back a little and curling his arm around the back of her thighs, his touch comforting them both.
“He made vamps after he got there?” she asked.
“As Juro says, only a few,” Raphael told her. “He’s master enough to create his own children, but not strong enough to control too many. He’s never sired a vampire more powerful than he is, at least none that he’s permitted to live beyond the first night.”
Cyn blinked at the casual, and brutal, revelation of the comment. “Does he come to the Council meetings?” she asked.
“He’s not a member of the Council. He thrives in Hawaii by my goodwill. But I’ve never bothered with him. I did visit once, after air travel became feasible—I had my fill of sea travel on the journey here from Europe. It was an uneventful visit, but that was some years ago . . .” He looked up at Juro, silently asking if he remembered exactly the date.
“1968?” Juro suggested.
Raphael considered it, then nodded. “1968.”
“And you haven’t been back there since?” Cyn asked.
He shrugged. “No, but we talk on the phone a few times a year.”
“Where do they suggest meeting, my lord?” Jared asked, returning to the matter at hand. It was a practical question and one Cyn wished she’d thought of. It galled her to admit it, especially since it was Jared who’d pulled them back on track, but she was too emotionally involved in this situation and wasn’t thinking straight.
Raphael didn’t even glance at the letter. “Kauai, which is where Patterson lives.”
“Are all of his people on one island?”
Raphael nodded. “As far as I know. He originally set up on Oahu, but he didn’t think far enough ahead. He hadn’t bought enough territory to ensure privacy for him and his children, and the island got too crowded. By the time I visited in ’68, he’d already relocated to Kauai and secured a big enough parcel of land to ensure he wouldn’t have to move again.”
“May I see the letter, Sire?” Jared asked.
Raphael handed it to him.
“You read French?” Cyn asked, concealing her surprise. She knew that Jared had been brought to this country as a slave, although, now that she thought about it, she wasn’t exactly sure which country he’d been brought from. France had been very active in the slave trade, more active than the U.S., if truth be told. She’d have to ask Raphael later, because God knew she wasn’t going to ask Jared about it.
Jared glanced up at her question and gave a single nod. “They’re asking to meet on Kauai,” he repeated, reading the letter. “But there’s no mention of Patterson. You think he’s still alive?”
Raphael shrugged. “He’s sworn to me, but he’s not my child. I’m not certain I’d feel his death at this distance.”
Jared looked up with an unhappy expression. “You’re going to go.” He said it as a statement, as if Raphael’s decision was a foregone conclusion.
Raphael nodded. “There is no other way . . .”
(Please continue reading for more information about the author)
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Acknowledgments
My thanks first of all to my editor, Brenda Chin, who made a pleasure out of what could have been a nerve-racking transition to the new ImaJinn. Thank you also to everyone at BelleBooks, Inc., especially Debra Dixon and Danielle Childers who work so hard on behalf of my Vampires. Very
special thanks to my friends and fellow writers Michelle Muto and Steve McHugh, who are always there to cheer and commiserate as required. And to my husband and my entire huge family whose love and support keep me going.
About the Author
D. B. Reynolds arrived in sunny Southern California at an early age, having made the trek across the country from the Midwest in a station wagon with her parents, her many siblings, and the family dog. And while she has many (okay, some) fond memories of Midwestern farm life, she quickly discovered that L.A. was her kind of town and grew up happily sunning on the beaches of the South Bay.
D. B. holds graduate degrees in international relations and history from UCLA (go Bruins!) and was headed for a career in academia, but in a moment of clarity, she left behind the politics of the hallowed halls for the better paying politics of Hollywood, where she worked as a sound editor for several years, receiving two Emmy nominations, an MPSE Golden Reel, and multiple MPSE nominations for her work in television sound.
Book One of her Vampires in America series, RAPHAEL, launched her career as a writer in 2009, while JABRIL, Vampires in America Book Two, was awarded the RT Reviewers Choice Award for Best Paranormal Romance (Small Press) in 2010. ADEN, Vampires in America Book Seven, was her first release under the new ImaJinn imprint at BelleBooks, Inc.
D. B. currently lives in a flammable canyon near the Malibu coast with her husband of many years, and when she’s not writing her own books, she can usually be found reading someone else’s. You can visit D. B. at her website dbreynolds.com for information on her latest books, contests and giveaways.
The Cyn & Raphael Novellas Page 26