Relentless: A Cyn and Raphael Novella (Vampires in America 11.5)

by D. B. Reynolds

  “None of us like you, Lucas,” Raphael murmured as he walked past.

  Lucas gasped in feigned outrage. “That’s so not true. Cynthia loves me.”

  Raphael snorted and led the way down to the conference room he’d chosen for the night’s meeting. It was one of three on this level and had the same spectacular view of the ocean as his office, but he’d chosen it for the size. It was grand enough to impress, but small enough that the three of them wouldn’t be lost among the empty chairs.

  “Have you eaten?” he asked Lucas as he strolled to the head of the table. “There’s blood in the refrigerator behind the bar.”

  “You noticed my mate was with me tonight, didn’t you?”

  Raphael smiled slightly. Once a vampire was mated, he fed only from her, or him. Bagged blood would be consumed in an emergency, but only in an emergency. There was no replacement for a mate’s blood. It was . . . perfection.

  Lucas turned as footsteps sounded on the stairs. Raphael had seated himself, but Lucas remained standing between him and the open door. Quinn was a potential ally, but still largely unknown. If he turned out to be a threat, Lucas would be in position to defend his Sire. All of Raphael’s vampires were fiercely loyal, but Lucas was something more. It was pointless to compare loyalties, but, if he ever did—even in his own mind—he knew that Lucas would be at the top of the list.

  Juro appeared first in the doorway, leading Quinn. He’d never permit a stranger—vampire or human—to enter Raphael’s presence ahead of him, for the same reasons that Lucas had placed himself between Raphael and the door. The big vampire scanned the room, met Raphael’s gaze briefly, and then stepped aside.

  “Sire. Quinn Kavanagh.”

  Lucas kept his position between Quinn and Raphael, masking it as a friendly greeting as he held out his hand. “Quinn, we meet again.”

  The other vampire shook his hand. “Donlon,” he said, greeting Lucas by his family name, the one that marked him as An Tiarna, a lord in historic Ireland. An interesting choice, Raphael noted, as Quinn moved past Lucas to greet him. “My lord,” he said with a small bow. “It’s an honor.”

  Raphael tipped his head in acknowledgment and gestured at the empty chairs. “Have a seat. I trust your accommodations were acceptable?”

  “Very much so, my lord. And the buffet was excellent,” he added, with a grin.

  Raphael’s responding smile widened at Lucas’s reaction to their little interplay. Had he really thought Raphael would permit a powerful vampire to stay in his city without knowing exactly where he was sleeping?

  “Lord Rajmund sends his regrets,” Quinn added. “He wanted to take part in this meeting, but Lucifer is stirring things up in Toronto, and there’s a lot of spill-over into Raj’s territory.”

  “Understandable. I know you and Lucas met previously,” Raphael said, getting down to the purpose for the night’s meeting. “But I’d like to start at the beginning, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m not as familiar with Ireland as the two of you are.”

  QUINN WASN’T fooled for an instant by Raphael’s self-deprecating comment. The bastard had probably been briefed three ways from Sunday on every aspect of their planned takeover. Or invasion. Whatever the hell they wanted to call it, it was the same thing. The North American lords were sick of fighting skirmishes with the Europeans and were declaring war. And Quinn was the spear tip. Some vampires might have quailed at the possibility, might have resented being pushed to the forefront of this dangerous endeavor. But not Quinn. He hadn’t chosen to become a vampire, but when presented with the fait accompli, he’d embraced his new reality. And the gods had been kind, because he wasn’t simply a vampire, he was one of the rare few who had the power and the drive to rise to the top. Being a vampire lord wasn’t so much a choice as an imperative. If you had the power, your nature drove you to use it.

  That sort of drive wasn’t much of a stretch for Quinn. He’d always been competitive as hell, always sought out the most dangerous hobbies, and been driven to excel at whatever he tried. Of course, Harvard Law hardly compared to the Vampire Council, especially not one that included Raphael. The Council was a hell of a lot more challenging.

  “Whiskey anyone?”

  Quinn glanced at Lucas, somewhat surprised at the offer. Not because he was drinking whiskey—he knew about Lucas’s taste in liquor from their previous meetings—but because Raphael had the whiskey available. Quinn had never met the Western Lord before tonight, and he wasn’t close enough to either Lucas or even Rajmund to exchange any personal details they might have on the powerful vampire lord. What knowledge he had was from gossip and those few widely known, or assumed, facts. None of it led him to believe that Raphael ever let his hair down, so to speak, and indulged in alcohol.

  “Quinn?” Lucas prodded, tipping a crystal decanter of amber liquid in his direction. “It’s an excellent bottling.”

  “I will, thanks.” He waited until Lucas slid a matching crystal tumbler his way. No ice, he noticed. He could go either way, but he was American enough to prefer a single ice cube when it was offered. He took a polite sip and had to exercise some of that control he was so proud of. Calling this an excellent bottling was a vast understatement. He sipped again, letting the smoky flavor glide over his tongue and fill his sinuses before he swallowed. Because a fine whiskey deserved respect.

  On the other hand, Raphael wasn’t going to wait forever.

  “Without going into a level of detail that would be excruciating for all of us,” he began, “the plan is fairly straightforward. I’ll enter Ireland discreetly, but legally, using my Irish passport.”

  “You’ve maintained your citizenship?” Raphael asked.

  “Oh, aye. My parents insisted when I was younger, and I’ve kept it up on my own. Ireland was one of the first countries to grant vampires full legal rights, you know. Anyway, I’ll fly directly to Dublin using Lucas’s jet, and connect to Kildare, in case anyone’s watching. I’ll wait a day or two to gauge any reaction, then drive back to Dublin and get lost in the crowd. I’ll be shielding heavily, so as not to draw attention until I’m ready. I’ve visited my ‘family—’” He held up his fingers to indicate air quotes. “—a few times in recent years, but the vampire situation in Ireland has been extremely unstable since Orrin Sorley assassinated Donald Tiege and seized the country, or tried to. Tiege was Lord of Ireland for more than a century. He wasn’t so much beloved as he was comfortable. He let the local masters do their own thing, and didn’t interfere unless it affected his business interests, which were mostly of the criminal variety. Protection rackets, black marketing, including gun running. He had his fingers in a lot of pies. But most in Dublin. The farther you got from the city, the less he cared what was going on.

  “Enter Orrin Sorley. He swore loyalty to Tiege, but was never fully trusted, because he wasn’t Tiege’s child. No one knows exactly who Sorley’s Sire was, and he doesn’t talk about it. He’s Irish by birth and has family in Doolin, on Ireland’s Atlantic coast. But he wasn’t turned there. He lived in China for several years in his thirties, and I’d guess that’s where he was made Vampire before returning to Ireland. The timing works out, but again, no one knows for sure, and he’s not talking.”

  “Does he maintain any connections to China?” Raphael asked.

  “Not that I can discover. But if his Sire was Chinese, and he was turned unwilling, it would explain why he’s avoiding the place.” He took a sip of whiskey. “Anyway, Sorley shows up in Tiege’s court, and he has enough power that Tiege pays attention, but they’re never going to be friends. Tiege gives him Belfast, which is a mixed blessing. Vampires don’t care which human government claims Northern Ireland. It’s on the island, so it’s Ireland, as far as we’re concerned. But hatreds run deep, even among Irish vampires. Sorley had his hands full with running it, which is, no doubt, what Tiege planned.

  “But
it wasn’t what Sorley planned,” Lucas observed.

  “No. Sorley wanted the whole of the Irish territory and made no secret of it. He cracked the whip in Belfast, then turned his eyes southward to Dublin. He bided his time, building an army. Tiege should have seen him coming, but he seems to have been wholly unprepared. It makes me think there was a traitor in Tiege’s ranks. The battle was over almost before it started. Sorley challenged and killed Tiege. The rest was only squabbling. As I said, Tiege was liked, but not beloved. His closest lieutenants put up a fight, but none of them could stand against Sorley. The vampire’s an asshole, but he has power.”

  “Can you defeat him?” Raphael asked bluntly.

  “Oh, aye. I’ve never been introduced, never shaken his hand. I didn’t want to ping his radar. But I’ve measured his power, seen him fight lesser vamps once or twice. I can take him.”

  “You seem confident.”

  “I have reason to be. You measured my power the moment I stepped foot through your gate. You know what I’m capable of. But it’s not only raw power where I best Sorley, it’s intellect. I use my power better than he does, smarter. I’ll defeat him. No question.”

  “All right. That takes care of Dublin, but what about the rest of the country?”

  “Sorley simply took over Tiege’s network in Dublin, and the vampires there have seen little change. But where Tiege ruled the rest of Ireland with a gentle hand, Sorley uses more of an iron fist, which makes him very unpopular. The farther you go from the city, the more precarious his hold.”

  “He’s got no support at all in Kildare,” Lucas commented.

  Quinn gave Lucas a silent look, aware of Raphael’s black eyes studying his reaction. The fact that the vampires of Kildare gave the Vampire Lord of Ireland—whether it was Tiege or his successor, Sorley—no support was due largely to Lucas’s interference. He had ancestral lands in Kildare that he was determined to hold on to, and fuck any vampire, lord or otherwise, who thought differently. That was the real reason Lucas was at this meeting. Everyone knew he was Raphael’s fair-haired boy, and he was playing on that to give himself a seat at the table when it came to Ireland.

  Quinn was as voraciously territorial as any other powerful vampire, but he actually liked Lucas Donlon. Or maybe he understood him. Donlon’s roots were in Kildare, just as Quinn’s were in Dublin. And though they’d both spent more years in the United States than anywhere else, they still felt the tug of home, which would always be Ireland.

  None of this showed on his face as he sat in Raphael’s conference room in Malibu, however. He was a master at concealing his thoughts. The world saw what he wanted them to see and nothing else. “Kildare is loyal to Ronan Ivers,” he said, naming the vampire who managed Lucas’s estates. “And Ronan Ivers is loyal to Lucas.” He nodded in Lucas’s direction.

  Lucas raised his whiskey in a silent toast, which Quinn returned. They both drank, and then turned back to Raphael, who was watching the encounter very closely. And why wouldn’t he? He needed to know that Lucas and Quinn weren’t going to sabotage this takeover before it even got started.

  “And you’ve no problem with Ronan Ivers?” Raphael asked bluntly.

  “I’ve never met the vamp, but I’ve no problem with Lucas, which is the same thing.”

  “Hardly,” Lucas joked. “I’m one of a kind.”

  Raphael shot Lucas a patronizing glance, but spoke to Quinn. “Will your cousin be traveling with you?”

  Quinn nodded, not at all surprised that Raphael knew about his cousin, Garrick, even though few others did. Garrick was largely responsible for Quinn becoming a vampire, but that was another story, and one that Raphael undoubtedly knew already.

  “Garrick’s loyal, he’s family, and he’s a good man in a fight. He’s got brains, too, though he does his best to keep that a secret. For the rest, Lucas and Raj both offered to recruit volunteers for a team to go in with me, but I’d rather gain support in-country. There’ll be less resentment that way. It’s bad enough I’m coming in from America to take over, which is how they’ll see it. The more locals I can bring—”

  Suddenly, the entire building sank into darkness as every light went off at the same time.

  Chapter Five

  “IT WAS A TOUGH choice,” Cyn admitted to Kathryn. They sat in front of a roaring fire in one of the estate’s gaming rooms. There was a huge TV screen, every gaming console known to man, and subscriptions to every on-line movie or gaming service in the world. Typically, it would be occupied by several of Raphael’s vampires on break, but Cyn had commandeered it for the night, once it had become obvious that there would be no real shopping trip allowed. She took a long drink of wine and clicked some more laptop keys before continuing. “On the one hand, I hated the idea of the macho men sitting up there talking serious business, while us womenfolk were tucked away down here to do some shopping. Maybe buying something pretty to make our lovers’ dicks get hard.”

  Kathryn nearly choked on the wine she’d sipped at the exact moment that Cyn said the words “dicks get hard.” Like that was ever a problem with their vampire lovers. She couldn’t speak for Raphael, but Lucas’s dick was always hard. Or at least, it was whenever she was around.

  “Is that a problem for you and Raphael? The hard dick thing?” Kathryn asked innocently.

  Elke laughed from where she sat behind Cyn, away from the fire. Vampires didn’t get cold. Cyn snorted. “Yeah, right. The only problem I have is us being shuffled off like imbeciles who can’t analyze a serious situation.”

  “On the other hand . . .”

  “Right. I’d rather go shopping.” Cyn started laughing, and Kathryn joined her, until they both had tears running down their cheeks.

  “You guys are weird,” Elke muttered.

  “I’m assuming Raphael will brief you on the details,” Kathryn said finally, rubbing away the tears.

  “Naturally. Lucas?”

  “He’ll have trouble waiting until we leave the house before he starts talking.”

  “They’re adorable, aren’t they?”

  “Good fighters, though,” Kathryn commented. “Nice guys to have on your side when everything goes to hell.”

  Cyn started to agree, but then sat up, listening hard. Closing the laptop, she stood, walked over to the glass door, and opened it silently.

  “Cyn?”

  “Elke, dim the lights and get rid of the fire,” she said tightly, then stepped off the patio and walked away from the house to the very edge of the cliff, where she crouched low and stared down the coast, toward the city of Santa Monica. “There,” she said to Kathryn, who’d joined her. They both watched the lights of a helicopter as it cruised down the shoreline, its dark form just visible in the light of a nearly fully moon.

  “What’s wrong?” Kathryn asked. “Are helicopters that unusual here?”

  “That one’s hovering, then moving on, as if it’s looking for something. And it’s not . . . look at the silhouette,” she said, her eyes never leaving the helicopter, which was slowly coming closer. Too slowly. It should have passed them and been long gone by now, unless it had a reason to linger.

  “Paparazzi?” Kathryn asked.

  “Not in a gun ship,” Cyn replied grimly, abruptly understanding what was troubling her. She pulled up her cell phone and hit a speed dial number.

  A woman’s voice said, “Raphael Enter—”

  “This is Cyn. Give me Juro. Now.”

  “Juro?” Kathryn asked, puzzlement in her voice, though she, too, was keeping an eye on the suspicious chopper.

  “Raphael won’t answer if he’s in a meeting, but Juro will if it comes through the main desk.”

  “Cynthia.” Kathryn recognized the huge bodyguard’s deep voice.

  “There’s an armed helicopter a hundred yards out. It’s heading for the estate,” C
yn said tersely.

  Juro fired off several commands, before saying, “Cyn, go inside and stick with Elke. You’ll be safer—”

  “Fuck that. We’re on the bluff, moving north of the pool for better positioning. Let the guards know where we are.” Cyn hung up and started running away from the main house. The bluff slanted upward just north of the main building, and there were no lights. The darkness would give her cover, and the elevation would provide a better shot.

  “I’m carrying my Glock 23, .40 caliber. Not much good against a helicopter,” Kathryn said tersely, her eyes scanning the moonlit horizon as they ran. “You?” She followed Cyn through the darkness, which was abruptly absolute as every light on the estate seemed to go off at once.

  “9mm Hydra-Shok, and helicopters have pilots,” Cyn said, not even slowed by the absence of light. She knew every inch of the estate. She’d made a point of it, for occasions just like this.

  “Where are we going?” Kathryn asked.

  “The best vantage will be on the bluff. There, you see?”

  “See?” Kathryn muttered. “I can’t see a damn thing. What happened to the lights?”

  “Protocol,” Elke said tersely, pacing herself to match their slow human pace. “The minute security ID’d the threat, every light on the estate was cut.”

  “That’s great for them, not so great for us mere humans.”

  Cyn grabbed Kathryn’s arm. She couldn’t expect Kathryn to be as familiar with the terrain as she was. “Almost there,” she said. “That little elevation, see it now?”

  “Got it,” Kathryn confirmed, shaking off Cyn’s arm. Fifteen seconds later, they were lying on the ground, watching the lights of the chopper approach. “They’ve circled out over the ocean,” she said tightly. “Looks like they’re setting up a targeting run.”