Sophia

by D. B. Reynolds

  Colin stared at her. He’d known what it meant to be Vampire, knew they lived a long time, that they didn’t age, but he’d never . . .

  “Christ,” he said in sudden realization. “That means you were—”

  “Nearly two hundred sixty-eight years old when you met me.”

  Not just when he’d met her, but when he’d fucked her. When he’d fallen in love with her!

  “Colin?”

  “I need a drink,” he growled and headed around the kitchen counter, grabbing the bottle of whiskey he kept on hand for emergencies. If this didn’t qualify as an emergency, he didn’t know what did.

  Three hundred years, give or take a few decades. His Sophie, the sweet girl from the village he’d been so careful with, was a centuries-old vampire who had probably seen and done things he could only imagine. And after twelve years on the teams, he could imagine an awful lot.

  He poured a healthy three fingers of whiskey into a glass, then took a long sip, closing his eyes and letting the whiskey roll down his throat, its warmth spreading into every muscle and nerve.

  He leaned back toward the living room and called to Sophie, “You want a—”

  The words froze in his throat at the sight of Sophia bending over to pull off her boots, her long, dark hair tossed over one shoulder. Her faded jeans stretched lovingly over her pretty ass as she slipped off first one boot and then the next, revealing small, delicate feet with bright red nail polish.

  He stifled a groan, his gaze traveling over her curvaceous body. This was a bad idea.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Raphael climbed out of the SUV while it was still rolling. Duncan joined him immediately, giving him an enigmatic look he ignored, while Juro swore softly in rare surprise. Raphael wasn’t worried. There was nothing here that could threaten him.

  He gazed around the clearing, noting the battered truck to one side and the untidy pile of wood next to a metal tool shed in the back. The dwelling was more of a cabin than a house, small enough that he suspected it had just one room, the wood in desperate need of refinishing and the windows taped over or painted. He couldn’t tell for certain. Perhaps it was both. The lone door looked like it cost more than the entire cabin around it, which told him the owner didn’t know much about security.

  Next to him, Duncan was doing his own survey of the surroundings. “There is a single human male inside the house, my lord. Who is he?”

  “Hugh Pulaski.”

  Duncan tipped his head curiously.

  “A very foolish man,” Raphael added.

  Duncan shrugged. “The door appears rather sturdy. The walls on the other hand . . .”

  Raphael bared his teeth. “I thought we’d try knocking first. I have a few questions for him.”

  Duncan nodded, leapt onto the rickety porch and knocked loudly. Raphael could hear movement inside. Hell, he could hear the man’s racing heart and panting breath. The human might not know it was vampires in his yard, but he certainly knew it wasn’t a friend.

  “Hugh Pulaski,” Raphael called. “We know you’re there.”

  The door swung open suddenly and a shotgun shoved the screen door open, the man behind it already flexing his finger on the trigger. Juro leapt in front of Raphael, while Duncan used his inhuman speed to grab the gun’s barrel and whip it upward before the human could finish squeezing the trigger. He jerked the shotgun away from Pulaski with enough force that the human stumbled out of the safety of his house. Realizing what he’d done Pulaski screeched frantically and tried to turn around, but Duncan had already closed his fingers around the man’s throat.

  “I should kill you for that,” Duncan said intently, throwing the shotgun into the yard.

  Raphael strolled closer. “Not yet, Duncan. Questions first.”

  “I don’t know who the fuck you people are,” Pulaski tried to yell, “but I don’t have to—”

  Duncan bared his fangs, stopping the man’s words. The pungent scent of human sweat on an unwashed body filled his nostrils and Raphael sniffed. “If you would, Duncan.”

  Pulaski screamed as he was thrown through the air to land with a grunt at Raphael’s feet.

  “What do you want?” he whined shakily. “I don’t know nothin’ more about them murders. I swear.”

  Raphael looked down on the sniveling piece of humanity. “You’re lying. And we’ll get to that later. But first—” He crouched down, letting his power rise until the dirt around them was dancing with electricity, until the human worm was cringing beneath the silvery glow of his eyes. “You threatened my mate this afternoon. Tall, beautiful, dark-haired? You remember her?”

  “Nuh, no! I never saw—” He screamed as Raphael’s power closed around his heart just enough to hurt . . . badly.

  Raphael tsked softly. “Didn’t your murdering friends teach you anything about vampires? After all, a good hunter always knows his prey. And I know all about you, Hugh Pulaski.”

  Tears were streaming down the man’s face, carving a path through the oily sweat. He was mumbling something beneath his breath. It sounded like a prayer.

  Raphael laughed. “You would do better to pray to me, human. Your life is in my hands tonight, not your God’s. Now—” He drilled into Pulaski’s brain, forcing him to look up. “I believe you wanted to apologize, didn’t you?”

  Pulaski nodded desperately, his eyes rolling white with fear. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  Raphael shrugged. “Of course, it would be better if you apologized directly to my mate, but that won’t happen. In fact, I think it would be best if you left this area altogether. You’re not the kind of neighbor I had in mind for my people.”

  “I’ll leave. I will. I’ll go tomorrow.”

  Raphael frowned and Pulaski screamed again. “Tonight,” he sobbed. “I’ll go tonight. I promise. I will. Just, please don’t hurt me anymore.”

  “Hurt you? Oh, Hugh. You don’t know what pain is yet.”

  Raphael ignored the human’s pathetic whimpering and began rummaging through Hugh Pulaski’s brain, his mouth pursed with distaste. The man was nobody. A rich man pretending to be poor, a small man pretending to be big. A liar and a cheat. And this, this slug had dared insult his Cyn, dared threaten her with violence? Raphael should do the world a favor and rid it of bad trash. But that wasn’t his purpose tonight.

  Cyn’s bodyguard, Robbie, had been certain Pulaski knew more than what he’d been willing to tell Colin Murphy this afternoon. But it was also possible that Pulaski knew more than he realized he did. Raphael sent a suggestion to the human’s mind, directing him to the recent vampire murders, to the people behind it.

  Pulaski twitched where he lay on the ground, his eyes rolled back in his head, drool dripping from his mouth. He looked like the idiot he was, but he wasn’t permanently damaged. Not yet.

  Raphael followed the human’s twisting thoughts, the vicarious thrill when he’d heard about Marco and Preston being murdered, the sick twist of perverted arousal at the news of Mariane’s brutal rape. Raphael growled and dug deeper, going farther back in time. Pulaski was in a tavern of some sort. It was small and dark, with no lights except over the bar and only a few tables cloaked in heavy smoke and deep shadow. It smelled of beer and sweat and old cigarettes, with the lingering scent of a toilet that had run over in the not too distant past. The only noise was a low hum of conversation, too low to hear. A few words popped out, though. Enough to know they were going to hunt some vamps, going to hit ‘em in daytime while they slept. No one would know a thing until it was too late and they’d be long gone by then.

  Raphael forced Hugh to look deeper, to see details, things he passed over without paying conscious attention. Details about the bar—the sign advertising some beer, the brand indistinguishable because half the bulbs were burned out, the dusty deer head above the cash register, a plastic lei twisted in its antlers. Details about the conspirators—men Hugh knew well, and others he didn’t. But it was the men he knew that Raphael was interested in. He dug
further, pushing until an involuntary whine rose from the human’s throat and his back bowed from the ground with effort.

  Raphael released him.

  A stench filled the air as Pulaski wet himself. He rolled over in the dirt and curled up into a ball, weeping piteously for his own suffering.

  Raphael stepped away, shaking dirt from his coat. “Don’t forget, Hugh Pulaski,” he said, watching dispassionately as the human froze, listening. “You’re leaving this area tonight. And make it permanent. I’ll know if you come back.”

  Duncan walked with him back to the SUV, while Juro waited, standing over the whimpering human. Once Raphael was in the truck with the door closed, Juro followed, climbing into the driver’s seat without the slightest reaction to the human or his suffering.

  He looked up, meeting Raphael’s gaze in the rear view mirror. “Sire?”

  Raphael considered how much time was left before morning.

  “Locate Wei Chen and Loren,” he told Juro. “Tell them to meet us at the compound.”

  Juro spun the SUV in a tight circle, the tires coming close enough to Pulaski that he was pelted with bits of dirt, close enough that he screamed, cringing away from the big truck. Raphael glanced at his security chief and caught a slight upward twinge of the big vampire’s mouth. Juro was very fond of Cyn. He respected her, which was saying something. There weren’t very many beings Juro respected, human or vampire.

  As they drove back to the main road, Raphael considered everything he’d learned from Pulaski’s muddled brain. There was useful information there, but it would require interpretation. He’d originally wanted to meet Wei Chen and Loren, because they were local. But what he really needed for this was someone local and human. Someone like Colin Murphy.

  * * * *

  Raphael spotted Elke as soon as he came through the glass doors. She was standing on guard in the precise position she’d occupied when he’d left earlier.

  “My lord,” she said upon sighting him.

  Raphael tilted his head in question.

  “She came up for a few hours earlier. We played cards,” she added disparagingly. “I think she did it on purpose.”

  “No doubt,” Raphael agreed. “But it won’t work. How long ago?”

  Elke didn’t have to check her watch. Like all vampires she measured time by the sun’s next arrival and knew exactly how much time had passed, because she knew how much time was left. “An hour, my lord. A few moments more.”

  He nodded, turning when he heard more vehicles pulling through the gates. Standing near the doors, Juro turned and said, “Wei Chen, Sire. Loren is not with him.”

  Raphael paused in taking off his coat. “Where is he?”

  Duncan was already on his cell. He said a few words, hung up and turned to Raphael. “He was checking out a lead, my lord. He’s on his way back now.”

  Raphael and Duncan shared a skeptical look. Loren was Raphael’s own child. The vampire couldn’t lie to him, not successfully. Still, the situation bore watching. He finished removing his coat and threw it across the long couch not far from Elke before crossing to the meeting room. “We’ll be in here,” he told her, signaling Duncan to accompany him.

  They settled to one side of the big doors, Raphael sitting at the end of a huge, antique sofa, his legs crossed at the knee, his arm stretched out along the back.

  Duncan sat at the other end. “Other than Mister Pulaski’s close affiliation with his tree-dwelling ancestors,” he said, “did his brain reveal any reliable information?”

  Raphael smiled slightly. “The man’s a worm. He sat within a few feet of the humans who planned these murders and was too terrified to even look over his shoulder. Instead, he eavesdropped like an old woman in a marketplace.” He shrugged dismissively. “Unfortunately, the music was loud and the conspirators careful.”

  Duncan met his gaze knowingly and Raphael’s smile grew.

  “I know your skill, my lord, and your determination. If it had been necessary to tear Pulaski’s meager brain out through his ears and spread it on the ground to examine it, you would have done so.”

  “Colorful. But accurate. The worm knew two of the people involved. One he called by a nickname. Junior. It was a taunt of sorts, something the conspirator had been called as a child and apparently hated. The other is Curtis. I don’t know if that’s a first or last name. And I don’t think our people will be too helpful on this.”

  Duncan eyed him thoughtfully. “But Colin Murphy would be.”

  “Exactly. Let’s give him everything I got from Pulaski, not just the names, but the description of the local bar where they met. Pulaski spent a fair amount of time there, so anyone familiar with the place should be able to ID it from what I got.”

  “And Cynthia?”

  “What about her?”

  “Will you also inform her of these new findings?”

  Raphael drummed his fingers on the tufted back of the sofa. “I don’t want her anywhere near this, but she’ll be well and truly pissed if she finds out from someone else. And we both know she will. So, send her the same info, but copy Robbie on everything. At least she won’t be able to pull a fast one on him and go after it herself. And tell Robbie if anything happens to her, he’d better be dead before I know about it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Colin watched Sophia walk toward him, laughter warring with desire in her deep brown eyes. Her hips swayed as she crossed the room, one long curl of hair falling over her shoulder to caress her breast. She looked terrific. Sexy as hell. Just looking at her made his dick hurt. It always had. Nothing had managed to change his reaction to her—not the years, not the lies, not even the knowledge that she drank blood to stay alive. He tried to imagine what it would be like to have her licking his skin, to feel her teeth sinking into his neck, drinking his blood. His erection grew harder.

  Fuck that! He forced himself to remember the months he’d grieved for her, the guilt and pain he’d endured, thinking she was dead.

  He looked away and took a good, long draught of whiskey, hoping it would wash away the taste of her, still so fresh despite the years.

  Sophia slid gracefully onto the couch to sit facing him, her feet tucked under her thighs. She reached for his glass and he let her take it, watching as she drank, her plush lips closing around the rim, her tongue slipping out to taste before she let the whiskey roll into her mouth. Christ, what was wrong with him? He looked away, desperately trying to think of something, anything except what it would feel like to have that tongue licking other things.

  She offered the glass back to him and he took it, careful to sip from the opposite side of the glass, not wanting to feel the warm residue of her mouth. He drank, glancing up to meet her eyes, seeing her awareness of his arousal in their chocolate depths. Not that she’d need any special powers for that one. His cock was so stiff, he was afraid it would break if he didn’t move soon.

  “So,” he said, clearing his throat when his voice came out as scratchy as a thirteen-year-old’s. “Vampires drink? I mean, other than blood.”

  “We can,” Sophia agreed. “Some do. I don’t usually, although I do enjoy the taste of a good wine.”

  “No wine here, darlin’,” he drawled, relieved to have something to think about besides her effect on his libido. “Just beer and whiskey.”

  “The whiskey is fine. Quite nice, actually,” she murmured. She moved closer, until her breasts were brushing against his shoulder, her hand resting high on his thigh, so close to his throbbing cock, he would have sworn he could feel the heat of her fingers caressing its aching stiffness. She ran her other hand up his arm to his shoulder, her fingers playing lightly in his hair. She reached for the whiskey again and he released it, thinking she wanted another drink.

  Instead, she set the tumbler on the coffee table, the remaining liquid sloshing slightly against the sides of the glass. Colin watched the gentle amber waves move back and forth, closing his eyes when her fingers closed over his erection. He grabbed he
r hand.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  “No?” Sophia purred confidently, pressing her breasts harder against his shoulder.

  “No,” Colin confirmed. He stood suddenly, dislodging her so that she fell against the back cushions of the leather couch.

  She rose to her feet slowly, anger in every movement, her eyes literally throwing off sparks of bright amber, reminding him illogically of the whiskey they’d been drinking moments before. “How dare you?” she demanded.

  “How dare I?” Colin repeated sharply, grateful for the anger that washed away the last vestiges of desire. “Who the fuck are you? This is America, darlin’. The U.S. of A. I’ll dare anything I damn well please, including choosing the women I want to fuck. And you know what, Sophia? That doesn’t include you, because I don’t fuck dead women.”