But he didn’t want his French hosts to see their uninvited guest in a way that was any different than what they saw in themselves—arrogant and capricious in his power. As an asshole, and a bit of a fool.
As if. Cyn would have snorted her opinion of that, but she had a part to play, too.
“Sire.” Everyone’s attention was drawn to Juro who didn’t have to raise his voice to be noticed. He walked up to the base of the dais, upon which Raphael sat on his throne-like chair, and bowed slightly. “You have a guest, my lord,” he announced.
Raphael raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Does this guest have a name?”
“Mathys,” Juro said, with a slightly superior sneer.
Raphael seemed to consider the name for a moment, then shrugged, and said, “Let him in,” in an offhanded way, as if he didn’t care whether Juro obeyed him or not.
The visitor came through the double doors in a rush, almost skidding to a stop when he saw the number of vampires filling the room. He fought to appear unaffected, but the bouncing of his nervous gaze from one person to the next gave away his fears. His eyes finally found Raphael, and his entire body seemed to curl in on itself in a show of self-abasement.
“My lord.” He hurried across the open area in front of the dais, running a wide circle around Juro, who was eyeing him like a disgusting bug who’d dared to invade his personal space. “My lord,” he repeated, sweeping down in a surprisingly graceful bow.
Probably got a lot of practice bowing around here, Cyn thought to herself.
“My master bids you welcome, Lord Raphael, and asks if there’s anything he can do to make your visit more enjoyable.”
“And who’s that?” Raphael asked with a decided lack of interest.
“My lord?”
“Your master,” Juro clarified in a loud, impatient voice. “Who’s your fucking master?”
Mathys’s mouth dropped open in shock that Juro would speak with such disrespect, but he recovered quickly, proving his unnamed master had good reason to choose him for this mission. “My master is Laurent Pierre, Lord of Nice and successor to the great Lady Mathilde,” he announced grandly, and then immediately quailed under the penetrating gaze of Raphael, who’d abruptly shown his interest by leaning forward to study his vampire visitor.
“Juro,” Raphael murmured. “Clear the room.”
Mathys came alert, quivering like a dog on point as Raphael’s vampires filed out. Cyn knew most of them were relieved to have their part in the game over with. They had other jobs and were happy to get to them. Some would be going to town, doing a little recon, while enjoying discreet sips of the local talent.
But Mathys didn’t know that. He appeared genuinely worried by the suddenly empty room, as if Raphael needed privacy to kill him. Hell, if Raphael wanted to kill someone—vampire or human—he didn’t worry about witnesses. Especially not if those witnesses were his own sworn vamps.
It wasn’t long before only Raphael, Juro, and Jared were left in the room. And, of course, Cyn. And Mathys.
Mathys had sunk to his knees in front of Raphael and now looked up at him beseechingly. “My lord, if I’ve offended—”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Raphael interrupted, his voice a deceptively soft purr, “but I believe I am Lord of Nice, since I’m the one who killed that faithless bitch Mathilde.”
Mathys’s head came up. Hatred filled his eyes for the vampire who’d killed his mistress, and very possibly his Sire, but only for an instant. The emotion was there and gone so fast that Cyn might have doubted she’d seen it. Oddly, it was the bland face the vampire put on to conceal his outrage that convinced her. Mathys was too shrewd to reveal his true emotions, or at least to direct them at Raphael. He bowed his head, and Cyn could see his throat working as he swallowed repeatedly, seeming to steel himself to continue the charade.
“Is that all Laurent has to say?” Raphael asked, breaking the silence. “Hello and have a nice time? Seems a waste to risk your life over such a trivial message.”
“My life?” Mathys’s throat was so dry that his voice rasped the words.
Cyn laughed out loud. She couldn’t help it. This strange tableau had already gone on far too long.
Mathys’s head snapped up like a snake’s at the sound of her laughter, his dark eyes fixing on her unerringly, limned with the red glow of a low-level vamp. “You,” he sneered.
Cyn met his gaze without flinching. She’d faced down much tougher vamps than this diplomatic flunky. “Have we met?” she sneered right back at him.
Instead of answering her question, he turned to Raphael. “My lord, you cannot trust this . . . human.” He said the word like a curse, like something filthy. “I regret to inform you, my lord, but she’s playing you for a fool. She and her lover—”
Cyn strode from the dais, pulling her Glock as she went. Her booted foot came out and knocked Mathys to the ground an instant before her gun was pointed at his head.
Mathys stared, plainly shocked that she’d moved fast enough to take him down, but just as shocked that Raphael continued to permit it. “My lord,” he said, in obvious affront, “I come as an envoy from Lord Laurent, and this—”
“Be very careful of the next words from your mouth, Mathys,” Raphael cautioned quietly, still sitting relaxed on his throne.
Cyn grinned up at him. “Can I kill him?”
“Cyn.”
She scowled. “You have a use for him?”
“I might.”
“Well, shit.” She gave the vampire a hard kick to the head, mostly for form’s sake—he was a vampire, so she couldn’t kick him hard enough to do real damage—and then stepped away. “Fucker,” she snapped, and turned away to rejoin Raphael.
“Whore,” Mathys all but spat at her.
Raphael growled, his eyes flashing silver as he came off the throne, his power lashing out to wrap around the vampire’s throat, cutting off his air. “If you want to survive the night, you will be cautious when addressing my mate.” He released the vampire as quickly as he’d seized him.
Mathys didn’t give up. “You didn’t see her, my lord,” he wheezed, rubbing his throat.
“Neither did you, vampire,” Cyn snarled. She cut a look at Raphael, begging him to let her kill the guy.
“Later,” Raphael murmured, rubbing a hand down her back.
She couldn’t argue with that, although she really wanted to. She and Robbie had put on a show to be sure they were noticed. To be sure that Raphael’s arrival was noticed by anyone in the world who hadn’t caught the coverage on TV. Because a lot of vampires, especially the old ones, didn’t pay much attention to the human media. But even without the gossipy TV news, any vampire in the vicinity should have sensed Raphael’s arrival, because he hadn’t made any effort to conceal himself. The more powerful local vamps might even have guessed who he was.
Having Cyn stroll down the streets of Paris with a bodyguard on her arm, along with the rest of her security and her limo, had been designed to ensure that the human spies of the local vampire lord paid attention, as well. Cyn was recognizable enough as Raphael’s mate to let everyone know who it was that had crashed into their senses so powerfully.
But for this worm to suggest that she was cheating on Raphael. . . . It was too fucking insulting.
Unfortunately, Raphael had plans for Mathys that required his brain to be intact, at least for now. So, she couldn’t shoot him.
Raphael gave her a half smile as she rolled her eyes in disgust. “Look at it this way, lubimaya,” he murmured. “He’s not going to like anything I do to him tonight.”
She brightened a little at that. “Can I kill him afterwards?”
His smile bloomed into a grin. “If there’s anything left of him to kill.”
“Okay.” She gave him a hard kiss, climbed back
onto the dais, and slumped down onto Raphael’s throne, where she flipped Mathys the finger.
“My lord—” Mathys sputtered in outrage.
But Raphael held up a hand, shutting him down. “I require information from you.”
“I will not betray—”
“Yes, you will,” he said calmly. “Although, if it’s any consolation, you won’t enjoy it.”
MATHYS SANG LIKE a bird before he died. Unfortunately, the dedication and loyalty that he felt for his master wasn’t returned in kind. Laurent hadn’t made the mistake of underestimating Raphael. He’d sent Mathys assuming that Raphael would wring him dry for information.
Which meant they couldn’t rely on the accuracy of his information, Cyn thought the next morning. She was too restless to sleep, too agitated to lie there staring at the ceiling. Part of it was her eagerness for the coming battle. Raphael was determined to avenge not only Mathilde’s attack, but the more recent attacks by Tristan Fabrice, who was one of her spawn. And he’d do it even if it meant taking out every vampire she’d ever sired. Especially if it meant that.
Cyn figured there couldn’t be too many of Mathilde’s children left, since she’d dragged over 100 of them with her to Hawaii to support her attack on Raphael. Never let it be said that the bitch hadn’t come prepared. She’d known she couldn’t defeat Raphael one-on-one, so she’d brought her own army along to support her. It had almost worked, too. But wars were never won by “almost.” Mathilde had died along with every one of the vampires she’d drained dry and taken down with her.
Cyn didn’t know how many children a vampire lord could make over the course of a few centuries. She didn’t even know for sure how many children Raphael had, since most of them lived quiet lives far away from Malibu. Mathilde was older than Raphael, but her territory was smaller. So, how many children did Mathilde have left? And how many of them were sitting in Nice, waiting for a chance to kill Raphael?
She climbed out of bed and began pacing the darkened bedroom where Raphael was deep in his daytime sleep. She was never happy when circumstance forced him to sleep outside the security of his own homes. Places like this bothered her especially. It was just a regular house, with lots of big rooms, and windows that they’d covered with blackout drapes. Granted, Steve Sipes and his team were on the job outside, but every vampire here was helpless. Even Raphael.
She stopped her pacing to stare at him, and her heart squeezed. This was more than jet lag, more than nerves over the planned attack. She was never nervous going into battle. Not like this.
“That’s it,” she muttered and began pulling on clothes. Not the kind she’d worn during her shopping trip with Robbie, but black combat-style pants with multiple pockets, a long-sleeved T-shirt in the same color, and lace-up combat boots that had enough wear on them to be comfortable. She bound her hair into a tight pony tail as she crossed to the table that held her weapons. One Glock went in her shoulder holster, the other in a flat holster in the waistband at her back. A switch blade went into a pants pocket. Extra magazines for the duplicate Glocks went into pockets on each leg to balance out the load. She did a thorough check of her weapons, popping the magazines and slapping them back, and then did a quick survey of the room to be certain she wasn’t forgetting anything. They were on the second floor of the house. The only window was a sliding glass door that led to a balcony overlooking a thirty foot drop to a thickly wooded hillside. Not an impossible task for an attacker, but a difficult one, especially with daylight guards all around the base of the house. But she needed to get outside to see for herself.
Walking back to the bed, she bent over to kiss Raphael. He was aware of her even when he slept, powerful enough to follow her movements during daylight if he thought she was in danger. And he always knew when she left his bed.
“I’ll be right back,” she whispered, brushing her lips over his again. He had such soft lips for such a deadly man. “I love you.”
The room had two sets of doors, because it was a master suite of sorts, with a small sitting area outside the bedroom. Neither was secured with anything more than an ordinary knob lock, something Cyn could have silently disabled in less than a minute. Still, she closed the doors behind her, for what little security they provided.
The big house was silent when she stepped into the hallway, her footsteps creaking on the wood floors as she covered the few feet to the main stairs. As usual, there were no guards inside the house. Steve Sipes, Raphael’s daylight security chief, had authority to enter in an emergency, but other than Cyn herself, there were no other humans inside the house during the day. The human guards had their own rooms in a guest house on the property. The accommodations weren’t up to Malibu estate standards—not for vampires or humans—but they were as comfortable as they could be, given the short notice of their departure and the vampires’ unique requirements.
Cyn moved as quietly as possible out of the house and down the short path to the main security set-up. Two men glanced up as she entered the makeshift command center. One sat in front of two large computer screens with several camera angles displayed on each. He nodded at Cyn, but most of his attention was fixed on the screens, and on the reports coming in over his headset. The other man was Robbie, her shopping companion and daylight bodyguard. He gave her a surprised look.
“Are we going somewhere, Cyn?”
She shook her head. “I’m just restless. Is anything happening? Anything weird?”
Some men might have dismissed her concerns as nerves or hormonal shifts, but not Robbie. He’d been in too many critical situations with her, had literally kept her guts from spilling out of her body long enough for Raphael to save her life.
He nodded once. “Let’s take a walk.” He grabbed one of the HK semi-autos hanging on the makeshift armory shelf in what used to be the pantry. These were the MP5K-PDW variant of the Heckler & Koch weapon, designed for close quarter battle and, theoretically, home defense. “You want one of these?” he asked, as he slapped in a fresh mag, then deposited spares in the pockets of his combat pants, much as Cyn had earlier. The difference was his 3 inches of extra height and about 100 pounds of mostly muscle, which made it a lot easier for him to tote MP5 mags around in his pockets. Still . . .
“Okay,” she said and closed her fingers around the offered gun, checking the mag much as he had and slapping it back in. “It’s probably nothing,” she said, but she didn’t believe it.
“Somehow, I doubt that.” Robbie tapped the control operator’s shoulder, then gestured toward the kitchen door. It was a small door and led to a surprisingly steep set of stairs, which made it easily defendable. Any attackers would have to come up single file. It was one of those movie scenarios that rarely happened in real life.
Cyn sighed. “I’ve got an itchy feeling, you know?”
He nodded. Robbie had been part of the Army’s Delta Force. He believed in gut feelings.
Robbie exited first. He respected Cyn’s abilities, but he was still her bodyguard. “We’ll do a circuit,” he murmured. “Tell me if anything pings wrong.”
She nodded, her eyes scanning the heavy brush as they made their way down the hill. An army could easily hide in there. She frowned. It would have to be an army of humans, though. A daylight attack. That had once been standard procedure in vampire society, but they’d done each other so much damage, that centuries ago it had been forbidden. The problem was there was no such thing as truly “forbidden,” for vampires, since no policing body existed to enforce it. Back home, any vampire who tried a daylight attack would be destroyed by whichever of the North American lords he was sworn to. But this was Europe, where a lot of the ancient traditions still ruled.
What a feather in someone’s cap it would be, if they managed to destroy Raphael.
“Remember, Rob,” she whispered, “we’re dealing with a human army.”
“Got that.”
>
It was a big property, with more than a few outbuildings. Several minutes into their patrol, Cyn began to sweat under all the gear she wore, but she didn’t consider going back. Because the feeling in her gut was getting stronger. She was missing something. What was it?
“Wait,” she said softly.
Robbie, who was several feet ahead of her, paused in mid-step, shrinking back into the shadows beneath the trees until she could barely see him. That was a neat trick. She’d have to get him to show her how he did that. Assuming they survived today.
Doing her own version of his disappearing attack, she hunkered down and surveyed the surrounding valleys and hillsides, trying to shake loose the track of her thoughts so that whatever was niggling her brain could bubble up. As she sat there, she heard the soft whir of one of the security cameras as its motion detector ability reacted. Cyn glanced up, then followed the camera’s path, catching a flash of white as some small animal ducked back into the brush.
She stared and waited for the camera to pan back, which it did, remaining on the long-gone flash of white for a full minute or so. That was a long time. She frowned some more, picturing the camera angles she’d seen on the computer screens, then she stood up and compared the wide hillside to those pictures.
“Robbie,” she said quietly. “If you were planning this attack, which way would you approach?”
He didn’t even have to think about it. “I’d take the driveway. Security is tight all around, but no one would expect a frontal assault. I’d start with 2, maybe 3, people—no visible weapons—and walk right up to the front door and ring the bell like a friendly neighbor. And while security’s trying to figure out if I’m what I appear to be, I’d slap some C4 on the door and blow it wide open, then deploy the rest of the team in the resulting chaos.”
She stared at him. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
“Cyn, I’m sure Steve—”
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