As Christian approached the desk, he passed an entire wall of shelves, filled floor to ceiling with books. He itched to get closer, to take a look at the volumes stacked there. Some appeared to be newer titles, but many of them had the look of ancient tomes, and on the very top shelves were what appeared to be actual scrolls.
He sighed inwardly, cautioning himself to pay attention to the 8000-pound gorilla sitting behind his desk, rather than lusting after his books.
This was not to suggest that Raphael resembled a gorilla. Most of the older vampires were good-looking. That seemed to go hand in hand with the vampire symbiote, part of its natural survival strategy. Something to make vampires more attractive to their prey, and thus better predators, which then extended the life of the symbiote. But Christian had met enough vampires over the years to recognize when the symbiote had been given more to work with from the very beginning. Raphael was one of those. He’d probably been beautiful as a human long before he’d become a vampire. Add in the power and charisma fairly radiating from him, and there probably wasn’t a human alive who would want to resist his seduction.
On the other hand, given the stunning woman standing next to Raphael, her green eyes glaring hatred at Christian, he doubted the vampire lord went hunting for blood prey at all anymore.
The woman had to be Raphael’s mate, Cynthia Leighton. Rumor ran rife all over the South that she’d been the one who took out Lord Jabril not so long ago. By all accounts, Jabril had been a sociopath who murdered and raped at will, and no one still alive seemed to mourn his death. But that only made it even more impressive that Leighton had defeated him. It also explained Raphael’s unusual role as the power behind the throne in the South.
Normally, when a vampire lord was assassinated, the vampire who killed him became the next lord. But as a human, Leighton couldn’t rule even if she’d wanted to. So when she’d killed Jabril, it had left the territory wide open to a potential bloodbath of challenges as vampires vied to become the next lord. It had also made her a target for those who wanted to make absolutely certain that their path to the throne was clear. Hence Raphael’s decision to step in and establish Anthony as Lord of the South, with the full weight of his enormous power behind him.
With Raphael doing everything he could to establish a stable North American alliance, he wouldn’t have wanted an unstable South on his border. But more importantly, by quietly and firmly settling the question of succession, it protected Leighton from anyone who thought to take the South by assassinating her.
Seeing Raphael and Leighton together now, noting the body language between them, Christian had a feeling it was Raphael’s desire to protect his mate that had dictated his actions.
But what Christian would really like to know was why Anthony was leaving. Why now? And how much did Raphael have to do with it? He doubted he was going to get those answers tonight, however. It was highly unlikely that the Western Lord would volunteer the information himself, and his people were notoriously close-lipped about their lord’s business.
He came to a stop in front of the wide desk. “Lord Raphael,” he said, tipping just slightly into a bow from the waist in recognition of Raphael’s position as Lord of the West . . . and a scary, fucking vampire lord.
“Christian Duvall,” Raphael acknowledged, the silver gleam of his eyes hinting at his power. “My mate, Cynthia Leighton,” he said, touching the woman’s leg briefly.
“My lady,” Christian said politely, despite the hostility radiating from her every pore.
No one introduced the two other vampires standing to Raphael’s right, but Christian had done his research before coming here, and didn’t need an introduction. The black vampire was Jared Lincoln, Raphael’s lieutenant. And standing next to him was Juro, who was Raphael’s longtime security chief. He was also an identical copy to the huge vampire who’d admitted Christian to the room, and who now stood guarding the door—or blocking it, depending on one’s perspective.
“Gentlemen,” Christian said, ignoring the fact that they were both eyeing him with only slightly less hostility than Leighton was.
“Are you here about Mathilde, Christian?” Raphael asked, getting right to the point. “She was your Sire, I believe.”
“She was, my lord. But as you know, she was not universally beloved among her people.”
“Why would I know that?”
Christian regarded him for a moment. “You spent time in her court. It was long before I was turned, but Mathilde spoke of you often.”
“In nothing but the most glowing terms, I’m sure,” Raphael said dryly.
Christian permitted himself a small smile. “Not exactly, my lord. Your rejection of her advances were, in part, what drove her to undertake such a reckless invasion.”
“You were privy to her plans?”
He nodded. “She wanted me to anchor the power circle which was intended to imprison you. I declined.”
“Why?” Cynthia Leighton demanded. “Were you afraid she’d lose?”
Christian switched his attention to her. “The probability of Mathilde’s victory, or lack of it, had no bearing on my decision. Although I did warn her that her plan was likely to fail.”
“But you didn’t bother to warn anyone else,” she said bitterly.
He regarded her quizzically. “It is not the vampire way, my lady. We live by a single rule . . . you keep what you win. And winning means challenging your opponent and besting him. I did not endorse Mathilde’s decision to resort to trickery against Lord Raphael, but she was my Sire. My duty was to maintain her confidence, whether or not I approved of her plans. On the other hand, I owed no allegiance to Lord Raphael. It was his burden to survive Mathilde’s plot, no matter how underhanded or ill-conceived.”
He nodded in Raphael’s direction. “Your mate understands, my lady, even if you do not.”
His words didn’t have the hoped-for effect on the woman. If anything, she seemed even angrier than before. He saw Raphael’s hand stroke the back of her thigh in a move both possessive and soothing. Although the gesture didn’t seem to cool her anger any more than Christian’s explanation had. She was every bit as fierce as the rumors had painted her.
“So, then, why are you here?” Raphael asked.
“As I said, my lord, I did not agree with Mathilde’s strategy. I urged her to reconsider, but she was blinded by her hatred for you.”
Raphael gave him a look that said, Get to the point!
“As you know, Anthony intends to abdicate in favor of whoever wins a territorial challenge. I wish to compete, and I want your permission to do so.”
Raphael tilted his head, staring at him from beneath lowered brows. “You don’t need my permission. I don’t rule the South.”
“Not in name, my lord. And I mean no disrespect to you or to Anthony, but everyone knows it is your power that holds the South together.”
He braced himself for an angry response, but Raphael seemed mildly amused instead. “Assuming that’s true . . . why would I grant this blessing you seek? What do I gain? You are, after all, the child of my enemy. My very dead enemy.”
“I want only to compete fairly, my lord, as vampires have done for centuries.” He deliberately met Raphael’s hard, glittering gaze. “As for what you gain . . . when I win, you will gain a powerful ally in the war which we all know is coming. Mathilde is dead. But Hubert is not, nor Berkhard. And there are others.”
Raphael’s gaze sharpened shrewdly. “And being such a staunch ally, you will, of course, want to share everything you know of their plans.”
Christian was silent for a moment. He’d intended to share what he knew, but not until after he was Lord of the South, when they’d become allies in fact. If he told Raphael everything he knew right now, the Western Lord could simply decide to kill him before he could leave tonight. Telling him would be
an act of trust, something not easy to come by in the world of powerful vampires.
“Trust is not a common currency in our world,” Christian said.
“And yet, we must start somewhere,” Raphael replied.
Oddly, had it been Mathilde on the other side of that desk, he would never have considered turning over what he knew. Not until he’d achieved his own goal of ruling the South, and had the power of a territory behind him. But Raphael had a reputation for integrity among his own people, and he was right . . . if they were to be allies, they had to start somewhere.
“I would be happy to tell you what I know, as a gesture of goodwill between us.”
Raphael shared a glance with his two vampire advisors, but it was Leighton who spoke. “What happened to your vaunted duty to your Sire?” she sneered.
“Mathilde is dead, my lady,” Christian said gently. “And I owe her allies nothing. My fate is now mine alone.” But he returned his attention to Raphael and said, “One more thing, my lord.”
Raphael gave him a questioning look.
“I will be bringing my lieutenant into the territory. I am not the only contender for the South, and I want someone loyal at my back.”
“Where is he now?” Juro asked, speaking for the first time.
Christian regarded the big vampire. “Mexico,” he said, letting his amusement show. “The lately-departed Enrique was very generous in his welcome to Mathilde and her allies. I doubt even Vincent understands yet just how many European vampires are roaming his territory.”
Raphael frowned. “Very well. Bring in your lieutenant. I will speak to Anthony, and Vincent, too. I expect Vincent, at least, will eventually want to speak to you directly, but you can begin tonight by briefing my people on everything you know about your colleague’s plans for the continent.”
Christian smiled slightly to cover the irritation he was feeling. “With respect, my lord, they are not, nor have they ever been, my colleagues.”
There was no reason for him to linger after that. And since no one had offered him a seat, he was still standing, which made his departure easier. His gaze skimmed the vampire lord’s still-glaring mate, and rested on Raphael.
“My lord,” he said.
Raphael gave him an almost imperceptible nod, but Christian figured that was all he was going to get. So he did the same, then turned and walked out of the room, keenly aware of Juro looming up behind him.
“We’ll use the conference room,” Juro said, drawing his attention to a pair of open double doors on his left. Christian veered into the designated room, just as Jared exited Raphael’s office and headed his way. So far, the visit had gone as well as Christian could have hoped, but it still pissed him off. He was not their enemy, though he easily could have been. If he’d been anchoring that damned power circle, as Mathilde had wanted, it wouldn’t have collapsed quite so easily, and maybe not at all. He frowned at the thought, and made a note to somehow find out what had gone wrong in Hawaii. He didn’t mourn its failure, but it would be . . . educational to know the details. One never knew when obscure bits of information might come in handy. He was a vampire lord, after all. Or he soon would be. He didn’t even entertain the possibility that he would fail in the South. It wasn’t going to happen.
He strolled over to the conference room’s far window. It had the same spectacular view as the one from Raphael’s office, although it was displayed less dramatically—no floor-to-ceiling windows here. Putting the windows at his back, he watched silently as Jared and Juro moved around the room. They were both powerful vampires, and seemed eminently confident that they were in control.
But then, Christian was still hiding his true strength. He was over 230 years old, and more powerful than either of these two. And he was tired of being treated like a second-class citizen.
He didn’t move from where he stood, didn’t make any grand gestures or call attention to what he was doing. He simply smiled between the two of them, and then slowly released a taste of his true power. Not all at once—doing so might have alarmed Raphael—and not the full measure of his power, either. The only time a smart vampire showed his full strength was in battle. It was always better to keep one’s enemies guessing.
But he revealed enough to let Juro and Jared know exactly whom they were dealing with. He studied their faces as they took in the truth. They were good at concealing their reactions, but Christian caught the slight widening of Jared’s eyes, the subtle shifting of Juro’s stance, as if readying himself for an attack.
“Relax, gentlemen,” he said. “We’re allies now, right?”
Juro’s gaze narrowed slightly. “For better or worse,” he growled.
Christian let that hang in the air a few moments, then said, “The night will not last forever, and I want to be safely out of Raphael’s territory before the dawn, even if that means sleeping on an airplane between here and Houston. But since we’re all such great friends, perhaps I can simply summarize the information, then e-mail you the details.”
Juro snorted his opinion of their friendliness, but Christian only smiled.
“The most important thing you need to know about Hubert,” he told them, “is the army of vampires he’s been building in Mexico.”
That got their attention.
Chapter Two
IT WAS LATER than Christian would have liked before he was finally able to bid good-bye to Malibu. The one advantage of the late hour was that traffic back to the airport was virtually nonexistent. He called the pilot of the private jet he’d chartered to let him know he was on his way, then he called his lieutenant, Marc Forest. Christian had turned Marc only twenty-four years ago, which made him young for a vampire, and Christian was profoundly protective of his first and only child. But while he felt the Sire bond strongly, their relationship was not paternal the way it was among many other vampires and their Sires. Marc was Christian’s best friend, the only real friend he’d had in centuries. He also happened to be an excellent tactician, and would someday be a powerful vampire in his own right. Christian trusted him, and felt lucky to have him at his side.
“At last! I was worried,” Marc said answering the call. “Is it done?”
“Signed and sealed. I’m not anyone’s favorite vampire around here, but they were happy enough to take what I offered.”
“And the rest?”
“We’re officially moving to Houston, mon ami. Though once I become Lord of the South, I may move us back to San Antonio. I like it there.”
“You like the espresso at your favorite hangout,” Marc said dryly. And he wasn’t far off. That wasn’t the only reason Christian preferred San Antonio, but he had grown fond of his River Walk café. “Are you flying back tonight?”
“I’ll be on the plane within the hour. The time zones don’t favor us, though, so I’ll have to daylight at the fucking airport.”
“I’ll arrange for guards. Shall I pick you up after sunset?”
“Are you in Houston?”
“I don’t know. Am I?”
Christian laughed. “As of now, you are. Though you only just arrived from Mexico.”
“Good decision on my part. Mexico’s getting crowded, if you know what I mean.”
“All too well. I briefed Raphael’s people on the situation down there . . . as much as I know. And I’m sure his next call will be to Vincent.”
“It might be too late already. I think Hubert’s on the move.”
“I think you’re right, and we need to prepare, because I suspect we’re going to end up on the front lines of whatever’s coming.”
CHRISTIAN WOKE the next night, unhappy to find himself in the sleeping compartment of a private jet. It could be worse, he supposed. He was fortunate, and clever, in his investments, which made it possible to lease this private jet instead of sleeping it out in the back seat of a rent
al car deep in the bowels of the airport’s public parking structure.
But that didn’t make his present situation any more comfortable. He groaned as he climbed from the awkward sleeping berth. It wasn’t a proper bed—more like what you’d find in a well-appointed RV, he supposed. He’d never been in an RV, so couldn’t really say. A fellow vampire back in France had fantasized about renting one of those big American RVs and touring the continent. He’d been fascinated by the wide-open American plains. Unfortunately, Christian was pretty sure the vampire with the RV fetish had been among those recruited for Mathilde’s power circle. Which meant he was now dead, along with everyone else.
What a waste.
Christian pushed aside the sad thought. When you lived as long as he had, you either learned to set aside common grief, or you drowned in it. Christian had lost friends, both vampire and human. He grieved for, and remembered them. But the constant parade of life and death would swallow you whole if you let it.
He stripped off the T-shirt and sweats he’d slept in, did his best to wash up and shave with the limited facilities provided, then donned a fresh button-down shirt along with jeans and boots. One thing he loved about Texas . . . everyone wore boots.
While he was gathering his things into a duffle, his phone rang.
“Good evening, Marc,” he answered.
“It’s a fine Texas night, and I’m two minutes away.”
“Take your time. I’m comfortable enough here.”
Marc laughed, and called his bluff. “Huh. Well, I’m pulling up outside the hangar now. You want me to lurk for a bit so you can enjoy your comfort a little longer?”
“I’m not that comfortable,” Christian admitted. No vampire he’d ever met actually enjoyed daylighting in an airplane hangar. He shoved the last few things into his bag, and yanked the zipper closed, then opened the plane’s hatch. The pilot had left the stairs deployed, so after a quick scan of the hangar, Christian took the stairs in two leaps and headed for the exit.
Christian (Vampires in America: The Vampire Wars Book 10) Page 2