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Chapter Three
Malibu, California
Raphael stood in front of the full-length mirror, automatically sliding the red length of a silk tie beneath his collar as he watched Cynthia move absently around the room behind him. His Cyn was normally a direct woman, but there were times . . . Usually when she wanted something she knew he would resist. He smiled, meeting her eyes in the mirror as she came up behind him.
"I'll do that,” she said, and slipped around in front, taking the tie and running it through her elegant fingers.
He surrendered it willingly, always pleased when she ministered to him, which wasn't often. She was fiercely loyal. She would, and had, killed to defend him and his. But she didn't take to what in his day would have been considered the more womanly chores. He almost laughed out loud at the thought.
She caught the edge of his smile and scowled up at him. “What are you thinking, vampire?"
"Only of how much I enjoy having you fix my tie for me."
She squinted doubtfully. “Uh huh.” She finished knotting the silk and reached up to turn his collar down. She had to stand on tiptoes to reach behind his neck and he put his hands on her hips, steadying her and pulling her closer, enjoying the press of her full breasts against his chest. She raised her face to his, and he indulged himself in a long, slow exploration of her delicious mouth, feeling the soft warmth of her breath against his cheek.
His body responded to her as it always did, his cock stirring eagerly, as hungry for the taste of her as if they hadn't just made love less than an hour ago. He slid his hands from her hips to the firm curve of her ass, pulling her close and let her feel his arousal. “Trying to ply me with sex, my Cyn?"
"I don't need to ply you,” she murmured against his mouth. “You're already mine."
He smiled. “True enough, lubimaya. Why don't you just ask whatever it is?"
She stiffened in his arms and his smile grew.
"Whatever what is?” she demanded.
He laughed out loud, and she drew back enough to slap his chest, immediately smoothing the spot as if afraid she'd hurt him. “Damn vampire."
"Ah, but I am yours, am I not?"
She wrapped both arms around his neck. “I was thinking,” she admitted slowly. He gave her a smug smile and she scowled up at him. “I want go to New York this weekend."
He frowned. “It's snowing there."
"But it's Manhattan—shopping, clubs, museums. What's a little snow?"
He raised one eyebrow and she clicked her tongue in disgust. “Fine. You remember my friend Sarah?"
He hadn't met that many of her friends, but the name . . . “The one in the bar?” he asked, doubtfully.
"That's the one. Something—or someone—is bothering her. I want to know what. She's in Buffalo,” she said with a grimace of distaste. “As if that's not enough to get someone down, but I don't think that's it. Or not just that, anyway. I'm going to meet her in Manhattan for the weekend."
"Are you?” She glared up at him and he added, “I cannot let you go to Manhattan alone, my Cyn."
Her glare turned to a look of interest. “My father has a place there. I'm sure—"
"I too have a place,” he chided her gently. “With far more suitable accommodations than your father's. But it is not a simple matter for me or my mate to travel to another's territory.” He drew a long breath, thinking about Cyn's request and how it might serve a purpose of his own. “One weekend, lubimaya, no more."
She grinned, standing on tiptoe again to kiss him hard on the mouth. “I love you,” she whispered.
"I know,” he said smugly.
She slapped his chest again. “Say it."
"You are my heart, my soul, my life."
Her lovely green eyes filled with tears and she coughed to cover her emotion. “Should I talk to Duncan?"
"I will do so. Arrangements will need to be made with Krystof and with Rajmund, who runs the city for him."
His phone rang and he turned to pick it up from the desk. “Duncan,” he said, answering. “A few moments, thank you.” He hung up. “Do you have plans for the evening?"
"I'm sparring with Elke later, and maybe Mirabelle, and then I need to check on some Internet searches I've got going and send off a few reports. Nothing major."
"I will have Duncan coordinate with you then.” She grabbed him when he would have turned away, fisting her fingers in his short hair and pulling his head down for a deep, lingering kiss.
"We could stay in and have wild monkey sex all night instead. It's cold and raining up there."
"He glanced at his watch. “Three hours, my Cyn, and then I will permit you to ply me with sex until morning."
She gave him a wicked look. “You've got a deal."
He took his jacket from the closet and shrugged it over his shoulders, standing still while she smoothed his tie and straightened his lapels. “I do love you, you know,” she said.
"And I you, lubimaya."
Raphael sat at the conference table, watching as Duncan ushered the last of their human guests out of the room. He could feel the surf pounding against the cliff below, vibrating the floor beneath his feet. It was one of the reasons he'd chosen this location to build his home. He loved the ocean, the primal energy, the smell and feel of it, the silver shimmer of the moon on the black water.
"My lord.” Duncan closed the door and crossed the room, taking the chair to Raphael's right. “It went well, I thought."
"It did, Duncan. As much as I dislike dealing with humans, this investment is promising.” He pushed his chair back and crossed his legs at the knee. “Tell me, is Rajmund still requesting a meeting?"
Duncan showed his puzzlement at the change of subject. “He is, my lord."
"Cynthia wants to visit Manhattan."
Duncan frowned. “It's very cold there this time of year."
Raphael met his lieutenant's eyes and smiled. “My reaction, as well. Unfortunately, Cyn is convinced her friend Sarah is in need . . . of a friend, I suppose one would say."
"I see."
"Make the arrangements, please, Duncan. Check with Cyn on the date and use our people for everything, including Sarah's travel. She is Cyn's friend, not mine. I know very little about her."
"I understand, my lord. What of Krystof?"
"I will contact Krystof, but we both know who the true Master of Manhattan is."
"Shall I call Rajmund, then?"
Raphael nodded. “You know what we want, Duncan."
"My lord.” Duncan bowed slightly and left the room.
Raphael stood slowly, stretching to his full height. He hadn't planned a visit to New York so soon, but it might work out for the best. Krystof was declining. That much was obvious. And there was only one vampire among the aging lord's children who had the power to take and hold the territory. It was time for a new order among the Vampire Council of North America, and what better place to start than with an alliance between the two coasts?
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Chapter Four
New York, New York—Manhattan
Sarah sat in the big, black SUV and watched the city zoom by outside the tinted windows, feeling like a bit player in some movie with the Secret Service hustling the president around a shadowy foreign capital. She kept waiting for the bad guys to jump out in front of them with guns blazing. Although, come to think of it, she was pretty sure the Secret Service could have taken a few tips from these vampire guys.
There were three SUVs, two of them, one in front and one behind, jammed full of big, no-nonsense vamps. She rode in the middle vehicle with Cyn and Raphael, and Raphael's lieutenant, Duncan. In the front seat were two of the security types, including the mountain Cyn called Juro. He was apparently in charge of the whole thing. All the security vamps were wearing these totally gorgeous charcoal-colored wool suits, which had to be custom-made given the sheer physical size of some of them. And how weird was that? The latest in v
ampire security attire . . . charcoal wool. Even the lone female among them was wearing one . . . and looked like she could break Sarah in two, which she probably could. Duncan was wearing the same thing, albeit with a different shirt and tie. And, of course, Raphael's outfit probably cost more than three month's worth of Sarah's salary as an assistant professor.
She eyed the vampire lord where he sat on the middle seat in front of her, one arm around Cyn, their heads together as they murmured back and forth. She had to admit she was intimidated by him. He was otherworldly handsome, a masterpiece of sculpture come to life. And although he rarely said anything—at least not in her hearing—when he walked into a room, he was instantly the focus of attention. He was like a massive sun whose gravity pulled everything else—planets, stars, passing meteors—into his orbit just by existing. Except for Cyn. Cyn was never one to hide her light under a bushel, but when she and Raphael were together, they both burned just a little bit brighter.
And as for Sarah, she was pretty sure Raphael wouldn't have noticed her at all if not for Cyn. Not because he was rude or anything, but because she honestly didn't cross his radar. Which was fine with her because in the final analysis, he was one scary guy.
The driver cursed abruptly, slamming on his brakes as the SUV in front of them did the same. Sarah grabbed the strap of her seatbelt. She was the only person wearing one. The vamps probably didn't need them, and neither did Cyn, for that matter, what with Raphael never taking his hands off her. The SUVs took off again, speeding through Manhattan, running signals and cutting off traffic with impunity. She supposed in a city with so many dignitaries, people were used to motorcades like this. There were plenty of blaring horns, but then, when weren't there horns honking in New York City? That's probably why it was called the city that never sleeps, who could sleep with all that noise?
She glanced over at Duncan, sitting next to her. He was the most human-seeming of all the vampires, but Cyn had assured her that Duncan was nearly as powerful as Raphael himself. He caught her glance and smiled absently, just as all three SUVs turned into the alley behind Chopin's. The most expensive and trendy club in Manhattan was owned by vampires. Who knew? Although, it actually seemed rather appropriate, given the elite club's usual clientele, which consisted of people famous for nothing but the accident of having been born with lots of money to spend on themselves. Unlike those glittering folk, however, who arrived at the front door in full view of the paparazzi—which was the whole point of going to Chopin's—Raphael and his group had detoured around the block to what was apparently a very private entrance.
Located in an alley, it was hardly a typical alley entrance. A dark gold awning of some plush and glittering material extended above a single door, with a dark blue carpet runner beneath it. And, rather than the glaring motion sensor lights of the other buildings they'd passed, a subdued, gentle glow picked out the gold in the awning and scattered it into the dark alley.
The SUVs pulled to a halt with Raphael's vehicle closest to the entrance. His security personnel debarked first, pouring from the two escort vehicles. Several of the vamps ran off in each direction, obviously to make sure no one was lurking nearby, while the others took up station in a half circle around the SUV. In the front seat, Juro didn't move, other than to raise his wrist to his mouth a couple of times. He had a radio microphone there and Sarah noticed he was wearing an earpiece too, again just like the Secret Service guys. Fascinating.
With no obvious warning, everyone was suddenly in motion. Juro whipped out of the SUV faster than Sarah could follow. The doors opened on the building side of the vehicle and at the same moment, the back door to the club swung outward in welcome. Unlike his security people, Raphael moved unhurriedly, sliding gracefully out of the SUV and holding out a hand to help Cyn—as if she needed it, Sarah thought, smiling. Still, it was sweet the way he waited, the way he kissed Cyn's hand and twirled her into the curve of his arm, the two of them laughing. And they certainly made a beautiful couple, Cyn in her figure-hugging black knit dress, those long legs going on forever above a pair of to-die-for stiletto heels, and Raphael with his silk wool sports coat and slacks over a black cashmere turtleneck. Sarah sighed. Ironic, really, that of all their friends it was cynical Cyn who'd fallen for a guy who was obviously a true romantic.
"Yo, Sarah!” Cyn's voice interrupted her musings. “You coming with us?"
Sarah looked up and grinned. Now that was the Cyn she knew. “Yeah, yeah.” She scooted across the seat, self-consciously tugging the short skirt of her red silk sheath down over her thighs. It was a beautiful dress. She and Cyn had engaged in a little shopping therapy today, wandering all over Manhattan, spending money like they both had it. Cyn had pressed Sarah gently about what was troubling her, but she wasn't the type to push too hard. She had too many issues of her own to dig unwanted into someone else's. Instead, they'd shared a very pleasant afternoon, shopping, drinking coffee, gossiping about mutual friends. By the time they'd returned to the townhouse, Sarah had convinced Cyn she was simply homesick after an unexpectedly long winter in a new city.
Besides, the day had been the best therapy she could have asked for. She'd spent several carefree hours with a good friend in one of the greatest cities in the world, found this beautiful dress at a terrific price and a pair of gorgeous shoes to match, and hadn't once worried about those damn dreams. And now she was about to go dancing at one of the hottest clubs in Manhattan.
But there was no way she was going to be able to get out of this stupid truck without flashing everyone in sight.
Cyn strolled back over to the open SUV door. “Come on. I'll block the view."
Sarah laughed, touching the running board briefly before stepping onto the surprisingly deep carpet. Nice carpet, she thought. Too nice to be sitting out in this weather. She was wondering if they'd deployed it just for Raphael, when her thoughts stuttered to a halt as every hair on her body suddenly stood on end. Her skin prickled almost painfully as something very like a giant electrostatic charge swept over the entire alley. “What the hell?” she gasped.
Cyn took her arm, unconcerned. “Vamps,” she whispered in Sarah's ear. “Too many and too strong in one place. They're like super territorial. This is Rajmund's city—that's RYE-mund, by the way, but they call him Raj, like Roger—anyway, it's his city, but Raphael's the more powerful vampire, which means all the security guys are on edge. They have this instinctive drive to protect their masters. No one's really threatening anyone, but it's an automatic reaction. They all brought their power up at the same time just now, but it'll calm down in a minute."
"Cyn,” Raphael's deep voice, smooth as honey, called back to them, and Cyn hustled them forward to where he waited just outside the club door. Patting Sarah's shoulder, Cyn left her to Duncan and stepped up to Raphael, sliding her arm through his and holding her face up for his kiss. His lips lingered over Cyn's mouth before he leaned closer and whispered something in her ear, something that made Cyn respond with a low, sultry laugh that had every male in hearing range turning his head to look.
"This must seem odd to you."
Sarah glanced over at Duncan. “It's kind of like royalty, I guess, huh?"
Duncan nodded. “Just so. Lord Raphael is a visiting prince, or if one is accurate, closer to a king. There are formalities which must be observed, particularly as this is vampire royalty. A wrong move could result in . . . considerable violence. Something we all wish to avoid."
"Absolutely,” Sarah agreed fervently. She had a feeling any violence would be very bad for a certain assistant professor. Next to her, Duncan smiled, as if aware of her thoughts.
"Once we are seated indoors, everyone will settle."
"Okay."
"Shall we?” He gestured toward the open door where Cyn and Raphael had disappeared along with half of their security people.
Once inside, they moved quickly down a long hallway and through a small anteroom. She could feel the low throb of a drumbeat from a door to their right, which
was upholstered in tuck and roll leather. It sounded way too much like a heartbeat to Sarah, but that was probably just her imagination, given present company. The door opened to admit music and laughter, the typical sounds of a club, along with the hum of conversation and the soft chime of crystal. This was, after all, Chopin's, not some neighborhood bar.
Sarah found herself hustled along in the middle of the group, moving not so much under her own direction as carried by the general tide of motion. They passed through another leather upholstered door and into some sort of VIP lounge, with a long bar and a surprisingly empty dance floor. There were a few tables against one wall, but it was mostly low slung, open banquettes of black leather, with chrome and glass coffee tables and the occasional freestanding leather chair. There were candles on the tables, but most of the light came from wall sconces, their light beaming toward a dark ceiling where it bounced back to provide subtle shadows.
As Sarah observed all of this, she noticed that every eye in the place was on them. The dance floor was empty because everyone was focused with an almost scary intensity on Raphael. And she noticed something else. A lot of those watching were vampires, their eyes gleaming in the dark room as they followed the powerful vampire lord's progress. Their gazes were a mixture of fear and desire, as if they didn't know whether to run for their lives or to throw themselves at his feet.
A pair of double doors opened briefly on the far wall, admitting a blast of much louder music and raucous noise. And something else. The air pressure dropped sharply, and Sarah would have staggered if Duncan hadn't taken her arm. “What now?” she muttered.
"Rajmund,” Duncan said softly.
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Chapter Five
Sarah concentrated on breathing as a big vampire headed across the room toward them. He was tall like Raphael, but blond, with close cut hair and clear blue eyes in a face so stereotypically Slavic he defined the word. High, flat cheekbones, slightly narrow eyes, a strong jaw and a beautiful smile filled with white teeth. He was dressed in elegant formalwear, a tuxedo jacket and pants, and a crisply white formal shirt with smooth, flat pleats. But the neck of the shirt was open, the top button undone, and the confining black tie was hanging loosely, as if he'd just whipped it off.
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