“Jesu Christu!” A monk hurried out from the gates, a lantern held out before him to light his way. “My son,” he said, his voice filled with a terrible compassion when he saw Vadim. “My son, do not despair, God is with you. He is with all of us.” The monk circled him with strong arms, ignoring the bloody stench surrounding him. “Come,” he said. “Come inside. We will find a way. God will help us.” He put his sturdy shoulder beneath Vadim’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “A short way, my son. A little further to the succor of God himself.”
Their progress was slow, but steady, down the dirt pathway and back through the gates of the monastery. Vadim looked up and spied the chapel with its cross and welcoming light and cried out, falling once more to his knees. It was a desperate cry, full of pain and grief.
“What terrible fate has been visited on you, brother, that the sight of God’s house reduces you to such a state.” The monk eased Vadim once again to his feet, guiding him to the guest quarters where wayward travelers were cared for, supporting him as he fell to the small cot, then pulling back the rough woven blanket. “Rest,” the monk said. “I’ve water and bandages. And some food when you’ve recovered enough.” He bustled about the sparse room, dashing outside to fetch water, then back to the bedside where he set about tending Vadim’s many horrific wounds.
“It is a miracle you live, my son. God’s miracle. Surely he has a special purpose in mind for you that he has saved you and sent you to us.” Vadim’s eyes fluttered open as the monk began bathing his face, his tongue lapping out almost without volition to taste the skin of the other man’s arm. “What is your name, my son?” the monk continued talking. “What shall I call you?”
Vadim stared at the monk with eyes empty of everything but grief. “No matter,” the monk assured him. “I shall call you Raphael. It means ‘saved by God,’ and surely you have been saved by Him for some great purpose. Do you like that name?” The monk dropped the bloody rag into the basin, then surveyed Vadim’s clothes, what little was left of them. “I’m afraid your clothing is ruined, Raphael. But I shall fetch you one of the brothers’ robes. We’ve none so tall as you, but it will be enough for now. We will make a proper robe for you before long.” He patted his arm. “You wait here and do not fear. You are with us now, Raphael. You are safe. I will be back soon with food and clothing. You rest now.”
VADIM STRETCHED to his full height and gazed around the bloody hall. His savior had been the first to fall, but the others had succumbed readily enough. Holy men, learned men, living by the book, grown soft with their prayers and meditations, no match for the blood thirst of one freshly risen, especially one gifted with the size and strength of a Muscovite farmer.
He licked his lips, the hunger already beginning to gnaw at him anew. Would it never end? Would no amount of blood slake this thirst? He felt the pull of his mistress, far away and to the west, but turned from it easily enough. She was not calling him. If he survived, if he grew in strength, she might one day summon him to her side, and to her bed. But for now, he was alone. He spied the grisly corpse of the monk who’d found him and felt a momentary sadness. The man had tried to help him, and in the end had helped him in the only way he could. His blood had been rich and plentiful. Still, death seemed a poor recompense for his efforts. Vadim stared at the monk’s body. Vadim? No, he thought. No more. Vadim Nestor had died with his family.
What was the name the monk had given him? Raphael. Saved by God. A small tribute to his rescuer then, a fitting gesture. He felt the sun over the horizon like a warm wind on his face and made his way downstairs to the wine cellar where it was cool and dark. As he fell into nothingness, he whispered his new name. Raphael.
Chapter Twelve
“SIRE?”
Raphael blinked at the sound of Duncan’s voice, his eyes unfocused, lost in the past. He stood from the piano bench. It was uncomfortable, too short and narrow for his large frame. Pushing it away, he turned to face his lieutenant.
“Ms. Leighton is settled?”
“Yes, my lord. I have put her in the staff conference room beneath the garages and instructed the guards to answer her questions. They were reluctant, but will do as you bid.”
“Of course. You should stay with her, Duncan. She is uneasy with us still, but she will learn.”
“Master . . .” Duncan paused, but Raphael understood, smiling fondly at his loyal aide.
“Rest easy, Duncan. She serves our purposes for now.”
“Of course, Sire, I would not—”
Raphael laughed. “You would, Duncan, which is why I value you. Come, there are few hours left in this night and much to do.”
Chapter Thirteen
CYNTHIA BLINKED owlishly as she came up the stairs from the basement and opened the door to the narrow vestibule. After too many hours spent in the controlled and windowless cavern below Raphael’s estate, even the wan light through the small hallway window seemed harsh and glaring. She had expected the vampire lord’s house to have an extensive basement, but it was so much more. An entire subterranean level, every bit as elegantly finished as the house itself, with a security and communications center rivaling CNN and London combined. She’d passed multiple conference rooms, entertainment centers and, of course, kitchens sporting large refrigerators and little else. And there had been an entire wing locked behind a heavy, vault style door that she suspected guarded the private daytime sleeping quarters for the many vampires who lived on the estate.
Duncan had deposited her in a well-appointed conference room, offering her food and drink before setting her up with a list of relevant employees and their functions. She’d started with the vampires, interviewing everyone on Alexandra’s security staff, those on duty the night of the abduction, and all the others as well. And not one of them had anything to tell her.
The vampires had little to say; they’d been dead to the world, quite literally. Having watched the surveillance video, she probably knew more about what transpired than they did. The only things coming through loud and clear were an absolute loyalty and obedience to Raphael, and a complete unwillingness to talk about anything beyond her immediate investigation. As it was, she’d had to prevail upon Duncan to get them to tell her their names, for God’s sake. It was either that or list her interview subjects by description—male vampire, blond, blue eyes, scar on cheek; female vampire, brown/brown, stud in nose. And it went downhill from there.
Every one of them, male and female, made her feel like dinner on the hoof. Duncan had remained with her for the most part, keeping the vampires on their best behavior. A couple went so far as to sniff her and another, taking advantage of Duncan’s momentary absence, actually bent to lick her neck, although it was more for effect than anything else . . . she thought. Which reminded her . . . she sniffed herself discreetly. She wanted a shower in the worst way.
She pushed open the single, reinforced door in front of her, not exactly sure where it led, other than outside. The morning was foggy, the sun’s rising shaded by the building behind her. Still, what little sunlight there was felt wonderful on her face, if for no other reason than it assured her there were no more vampires lurking about. She looked around and discovered she’d come out very close to the garages . . . and there was her Land Rover parked not twenty yards away. Feeling an almost giddy rush, she hurried around the hood, opened the driver’s door and peeked inside. Not only were her keys in the ignition, but her Glock 17 rested on the passenger seat. The gods apparently smiled on foolish PI’s who trafficked with vampires.
A soft scuffing sound alerted her and she spun around to find one of Raphael’s human guards coming toward her from the main house. As he drew closer, he smiled.
“Ms. Leighton,” he said, holding his hand out. “Steve Sipes, Head of Daylight Security for Lord Raphael.”
Cyn shook hands, eyeing the computer discs he was holding. “That for me?”
�
��Yes, ma’am. From Duncan. He said to remind you it’s not to be shared with the police, People magazine, or anyone else.”
“Duncan needs to get a life,” she said sourly as she accepted the discs. “I don’t give my word lightly.”
“Hey, those are his words not mine. I’m just the messenger.”
Cyn glanced at her watch. She needed at least some sleep today if she was going to be any good to anybody. “Daylight Security, huh? So if I wanted to talk to the human guards from that day, you’re the guy to talk to?”
“Everyone on duty that day was killed.”
Cyn looked at him in surprise. “Everyone?” She’d seen the video, of course, but it never occurred to her no one else was around. Although, it made sense. Otherwise the gunfire would have drawn more of a response from the main house.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said grimly. “We run a light shift during the day, especially when the master’s out of town.”
“What about . . . I don’t know workmen and stuff?”
“No one passes the gate during daylight. Deliveries are scheduled at night, same for any work that needs doing.”
“That’s why your guards were arguing with the driver.”
“Yes, ma’am. Those guards knew their job and paid for it with their lives. Everyone on the estate was put on alert as soon as the bodies were discovered, and we’ve been locked down since then.”
“No reinforcements brought in?”
“Not necessary. We work three-day, twelve-hour shifts. There’s at least two full rotations in residence on the estate at all times.”
“I see.” Cyn bit the inside of her lip thoughtfully. “Why kill everyone like that?” He seemed to understand she didn’t expect an answer, and she said, “Tell me something.” He nodded. “Why no redundancy on the security between the houses? It’s a simple thing and it could’ve made a big difference that day.”
“You’re right and I argued for it from the beginning. But the lady . . .” He frowned. “She likes her privacy. Wouldn’t even consider it was the word I got.”
“What’s the deal with her and Raphael, anyway?” Cyn asked casually. “If someone thinks she’s important enough to use for blackmail, it would be helpful to know why.”
Steve’s face closed up immediately, his friendly expression disappearing. “This is a good job, Ms. Leighton. Pays well, treats everyone right. I plan to keep it for a long time. You want information, you should ask Duncan.”
“Right, sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I do appreciate the help.”
He nodded briskly. “You about ready to go?”
“More than ready,” she agreed, suddenly wanting nothing more than a shower and the fresh sheets on her own bed.
“I’ll call ahead to the gate.”
“Thanks. See you around, I guess.”
The look Steve gave her suggested he wasn’t thrilled at the prospect, but he was as good as his word about calling the gate. The guards looked her over carefully, but permitted the heavy gate to roll open, passing her through without incident. Before long, she was speeding down Pacific Coast Highway on the way to her own beachfront condo and hoping it was true vampires couldn’t enter a home without being invited.
Chapter Fourteen
SHE DREAMED OF dark eyes and cool fingers that didn’t stop at her neck, but trailed slowly over the bones of her shoulders, gliding downward to cup the fullness of her breast in one broad hand. A hand that squeezed gently, pinching her nipple between thumb and forefinger until it was a hard little pearl, flirting with a pain that made her moan with need. Need that was echoed in the pulse of pure desire that throbbed between her legs and left her wet and wanting.
Cynthia woke, gasping for air, her body aching with lust, and her heart pounding in confusion. God, she’d never felt anything like this before. And why the hell would she dream of Raphael? Is this what he meant when he said she’d remember him? Her hands slid over her naked body, cupping her breasts and letting her thumbs play with nipples still sensitive from her dream lover’s attention. One hand slipped lower, dipping into the slick wetness between her legs, rubbing slowly while she groaned with frustration, two fingers probing until they slid inside, then gliding in and out, fucking herself until she came with a cry that was half orgasm and half disappointment. She lay there, shuddering with pleasure and wanting more, wanting the hard, solid length of a cock, the weight of a man pressing her down into the sensuous embrace of her thousand thread count sheets.
Cynthia laughed, letting her fingers stroke one last time over her pulsing clitoris to a jolt of pleasure. She sat up and the sheet dropped away, exposing her naked breasts and cooling the sweat pooling between them.
She knew it was still daylight, in spite of the darkness imposed by the blackout curtains over her windows. She stood and stretched, her body still tingling with the remnant of her dream. Was this why women volunteered to be food for the vampires? Because it felt so damn good? She walked over and opened the first layer of drapes, easing light into the room before glancing at the clock. Not even eleven yet; she’d gotten maybe four hours of sleep. Her gaze fell on the computer discs where they lay next to her keys. Damn.
She pulled the rest of the curtains open. Sunlight flooded through and she opened the sliding glass door to the unmistakable scent of ocean. Her three-story condo contained far more space than she needed, but she loved the location right on the sand, two miles west of the center of Malibu. The top story was her private space, with a large master bedroom and sybaritic bathroom, including a full-size Jacuzzi tub and a shower big enough for four people to share. Not that she’d ever actually had four people in it. Two people, one of them male, was pretty much ideal for her. The master suite included a roomy sitting area with a fireplace and took up nearly two thirds of the top floor.
The only other room on that level was her home office cum entertainment center where she had the latest in computer and audio/video technology, a true geek’s dream. She’d had the initial wiring installed by a professional, but since then she pretty much kept up the equipment on her own, installing upgrades as they came out, buying the latest, greatest innovation. The room was secured with a high-end, double-keyed deadbolt with hardened cylinders and a reinforced strike plate in a four inch solid wood door. Most of her client information was kept here at home, so there was the matter of confidentiality. But she also just didn’t like anyone knowing what went on in her inner sanctum.
Below the master suite, on the second floor, was her kitchen in an open floor plan with a den/family room and fireplace of its own, and then two smaller bedrooms, one of which had its own bathroom. The ground floor was mostly devoted to parking; the garage could accommodate two full-size vehicles. There was also an uncovered guest parking space across the driveway, and rarely used. Behind the garage was a beach room with a barred and locked sliding door opening directly onto the sand. There was also a wet bar and a small bathroom. Cyn knew at least one of her neighbors rented their beach room out as a studio apartment, which was clearly against the association rules, but Cyn certainly wasn’t going to complain and nobody else had either.
Itching to get started on Raphael’s case, she strolled over to her closet, a small room in its own right, and pulled on some casual clothes—underwear, sweats and a t-shirt. Then grabbing the discs, she headed for her office.
She reviewed the gatehouse video first. There was no audio, but it was obvious what had happened, with or without sound. The abductors had clearly counted on the human guards being busy with morning routine, preoccupied with the shift change. The driver showed up in a typical small business van, claiming a delivery of some sort, pulling the attention of both gatehouse guards into the argument before his buddies came out of the back, shooting. It would never have worked with the vamps and their heightened senses, plus they moved too damn quickly to be caught out that easily. But the humans fell into
it, dead before they knew what was happening. Add the fact that Raphael was out of town, which meant security was much lighter than usual, and regardless of how much he claimed to treasure Alexandra, his first rate security types all seemed to travel with him. The abductors knew all of this, of course; the traitor had seen to it.
But it came back to the same question. Why Alexandra? Why was she so important to him? Cyn remembered the look on his face when he spoke of her last night. It was almost as if it hurt him to think about her, as if he felt . . . guilty. That was it. He felt guilty somehow about Alexandra. Was she a former lover, maybe? She tried to remember the words he’d used: “I killed her Sire and made her mine.” So, he’d torn her away from her Sire, obsessed with having her for his own. But no obsession could last forever, and immortality could probably turn love to hate after a few decades. But Alexandra still needed protection and Raphael felt responsible. So he gave her what she’d always wanted, the life of fine French lady.
A sharp beep sounded in Cyn’s headphones, jarring her back to reality. “Good imagination, Cyn,” she said out loud. “Better cut back on those romance novels.” But she couldn’t shake the feeling that some part of it was true.
She moved onto the next file, determined to leave fanciful theory behind and stick with the facts. Regardless of their relationship, whoever took Alexandra clearly planned to use her as blackmail against Raphael, but Cyn couldn’t see that working. Even if Alexandra was eventually released, Raphael already knew at least some of those involved, and the vampire lord didn’t strike her as a forgiving kind of guy. So, either the captors were incredibly stupid or they had something else in mind. Since the abduction seemed to indicate at least a minimal level of intelligence and planning, she ruled out stupidity. A trap, then. Let Raphael search high and low for his beloved Alexandra, think he’d found her and then kill him when he showed up rescue her. Again, everything she’d seen of the vampire lord seemed to rule out the possibility of him falling for such a ruse. And why not simply kill Alexandra outright? Much easier all around, and she didn’t actually have to be alive for a trap to work. She’d have to ask someone. Not Raphael; that was a little blunt even for Cyn. But maybe Duncan.
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