Raphael

by D. B. Reynolds

  THE WATER RAN red with blood before she finished her shower, and no amount of scrubbing could erase the memories of Albin’s teeth on her neck. But her body was clean, her hair was—thank God—shampooed, and she only had to grab the wall once to stay on her feet under the hot spray. When she finally emerged, scalded nearly pink, she felt a thousand times better. Finding the bedroom empty, and the bed neatly made, she made her way slowly to the closet and drew on fresh underwear, then a comfortable silk robe. Her wounds were healing quickly, amazingly so, but the skin was still tender and she ached all over. After throwing style to the wind and stuffing her feet into a pair of comfortable Uggs, she followed her nose to the fresh coffee brewing somewhere downstairs.

  She found both the coffee and Dr. Saephan in her kitchen. “Well, you do look better,” he commented with a smile. “Still hungry?”

  “Ravenous, but I warn you there’s not much in the way of food . . .” Her voice trailed off as Saephan set a plate in front of her—eggs, scrambled with cheddar and red peppers, crisp bacon and buttered toast. She looked up in surprise. “I know you didn’t get this food from my refrigerator,” she commented, digging in.

  “Hmm, no. You’re right about that. I sent one of the guards to the store.”

  Cyn was too busy shoveling food into her mouth to respond.

  Saephan poured a cup of hot coffee and put it in front of her. “Caffeine is good for what ails you, too.”

  “Caffeine is always good, Doc,” she said around a mouthful. She swallowed and took a long, bracing sip. “Thanks for the bed change, by the way. And for everything else. I don’t remember very much.” She shuddered involuntarily. “You said you work for Raphael?”

  “For nearly twenty years. And I’ve changed more than a few bloody beds in that time.”

  Cyn eyed him doubtfully. He looked no more than twenty-five, maybe thirty years old. She glanced pointedly at the uncovered windows. “You can’t be Vampire.”

  “No, no. My partner is one of Raphael’s. He shares his blood with me, keeps me healthy. Seems like a fair exchange, don’t you think?”

  “Did you ever think about . . . you know, changing?”

  Saephan gave her a blank look. “Oh, you mean rebirth? Becoming a vampire? We thought about it, but then we’d both have to get our blood from someone else and I’m not sure I’d like that, being as how it’s such an . . . intimate experience. Most vampires pair up with humans, if they pair up at all. And of course, Lord Raphael would have to give permission for my rebirth in any event.”

  “Rebirth?”

  “That’s what we call it. Seems better than calling it what it is.”

  She looked up with interest. “What is it?”

  “In a word, complicated. It behaves like a particularly aggressive virus, gobbling up everything in its path, but there’s so much more to it than that. How do you explain Raphael’s mental power, for example? His ability to communicate with his vampires telepathically, to affect the physical world with a thought?”

  “Magic?”

  He made a pained expression. “I’m a scientist; my mind cannot encompass that possibility. Let’s say instead that we don’t yet have the knowledge to explain it.”

  “Yeah? Well, this—” She touched her injured shoulder with a slight wince. “Is pretty magical.”

  “Isn’t it though? Of course, Lord Raphael’s blood is far stronger than most. I’ve done some rudimentary research on the healing properties of vampire blood—I’m a trauma surgeon, so research isn’t exactly my area of expertise, but it’s quite astounding, really.”

  “Don’t let the Botox crowd know about it. They’ll storm the walls.”

  “Isn’t that the truth? No worries there. My lips are sealed.”

  She focused on the other part of his revelation. “So Raphael has to give permission before any of his people can make a new vamp?”

  He looked as if he wanted to argue with her choice of words, then smiled instead. “Well, naturally. The vampire lords control the population quite stringently. Can’t have stray vampires running all over the country; they’d soon outnumber the regular folks and where would that leave us? Or them, for that matter. You want more eggs?” he asked, noticing her empty plate. “I’d be happy—”

  “No, thank you. That’s more than I usually eat for breakfast in an entire week. Speaking of which, how long was I out?”

  “Thirty-eight hours, give or take. I got here shortly before sunrise yesterday, and you’d already been under for quite awhile. Somebody really did a job on you.”

  She picked up her empty plate and carried it to the sink. Saephan was there, taking it from her, then rinsing and putting it in the dishwasher. “You need to rest,” he reminded her.

  “I feel pretty good, a little sore,” she said absently, distracted by the sight of her front door. Frowning, she walked slowly across the living room. There was—was that sawdust?—all over everything. Probably because a new door had been installed. She gave Saephan a confused look over her shoulder.

  “New door,” he confirmed. A look of realization lit his face. “But, you don’t remember that, do you? I wasn’t here, of course, but I believe Lord Raphael had to quite literally knock the door down to get to you. He saved your life, you know.”

  “I know,” she said somberly. “I remember that much.” She was surveying the door, running her hands around the edges.

  “Okay, enough excitement. Back to bed with you.”

  Cyn huffed out a breath. “I don’t think so. I’ve got work to do.” She made her way back to the kitchen and poured herself a fresh cup of coffee before heading up the stairs to her office.

  “Ms Leighton, I must insist. Lord Raphael has entrusted me—”

  Her heavy office door swung closed, cutting off the good doctor’s last words. Her old friend Benita had betrayed her two nights ago, almost to her death. And Cyn intended to find out why.

  Chapter Forty

  CYNTHIA KNEW THE moment Raphael stepped into her condo, felt the wash of power singing in her blood, as if her body recognized him on some totally different level. She stood and opened her office door, hearing his voice downstairs as he spoke to Saephan. Not bothering to listen to what they were saying, she walked back to her computer and sat down, wanting to finish what she’d started earlier. This case was about to come to a head and she had every intention of being involved in the final confrontation.

  “Dr. Saephan tells me you should be resting.”

  Cyn responded without turning, her fingers flashing over the keys to save and print her work. “I am resting.” She took a moment before turning, reaching automatically for the walls that had always surrounded her, shields that kept her from caring too much, from depending on anyone but herself, from letting anyone else care about her. And nothing was there. Her walls had crumbled, and in the empty spaces was only Raphael. She sighed and swung her chair around to find him watching her with those black eyes that seemed to see right through her. A rush of heat took her breath away. He was leaning casually against the doorframe of her office, long legs encased in faded denims hung low on narrow hips, a black turtleneck sweater smoothed over his broad chest beneath a leather jacket that showed off those wonderfully wide shoulders.

  Was that all there was, this automatic lust that seized her every time she saw him? Was it no more than the unique biology of a vampire that made her long for him when they were apart? She wished it was true. It would be so much simpler if it was. But it wasn’t. Oh certainly, there was lust. She could feel her body responding to him even now, from across the room. But it was so much more than that. How could she define it, even to herself? It was as if he weighed more than gravity as he stood there in her office, as if the world held its breath when he walked by. She stood and walked over to the door.

  “I owe you an apology,” she said, looking up at
him.

  He reached out and snagged the belt on her robe, pulling her closer. “Why is that?”

  “I shouldn’t have left the other day without . . . I don’t know, leaving a note or something. It was … a little overwhelming. You’re a little overwhelming.”

  His eyes flashed with sudden anger. “And so you run to someone who does this to you?” He jerked his head toward her newly healed shoulder.

  “I was attacked, Raphael, and I’m apologizing here, so don’t be an asshole.”

  Raphael smiled then, a slow, predatory baring of teeth. “Asshole? I don’t think anyone has dared use that word to me in a few hundred years, at least not in my hearing.”

  “Which is probably why you’re such a big one sometimes.” Cyn grinned up at him, then sobered. “Listen, I’ve got a lot of information for you—”

  “Later,” he said. “I want you now.”

  “Yes,” she said simply.

  A single tug of his fingers made quick work of the tie to her robe, pushing it aside as his hand slipped around her waist, gliding over her bare skin. He crushed her mouth in a hot, demanding kiss and her body responded instantly, the soft leather of his jacket caressing her breasts as she wrapped her arms around his neck, as the zipper’s teeth scraped over her nipple.

  “Raphael,” she whispered hungrily and met his greed, pressing herself against his long, lean length, feeling his erection already hard and waiting for her. His soft growl rumbled against her mouth, rolling down her throat and trembling in her chest. She made a soft needy sound, and he swept her up, his mouth never leaving hers as he carried her to the bed.

  RAPHAEL PUSHED aside the silky robe that had taunted him with glimpses of her full breasts, her soft curves. His mouth traveled from her lips to her wounded shoulder, lingering on the delicate new skin, then moving down to nip gently at first one breast, then the other, until he had taken each of her sweet, firm pearls into his mouth, grazing them slightly with his teeth. It was enough to draw the faintest sip of blood, enough to bow her back with desire. While his mouth nibbled one breast, his fingers caressed the other, pinching the nipple into an aching tenderness, feasting on the bounty of his Cyn’s luscious body.

  Over and over, she cried out her pleasure, little moans that sent sparks of hunger coursing through his body, driving him nearly mad with the need to sink his teeth into her neck, his cock into her pulsing heat. She was tugging at his clothing, complaining softly as her hands sought to touch his skin, tearing away his jacket and yanking the sweater over his head. He stood to rip off his denims, and Cyn came with him, her slender fingers opening the buttons on his fly, slipping beneath the heavy fabric to find his stone-hard shaft. She took him in her mouth, shoving his jeans down below his hips, sucking him deeper as his full length was freed, her tongue playing along his sensitive head. He groaned, struggling to control the desire to plunge into her throat, to fuck her hot, wet mouth as he would the slick heat between her legs. He gripped her head in his big hands, fingers twisting in her hair, as she glided up and down, her wicked tongue licking him like a favorite candy.

  When he could stand no more, he tightened his hold and pulled her away with a muttered oath, pushing her back onto the bed, then following and trapping her there, tasting her, teasing her with biting kisses until she cried out, tearing at his hair and forcing him down to the silky smooth V between her legs. Cupping her ass with both hands, he lifted her to him, spreading her legs, opening her wide to his exploring mouth. His tongue slid into her swollen folds, probing inside her, stiffening like a small cock, then stroking upward to her hard clit. She gasped in shock as his tongue circled that sensitive nub, rousing it to hardness then biting down to draw the sweetest blood of all, the taste lingering as Cyn screamed in orgasm, her body bucking against the grip of his hands, his mouth.

  Shudders rippled her muscles beneath him as he lapped up the delicious nectar of her orgasm, eliciting renewed cries of pleasure from his Cyn. “Sweet, my Cyn,” he whispered, blowing softly on her sensitive clit. “So sweet.”

  “Please,” she whispered. “Oh God, Raphael, please.”

  Desire overwhelmed him. He lifted himself from between her legs and drove his cock deep inside her with a powerful thrust that lifted her from the bed. She groaned with pleasure, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist, trapping him, holding him in the volcanic heat of her slick sheath. He lowered his head to claim her mouth once again, mingling the tastes of their bodies, tasting himself on her tongue, letting her taste her own sweetness on his. He plunged in and out, driven by a lust he’d never felt before, claiming her, marking her as his own so that no other vampire, no other man, would ever dare take her from him.

  When he felt his climax building, felt the tightening in his balls that told him he wouldn’t be able to resist her temptation much longer, he let his mouth find the sweet vein in her neck, let his fangs run out to caress her sweat-warmed skin and sink into her. Hot blood slid down his throat as his climax shot deep inside her. Cyn convulsed beneath him, joining him in a searing orgasm, muffling her screams against his shoulder as her nails clawed open his back.

  He collapsed on top of her, his tongue lapping lazily at the trickle of blood from her neck, feeling her heart pound against his chest. Her legs fell open and he shifted slightly, taking the weight of his body off her slender frame. His semirigid cock slipped from within, and she murmured a small protest, one long leg coming up to wrap around his hips, holding him close, nestling him in the warm, wet valley between her legs. Raphael raised his head and chuckled softly. She opened her eyes at the sound and a fresh bolt of lust stabbed his groin at the fierce possessiveness in her green gaze. He growled low in his throat. A hundred nights, a thousand, ten thousand would not be enough to sate his passion for this one. He felt his cock stirring, felt the need to take her again and again hardening his flesh. He’d never felt such hunger for a woman, mortal or immortal. What would he sacrifice in the face of such desire? What would he give up to spend his nights in her bed?

  “You are temptation itself, sweet Cyn,” he murmured, raising himself on his hands, away from the enticing heat of her body. He lowered his head to kiss her soft mouth one more time, then stood, snagged his jeans and headed for the bathroom and a cold shower.

  Cynthia lay on the bed and heard the click of the bathroom door closing, heard the rush of water in the shower. Something had been lost in that moment when he chose to walk away, something elusive and precious. The warm contentment in her stomach turned cold and she felt suddenly naked and exposed.

  She rolled out of bed quickly, all but running into her closet to grab some clothes before hurrying down the stairs to the second bathroom. She had a feeling Raphael didn’t want company in the shower, and she didn’t want to see the look on his face when he turned her away.

  Chapter Forty-one

  WHEN CYN CAME out of the guest room, Raphael was already sitting at the island counter in the kitchen. He was turned away from her, cell phone in hand, speaking in a low voice. She didn’t say anything, but went directly upstairs to her office and retrieved the notes she’d made earlier. Armored with her folder full of information and a job to do, she took the steps back down and joined him in the kitchen.

  His dark eyes followed her every movement as she took a cold bottle of water from the fridge and sat on a bar stool, the width of the island between them.

  “I did some checking today on the house I was taken to last night,” she began. “It was purchased six months ago by Odessa Exports, which is a fairly transparent shell company. They’ve tried to conceal their trail, but I’m pretty sure I’ve identified the real owners of the whole mess.” She risked a quick glance and found him staring at her intently. But whatever he was feeling was too deeply buried for her to discern in that blank, beautiful face. “Also, you probably want to know that someone’s running a blood bank or feedlot, whatever you guys call it, not
ten miles from here in Decker Canyon. I’m assuming it’s not you.”

  “Who touched you?” He said it with such offended possessiveness that she wanted to scream at him. What right did he have to feel such outrage? He clearly didn’t want her; what did he care if someone else did?

  She didn’t look at him. He was too good at knowing what she was thinking. “That would be your buddy Albin. Although he was only supposed to taste. Someone else was saving me for the main course.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. They never said his name and I never saw him. By the time he arrived, I was trying to get back to my car, and I had other things on my mind,” she added dryly. “I talked to two other vamps before Albin monopolized my time. A big dope named Tommy and . . .” Her voice faltered as she remember Benita wrapping herself around the Spanish vamp. She swallowed hard and continued. “A dark-haired pretty boy with a heavy Spanish accent. Not Mexican, but Castilian. He . . . he knew who I was, knew I was working for you.”

  “Che Leandro,” Raphael murmured. “Why was he there?”

  “As far as I could tell, his only purpose was to lie on the bed and look attractive. And to lob nasty hints at me about my imminent and distinctly unpleasant death. He seemed to think I should be honored his Sire intended to do the dirty deed himself.”

  “His Sire,” Raphael said sharply. “He said that specifically?”

  Cyn thought back. “Yes. He said his Sire wanted me for himself.”

  Raphael thrust to his feet, the stool clattering to the floor behind him. His hands clenched the tile counter top so hard that she thought for sure it would shatter beneath them. “Pushkin,” he snarled.

  Cyn drew back a little, startled. “Mrs. Judkins mentioned the name Pushkin. She thought someone left her husband a message with that name. I didn’t think much about it at the time. I mean . . . everybody knows Pushkin, right?”