Vampires in America: The Vignettes, Volume 1

by D. B. Reynolds

  “What was it, my Cyn?” he asked softly.

  She tensed briefly, then sighed, a gentle movement of her shoulders up and down before she kissed his chest. “My grandparents,” she said. “It’s their sixtieth wedding anniversary.” She was silent for a moment, her fingers turning aimless circles through the hair on his chest. “They’re having a party. Very elegant, black tie, the whole disaster.”

  “Do you plan to attend?”

  She sighed again. “I guess I have to. My grandparents weren’t much on affection, but my grandmother at least tried. She always brought me presents anyway. You know, for holidays and birthdays. Stuff like that. She never stayed long, but she at least made the effort.”

  “Your father didn’t buy you gifts?”

  “Of course, he did,” she said. “Can’t have the help thinking he’s a bad parent. The very latest gifts from the very trendiest stores delivered right to my door. But he never showed up in person. Not a single birthday or holiday. Not one.”

  “I see.”

  “So,” she said casually. “If I decided to go. You know, to my grandparents’ thing … would you go with me?”

  “Of course, lubimaya. Why would I not?”

  “I don’t know. It’s very formal and you don’t like humans that much.”

  “I like some humans,” he teased, nuzzling her gently. She preened under his ministrations like a sleek cat, and he ran his hand down her back and over her hip, resting it there. “Would you want me there?” he asked carefully.

  “Hell, yes. Why would I not?” she asked, mimicking him.

  He slapped her ass in warning, but said, “I am Vampire, my Cyn. Perhaps your people won’t approve.”

  She snorted dismissively. “My father only cares about the bottom line, Raphael. You’re rich. He’ll love you.”

  “And your grandmother?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “But she does appreciate a pretty face, and you do look very fine in a tux. I think you’ll pass muster.”

  “I am relieved," he said dryly. "And I shall put it on my calendar.”

  “Thank you, Raphael,” she whispered against his neck, her relief evident in her voice and every muscle of her body.

  Raphael held her close, listening to her breathe, feeling her relax at last as she fell into an exhausted sleep. And as they lay there together, he wondered what sort of people her family must be to treat a child so cruelly? What sort of fools to ignore the treasure that was his Cyn. And he knew he would find out soon enough.

  To be continued . . .

  VAMPIRE VIGNETTE #4

  THE PARTY

  Malibu, California

  Raphael stepped through the door of Cyn’s enormous closet and stopped, leaning against the jamb and watching her as she studied her own reflection in the big three-way mirror. She smoothed the dress over her hips and tugged at the bodice, bending over at one point to observe her lovely breasts as they threatened to spill out of their tight confinement.

  Raphael came to attention. There was only so much provocation a male could be expected to take without acting. He crossed the carpeted space, coming up behind her and placing his hands on her hips, pressing himself against the inviting curve of her ass. Cyn straightened in surprise and leaned back into his chest, more for reassurance, he thought, than anything else. She met his eyes in the mirror.

  “I’m not sure about this dress. I might change.”

  “Shall I help you?” he offered, his finger tracing a path down the seam concealing the back zipper.

  She grinned suddenly, rubbing that sweet ass against his obvious erection. “If you help me, we’ll never get out of here.”

  “Would that be a bad thing?”

  “No,” she responded, her expression turning thoughtful and a bit sad.

  He bent to kiss her neck. “Later, my Cyn. The dress is perfect and so are you. Come, Duncan is restless.”

  That garnered him a second smile, albeit not as bright as the first. “Duncan is never restless. But, you’re right. So, get out and let me finish. You’re too distracting.”

  Raphael strolled out of the closet and back to the living room of their suite, mission accomplished.

  * * * *

  Cyn’s grandparents lived in the hills of Bel Air, on a sprawling, gated estate with meticulously landscaped grounds. The mansion itself was in a style popular among French aristocrats several centuries ago, and it was lit up like a palace of old. But no French estate had ever seen the river of limousines currently clogging the busy courtyard as an army of valets struggled to keep it flowing smoothly.

  Raphael’s limo rolled to a stop. Duncan exited the front passenger seat smoothly, taking a moment to search the area before opening the back door. Raphael stepped out first, doing a quick assessment of his own before holding out his hand to Cyn. Her fingers tightened on his as she stood up, holding onto him with the death grip of a drowning man. Or woman. He shifted his hand to her hip, his arm circling her waist and holding her close.

  “You look beautiful, my Cyn,” he murmured against her ear. And she did. The floor-length column of deep bronze silk clung to her curves, giving her skin an ivory glow and making her forest green eyes flicker with gold. She wore his diamonds on her left hand, their brilliant sparkle reminding the world that she was his. On her right upper arm was a cuff of deep red gold, beaten to cast fiery sparks from whatever light happened to catch it. A matching necklace circled her neck and caressed the edge of her breasts. With her black hair and elegant height, she was easily the most exquisite woman he’d ever seen.

  But none of that seemed to matter. She was skittish as a thoroughbred among wolves, and it infuriated him. Not that his anger was directed at her. It was those who had the power to make her feel this way who deserved his anger. He tempered his rage, keeping it tightly concealed, lest she pick up on it. She hardly needed his tension to add to her own.

  The limo glided away behind them with Juro at the wheel. Duncan crossed the driveway in its wake. “My lord,” he said with a small nod.

  “We’ll be fine, Duncan,” Raphael said dryly. His people weren’t happy at the idea of their master wading in among these humans with so little security. Juro, especially, had resisted until Raphael lost patience and simply informed them how it would be. Duncan would circulate among the guests, while Juro remained outside. The Japanese vampire was simply too large a presence for subtlety.

  Duncan smiled slightly, acknowledging the point. “I will see you inside then, my lord. Cynthia,” he said, catching her eye. “You look lovely this evening.”

  She smiled, a quick tilt of her lips there and gone. “Thanks, Duncan.”

  Duncan gave a little bow and went up the stairs ahead of them.

  “You probably think this is silly,” Cyn murmured.

  “Not at all, my Cyn. There is no one who can twist our emotions with greater ease than family.” He thought of his sister, Alexandra, and how she’d manipulated his love for centuries.

  Cyn turned to meet his gaze directly, her lovely eyes full of understanding. “I love you, Raphael,” she whispered.

  “And I love you, my Cyn.” He lowered his head to brush her lips with his mouth. “I suggest we get this evening over with, so I can show you how much.”

  She smiled then, the first full smile he’d seen from her since they’d left the house. “Okay,” she agreed. “Let’s do it.”

  The ballroom was . . . impressive. Not to his taste, but certainly tasteful. Cyn’s people had money, old money, and it showed. The room was beautiful in an overwrought way and perfectly maintained, with every bit of gold leaf gleaming, every dripping crystal shining and every flourish perfectly executed. But he’d never been an admirer of that particular French style, not even when he’d lived it.

  There were already two hundred or more guests milling about the main floor of the ballroom. A few more were taking the air off the second floor mezzanine, with its row of private balconies and French doors o
pen to the fresh air. Fortunately for Cyn’s grandparents, it was a mild night, or the room would have seemed unbearably stuffy with all of these people crowding it.

  “You know,” Cyn said next to him. “I’ve never liked this house.”

  Raphael laughed softly. “It is somewhat . . . overwhelming.”

  “Says the man with a mansion on ten acres of Malibu oceanfront.”

  “But, sweet Cyn,” he murmured at her ear. “I am not a man.”

  “Of course, you are,” she insisted. “You’re just the new and improved—”

  “Cynthia.” The voice came from behind them, an older woman who brought with her the light scent of lilacs.

  Raphael felt Cyn tense beneath his hand. Taking his time, he raised her hand to his lips, lingering over her fingers before linking them with his own and turning them both around in a slow leisurely way. He blinked in carefully concealed surprise. Of all the possibilities, it had never occurred to him that they would look so much alike. Cyn’s grandmother was strikingly beautiful for an older woman, and the very image of his Cyn, although Cyn would never appear so old, not as long as Raphael lived. She wore an elegant gown of blue velvet, her hair was a coil of silver, and diamonds dripped from every possible location.

  “Grandmother,” Cyn said, stepping forward to exchange meaningless air kisses with the other woman. “This is Raphael,” she said, stepping back to his side and taking his arm, holding onto it tightly. “Raphael, my grandmother, Adela Leighton.”

  “Mrs. Leighton,” Raphael said easily.

  The older woman appraised him openly, her gaze running up and down his body with the same admiring attention he’d seen in women’s eyes for most of his long life. It didn’t seem to matter to Adela that she was, to all appearances, old enough to be his grandmother, as well. But then, Cyn had warned him that her grandmother appreciated a good-looking man.

  Finished with her inspection, Adela met his gaze without a trace of apology in her green eyes and offered him her hand. Raphael took it, feeling thin bones beneath the fragile skin. They shook hands in what was little more than a touching of fingers.

  “I can see now where my Cyn gets her beauty, Mrs. Leighton,” Raphael said. It might have been flattery if it wasn’t so true.

  “Call me Adela, please,” she said and turned that laser appraisal on Cyn, studying her as if she’d never done so before. “Cynthia does favor her father’s side of the family,” she acknowledged at last. “Fortunately,” she added.

  Raphael could feel the heat of Cyn’s blush, but kept his own expression carefully blank. “Indeed.”

  “You do look lovely this evening, Cynthia. The color flatters you.” She paused as a waiter zipped over holding a small round tray with a single martini glass filled nearly to the brim. Not a drop of liquid marred the white linen cloth beneath the glass—testament to the waiter’s skill. Or perhaps the fact that he was one of Raphael’s vampires. Raphael met Duncan’s gaze across the crowd and Duncan bowed his head with a slight smile. Raphael sighed and turned his attention back as Adela lifted the glass carefully and took a small sip.

  “Thank you,” she said, dismissing the waiter. She took a second drink, longer than the first, and Raphael could see the tension run out of her expression as the alcohol hit her bloodstream.

  “Well,” she said, drawing a deep breath. “I must circulate. It was a pleasure meeting you, Raphael. Cynthia, I’m very happy you were able to attend. Your father is here somewhere.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” Cyn muttered, as her grandmother moved off to welcome the next batch of guests with the same cool demeanor she’d bestowed upon her only grandchild.

  “Your father?” Raphael asked quietly.

  “Yeah. What do you say we get a drink first? The bar’s over—”

  “Cynthia.” The voice was cultured and self-assured, full of tightly controlled energy. A man’s voice. And from the iron grip of her fingers in his, the voice of Cyn’s father.

  She gave Raphael a single desperate glance and spun gracefully to greet a tall, dark-haired man as he strode confidently through the crowded room.

  “Dad,” she said noncommittally. Unlike with her grandmother, there was not even the meaningless exchange of air kisses between them. Cyn remained at Raphael’s side, her arm entwined with his as if she was afraid to let go.

  “Good of you to make it tonight,” her father was saying. “I know Mother appreciates it. Dad, too. He’s around here somewhere,” he said vaguely, as if it didn’t really matter. He glanced at Raphael, giving Cyn an expectant look.

  “Raphael, this is my father, Harold Leighton. Dad, Raphael.”

  Leighton held out a smooth, well-manicured hand, exchanging a firm, brief handshake with Raphael. “A pleasure. I’ve heard much about you over the years.”

  Raphael tilted his head curiously. “Years?”

  “Oh, yes. You and I have far more mutual holdings than you might imagine. I’ve often thought it would be beneficial to both of us if we—”

  Raphael listened to the man go on about various financial details, foreign investments, property holdings. Harold Leighton had a sterling reputation for making his clients very wealthy, as well as himself. Although he hardly needed to make any more money that he already had. And there was no doubt Raphael would profit from any dealings he had with the man. But that was never going to happen.

  The music changed to something mellow, a beautiful old song meant for dancing slowly beneath the stars.

  “Excuse us, Leighton,” Raphael said abruptly, circling his arm around Cyn’s waist. “I’m going to dance with the most beautiful woman in the room.”

  Raphael guided Cyn out onto the dance floor, ignoring her father’s grunt of surprise behind him. The music flowed around them as he took her in his arms, holding her close, but gently, hearing her heart beating too fast, her breaths shallow and uneven, her hand trembling slightly where he held it over his heart. It enraged him and he struggled not to show it.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered at last.

  “For what?” His voice was a low growl, despite his best intentions.

  “That you had to go through that with my family.”

  “That was nothing, my Cyn. And your grandmother, for all her cool exterior, does love you.”

  “I know. It’s just difficult for her to show it.”

  “Your father, on the other hand, should be shot at dawn.”

  She laughed, burying her face in his chest before looking up at him anxiously. “Don’t do it, though, okay?”

  “I would never resort to anything so crude, my Cyn,” he responded with mock arrogance. “Besides,” he added, meeting her gaze and letting his heart show. “It would hurt you. And I would never do that.”

  She touched his face gently, her fingers running down the angle of his jaw and across his lips. Heat flared between them, and he let her see it in his eyes. She smiled slightly, her fingers caressing the back of his neck once more as they swayed to the music of lovers.

  They didn’t stay long. It wasn’t exactly a rollicking party, not with so many guests, or rather not with so many of these particular guests. Raphael doubted they spoke to the same person more than once as they circulated through the room. He saw Cyn’s grandmother several times across the dance floor, once accompanied by a tall, silver-haired man in a tuxedo who he assumed was Cyn’s grandfather—an assumption confirmed later when the two of them stood together for the requisite congratulatory toast of their many years of marital bliss. Or marital existence, anyway. Given their body language, he doubted there was much bliss involved anymore.

  His vampires, of course, never strayed far. Since they weren’t really part of the wait staff at all, they were free to linger with their trays in Raphael’s vicinity for as long as they wanted. Duncan was very much in attendance, however. At one point stealing Cyn away for a dance. Raphael was standing on the edge of the dance floor, sipping champagne and watching his mate in another vampire’s arms and trying to assur
e himself there was no reason to act on the territorial instincts which were urging him to snatch her back to his side . . . when Cyn’s father reappeared.

  Raphael regarded the man with cool detachment. “Harold,” he acknowledged.

  “Raphael, we meet again. Fortuitously, as it happens.”

  “How so?”

  Harold Leighton smiled knowingly. It made Raphael re-assess his opinion of this human. He’d been influenced by his feelings for Cyn earlier, too aware of her pain to form an accurate picture for himself. Leighton might be a shitty father, but he was, by all accounts a financial genius and a shrewd businessman. It wouldn’t do to underestimate him.

  “As I said earlier, you and I have much in common.”

  Beyond their tenuous link through Cyn, Raphael couldn’t imagine what and he said so.

  Leighton laughed, flashing perfect white teeth. “The Karcher property,” he said, suddenly intent. “I just acquired a majority interest in Montagne Investments. You and I may be partners very soon.”

  Raphael tilted his head in agreement, while privately concealing his dismay. There had been hundreds of players interested in acquiring the Karcher estate when it went up for sale. It was a huge piece of property, possibly the last, and certainly the largest, contiguous estate left on the California coast. Three parties, including Raphael Enterprises and Montagne Investments had agreed to join forces rather than bidding against one another, which would only drive the purchase price up. It was not only a matter of good investment for all of them, it was a shared personal interest in maintaining the pristine nature of the property. But Raphael hadn’t known Cyn’s father was a participant. And he would have known.

  “I wasn’t aware you were a participant in Montagne.”